contains: just fluff headcanons with a lil bit of edge, lowercase intended so it's messy, might be ooc. what else? reblogs and hearts are appreciated!
boyfriend! inbeom loves being a bit of a meanie and teasing the hell out of you just to get a cute reaction. but the exact second your eyes get teary or your lip starts wobbling, his tough act completely breaks. He’ll totally panic, waving his hands around and apologizing as much as he can!
“hey, don't do that. do not cry. look, I'll let you punch me or something, okay? you have the right to be mad at me.”
boyfriend! inbeom always talks smack and says matching tattoos are cringe. he'll roll his eyes and complain whenever you bring it up, but he still ends up getting matching ink with you for every single milestones or important day anyway <3
boyfriend! inbeom secretly LOVES when you tie his hair up for him. the thing is, he always “forgets” to bring his own elastic, so you always have to keep an extra one on your wrist every single time both of you hang out just for him.
additional: he would also knows exactly what he’s doing when he ties his hair up right in front of you. he’ll purposely pop the hair tie between his teeth and slowly sweep his hair back just to watch you stare. especially if you have weakness for the textbook “hot guys doing mundane things” trope.
boyfriend! inbeom will look for you the exact second a fight is over, no matter how bad it gets. he’ll show up at your place looking like a total mess, all bruised and bloody, but he’ll still have that super arrogant, cocky look on his face while whine-begging you to take care of him !!
“they're the ones who started running their mouths. my fist just kinda moved on its own, you know?”
additional: he’ll point at a tiny, barely noticeable scratch on his cheek or his bottom lip and whine about how much it hurts, refusing to let you move until you kiss it better.
“that literally did nothing. my lip is still stinging, dummy. come back here and actually try”
boyfriend! inbeom will constantly try to mess with you if you're really good at academics. he loves looking you dead in the eye and dropping the most ridiculous fake facts or asking total nonsense questions just to watch your brain short-circuit.
boyfriend! inbeom is incredibly competitive and will absolutely smoke you in any arcade game, laughing shamelessly at your losing streak. But he’ll eventually spend all his tokens aggressively shaking the claw machine until it drops the exact plushie you wanted.
kyungmi’s note. no because this plot? so down bad for. it’s the fact that we all eventually have to move on even if it’s hard to do so. emotional hwajin, i really live for.
content warning. a LOT of sadness but happiness. it’s a good mixture of both. hwajin really falls hard and fast for reader. innocent touching. yearning. he needs and deserves happiness so falling for you is what gave him all that back. kissing. really? just love and affection.
the request! Can I request something with Na Hwajin, where he begins falling for his colleague (reader) but is conflicted since it feels like he’s betraying his deceased fiancé? (I think it’s also sweet to include Mr. Choi being encouraging towards him to procure reader)? Please and thank you!!
now playing. . .
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the sound of your screaming was the only thing he heard and the blurred silhouette of your body running towards him before everything went quiet, still, and dark. this mission wasn’t exactly what any of you were expecting. the students were far more worse than the other schools you’ve already visited and finished.
before the incident.
hwajin found himself watching you. you’d speak and his eyes immediately followed, watching the way your lips moved or how you smiled about something. when you frowned? it was the worst feeling. he didn’t want you to be upset or ever feel upset. this feeling was killing him.
“hwa? i took a look at this student..”
you started, but didn’t finish. he was already looking at you. you had to admit.. it made you feel a bit insecure. why would he stare at you? was it your facial expression or the way you spoke a bit loud at times. instead of him asking you to continue like he usually did, he stared.
“s-so.. it looks like he’s not only being bullied but they’re forcing him to scam people after school. when he’s caught he’s beat up by people who were scammed and i feel this is a bit more..”
you stopped again. hwajin’s staring was so intense that it was hard to breathe. his handsome features always made you so nervous and the way his arms were crossed over his broad chest.. what were you even thinking? he lost a wife only two years ago. how could you think of him like that? you were awful. so awful.
“you’re doing an amazing job.”
his sudden compliment took you by surprise and you bowed your head kindly, “thank you hwajin.”
that wasn’t the first time he had done this…
just as a student was about to hit you, hwajin grabbed ahold of your waist and pulled you back behind him, effortlessly shielding you from the hit. you gasped at how fast he was and how quick he was to protect you.
“boys don’t hit girls. weren’t you taught that?”
hwajin slapped him instead sending him flying across the room. sure you were still new and all but the way he protected you felt different. not like before.. when he wouldn’t even glance your way. now? that’s all he did was look at you, compliment you, touch you in certain areas that made your heartbeat quicken.. was this love?
it couldn’t be.
“we need to talk.”
hwajin sat down on the couch that sat in his empty and cold living room. mr. choi continued to stand, grabbing the photo of his daughter who hwajin had placed there years ago. he was close to saying something, a quiet ‘put that down’ but he didn’t which was weird of him.
“isn’t it time for you to be happy?”
“if this is about y/n then—”
mr. choi chuckled. of course it was about you. why wouldn’t it be? he saw everything. from the way hwajin stared at you to the compliments and even the lingering touches. what he had noticed is how happy and relaxed he seemed to be around you.
“it’s time. you’ve sent her off well and you’ll continue to love her for the rest of your life but she would want you to be happy. to find happiness.”
a tear rolled down hwajin’s cheek. it was warm. a bit red from the soju and he took a deep breath. not knowing what to say or do next so he stayed quiet and mr. choi understood. gently patted his shoulder and left the apartment where hwajin was left alone to cry and think about his feelings. truly? he wanted you.
another day. another school. another bully. hwajin had one and you had your own. a girl that broke in front of you that didn’t want to be this way anymore and you felt you could believe it.. until more problems came and she lied. it was stressful. exhausting. you sat in the office and waited for the next move. the right next move that was and hwajin took a seat next to you.
“hey pretty. you feeling okay?”
pretty. he’d never spoke to you like that before. it made you.. feel weird. that weird feeling in your belly. that weird feeling that women usually got around men who made them happy, shy, and excited. did he feel it too?
“y-yeah! just.. thinking. this one is a bit difficult.”
hwajin nodded and his hand then rested on your own. his thumb rubbed your index finger, “you’re doing so well. don’t give up, hm? we’ve got this. together.” and you finally looked at him. staring into his eyes that seemed so much more happier and lively. although he still cried every night wondering if this was a good idea. wondering if he was forgetting his deceased wife a bit too fast.. mr. choi urged him to go for happiness.
you three found a small restaurant to have lunch. finally being able to just relax and take care of your body after weeks of hard work. hwajin sat beside you, his chair a lot closer than it was originally placed. you shrugged it off but mr. choi? noticed. watched. his thin lips curled up into a smile watching hwajin smile. a genuine smile that he hadn’t seen in a long time.
“want to try some of my japchae? here, i’ll feed you.”
and you leaned in closer to his side, parting your lips for him to feed you. once you took the bite, he leaned in and smiled, “good huh? i’ll share with you.” but was that just an excuse to sit closer? he even forgot mr. choi who had been sitting across from you both.
“oh. you have some..”
hwajin took his thumb, wiping the corner of your mouth and licking it off which made your eyes widened. that’s something only couples did or.. two people that liked each other. “you’re so cute sometimes.” another.. compliment. he was more open than ever. nudging you at times and laughing, feeding you, wiping your mouth, paying for your meal, wanting to be alone with you..
it was all adding up. hwajin was in love with you.
it wasn’t confirmed until.. the incident.
you paced the waiting room, unable to think properly or sit down. he was in surgery. nothing like this had ever happened before but the student.. damn that student! had awful people above him. going as far as severely injuring hwajin. “sit sweetheart. he’s going to be ok.” mr. choi tried his best to calm you and keep you from having a panic attack but how could you? he was hurt-
“excuse me? are you both with na hwajin?”
you were quick to nod and run over towards the doctor who gave you the best news. his surgery went well. it would take him a few weeks to recover and that was when you knew, he needed you the most.
once he was in his own room, you sat beside him. laid half of your body next to him and slept. slept with him, holding his hand. hwajin woke up before you, smiling from happiness seeing you there. he was weak but was still desperate to touch you. feel you.
“pretty girl.”
his sweet voice pulled you from slumber and your eyes widened seeing that he was awake, “hwa! are you ok? do i need to get the doctor?” but he shook his head. what he needed? was you. only you. “come here.”
he pulled you onto the bed with him and you tried not to make it too uncomfortable but his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer than you intended to be but.. it felt right. “you’re such a sweet girl.” he whispered softly and you smiled, “my sweet girl.”
“w-what?” and before you could say anything else he leaned up just a bit to press his lips against your own.
the kiss was sweet. slow. he reached up and grabbed the back of your neck in a gentle manner, stopping you from pulling away. he tilted his head, deepening the kiss which caused you to whimper and he smiled against your lips.
“what do you say, we have an official date after i get out of here?” and you nodded, leaning in to kiss him a hundred times if that was even possible.
"Jesus christ! König stop it's not gonna... oh my god..."
You clutched at the mans broad shoulders. Cunt split open by just the tip of his cock. You said you'd try. You would give it your best effort. But that thing was a monster. It would tear you in two before he even got it all the way in.
König whined, tucking his head into your neck as he rocked the sliver of cock he had fit inside you just a little deeper.
"Schatzi... bitte... please. Just a little more... you are so tight..."
He sounded so needy. You had never heard the man so needy. You would have loved to let him fuck you silly, but it wasn't happening.
Your fingers carded through his hair gently. Shushing his desperate sobs. Running your free hand down his heaving chest to rest on his hip. Stopping him from pushing any further in.
"If you're gentle, and really good for me, you can jerk off like this. You think you can do that, love?"
He nodded, drooling onto your collarbone as he reached down to grip his cock. large hand easily covering what hadn't been shoved in your poor cunt.
It stung, but listening to him whimper like this was worth it. The fat tip of his cock throbbing inside you. His breathing hot and heavy against your chest. Needy lips finding your tits and latching onto your nipple like a life line.
You continued to pet his hair. Breathing through the stretch while he pleased himself. It didn't take long. The vice your cunt had around the tip of his cock was making his brain melt. Only a few eager strokes later and he was jerking forward. Ignoring your pained hiss as he spilled inside you.
"Danke... Danke..."
Before he had the chance to go limp on top of you, a harsh tug to his hair drew his attention.
"You'll clean up for me, won't you, sweet boy? Make me feel good, yeah?"
The dazed way he looked up at you was gorgeous. Eyes wet with tears and glazed over. Lips parted and drooling. Giving you a slow nod before he pulled out and shuffled lower to lap at your poor sensitive cunt.
when your stupid ex boyfriend kicks you out of the flat, he forgets to give you your cat back. you find the meanest looking guy in the bar to help you get her back.
type: one-shot (3.4k), ao3
cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of violence, smut, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral, simon is not a good or nice person (except to reader), reader also maybe isn't a good person who knows, reader has hair long enough to hold, curvy/plus-sized!reader, size difference, size kink, military inaccuracies, 18+
There is a special place in hell for men like Michael.
You can see her through the window by the door. Her big eyes are looking at where you are, paws against the glass. Her mouth opens, and she scratches at the window, and your bottom lip trembles as you set your hand down where she touches.
You could care less about the things you left inside. Your clothes, your bags, your shoes, even your fucking computer can stay behind, but not her. Your tabby cat is inside, sitting by the window, and Michael changed the fucking locks.
You bang on the door for an hour. You leave, come back, keep banging, but no one ever answers. You've never felt this desperate or uneasy, but every time you come back and see her by the window, you nearly lose all of your composure. It isn't fair. She doesn't belong to him. He can take years from you, take your money, take your sanity, but he won't take her. You'll come back every single day. You'll become a nuisance. You'll never let him relax. Until he gives her back to you, he will never know peace.
A single day passes before you decide it's time to take drastic measures.
The nearest military base is situated a good distance away, but not so far that you won't drive to its neighboring city. There's a small main road with a few local shops, including a few restaurants, a bookstore, a coffee shop, and the crown jewel—a pub.
It's just after supper time when you ring the bell above the door walking inside. On a Friday evening, it's lively, packed close with warmth and tall pints and plastic baskets full of chips and greasy fingerfoods.
There's a lot of military around here. You can tell by their haircuts and the way they chug their glasses; but you aren't looking for baby-faced rookies with too much pent-up aggression. You're looking for the meanest guy in the room, and that means someone with scars and someone who goes cloudy behind the eyes when you ask him how he's gotten back from where he's been.
That man is sitting at the far booth with his back to the wall. A place where he can have an eye on the rest of the room at all times. Big, gloved hand wrapped around a sweating glass, gaze focused on the foam of his beer as he pretends to listen to whatever the red-cheeked man across from him is laughing about.
You ask the bartender what they're drinking and order another round, picking up each glass and making your way towards their table. You'd be nervous if you weren't so determined. You stand awkwardly beside the table before his friend notices you there.
"Tha' fer us, bonnie?"
He juts his chin out at the drinks you're holding, and you set them down with a nervous smile.
"Yeah," you look between them. You fixate on the big guy, who barely squints at you over his drink, and you bite your lip. "I was hoping you had room for one more."
His friend cackles, "aye. Always fer a pretty face."
"Cute," you swallow. "But…I wasn't really talking to you."
The bigger one sits up at that. He leans back in the booth, rolling out his shoulders, and you hop up onto the seat next to him. His friend seems to get the message, picking up his new drink and tipping it towards you before taking a long drink of it and going to find a warm spot at the bar.
"Lookin' for advice or a fuck?"
"Neither," you say softly. "You're big, yeah? Are people…generally afraid of you?"
He laughs, and when he wipes at his masked face, you see a glimpse of a tattoo sleeve that adorns his massive left arm.
"Suppose."
"Great. How much for you to be my bodyguard for a few hours?"
He kisses his teeth under the mask, and then he turns his head to look down at you. His eyes are half-lidded, the skin looking a little greasy under the eye-black smudged there, but he's so calm and collected and amused. You've amused him; you're entertaining him. It's the most interesting thing that's happened to him all week, and you hope you're keeping his attention.
"Wot's tha' include?"
"It's gonna be illegal," you mumble, biting your bottom lip. "Just a little bit."
"Tha's my specialty, love."
"Not murder," you clarify, and he just shrugs. "Just…a little breaking and entering. Maybe some intimidation."
"'s Friday night, swee'eart, at least offer me somethin' fun."
"This isn't funny," you suck in a shaky breath. "It's…" You look down at the sticky pub table, swallowing again. You dig your nails into your own legs to keep your composure. "I need to get something back. Something that belongs to me. So it's not really…it's not really stealing."
A pregnant silence falls between you. You fail to keep the tears at your lash line back, and you quickly use the back of your hand to wipe your face gently. You think about your cat scratching for you on the other side of the window. You think about her sweet face; you think about Michael forgetting to feed her in the mornings as he usually did, and how he never changed the water filter in time even when you asked him to.
"'m Simon."
The low timbered voice breaks you out of your inner spiral. You look up at him again, and when you meet his eyes, you're finally able to let out a breath of relief. You don't know why, but there's something extremely soothing about sitting next to him. About being in his vicinity. He's so large and takes up so much space, but it's warm there, and he's not as mean as his outer layer might suggest. He's calm, and the way he presents himself tells you that it is not by luck that he's still sitting beside you.
You tell him your name, and his gloved hand touches under your chin.
"Olright, love. Lead the way."
Every time you have ever come back to this apartment, you have met the closed door with dread. A little fear. You feel none of that; not with the apparition at your back. You knock on the window beside the door, and like always, she appears. She meows on the other side, her eyes wet as she scratches and sniffs. You look over your shoulder at Simon who tilts his head to the side.
"This wot he stole?"
You look back at her on the other side of the window, shrugging.
"No," you say softly. "But it's all that matters."
The jiggling of metal brings your attention back to him. Simon is at the door, a multi-tool in one hand, and he's focused intently on working the doorknob until you hear the sound of a lock turn and then the door opens. The chain on the door jangles just as Simon opens it slightly, and you watch with rapt attention as he sticks his arm inside for just a few seconds, and then he swings the door open wide.
You push past him, reaching for the cat. She meows loudly, coming right to you, and you coo as you bend and pick her up from the floor. Loud purrs and sweet chirps follow as you hug her to your chest. You pet her little head, turning towards the living room. You used to keep her carrier behind the couch, and you find it as you go searching for it, exactly where you left it. You slip her inside and zip it up.
"What the fuck is this?"
You freeze, standing up straight and turning. You're caught, definitely—you knew he must have been home by the fact that the chain was latched, but you tried the nice way. You weren't going to get your cat back by being patient, not anymore.
"I'm just getting her, I'll…I was just leaving."
"Fuck no, you broke into my flat."
"Our flat," you snap back, putting the straps of the carrier over your shoulder. "And I'm leaving."
Michael looks like he's going to take a step towards you, but then he notices the dark shape in the corner of the room. He frowns a little, squinting.
"Who the bloody hell is that?"
You turn just in time to see Simon take a small step forward. The sudden movement seems to terrify Michael; he scrambles backwards into the kitchen counter, making the plates behind him fall off the counter and shatter onto the ground. He nearly trips over himself trying to get distance, and Simon seems to think it's very funny. He laughs, chest heaving, and he looks down at you as he gets closer.
"Flopping like a fuckin' fish, he is, in'he?"
Michael looks around frantically before he finds a pair of prongs. His hand shakes as he holds the pointy end towards Simon, spitting at him.
"Get the fuck out of my flat! T-The both of you!"
Simon's reaction tells you that maybe he has a few wires crossed in his head. He steps forward instead of away, laughing still, and you watch warily as he tilts his head to the side and nods his head towards Michael.
"Go on, then, mate," Simon taunts. "Try it."
Like a fool, Michael obliges. You flinch when Michael swings, but Simon tilts his body at just the right moment to dodge. He smacks Michael's arm, but he tries again—and like playing footie with a child, the weapon is now in Simon's hand, and then oh—
Michael's screaming as it pierces through his open palm.
He bleeds a lot less than you thought he might. Sadly, also, his blood is as red as yours. You thought he might be a little less pathetic at a moment like this. It is a gift, however, to see him bursting into tears as Simon grips the collar of his shirt and leans over him.
"Lot like you like to take things that aren't yers, tha' right?" Simon spits. "Like to punish and intimidate and fuckin' take, even if ya aren't owed."
"Please—please just get out, take her, fuckin' please!"
"Oi, wot's all this?" Simon snorts. "Now yer pissin' where you stand cause it got too real, eh? Got wot was comin' ta you? Reckon it's not like you thought. Reckon you thought she'd come hat in hand, beggin' for wot she deserves, but you wouldn't know good cunt even if it sat on yer face, yeah?"
"Please…"
"Simon—" You try, but he tsks, shaking his head.
"Nah, love, he's gonna learn," Simon murmurs. "Have you learned?"
"Yes," Michael squeaks, and you're not longer staring at the blood dripping on the hardwood, you're oogling at the giant man standing in what once was your kitchen that's starting to look more delicious by the second.
"Good," Simon breathes. "I know where ya lay yer head, mate. Know where ta come back if things aren't quiet on her end. You'd do well to remember tha'."
He releases Michael with a shove; Michael sinks to the floor, hands trembling, and Simon makes his way towards you to put a hand to your back and turn you around towards the front door.
"Need anythin' else?" Simon asks. You're too speechless to say anything, so all you do is shake your head. You clutch the carrier closer; she meows from inside the bag, and Simon nods his head towards outside so that you start moving. The door shuts behind you both, and then you're being led to his truck, ushered into the passenger seat, precious cargo on your lap as you breathe a huge sigh of relief.
The drive is quiet, but a comfortable quiet. You don't realize until a few streets over that you're smiling; a big, sparkling grin that's taking over your face, and when Simon rolls his truck to a stop at a red light, you lean over the center console and give his masked cheek a big, wet kiss of gratitude.
"Got a death wish or somethin'?" Simon turns to look at you, glaring from under the mask. It's so hard to be scared of him. He just put the fear of God into your terrible ex-boyfriend so you could get your precious cat back; he scared him shitless—literally—and he did it looking this good.
"Is that what a kiss gets me?" You ask. You slide your hand down his bicep, swallowing the drool when you feel just how solid and beefy he is under that hoodie. He fills it out too well. He must be so fucking handsome under that mask; there's no way he wears it for anonymity, he must be so hot, he wears it so he doesn't have to swat away all the boys and girls when they usually buzz around him like moths to light—
Maybe death is really this sweet. This good. Your cat is snoozing, safe and sound, in your bedroom with a full belly. The lights are on low; soft orange glows from well-placed lamps, giving the entire living room a warm feeling. There's a man on your couch with his belt unbuckled, mask halfway up his face as he pants because his cock is in your mouth, and he tastes like sweet, sweet victory.
"Ahh—fuck."
You nuzzle your nose up the length. He's so hard; you don't think a man has ever been this hard for you. He's leaking so pretty, dribbles down the length that you catch with the tip of your tongue, forcing him to hiss and spit and bite his knuckles. He keeps his hips still, but his hand around your hip squeezes the flesh there nice and tight, borderline bruising when you suck his tip a little too softly. You lick a stripe around the head before leaning back up towards him, and his hand around your hip curls against the back of your neck as you share a messy, wet kiss.
You twist your wrist, pumping his cock with a gentle glide of your palm, and he grits his teeth between kisses, touching his forehead to yours.
"Oll tha' for a cat, yeah?"
It is true. You did do it for her. But you did it for you, too.
"Not just the cat," you whisper, smoothing your thumb along the tip. He kisses you again, slower this time, and you groan into his mouth as you squeeze your thighs together. "Look at you…"
"Fuck—" Simon grunts, and his other hand finds the base of his cock, squeezing hard, and you giggle as he scrunches his nose. "Don't say shit like tha'."
You can't with his mouth on your cunt. He's laying flat on his back on the couch, legs too long to fit. Boots against your blanket, you'll whine to him about it later, but now both thighs are on either side of his head, and he's slurping with a hot tongue. You cup both sides of his head, dragging your hips, and while normally you'd think twice about dropping your weight on someone like this, the ease at which he hoisted you up his chest tells you Simon's a big, big boy—and he can handle whatever you give him.
"Gonna let me handle things from now on," Simon murmurs. He kisses the inside of your thigh, and you yelp when he smacks one side of your ass. He's waiting for an answer, and you took too long to give one.
"Y-Yeah," you breathe, leaning your head back. You feel yourself dripping between the legs, flooding his mouth, but he curls his tongue all the same. Uses two thumbs now as he hooks his arms around your thighs to pull the wet, sensitive skin back so he can drink what he's owed. He said he takes payment like this, getting his fill; he says he's never really satisfied until there's cum in his mouth and some in your cunt, and he's not gonna leave your flat before becoming familiar with those two, mutually non-exclusive events.
"Yeah, y'r pretty, olright," Simon laughs, but there's no more humor when he bounces you on his cock. Oh, he hurts a little. He told you he might, but then you're really there, knees on either side of him as you clutch onto the meat of his shoulders and hope to God he doesn't let you go. "Told you tha' you'd feel it, didn't I?"
"Yeah," you whisper, cupping that face of his, half-revealed to you, and you rub your thumbs down his scarred cheeks. Gorgeous, even with eyes that dead inside. "'s big."
"Don't—" He snarls, holding down your hips, shaking his head. "Wot did I say about sayin' shit like tha', eh?"
Life has spoiled you. Life is too good. Life is your pet curled up between your pillows and warm beneath the blankets, and life is fucking the sanity out of big, pudgy military men with blood under their fingernails and their breath stuck in their throat. You've rendered Simon to nothing but grunts and sputters. He's focused on keep the rhythm, arms clasped around your middle as he fucks up into you and pants into your neck. You reach for the back of the couch, digging your nails in, and all you can do is cry and take it as he keeps bringing you back down again and again and again.
The kiss you share is starved. You're so hungry, your hand slipping under the mask to cup the back of his head, and he draws your hips down and holds you there as he licks into your mouth and relishes in the pulsing of your cunt. This is what he fights for, maybe.
Not the glory. Not for the good of others. Not for Price and his self-guided moral compass, not for Laswell and her targets, not for revenge, not for blood, not to save the world. It's so he can come back here onto home soil and fuck a gorgeous girl without ever being interrupted by the sound of anything but her.
Her. You. Whatever she is, what you are, what you will eventually be—it manifests itself in the very room he's in, and he's got it between his teeth, and he won't be letting go for anything.
Nothing at all.
He's smoking a cigarette by the open window as she makes tea. He smiles, just barely, with teeth a little yellow when he sees you burn your hand a little as you pour the water into a misshapen mug.
"Olright?" He asks. The mugs shake a little as you bring them back into the room, precarious as you overfilled the mugs. He takes one from you and takes a long sip, flicking the cigarette out as he watches you get settled. You set your mug down on the coffee table, leaning forward to give him that same sweet, wet kiss on his cheek.
"Never better."
Belly full. Eyes bright. You are nothing like the woman that propositioned him just a few hours ago. A monotone, piss-drink evening, and then a scared, desperate girl asking him if he was willing to do something a little off the books.
Fucking finally. The world was just starting to get a little too dull.
It's the middle of the night when he hears the creak of a door. The sound of a little bell. You're laid out on your side, having just fallen asleep. The movie on the telly still plays, but Simon has turned the volume down. The light flickering from the screen is enough that he sees the cat trot into the room, eyes searching for you and seeing the two of you settled there.
She comes over slowly, sniffing the toes of Simon's boots, and then she closes her eyes as she rubs her face against his leg. Low purring, headbutts, and then she's putting a paw to his boot and looking up at him with the same big, wet eyes her mother has. Simon reaches down, scratching under her chin, and then she's curling up on his lap, little head next to yours as he leans back and takes it in. The sight for sore eyes. The thing that makes his medals and his stripes and all the money in the world look worthless—cheap.
"Yeah," Simon takes another sip of his tea. "This'll do."
homelander | Imagine being the only person whose opinion truly matters to him.
The world worships Homelander. Crowds chant his name, cameras flash, and entire cities breathe easier just knowing he’s watching from the sky. He smiles for them, waves for them, saves them.
But none of it ever feels like enough.
Not unless you’re watching.
Imagine standing in a quiet room high above the city, the distant hum of traffic far below. He’s just returned from another flawless rescue—cape still fluttering slightly, uniform untouched, eyes searching.
Not for danger.
For you.
“Did you see it?” he asks, voice carefully controlled, almost hopeful. “I stopped the plane from crashing. Not a single casualty.”
You hesitate. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe the words don’t come quickly enough. Maybe you simply don’t react the way he expects.
And the change in him is immediate.
The air grows heavy, charged with something unspoken. His smile falters, just for a second, before slipping away entirely. The city lights flicker across his face as disappointment settles in, fragile and terrifying in equal measure.
Imagine the most powerful man in the world stepping closer, uncertainty creeping into his posture.
Then, slowly, he kneels.
Not out of humility.
Out of reverence.
His gloved hands hover near you, as if afraid to touch without permission. When he finally looks up, his expression is raw—eyes shining with unshed tears, desperation barely contained beneath the surface.
“Tell me I’m good,” he whispers, voice trembling with need. “Please.”
The plea hangs in the air, fragile and suffocating.
Because you know he doesn’t just want praise—he needs it. Your approval is the axis on which his entire world spins. Without it, the adoration of millions means nothing.
Imagine him resting his forehead lightly against your hand, seeking comfort like something lost and wounded, despite the unimaginable power he holds.
“I’ll do anything to deserve it,” he murmurs. “Anything you want. Just… don’t look at me like I’ve failed.”
And in that moment, it becomes terrifyingly clear:
Summary: The Glade boys keep getting rejected by you—leader of the ultra-organized girls’ camp—until they send Minho, who surprisingly wins you over, leaving everyone stunned and teasing him relentlessly as he becomes their unofficial envoy.
Minho x leader!reader
Navigation
There were rules in the Glade—unwritten ones, sure, but no less important than not going into the Maze after dark or respecting the Keepers. And one of the most ironclad rules, known to every boy after only a week of being here, was this:
Don’t mess with the girls’ camp.
They were organized, terrifyingly competent, and built like a well-oiled machine. Their gardens bloomed. Their cookfires never smoked. They kept order like some kind of military unit—and leading them was her.
You.
You weren’t cruel, but you weren’t friendly either. You had rules. You enforced them. You did not deal with whining, excuses, or disorganized shuckfaces who thought charm could get them out of a favor.
Which is why, when the boys ran low on clean bandages, Alby gathered a small delegation and declared, “We’re going to ask the girls.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Newt groaned, rubbing his temple. “Bloody hell, not this again.”
“They’re the only ones who sew,” Alby insisted. “And we need bandages.”
“They’re not gonna give you anything,” Gally muttered from his perch on a crate. “Last time you went, she told you to eat grass.”
Alby scowled. “That was a joke.”
“She didn’t smile when she said it, man.”
“I say we send Winston,” Zart chimed in.
“Why me?” Winston blinked. “I still got a black eye from the last time.”
Newt, always the peacekeeper, raised his hands. “Look, let’s not be dramatic. Just go, ask nicely. No dumb jokes. No flirting. Just respect.”
They all looked at Alby.
He stood taller. “I’ll try again. Properly.”
Attempt #1: Alby.
Rejected in 34 seconds.
He came back with his pride in pieces.
“What happened?” Frypan asked, eyes wide.
“She looked me dead in the eyes,” Alby muttered, “and said: ‘Being in charge doesn’t mean you get what you want. It means you do what’s right. Learn that.’ Then she handed me a stick and told me to whittle my own damn bandages.”
Gally burst out laughing. “She gave you homework.”
Alby scowled. “She’s scary.”
Attempt #2: Gally.
Rejected in 18 seconds.
He returned in a rage.
“Didn’t even let me speak!” he shouted. “I walked up, and she turned around, crossed her arms, and said, ‘No.’ No. Just that. Didn’t ask what I wanted. Didn’t care.”
“She read your soul,” Newt muttered.
“She judged my aura!”
Attempt #3: Newt.
Rejected politely, but firmly, in 53 seconds.
“She smiled at me,” he admitted, sitting down beside Alby. “But not like… friendly. More like I was a kid holding a toy sword.”
Frypan leaned in. “So she called you cute and weak?”
“She asked if I was lost.”
Alby snorted. “We’re gonna die without bandages.”
Minho, quiet until now, finally looked up from where he was sharpening a knife. “You guys are hopeless.”
They all turned to him.
“No way,” Winston said. “You wouldn’t.”
Minho smirked. “You’ve all gone in like beggars. You need tact.”
Newt leaned forward. “You think she’ll listen to you?”
“I think,” Minho said, standing, “you’ve been sending the wrong people.”
Attempt #4: Minho.
From a safe distance, the boys watched as he crossed the Glade. You were kneeling in the garden, sleeves rolled up, tending to something in the soil.
Minho crouched beside you, said something they couldn’t hear.
You looked up. Expression unreadable. The boys held their breath.
And then—
You nodded.
Minho smiled.
You stood, dusted off your hands, and walked into the supply tent. A minute later, you came back and handed him a neat stack of rolled white fabric—bandages. Real ones. Clean ones. Better than anything they had.
Minho waved once, cool and easy, and walked back like he hadn’t just done the impossible.
The boys lost it.
“No way!”
“She said yes?!”
“Did she touch your hand?”
“What did you say to her?!”
Minho grinned as he dropped the bandages onto the crate. “I asked nicely.”
Alby stared at him like he’d grown wings. “No. You did something. Witchcraft.”
Minho shrugged, casually stretching. “Maybe she likes me.”
They all froze.
Newt blinked. “Wait. What?”
Gally leaned in. “Hold up. You think she likes you?”
Minho’s smug smile didn’t falter. “Did she give you bandages?”
And just like that, a new Glade protocol was born.
From that day forward, there was one rule for requesting help from the girls:
Send Minho.
Burned rations? Minho asked for vegetables.
Broken tools? Minho fetched replacements.
They even made him a clipboard once as a joke. He used it seriously for two days. You didn't laugh—you helped him inventory.
The boys watched in stunned amazement every time.
“She gave him salt,” Frypan whispered once, horrified. “I’ve been cooking without flavor for months.”
“I think she gave him sugar last week,” Winston murmured. “She’s never even said my name.”
They held secret meetings about it, like confused scientists studying a phenomenon.
“She acts totally different when he’s around,” Newt said one night by the fire. “Like, not mean. Still scary, yeah, but like… warm scary.”
“She smirks at him,” Gally added.
“She laughs at his jokes,” Alby muttered. “She told me I was wasting oxygen.”
Minho just sipped water from a clean canteen—you’d probably given him that too—and said, “What can I say? I’m charming.”
The final confirmation came two weeks later.
The boys needed fabric again—this time for blankets. But Minho was injured, twisted ankle from a Maze run. He was benched.
“We have to ask without him,” Winston said grimly.
They drew straws.
Newt lost.
He walked over slowly, holding the request list like a bomb. You were seated at the table in your camp, writing in a notebook. Elara — your second in command — sat beside you, watching with an amused smirk.
You didn’t even look up when Newt approached.
“Minho’s hurt,” he began. “So I came to—”
“No.”
He blinked. “I haven’t even asked—”
“No.”
“…Right.”
He walked back like a defeated soldier.
The boys stared.
“I told you,” Gally said, pointing. “She doesn’t even listen to us.”
“She’s got a forcefield,” Alby muttered. “Only Minho gets through.”
They all turned to him.
Minho, icing his ankle, just raised his brows. “So what I’m hearing is… you need me again.”
It became routine.
You never smiled at Gally. Never gave Alby more than two-word replies. Newt earned a nod now and then. But with Minho?
You’d roll your eyes at his jokes, sure—but you didn’t walk away.
You didn’t reject him.
Sometimes, the boys caught you lingering after he left. Watching him walk back. Once, Newt swore he saw you tuck your hair behind your ear after he winked.
It became a joke. A running gag.
“Send Minho.”
“Minho’s our ambassador now.”
“Our princess only bends the knee for him.”
Minho took it all with a smirk. But sometimes—just sometimes—he looked toward your camp with something quieter in his eyes. Something none of the boys dared tease.
Because beneath the smug grins and teasing bets… there was a feeling. One they couldn’t name, but all of them recognized:
You liked him.
And maybe—just maybe—he liked you too.
One night, around the fire, they couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“So,” Frypan said, grinning, “when’s the wedding?”
Minho didn’t even flinch. “She hasn’t proposed yet.”
Alby snorted. “If she did, you’d say yes in two seconds.”
“Two? Please. Half a second.”
“You know she never even talks to the rest of us, right?” Winston asked.
“She once told me my voice gave her a headache,” Gally grumbled.
Minho leaned back on his hands, eyes drifting toward your camp, where you were organizing storage with Elara under a torchlight.
“She’s not cold,” he said. “She’s focused. That’s not a crime.”
Newt hummed. “Focused, yeah. But you bring out something else in her.”
“Softness,” Frypan added.
“Warmth,” Winston agreed.
“Ladle-related mercy,” Gally muttered.
They all looked at Minho.
He shrugged. “Guess I’m special.”
Newt nudged him. “Or maybe you just make her feel safe.”
That quieted them. A little too real.
Minho didn’t respond right away. He just kept looking at you.
“She makes me feel safe too,” he said finally, voice soft.
What If: You were Shingen and Shintaro's older sister
Main Series Title/AU: My Baby Brother is the Strongest Character
<<read the synopsis and content warnings first>>
featuring: Shingen and Shintaro Yamazaki, Gapryong Kim
“We shouldn’t be here, Shingen!”
“If you’re too scared then you can go back but I wanna see the ghost.”
“I’m not scared and there is no ghost.”
“Well then, how do you explain the rumors? The maids said they always hear footsteps at night when the place should be empty.”
“They’re just rumors, probably something one person came up with to entertain themselves.”
“If it’s a rumor then how come you’re clinging to me like a baby?”
“I’m not—ah, sh!”
“Huh?”
“Look!”
The door to the kitchen was slightly ajar, a stream of light peeking through the crack.
The two brothers crept forward in sync. When they reached the door, they looked at each other, silently nodded, then pushed open the door.
A figure draped in white stood by the stove.
Shingen screamed, “Ghost!”
The ghost almost dropped the pan in its hands. “Aaah!”
“Aaaah!”
Shintaro grabbed his brother by the shoulders. “Calm down! It’s not a ghost! Just an intruder.”
“I’m not an intruder, I live here,” you gasped out once you calmed down. “You’re the ones who snuck in here.”
“This is our house!” Shingen bit back.
“Well, I’ve never seen either of you here and I’ve lived here since I was a baby.”
“Yeah? Well—”
“Wait,” Shintaro said, holding back Shingen from shouting again, then he whispered something into his brother’s ear, who promptly recoiled at his words.
“No way! That’s just a rumor!”
“Think about it, there’s no other explanation, is there? None of the maids would be foolish enough to break the rules like this.”
“You know, for a couple of ‘young masters,’ you’re very rude. Your elder sister is standing right in front of you and you’re mumbling to each other, ignoring her.”
They turned to you in unison, hackles raised like two twin pups.
You laughed. “Judging by the looks on your faces, you already guessed it.”
“But the midwife said that we don’t have any other siblings—”
“—they told us that everyone else was taken care of.”
“I guess I slipped through the cracks.” You shrugged and placed your attention back to the stove. “Or maybe they didn’t see me as a threat.”
The boys exchanged glances and you waved them over.
“If you’re going to stay then might as well join me for dinner.”
"It's midnight."
"Clearly.”
"Mother says you'll gain weight when you eat after bedtime."
"She's not wrong, but if there’s any time not to worry about weight gain, it’s during one’s youth.”
“...you sound like an old man.”
“I’ll pinch you, brat.”
Shingen had lowered his guard way too quickly and leaned over your pan. “What're you cooking?”
“Caramelized Spam and eggs. They go great with leftover rice.”[1]
“What's a Spam?”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not sh-shitting you!”
“Right, sorry.” You stifled your laughter and gestured for them to sit at the kitchen island.
Shingen moved first, but Shintaro held onto his brother’s arm.
“Afraid it’s poisoned?” you asked, grabbing two more bowls from the cupboard. “Don’t worry, young master, I value my life.”
You scooped cold rice into three bowls, set one down for each person, then went to plate the Spam and eggs on one big dish.
You gave them each a spoon and then took a seat across from them. “Bon appetite.”
Not bothering to wait for them, you dug in, enjoying the hot meat and eggs with the cold rice.
Shingen picked up his spoon and poked at his bowl. “I’ve never seen brown rice like this before.”
“Brown rice? Oh, that. That’s okoge.[2] You can’t get that stuff with fancy rice cookers, unless you’re exceptionally bad at cooking.”
You then paused. Shintaro still appeared skeptical, but Shingen was drooling.
“If you don’t want them then hand the bowls over—”
“No! I wannit!” Shingen shoved a spoonful into his mouth and coughed.
“Shingen!”
You pushed your cup of barley tea towards him.
Shingen gulped down the tea in one go before turning to his brother. “It’s good!”
Shingen resumed eating, forgetting his etiquette lessons entirely as he devoured the dish like a starved child.
You raised an eyebrow at Shintaro, who was sneaking jealous glances at his brother.
“If you don’t want it then—”
“No! I’ll try it!” It was scary how much he copied his twin’s actions, choking and coughing until you poured him some tea.
“Well?”
He gave you a flustered, satisfied smile. “It’s delicious!”
You grinned. “Right?”
They finished their share in seconds and proceeded to drool at your mostly untouched bowl. You were so amused that you forgot about eating.
With a defeated sigh, you pushed your dinner towards them.
They raised their heads sheepishly,as if to ask, “Are you sure?”
Chuckling, you plopped your chin onto your knuckles. “Go ahead.”
This was supposed to be your first meal this week, but what the heck, you still had some instant noodles stashed in your room.
It was a dreadfully beautiful summer day. The sky was blue without a trace of rain and Shingen Yamazaki chose to appreciate it through a closed window, from the comfort of his room. Years ago, on days just like this one, he would have been outside, dragging Shintaro with him, to draw the view on cheap paper with even cheaper crayons as they sipped lemonade with their sister.
But such lovely days were a distant dream now. Summer, winter, fall, spring, sunny, rainy—they all melted into one long, treacherous moment that never seemed to end.
He could hear footsteps approach his quarters. He could see the familiar silhouettes behind the paper screen.
“Good morning, Leader.” It was Shintaro. “May we come in?”
“...”
Shintaro’s silhouette turned to the men behind him. “Leave us. I would like to speak with the Leader alone.”
“Yes, sir!” They bowed and scurried away.
Shingen remained silent even as his twin stepped inside. His only reaction was a gentle rub of acknowledgement on the dog that sauntered over.
“You can’t keep running away from your duties like this. Father’s going to have a cow and terrify the whole house again.”
“...Shintaro, have we received any letters?”
“No.”
“You think she’s dead.”
“It’s been over six years. If nee-sama is alive then perhaps she just doesn’t want to speak with us anymore.”
“Nee-chan’s not like that.”
“No, but let’s be realistic. A lot can happen in six years. Maybe she has a new family.”
“Don’t be absurd. No man is worthy enough to marry nee-chan.”
“I agree, but more importantly, Shingen—”
“What?”
“Aren’t you embarrassed calling her ‘nee-chan’?”[3]
“...Shintaro.”
“Yes?”
“Get out.”
“Noona~ Are you free later?”
You stuck the bill on Gapryong Kim’s forehead and didn’t bother giving him a reply.
You smiled at Baekho Kwon[4], who sat right across from him. Piles of dishes framing his face. “Will that be all?”
“Ah, yes, I’m full. Thank you, noona.”
“Sure thing.” You didn’t spare Gapryong a glance before checking in on the other customers. He kept staring at you though, intentions clear as day to everybody else.
“Boss, why do you keep hitting on her? You told me that men shouldn’t be too persistent.”
“Tsk, tsk, you’re still too naive. Noona likes me.”
“I’m sure she does, but…” She doesn’t want to date you… “You have other ladies, don’t you?”
“Noona’s different, Baekho. One day, you’ll meet someone who’s like her—someone for you, and you’ll understand why I haven’t given up.”
***
You finished refilling glasses and informed the chef and owner of all the new orders.
“Thanks, kid. Minseon[5] and I can handle things from here.”
“Are you sure?”
As if on cue, Minseon walked over with a tray of dirty dishes. “We’ll be fine. You still have your shift at the call center, right? You don’t want to be late.”
“It’s already late,” the owner stated, pointing at the night sky. “I know, get Gapryong to take you there.”
You and Minseon shared an exasperated smile.
“Dad, stop setting them up. She’s not interested in dating or marriage, especially not with that thug.”
“Bah! He’s tall, reasonably good-looking, and with that body of his he can work anywhere so you don’t have to worry about money ever again. What don’t you like about him?”
“I think of him more like…a little brother. And he’s a playboy,” you answered.
“Exactly. Just last night, one of his girlfriends found out about his other girls and slapped him in front of everyone. It was pretty funny.”
The man waved his arms.
“You young women these days have such high standards. You’ll end up as old maids at this point.”
Minseon sighed, “That’s enough, dad.”
“Right, right, right. Go before you miss the train—oh, and take this lunchbox with you. I packed some boiled eggs for you to snack on.”
“I appreciate it, thanks, boss.” You bowed lightly. “See you both tomorrow.”
As you stepped outside the cafeteria, you sensed familiar footsteps right behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Gapryong.
“You should’ve called me.”
“You always come even when I don’t so why bother?”
“I can’t argue with that.” Gapryong checked his watch. “It’s already nine p.m.”
“So it is.”
“You’re off to that call center again?”
“Yeah. Night shift.”
“What on Earth are they thinking, employing women this late?”
“Hey, don’t talk like that. I’m grateful they didn’t fire me.”
“What time do you finish?”
“Six a.m. It’ll be daylight then so you don’t have to pick me up.”
“No way. There are lots of pervs even at that hour.”
You shook your head. “Do what you want.”
“...”
“...”
“Hey, noona.”
“What is it?”
“Why are you working so hard? I mean, I know you like money, but what exactly are you saving up for?”
You glanced up at the moon. “I’m not sure, really.”
“...”
“I guess I just don’t enjoy being left alone in the silence. Working keeps me busy. By the time I’m done, I’m so exhausted that there is no space in my mind for worrying. I can sleep in peace.”
“...what will you do when you finally get your memories back?”
“I’m not sure.” You gave him a small, playful smile. “But at least I’ll have some extra cash by then.”
[1] Whenever I write about food in my fics, it's because I've been craving that specific dish. Alas, I'm on a diet so I can't eat them right now sdflsdf
[2] Okoge. Japanese, literally "burnt rice." Apparently, it's also slang for a woman who hangs out with gay men, i.e. a fag hag.
In the Philippines, we call it "tutong" and because I only eat instant dry rice for weight loss, I haven't had tutong in MONTHS. ദ്ദി╥ ᴗ ╥)
"The more you know aaand shooting star."
[3] For those who might not get the joke, in Japan, the honorific "-chan" is seen as very cutesy and is primarily used by children and women. Reminder that Gun (in the main AU) uses "Nee-san" while Shintaro here uses "Nee-sama." Seeing as how Shingen is Shingen (y'know, tall, muscle-bound and terrifying yakuza boss) using "-chan" when referring to his older sister seems silly now that he's an adult. (Also, disclaimer, I'm not fluent in Japanese, I'm just using what little knowledge I have based on the many Japanese media I've consumed.)
[4] Baekho Kwon: Jerry Kwon's father.
[5] Minseon Kang: Jake Kim's mother.
Author's Note: I may have to dedicate separate masterlists for these branch timelines because I'm scared of overloading the MBBITSC masterlist.
she confesses when she's drunk but doesn't remember it the next morning ᯓ★
how one piece men would react when she confesses while being drunk but forgets about it the next morning
luffy , zoro , sanji , law
fluff
MONKEY D. LUFFY ── .✦
The music was loud. Too loud. The kind that made the deck feel like it was swaying even though the sea was calm.
She was laughing, cheeks warm, arms wrapped tightly around Monkey D. Luffy as they clumsily danced in the middle of the celebration. She was completely drunk.
“This is fun!” she declared, spinning them both before losing balance and pressing herself closer instead. “You’re really fun, y’know that?”
“Hehe! I know!” Luffy said proudly, arms steady around her so she wouldn’t fall.
She tilted her head up, eyes glassy but bright, happiness spilling out of her like it couldn’t be contained. “Luffy,” she said, suddenly very serious. Too serious.
He hummed. “Yeah?”
“I like you,” she whispered. Then, softer. “No… I love you.”
His brain stopped.
Before he could even ask what that meant, her grip loosened. She slumped forward, forehead hitting his chest as she knocked out cold.
“Hey- HEY!” Luffy yelped, panicking for exactly three seconds before helping her up easily. “She fell asleep!”
The crew laughed. Someone teased. Someone else carried on drinking.
But Luffy didn’t laugh.
The next morning, she woke up with a pounding headache and absolutely no memory of the night before.
Meanwhile, Luffy sat on the deck with his arms crossed, cheeks puffed out, staring into the horizon.
“You okay, Luffy?” Usopp asked.
“She said something,” Luffy muttered.
“What kinda something?”
“…A really important something.”
Later, she approached him nervously, bowing a little. “I heard I got really drunk last night. I’m sorry if I said anything weird.”
Luffy snapped his head toward her. “You don’t remember?”
She blinked. “Remember what?”
His pout deepened, lips sticking out so far it was almost impressive. He turned away with a huff. “Nothing’.”
She stared at his back for a second, panic slowly creeping in.
“Nothing?” she repeated. “You don’t pout like that over nothing.”
“I do,” Luffy said immediately.
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do.”
She squinted. “…You’re doing it right now.”
His shoulders hunched defensively. “I’m just sitting!”
“With your arms crossed and your face doing that thing,” she said, poking his cheek without thinking.
He recoiled like she’d committed a crime. “HEY! Don’t poke me!”
“Then stop acting weird!” she huffed.
Luffy turned just enough to glance at her, cheeks still puffed. “You gotta remember on your own.”
“That’s not fair!”
“It is fair,” he insisted. “You said it. So you gotta remember it.”
She groaned and dropped down beside him, hugging her knees. “I don’t even remember going to sleep.”
“You slept good,” he said quietly.
“…You watched me sleep, didn’t you.”
“Only a little!”
She stared at him and sighed, then softened, bumping her shoulder against his. “Okay. Hypothetically. If I did say something weird… was it bad?”
Luffy shook his head immediately. “Nope.”
“Embarrassing?”
He shrugged. “Kinda.”
Her face burned. “Oh no.”
“But!” he added quickly, leaning closer, voice dropping like it was a secret treasure map. “It made me really happy.”
She blinked. “It did?”
“Yeah,” he said simply. “So I’m not giving it back.”
“Giving what back?”
“My memory of it,” he said, poking her forehead this time. “It’s mine now.”
She stared at him, heart doing something stupid in her chest. “…You’re impossible.”
He beamed. “I know!”
RORONOA ZORO ── .✦
The party was loud behind them. Laughter, music, Usopp yelling about something exaggerated. None of it reached the quiet corner of the deck where she sat beside Roronoa Zoro, legs dangling over the edge, a bottle loosely held in her hand.
Zoro drank in silence, as always. Comfortable. Solid. Like the noise of the world couldn’t touch him if he didn’t want it to.
She leaned back on her palms, swaying slightly. “You’re really easy to sit with,” she said suddenly.
Zoro grunted. “You’re drunk.”
“Yeah,” she agreed cheerfully. Then she sucked in a deep breath, stood up far too fast, and-
“I LIKE ZORO A LOT!!!”
The entire deck went silent.
Sanji dropped a cup. Usopp choked.
Zoro’s eyes widened just a fraction.
She swayed, blinked once, and promptly collapsed.
Zoro caught her without thinking, arms locking around her before she could even hit the floor.
“…Tch,” he muttered, jaw tight.
The next morning was hell.
She woke up cheerful, slightly hungover, and completely unaware that she had just traumatized half the crew.
Zoro, meanwhile, avoided her like she was a cursed sword.
He changed training spots. Left rooms the moment she entered. Took naps in places she didn’t even know existed.
“Why is he acting like that?” she whispered later, genuinely confused.
Nami pinched the bridge of her nose. Robin smiled far too knowingly.
“You screamed your feelings at him,” Nami said flatly.
“…I did what?”
By the time she found Zoro, her face was on fire.
He was leaning against the railing, arms crossed, staring out at the sea like it personally owed him money.
“Zoro,” she said, cornering him before he could escape again.
He stiffened. “…What.”
She took a breath. “I’m sorry for whatever I said. If I made you uncomfortable.”
Silence.
“You could’ve just told me you don’t like me,” she added quietly. “You didn’t have to avoid me.”
He finally looked at her.
And gods, the intensity in his eye made her want to sink into the deck.
“Tch,” he clicked his tongue. “I never said I didn’t like you.”
Her heart skipped. “Then why are you avoiding me?”
“…Because,” he said slowly, “…I remember what you said.”
She froze.
“You don’t,” he continued, voice low. “And every time you smile at me like nothing happened, it pisses me off.”
“Oh,” she said softly. “Guess I’ll have to say it again. This time sober.”
He huffed. “…Idiot.”
But he didn’t move away when she stayed.
VINSMOKE SANJI ── .✦
The kitchen smelled like spices and leftover celebration. Pots were stacked, the stove still warm from Sanji’s late-night cooking when the door slid open a little too hard.
She stumbled in.
“Whoa-!” she mumbled, grabbing the counter for balance. “Why’s the floor moving?”
From the sink, Sanji froze mid-scrub.
“Y–Y/N-swan?!” He hastily rinsed his hands, water splashing everywhere as he rushed toward her. “Careful, careful! The kitchen is a dangerous place at night, especially for an angel such as-”
She giggled and promptly leaned into him, forehead resting against his chest.
“Sanji,” she said, dragging out his name playfully. “You’re always here.”
“Of course I am!” he said, heart already racing. “A cook must protect the heart of the ship- and you, my dear, are-”
She looked up at him suddenly, eyes bright and unfocused, then stood on her toes and pressed a soft, sloppy kiss to his cheek.
“I like you,” she whispered. “A lot.”
Steam practically exploded from his ears.
“K–K–KISS?!” His nose immediately betrayed him. “Y/N-swaaaan-!”
She smiled, completely satisfied, and promptly collapsed forward.
Sanji barely had time to catch her before the blood loss took him too.
They hit the floor together. She landed comfortably on top of him. Sanji passed out with stars in his eyes and a blissful smile on his face.
The next morning, she woke up confused.
Sanji woke up reborn.
Breakfast was heart-shaped. Coffee had foam art. He pulled out her chair, offered compliments every five seconds, wiped invisible dust from her shoulders, and declared her smile brighter than the sun at least twelve times before noon.
“…Did I hit my head?” she muttered to Nami.
“No,” Nami said flatly. “You hit him.”
Sanji appeared instantly at her side. “Y/N-swan, are you hungry? Thirsty? Emotionally fulfilled? I can fix all of it!”
She blinked. “…Why are you being like this?”
“Like what?” he asked, sparkles practically floating around him.
“So,” she said slowly, “…intense.”
He clasped his hands dramatically. “Last night, you bestowed upon me a treasure greater than the All Blue itself.”
She stared. “…I did?”
“Yes!” He leaned closer, voice soft, reverent. “Your confession. Your kiss. Your warmth as you slept upon my chest-”
Her face went scarlet.
“I-WHAT?!”
She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t even remember that!”
He smiled dreamily. “Then I shall simply worship you until you do.”
TRAFALGAR D. WATER LAW ── .✦
There was a knock at his door. Three of them, uneven. Careless. “Doctor,” a voice sang. “Doctooor.”
Law paused mid-page, brow twitching.
Another knock.
“Doctor Doctor,” she called again, muffled by the wood. “There’s something wrong with me.”
He sighed, already knowing exactly what kind of night this was going to be. “You’re drunk,” he said flatly.
The door slid open anyway.
She leaned against the frame, smiling far too brightly, finger pointed at her chest like she’d discovered a grave medical emergency. “My heart’s missing.”
Law looked up slowly. “…It’s beating.”
“Nope,” she said, wagging her finger. “You took it.”
Silence.
“…Get out.”
She gasped dramatically. “See? Cold. Unprofessional. Horrible manners.”
She wandered in anyway, shoes discarded halfway, plopping herself down on his bed like it was her personal couch. Law stood there, arms crossed, watching the disaster unfold with the patience of a man who had seen war.
“You know,” she continued, words spilling easier now, “you’re really unfair.”
“Tch.”
“You’re smart. And calm. And scary,” she said fondly. “But also kind. And you look at everyone like you’re carrying the whole world on your back.”
He didn’t respond.
She smiled at him anyway.
“I like you,” she said softly. “The doctor. The captain. You.”
Her voice dipped, just a little. “I wish you’d look at me the way I look at you.”
Law’s fingers curled at his side.
Before he could say anything, her rambling slowed. She curled up on his bed, cheek pressed into his pillow.
“Heart’s tired,” she murmured. “Doctor’s fault…”
And then she was asleep.
Law stood there for a long moment.
He turned the lamp lower. Pulled a blanket over her without waking her. Then he left a glass of water, hangover medicine, and a neatly folded note on the side table.
The next morning, she woke with a pounding head and the faint scent of antiseptic and soap.
Her eyes landed on the note.
You were drunk.
You said some weird stuff.
Drink the water. Take the medicine.
We’ll talk when you’re sober.
She swallowed.
“…Oh no,” she whispered, heart racing all over again.
Somewhere outside the room, Law smirked.
She sat up slowly, clutching the blanket like it might explain what she’d done.
“Oh my god,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face. “I told him everything didn't I? I actually told him everything.”
By the time she gathered the courage to leave the cabin, her heart was trying to beat its way out of her ribs.
She found him on deck, coat fluttering lightly in the wind, arms folded as he watched the sea like it was behaving suspiciously.
“Um,” she said.
He didn’t turn. “Head's hurting?”
“…Yes.”
“Toke the meds?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Silence stretched.
She shifted on her feet. “So. About last night.”
He glanced at her now, unreadable. “You remember it?”
She winced. “Bits.”
“You were being stupid,” he said calmly. “Annoyingly so.”
“That’s worse,” she groaned. “I’m really sorry if I crossed a line. I was drunk and rambling and doing wordplay and-”
“‘Doctor Doctor, you stole my heart,’” he recited flatly.
Her soul left her body.
She covered her face instantly. “PLEASE stop. I need to be thrown into the sea.”
A pause.
“…You fell asleep halfway through,” he added.
She peeked through her fingers. “You didn’t kick me out.”
“No.”
“You tucked me in.”
“…Yes.”
Her cheeks burned. “So you’re not mad?”
He exhaled slowly. “If I were mad, you wouldn’t be standing here.”
That… helped. A little.
She swallowed. “I meant what I said,” she admitted quietly. “Even if I said it badly.”
Law studied her for a moment, then clicked his tongue. “You said one thing wrong.”
Her heart dropped. “I did?”
“You said I never look at you the same way.”
He stepped closer, just enough that she had to tilt her head up.
“I do,” he said low. “I just don’t ramble about it.”
Her breath hitched. “…Oh.”
He turned back to the sea, ears faintly red beneath his hat. “Next time, tell me sober.”
She smiled despite herself, warmth spreading through her chest.
“Doctor,” she teased softly. “Something’s wrong with me.”
He sighed. “What now.”
“My heart’s still missing.”
A pause.
“…We’ll discuss treatment later,” he muttered.
She grinned.
author's note
I hope you enjoyed this <333 I will do a shanks , smoker , crocodile and lucci version too!!
If you’re at someone else’s house, enjoying a party, all you have to do is give him a look that tells him you’re bored or frustrated and need release before you go on a massacre. Lazily, he strolls to the nearest bathroom, unashamed to leave mid conversation or mid sentence. When you finally walk in some time later so as to not rouse suspicion, you find him inside, sitting on the lid of the toilet, jerking himself off so you can quickly slide down on his length and ride him to an easy release.
“Wait,” he mutters after, bringing your hips back to him. He slides his tongue through your puffy slit, scooping up his cum which oozes out of your cunt. “Need to clean you up, silly.”
Free use!Choso loves being used. It gives him purpose. It gets him up in the morning — figuratively and literally. He loves being woken up with your dripping cunt on his face, throbbing clit rubbed on the tip of his nose. Your juices filling his senses, dribbling inside his nose, sliding on his tongue and down his throat, is nothing short of euphoric.
“Mmm,” he moans, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs and fighting the urge to wrap around his cock (you get upset when he hasn’t asked for permission). “Thank you for choosing my face; you know I don’t like it when you deal with it yourself.”
Free use!Choso often actively waits for a sign. Sometimes he forces one himself. At dinner with your friends, he’ll be squirming in his seat, irritated that it’s taking so long and doing very little to hide it. He’ll openly grumble, “Can we go already? Christina won’t shut up about her boyfriend, Owen, and I don’t like either of them.”
“Choso,” you hiss. “Don’t be rude.”
He pushes away from the table and says, “I’ll be waiting in the backseat of the car. Please come soon so I can fuck you.”
Saying goodbye to a dinner you weren’t even enjoying, you come up with some shitty excuse to get out of there and angrily march over to the car. The door is yanked open and you’re about to tear him a new one, but the sight of his cock out, already hard, and leaking makes it hard to stay mad. You sigh, climbing inside. “You need table manners.”
“I’m polite enough when I eat you out,” he says, not remotely argumentative, simply factual.
Free use!Choso also responds to whistles, like a dog. As soon as you walk in, tired from work, you’ll whistle and he’ll appear almost out of thin air, ears perked up and tail wagging. He helps you shrug off your outer layers, sliding your shoes off and using that opportunity to sniff at your crotch.
“Oh I missed you,” he groans, showing you the wet mark on his sweatpants. “I missed you so much. Please use me, not your toys. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. Need your pretty pussy around me or I think I might die.”
Bounce on a cock, save a life, you suppose.
Was feeling a little burnt out so I needed a quick shot of free use choso
Because not only did you get the full reincarnation package—new life, new body, and parents who love you deeply—you were also dropped into a world that seems….fine. Suspiciously fine. No demon kings. No collapsing empires. No ominous prophecies whispered at birth. No magic….no foreshadowing?
Well.
Except for one thing.
You were reincarnated as a Filipino.
But hey, you’re rich. Your parents are rich—not corrupt politician rich like Sarah fucking Di*saya, but rich because your mommy and daddy who's mommies’ and daddies’ mommy and daddy worked grinded to ensure they’d leave a thick wealth for the next 10 generations (who tf wrote this? Basically you have great grandparents that worked their ass off). Also your mom adores you, your dad is present and emotionally available and both of them are far too cautious for another kid.
So you're an only child with generational wealth and zero pressure to “be the chosen one.” On top of that, you kept your memories from your past life, which means you’re technically smarter now. Not genius smart—but smart enough to recognize narrative patterns and red flags. Smart enough not to STRUGGLE in school.
And smart enough to be deeply, profoundly afraid.
Because you’ve read enough novels, watched enough anime, and consumed enough trashy isekai media to know one thing for certain: no author lets happiness last forever. Somewhere out there is a sick, sleep-deprived writer just itching to ruin your life for character development.
So you stay cautious. You enjoy the good days carefully, like they’re borrowed time. You watch your parents closely to ensure there is no tragic accident, the sudden illness, the “this will shape you into the protagonist” moment.
THANKFULLY nothing happens.
Years pass. Life remains warm. Normal. Almost boring. Boring is nice, it's good, it's safe.
Until your parents announce they’re moving to Japan.
That’s when you panic.
Because everyone knows that all “organic encounters,” all destiny-altering coincidences, and all “for-the-plot"” events only ever happen in Japan. Transfer students. Chance meetings at train stations. Being in the wrong alley at the wrong time. Parents dying to kickstart a villain or protagonist arc.
You try to stop them. You really do. You argue. You plead. You cite extremely questionable statistics based entirely on your logic.
They think you’re being dramatic—and cute.
They move anyway.
So now you’re here, in Japan, bracing for impact—convinced this is where everything ends. Or begins. Or gets horribly worse.
But maybe—maybe—you can cheat the system.
Maybe if you keep your head down.
Maybe if you stay quiet.
Maybe if you refuse to stand out.
You can survive as a side character.
A background extra in a perfectly vanilla shoujo anime.
No tragic backstory. No divine trials. No existential suffering beyond the usual.
Nothing more.
Nothing else.
Right?
a/n: This story contains mentions of Catholicism, the yn being Filipino for purely comedic purposes (it doesn't matter in later chapters), a lot of low-key offensive/dark jokes, depression, insecurities, irrational fear, the whole fic is mostly written in y/n's POV and mentions of suicide. But I swear on everything holy, this is a crack fic. Probably. And as always, yn would be as blank as possible aside from her personality.
gamechangershow
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blakekathryn
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izzy806
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dailybridgerton
