˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖞𝖆𝖗𝖉˚

− Higher than a Kite

✎strawhats x stoner! reader

♦︎fic type: drabble/headcannon

♦︎summary: short scenarios between the strawhat crew and their assassin who's always higher than a kite.

♦︎word count: 2.7k

♦︎warnings: none? smoking?

♦︎a/n: i was bored and decided to make a drabble for Stoner! reader whose a Strawhat. but I got carried away, so it's pretty much a bunch of scenarios I thought of for the past few days!

Stoner! Reader who is so relaxed and mellow almost to the point of concern from the crew.

Luffy asked you to join the crew because of how stealthy and undetectable you were. Given the fact that you were a feared Assassin and Hitman, but once everyone got to know you as a person, they questioned how you were able to become one of the world's greatest assassins.

I like to think that Sanji's never smoked weed before, mainly because cigarettes are easier to come by, but he'd definitely be willing to try it atleast once.

You convinced Usopp to smoke with you every once in a while, thinking it'll mellow him out. But the first time he ever smoked with you, he was so paranoid, he nearly threw himself overboard. Ever since then he's been apprehensive about the bud.

Despite that fact you've taken him under your wing as your prodigy, teaching him all the tricks and shortcuts when it comes to rolling up a blunt.

----

You find yourself sitting on a crate, a freshly rolled blunt in your hands, and a mischievous glint in your eye. Usopp is nearby, tinkering with one of his gadgets, when you decide to call him over. "Hey, Usopp," you say, patting the spot next to you. "Come here for a sec." He looks up, already wary. "What is it, Y/N? Another one of your crazy theories?"

You shake your head, chuckling. "Nah, nah. Today my friend, I’m going to teach you the art of crafting the perfect blunt." Usopp sighs, a look of exasperation crossing his face. "Do I have to?" You grin, patting the crate again. "Trust me, it’s worth learning. Come on, sit down."

With a dramatic sigh, Usopp takes a seat beside you. "Alright, fine. But if Chopper catches us, it’s on you." You laugh, shaking your head. "Don’t worry, he’s busy checking on Zoro. Now, pay attention." You pull out your supplies, laying them out with the precision of a seasoned craftsman. "See, the art of weed is the craftsmanship that goes into making the right blunt and perfecting your technique."

Usopp side-eyes you, a look of a disapproving mother gracing his face. "You act like this is a science project..." You smirk, your hands moving with practiced ease. "I like to think that it is. Now, first, you’ve got to break up the weed just right. Not too fine, but not too chunky either."

Usopp watches, his skepticism slowly giving way to curiosity. "Okay, so what’s next?" You continue, your hands deftly maneuvering the rolling paper. "Next, you spread it evenly. This part’s crucial. Too much on one side, and it’ll burn unevenly." Usopp leans in, his interest piqued despite himself. "Alright, I see. And then?"

You carefully roll the paper, tucking it neatly before licking the edge to seal it. "Then you roll it up, nice and tight. Not too tight, though. You want it to have a bit of give." He nods, clearly impressed despite his initial reluctance. "Okay, I think I get it."

You hand him the blunt, a proud smile on your face. "And there you go, your very own blunt!" He takes it gingerly, inspecting your handiwork. "Thanks, Y/N. I guess it is kind of like a science project."

You laugh, clapping him on the back. "Told you. Now, go enjoy it when you’re ready. Just remember to relax and have fun with it." As Usopp walks away, you can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Teaching him something new, even something as unconventional as rolling a blunt, brings a smile to your face.

----

Despite the fact that you're always higher than a kite, Sanji trusts you in the kitchen without his supervision. Something you take advantage of, as one morning you found or yourself whipping it up in the kitchen.

Sanji doesn't usually intrude on your time in the kitchen but he's often curious about what you're up to.

----

You’re deeply engrossed in your task, the rhythmic stirring almost meditative. The scent of the simmering mixture fills the room, a sweet aroma with a hint of something extra. A few silicon candy molds are on the counter, some filling with assorted gummy mixtures. You hum to yourself, content in the quiet moment.

Sanji strolls into the kitchen, his usual suave demeanor intact. He stops short when he sees you at the counter, a curious smile playing on his lips. "Well, well, if it isn’t our resident assassin turned chef. What are you making, Y/N?"

You glance up, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Gummies," you say simply, returning to your task.

Sanji approaches, peering over your shoulder with interest. "Oh, these look perfect. I have to say, I’m impressed with your craftsmanship." You smile lightly, appreciating the compliment from the ship’s renowned chef. "Much thanks my dude, I've been into candy making for years! I like to think I'm sorta an expert at this."

Sanji reaches for one of the gummies, curiosity evident in his eyes. "Mind if I try one?" Before his fingers can make contact, you swiftly intercept his hand. "Woah there tiger! Uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you." He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Why is that?"

You shift a bit, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips. "They’re, uh, special. Unless you wanna see music and taste colors, you might wanna wait for my next jar..."

Sanji blinks, realization dawning on his face. He bursts into laughter, shaking his head in amusement. "Edibles, huh? I should have guessed." You grin, shrugging nonchalantly. "What can I say? It’s a versatile ingredient."

He laughs again, clearly entertained by the situation. "Well, as much as I appreciate your culinary creativity, maybe we should keep these out of the reach of certain crewmates. I don’t think Luffy needs any more reasons to act crazy."

You nod in agreement, a chuckle escaping you. "Yeah, probably a good idea. The last thing we need is Luffy on a sugar high and an edible trip." Sanji pats your shoulder, still chuckling. "You're definitely right, just remember to label the jars, alright?"

You give him a mock salute. "Aye, aye, Chef." With a final laugh, Sanji heads back to his own devices, leaving you to finish your batch of gummies.

----

You tend to get really philosophical and scientific when you're high. You and Robin having long conversations about the human minds or the prospect of alternate realities.

Robin was just happy to have someone to share her thoughts with who could comprehend it, even if you were in the clouds.

Sometimes you just do it for fun because you find Usopp's panicked reactions funny.

----

The moon hangs high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the Thousand Sunny. The crew is gathered on the deck, the usual mix of chatter and laughter filling the air. You’re sitting cross-legged, a freshly lit blunt between your fingers, enjoying the cool night breeze. You take a deep drag, exhaling slowly as your thoughts begin to swirl. "You guys ever think about parallel dimensions?"

Chopper chimes in to the sound of your voice, and tilts his head, clearly intrigued. "Parallel dimensions?"

You nod, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. "Yeah, like, what if there are other versions of us out there, living different lives in other worlds? And what if we could, like, cross over into those dimensions?"

Usopp, who had been quietly listening, suddenly perks up, a look of alarm spreading across his face. "Wait, cross over? Is that even possible?" Chopper, ever the worrier, looks equally concerned. "Y/N, are you sure that’s not just the weed talking?"

You wave a hand dismissively, your words spilling out in a rapid, excited torrent. "Nah, nah, think about it! We could totally cross over if we found the right way. Maybe through some kind of portal or a wormhole or something. I read in a book that some people have crossed over through mirrors!...or maybe that was a cult pamphlet..."

Nami, sensing the rising panic, tries to calm everyone down. "Alright, everyone, let’s not jump to conclusions. Y/N’s just... speculating." She had to admit the idea was intriguing but just as scary. Luffy, eyes wide with fascination, is clearly enjoying the conversation. "That sounds so cool! I wonder what other Luffy is like."

Usopp, on the other hand, is not having it. He's been through too much with this crew already, the idea of alternate realities had his mind spiraling. "No, no, no, we do not need to think about that! What if there are evil versions of us out there? Or worse, what if we get stuck in another dimension?"

Sanji steps in, trying to de-escalate the situation. "Okay, okay, let’s all take a breath. Y/N-san is just having a bit of fun with some wild ideas. There’s no need to panic." You lean back, clearly amused by the reactions you’re getting. "Come on, guys, it’s just a thought. But wouldn’t it be cool if we did find a way? Imagine all the crazy shit we could get into!"

Chopper’s eyes widen further. "But what if something goes wrong? What if we end up in a dimension where everything is upside down?"

Robin, who has been quietly observing, decides to join in, her tone calm and measured. "The concept of parallel dimensions and the multiverse is quite fascinating. If multiple dimensions do exist, it’s possible they could collapse into a single timeline under certain conditions."

Laughing in morbid delight, you turn to face Robin, a nearly manic smile on your face. "That would be freaking wicked, like what if all of our alternate bodies collapsed and fused into one singular body? Would we be able to retain the information our other selves have learned?"

A look of horror crossed Usopp's face, his knees visibly shaken."Oh great, now we’re talking about collapsing timelines? Can we please discuss something less terrifying?" He drops to his knees, hands clasped in front of him in a comically exaggerated plea. "I’m begging you, let’s change the subject!"

You can’t help but laugh at his theatrics, your low eyes shining with amusement. "Relax, Usopp. It’s all hypothetical. We’re not actually going to start dimension-hopping."

Luffy, still thoroughly entertained, claps his hands. "I think it’s awesome! I bet other Luffy is just as strong as me." Sanji sighs, rubbing his temples. "Luffy, please, let’s not encourage this any further." You take another puff, leaning back with a contented sigh. "Alright, alright, we’ll drop it. But you have to admit, it’s fun to think about."

Nami, visibly relieved, gives you a grateful smile. "Thanks, Y/N. I don't think Usopp’s heart can take much more excitement tonight." Usopp, still looking a bit shaken, nods vigorously. "Yeah, let’s stick to talking about normal things. Like treasure hunting or navigating the Grand Line."

Zoro, who has been blissfully unaware of the entire conversation, shifts in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible. You chuckle, shaking your head at his obliviousness.

----

Even when you're high, you have moments where you're really attentive to your friend's feelings.

You don't like seeing your friends feels down, and even if you can't fix all of their problems with a blunt, sometimes just being their for them is all they really need.

----

You notice Nami sitting alone, her usual confident demeanor replaced by a thoughtful frown. You take a seat beside her, offering her one of your expertly rolled blunts. "Not in the mood," she says, waving it away.

You shrug, lighting it for yourself. "You know, Nami, life is kind of like a blunt." She raises an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued despite herself. "Oh really? How so?"

You take a slow drag, letting the smoke curl around you. "Well, you start with the raw materials. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's not. But it's what you do with it that matters. You roll it up, make it your own. And then you light it up, and you enjoy the ride."

Nami stares at you for a moment before bursting into laughter. "That's the most ridiculous metaphor I've ever heard." You grin, pleased to see her spirits lifted. "Hey, if it works, it works." She shakes her head, still chuckling. "Thanks, Y/N, needed that."

----

Just like he is with Sanji, Chopper is against you smoking especially to your extent.

Although he does know that weed has medicinal properties, he knows that too much of it can have negative affects on your mind.

----

After a particularly rough fight, you find yourself in the Going Merry’s infirmary, Chopper diligently patching you up. The little reindeer works with precision, wrapping bandages around your arm while his expression shifts between focus and concern.

“There, all done,” Chopper announces, finishing the last wrap. “This medicine will help with the pain,” he adds, turning to grab a small bottle from a nearby shelf.

You watch him, a mischievous grin slowly spreading across your face. As he turns his back, you pull out three blunts, placing them in your mouth with practiced ease.

When Chopper turns back, his eyes go wide with shock. “Y/N! What are you doing!?” he exclaims, hands on his hips, his voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

You freeze, caught in the act, and offer him a sheepish grin. "It's medicinal?"

Chopper facepalms, shaking his head in exasperation. “You can’t just say that every time!”

You chuckle, taking one of the blunts out and twirling it between your fingers. “Hey, I promise it helps me relax. Besides, your medicine is great, but this is my kind of therapy.”

He lets out a deep sigh, and goes it open a window to air out the room. Before he turns back to you, his stern facade softening slightly as he looks at you. “You're lucky Marijuana actually has medicinal properties, just don’t overdo it, okay?”

You nod, winking at him. “No worries, Chopper. I’ll save some for you next time.” He blushes, clearly flustered. “I don’t smoke!” Laughing, you pat him on the head. “I know, I know. Just messing with you, Doc.”

Chopper huffs but smiles, the tension easing as you both settle into the moment. The infirmary is quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. You take a moment to appreciate the calm, even as you fiddle with the blunts in your hand.

“So, Doc,” you say, breaking the silence, “how long you think it'll take me to heal this time?”

Chopper’s expression shifts to one of concern. “Since you're injuries aren't too bad, you shouldn't be bedridden for too long. You really should be more careful, Y/N.”

You nod, knowing he’s right. “Yeah, I know. Sometimes I can't help it though, I just get in the moment and half of the time I don't even notice I've been hit when I fight.” He rolls his eyes but can’t help but chuckle. “You’re impossible, but you're not invincible.” You shrug, lighting one of the blunts and taking a long drag. “I like to think that I am, that's part of my charm, right?” Chopper shakes his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

As the smoke curls around you, the door to the infirmary swings open, and Usopp pokes his head in. “Hey, is Y/N—” He pauses, eyes widening at the sight of you with multiple blunts.

“Oh, come on!” Usopp exclaims, throwing his hands up in mock despair. “Are you serious right now?”

You grin, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “What? It’s all part of the recovery process.” Usopp crosses his arms, trying to maintain a stern expression but failing as a smirk breaks through. “You’re unbelievable.” Chopper sighs, looking between you and Usopp. “She’s always like this. Just try to keep her in check, okay?”

You laugh, waving them off. “Relax, guys. I’m fine.” Usopp chuckles, shaking his head as he turns to leave. “Yeah yeah, just take it easy.”

You watch him go, then turn back to Chopper, who’s busy organizing his supplies. “You know, I really appreciate you, Chopper. Thanks for always patching me up.” Chopper looks up, his eyes softening. “It’s my job, Y/N. But try not to make it harder than it has to be.” You nod, the humor in your eyes giving way to sincerity. “I’ll try, Doc. Promise.”

− Finer than Wine

✎mihawk x kelton

♦︎fic type: one-shot, fic-trade

♦︎ summary: after three failed attempts at taking mihawk on a date, kelton finally manages to get mihawk on a date. with the intention to show mihawk that he's serious about his feeling.

♦︎word count: 2.3k

♦︎warnings: None

♦︎a/n: this is part of a fic trade done with @loganwritesprobably, As you can see I kinda carried away but I'm really proud of this, I hope I did Kelton justice and I hope you enjoy it all the same!

The wine-red sky stretched over the horizon, casting a warm, molten glow on the vast ocean below. The waves lapped gently at the sides of the boat, a modest but elegant vessel with polished wood and billowing sails. Kelton stood at the bow, his black hair tousled by the salty breeze, a glint of gold piercing catching the fading light. His mischievous brown eyes scanned the horizon as he hummed a tune under his breath, his tall frame leaning casually against the railing.

Kelton was a man of many talents, but patience was rarely one of them. Yet, tonight was different. Tonight, he had every reason to wait. The air was thick with anticipation, a subtle excitement thrumming in his veins. The boat rocked gently as he adjusted his stance, glancing back toward the cabin where Mihawk was likely brooding, perhaps contemplating the wisdom of agreeing to this outing.

A sly grin tugged at the corners of Kelton’s mouth. He’d finally done it. After three failed attempts, Dracule Mihawk, the most feared swordsman in all the seas, had agreed to a date. And not just any date—Kelton had meticulously planned an evening that even the stoic Mihawk might find difficult to resist.

As if on cue, Mihawk emerged from the cabin, his expression as unreadable as ever. His piercing yellow eyes locked onto Kelton’s warm brown ones, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Kelton could feel the weight of that gaze, the scrutiny that would unnerve any lesser man. But Kelton was no ordinary man. “Enjoying the view?” Mihawk’s voice was smooth, carrying a hint of dry amusement.

Kelton’s grin widened. “Only half as much as I’m about to enjoy our little adventure, love.” He pushed off the railing with a fluid motion, sauntering over to Mihawk with the easy confidence of a man who was rarely, if ever, denied what he wanted. Mihawk raised a single eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by Kelton’s swagger. “You speak as though this evening holds more than just an outing.”

“Oh, it holds much more, indeed,” Kelton quipped, his voice dripping with playful innuendo. He circled Mihawk slowly, his movements deliberate, as if sizing up his prey. “But I wouldn’t dream of ruining the surprise. After all, where’s the fun in that?” Mihawk’s gaze remained steady, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or mild irritation.

The island Kelton chose was nothing short of breathtaking. A hidden gem nestled within the Grand Line, it was renowned for its picturesque landscapes and sunsets that could make even the most hardened hearts falter. It was a place of serenity, where the chaos of the world seemed to pause, allowing nature's beauty to take center stage. As you step off the ship and onto the soft sand, the air is filled with the scent of saltwater and blooming flowers, carried by the gentle breeze that whispers through the towering palms.

Kelton, with his usual swagger, leads the way, his long strides making it almost impossible for anyone of average height to keep up, let alone Mihawk. Yet, the swordsman moves with his signature grace, his eyes observing every detail of their surroundings with a calm, discerning gaze. The vibrant greenery, the distant hum of wildlife, and the sound of waves gently lapping against the shore all contribute to an ambiance that feels almost too perfect. It’s a place out of time, a retreat from the battles and skirmishes that define their lives. "Lovely, isn't it?" Kelton remarks, glancing back at Mihawk with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. His voice carries a playful lilt, as though he’s well aware of the grandeur of his choice. "Figured you could use a bit of a break from all the sword-slashing and brooding."

Mihawk, ever the stoic, merely raises an eyebrow in response, though there’s a slight softening in his usual stern expression. “It’s… suitable.” Kelton chuckles, clearly amused by the understatement. “Suitable? Darling, it’s a slice of paradise. Just wait until you see where I’ve set us up.”

They move deeper into the island, the dense foliage parting to reveal a pathway lined with lanterns that flicker softly in the dimming light. Kelton had taken his time setting up the path, carefully selecting each lantern to create a warm, inviting glow as the sun began its descent towards the horizon. He was no stranger to adventure and chaos, but when it came to moments like these, he knew the importance of setting the right atmosphere. As they near the spot Kelton has prepared, the path opens up to a secluded clearing. Here, the grass is soft underfoot, and a large, plush blanket is spread out, accompanied by an array of cushions. Nearby, a small table is set up, adorned with an assortment of wines, including the rare and expensive bottle Kelton had promised. A few plates of delicately prepared food, a nod to Mihawk's refined palate, are arranged with care.

The scene is framed by the ocean, which glitters with the last rays of sunlight, casting hues of pink, orange, and gold across the water. The sky above them is a masterpiece, the colors swirling together in a way that seems almost surreal. Kelton turns to Mihawk with a grin, spreading his arms wide as if presenting the world’s greatest treasure. “Not bad, eh? Thought we could enjoy the sunset, have a few drinks, and just… unwind. No swords, no pirates, just us and the view." Mihawk takes in the sight, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly—a rare sign of approval. "You certainly know how to make an effort."

"Only for the best," Kelton replies smoothly, moving closer to the swordsman. "Shall we?" He gestures towards the blanket, his voice softer, yet still carrying that underlying note of mischief. Mihawk nods, and together, they step into the tranquil space, leaving the world behind for a moment of peace between eachother. “You’ve gone through a great deal of trouble for this,” Mihawk observed, his tone neither approving nor disapproving, simply factual. Kelton stopped in front of Mihawk, their eyes locking despite the steady difference in height. “Well, when one is courting the world’s greatest swordsman, one must be prepared to go the extra mile.” His voice softened, the teasing edge giving way to something more sincere. “I wanted tonight to be special.” Kelton gestured toward the small table he'd set up, where a selection of rare wines awaited. The centerpiece was a bottle of vintage so rare that even Mihawk, with his discerning taste, had mentioned it in passing. It had taken Kelton months of searching and no small amount of favors to procure it, but the look on Mihawk’s face when he’d seen it had made every effort worth it.

Mihawk inclined his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment if not full approval, and moved toward the table. Kelton followed, his gaze lingering on the swordsman’s graceful movements. Even in something as mundane as walking, Mihawk exuded a quiet, lethal elegance. It was no wonder Kelton was smitten. As they took their seats, Kelton uncorked the prized bottle, the sound of the pop satisfying in its own right. He poured them each a glass, the wine’s rich aroma filling the air between them. Mihawk took his glass, swirling the wine with practiced ease before bringing it to his lips. Kelton watched intently, noting the way Mihawk’s eyes closed briefly as he savored the taste.

“Well?” Kelton asked, leaning forward slightly, eager for Mihawk’s verdict. Mihawk opened his eyes, his gaze locking onto Kelton’s once more. “It’s exceptional,” he admitted, his tone begrudgingly appreciative. Kelton couldn’t help the triumphant smile that spread across his face. “I knew you’d like it. Only the best for you, of course.” Mihawk regarded him with a level look. “You put in considerable effort for this. Why?” Kelton’s smile faltered slightly, the question catching him off guard. He’d expected Mihawk to be more guarded, more evasive. But here was the swordsman, asking a direct question that required a direct answer.

Kelton leaned back in his chair, considering his words carefully. “Because you’re worth it,” he said finally, the playful lilt in his voice gone. “Because I wanted to do something for you—something that showed you I’m not just interested in a fling.” Mihawk studied him for a long moment, his gaze piercing. “You’ve made your intentions clear before,” he said slowly. “Why now?” Kelton met his gaze without flinching. “Because I think you’re starting to realize that I’m serious.”

A silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but laden with unspoken thoughts. Kelton wasn’t sure if Mihawk would respond or if he’d retreat into that impenetrable shell of his, but he held his ground, refusing to look away. Finally, Mihawk set his glass down with deliberate care. “You’re relentless,” he remarked, though there was no venom in his tone. Kelton chuckled, the tension breaking slightly. “It’s one of my more charming qualities.”Mihawk didn’t smile, but there was a softness in his expression that hadn’t been there before. “I’ll admit, your persistence is…unexpected.”

“Unexpected, but not unwelcome, I hope?” Kelton ventured, his voice hopeful. Mihawk regarded him for a moment longer, then gave a slight nod. “Not unwelcome.” Kelton’s heart leapt, but he kept his excitement in check, not wanting to push too far too fast. He leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “So, tell me, Mihawk—what would it take for you to consider this date a success?”Mihawk picked up his glass again, taking a slow sip before responding. “A success?” He seemed to mull over the question, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “That depends.”

“On what?” Kelton prompted, eager to hear the answer. Mihawk set his glass down again, his gaze fixed on Kelton with an intensity that sent a shiver down the taller man’s spine. “On whether you can keep me interested for the remainder of the evening.” Kelton grinned, his confidence returning in full force. “Oh, I can do much more than that, love. Just you wait and see.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of conversation and wine, the tension between them ebbing and flowing like the tide. Kelton was in his element, weaving stories and jokes with the ease of a seasoned entertainer, all while keeping a careful eye on Mihawk’s reactions. To his delight, Mihawk seemed more relaxed than Kelton had ever seen him, the sharp edges of his usual demeanor softened by the wine and the ambiance.

As the moon climbed higher in the sky, casting a silvery light over the deck, Kelton found himself growing bolder. The wine had loosened his tongue, and he leaned closer to Mihawk, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. “You know, Mihawk,” he began, his words slow and deliberate, “I think there’s something you’re not telling me.” Mihawk raised an eyebrow, his gaze wary. “And what might that be?”

Kelton’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “That you’re enjoying this far more than you expected.” Mihawk didn’t respond immediately, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing his next words. Finally, he said, “You assume much.” Kelton’s grin widened. “I prefer to think of it as being perceptive.” Mihawk’s expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that made Kelton’s heart skip a beat. Without thinking, Kelton reached out, his hand brushing against Mihawk’s, the touch light but deliberate.

Mihawk didn’t pull away, but his gaze dropped to their hands, his expression inscrutable. Kelton’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness churning in his stomach. “Mihawk,” Kelton said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I—” Before he could finish, Mihawk leaned forward, his movements swift and precise. Kelton barely had time to register what was happening before Mihawk’s lips were on his, the kiss firm and unyielding.

For a moment, Kelton was too stunned to react. This was Mihawk—Dracule Mihawk—kissing him. But the shock quickly gave way to something else, something warm and all-consuming, and Kelton found himself kissing back with equal fervor. The kiss was electric, a jolt of energy that seemed to ignite every nerve in Kelton’s body. He reached out instinctively, his hands gripping Mihawk’s waist as he pulled the swordsman closer. The world around them seemed to disappear, the only thing that mattered was the feel of Mihawk’s lips against his, the taste of wine lingering on his tongue. Mihawk’s hands were steady, one resting on Kelton’s arm, the other at his waist, grounding him in the moment. There was a surprising tenderness in the way Mihawk kissed him—controlled, but not without feeling. It wasn’t the desperate, heated kiss of someone losing themselves in passion, but something deeper, more intentional.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Kelton stared at Mihawk, his mind racing to catch up with what had just happened. “You kissed me,” Kelton said, the words tumbling out in a dazed murmur, a hint of disbelief in his tone. Mihawk’s expression remained calm, but there was a softness in his eyes that Kelton had never seen before. “You kissed me back,” Mihawk replied, his voice steady, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Kelton couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from his chest, a sound filled with both joy and relief. “Aye, that I did,” he admitted, a roguish grin spreading across his face. “And I don’t regret a single second of it.” Mihawk’s gaze didn’t waver, but Kelton could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Nor do I,” Mihawk said quietly, the admission hanging in the air between them, weighty and significant. Kelton’s heart swelled, the words sinking in, making him feel lighter than he had in ages. He’d always known there was something more to Mihawk than the cold, aloof exterior he showed to the world. But hearing those words—knowing that Mihawk didn’t regret this—made it all the more real.

“Mihawk,” Kelton began, his voice steady, “I meant what I said earlier. This—tonight—it’s not just about a fling. I want to be with you, not just for tonight, but for as long as you’ll have me.” Mihawk’s gaze bore into Kelton’s, the weight of his words sinking in. For a moment, Kelton thought Mihawk might pull away, might retreat into that stoic shell he was so known for. But instead, Mihawk stepped closer, his hand tightening around Kelton’s.

“You’re a fool,” Mihawk said quietly, his voice tinged with something that could almost be mistaken for fondness. Kelton chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Aye, that I am. But I’m your fool, if you’ll have me.” Mihawk’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, and for the first time, Kelton saw the walls around Mihawk’s heart begin to crack. “Then it seems we’re both fools.” Before Kelton could respond, Mihawk closed the distance between them, capturing Kelton’s lips in another kiss. This one was slower, more deliberate, a kiss that spoke of promises made and a future uncertain but filled with possibilities.

Kelton kissed back with all the passion and sincerity he could muster, his heart soaring as Mihawk’s arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. There was no more doubt, no more hesitation—just the two of them, together in that moment, and the unspoken understanding that this was just the beginning of something wonderful.

When they finally parted, Kelton rested his forehead against Mihawk’s, a contented sigh escaping his lips. “So,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “does this mean our date was a success?” Mihawk’s eyes sparkled with something akin to amusement. “It means you’ve intrigued me, Kelton. But don’t think for a moment that you’ve won me just yet." Kelton’s laughter was soft, a low rumble that resonated between them. “Wouldn’t dream of it, love. The chase is half the fun, after all." Mihawk’s expression softened, a rare warmth in his usually impassive gaze. “Then you’ll have to keep up, Kelton. I’m not easily caught.” Kelton’s grin widened, his brown eyes glinting with mischief. “Challenge accepted, Mihawk. But be warned—I’m a man who never gives up on what he wants.” Mihawk didn’t reply immediately, but the look in his eyes said everything. There was a mutual understanding, a silent agreement that they were both stepping into uncharted waters. Whatever lay ahead, it wouldn’t be easy. But neither of them wanted easy. They craved the thrill, the challenge—the chance to carve something lasting out of the unpredictable life they led.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the world around them forgotten. The wind tousled Kelton’s noir-black hair, and Mihawk’s grip on his waist tightened slightly, as if anchoring them both to this moment. The stars above glittered like silent witnesses to the promise they’d made, each twinkling light reflecting the hope of something more. Kelton finally broke the silence, his voice a whisper of sincerity. “I’ll win you over, Mihawk. It’s only a matter of time.” Mihawk’s lips quirked into the faintest of smiles. “We’ll see, Kelton. But know this—no one has ever succeeded where you intend to go.” Kelton’s eyes shone with determination as he leaned in close, his breath warm against Mihawk’s ear. “There’s a first time for everything, love. And I plan to make sure this is a first you won’t forget.”

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST ─

A/n: This will be my first time participating in Kinktober, I've decided not to stress myself out so I'll only be doing 10 days. With the probability of an extra 5.

Day 1: Overstimulation - Zoro

Day 2: Cunnilingus - Luffy

Day 3: Scissoring - Nami

Day 4: Breeding - Mihawk

Day 5: Dry Humping - Usopp

Day 6: Creampie - Buggy

Day 7: Dumbification - Ace

Day 8: Squirting - Sanji

Day 9: Biting - Luffy

Day 10: Spanking - Crocodile

Bonus :

Day 11: Breeding - Sanji

Day 12: Temperature Play - Usopp

Day 13: Size Kink - Zoro

Day 14: Sleep Play - Sanji

Day 15: Breeding - Buggy

− Devour

✎ sanji x obsessive! reader

♦︎ fic type: smut

♦︎summary: the love you have for him is deep and might be concerning, but he doesn't have to know.

♦︎word count: 1.7k +

♦︎warnings: Obsessive thoughts, no use of y/n, gender neutral reader, penetration

He was yours, it didn't matter if he knew of not, he was your and nothing he or anyone could say would ever make you think differently. From the moment he walked onto the sandy beach of your home island and helped you liberate your people; to the moment he asked you to be his, he belonged to you.

Some of his crewmates seemed reluctant to have you join them, the time it took for them to learn eachother and their mannerisms was long. They didn't want to go through that process all over again, but Luffy recognized you for your strength and saw what you could bring to his crew which had previously been missing. And so you became the Strawhat's very own Alchemist, your expertise being in chemicals, toxins, and medicines.

This had to be the universe's way of paying you back for all the trouble you'd went through. You wouldn't dream of passing up this offer, especially if you could be with the blonde cook. After months of traveling with the crew, you were able to form solid friendships with everyone. While Sanji was your main goal, you couldn't lie and say that you didn't care about the rest of the Strawhat Family. Sanji just held a special place in your deep and twisted soul.

This aspect about yourself you hid pretty well, years of trial, error and rejection had made you see that the world wasn't truly ready to understand you as a person. Neither was your new family, despite how accepting they were. Maybe one day you'd let them see, but the inner workings of your mind were not for any normal person to comprehend. You were okay with this arrangement though, because the more normal you seemed the closer you could become to him.

He didn't have to know how deep the black void in your heart seeped. Sanji in all of his beautiful, perfect glory didn't need to burden himself with your brokenness. When he smiled at you from across the deck, he didn't have to know. When he brought you, Nami and Robin special treats, he didn't have to know. When his soft, peach colored lips touched your knuckles delicately, his ocean blue orbs meeting your; although his lustrous golden hair covered one. His perfectly curled eyebrow raised 1 1/3 cm away from his eye which locked you in his gave. The feel of his perfectly manicured hand grasping yours lightly; you wished you could clip his fingernails and keep them in a small locket next to you heart- he didn't have to know.

You continued to keep it from him, even as he knelt before you, asking you to finally hold the keys to his heart. Those raw, dark emotions resurfaced for a split second which you quickly suppressed before he could notice. Like you'd practiced over and over again, you happily wrapped your arms around him, inhaling the scent of his cologne mixed with natural kitchen spices. He didn’t need to see the depths of your obsession, all he needed to know was that you loved him, and that you would do anything to keep his attention on you.

Sanji didn't have to know, not even as your nails marking his back as he slowly plunged into your tight canal; letting the world know who he belongs to. He seemed to have the same agenda; the way his mushroom tip bruised that desired spot was better than you could ever imagine. The times you've touched yourself to the thought of him couldn't begin to compare to this moment. "Ngh- my love you feel so- so heavenly."

His hips moved with purpose and to an unknown rhythm that was synced to the beating on your heart. Sensual touching exchanged between you two, further solidifying you in this moment. The intensity of it all makes your mask crack just a little, enough for Sanji to see a sliver of your dark heart but not enough that we could ever think of pulling away from you. "Mine your all mine...Sanji tell me you're mine- shit..Tell me...tell me you'll never leave me!"

His pace intensified even more, your obsessiveness pulling him evermore closer to you. This being the first time he'd ever truly felt desired the way he wanted to be. Finally the love he had could finally be truly shared and reciprocated back. He felt his member twitch inside of you, more cum leaking into your canal. "I'm yours mon amour- I promise you I'm yours-fuck-"

Loads of cum seeped from when you two were connected, his fast pace pushing more into you weeping hole. You'd lost count of the orgasms you'd had but anytime he saw your mixed essence trailing onto the sheets beneath you he'd quickly fuck the liquid back into your tight canal. Slutty groans leaving his kiss bruised lips as he tips into the brink of overstimulation. “You feel so good! ‘So good!”

“Oh my fuck—!” The whines escaping your throat were drowned out by Sanji's soft lips pressing against yours hungrily. You returned the same level of intensity, more of your darkness seeping through in the moment. His pace was controlled but the way he drilled his hips into your own was delicious.

Sanji's breathing increases in pace; trailing light kisses down you burning skin. The heart from you bodies makes you both feel drowsy but Sanji won't cease until he's pulled one more release from you. "M'gonna cum-fuck-," He locks eyes with you, the moment becoming increasingly more intimate. His lithe hand lifts on of your legs, placing it over his shoulder to reach even deeper, but not before placing a warm kiss in you ankle.

"Come with me, mon amour, please." He coos at you; the bed shaking with every thrust. The friction, each precise thrust, his burning skin pressing ever more closely against yours. The sight of his chest rising and falling, jagged breaths leaving his lungs. That gaze, like you were the only being in the world as his tip pressed further into you slutty hole. These were all factors pushing you over the edge, whimpers leaving both of you. His stuttering hips pushing his finally load deep while simultaneously ridding you through your most intense orgasm yet.

Lingering marking across his pale skin, hushed whimpers leaving his pink lips at the contact of your lips again his neck. Sucking the red beneath his skin towards the surface, imagining yourself sucking that sweet red nectar of his, devouring what was truly yours. Letting any woman, who dared to set their eye on him as a suitor see, that he belonged to someone. And if they dared to ignore the physical signs of your possession, they would simply have to leave the face of this earth. Sanji wouldn't miss them, he didn't need to when he had you and you were all he would ever need. He didn't have to know.

He was yours to devour.

───────✿ KINKTOBER DAY 2: Cunnilingus

✎ luffy x fem! reader ♦︎ synopsis: luffy's appetite is insatiable and not just for food. ♦︎ word count: 600+ ♦︎ cw: squirting, misuse of devil fruit, oral [fem receiving]

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wet sounds fille the room, and you subconsciously thanked franky for making soundproof rooms throughout the sunny, because the sounds that were escaping your throat would make a person worry. but if they knew the situation you were in they'd realize that your loud moans were completely warranted. the sight of your captain between your legs filled your blurred vision as you raised to your shaking elbows.

his tongue was doing insane things to your body, and his devil fruit only added to that factor. he'd constantly stretch his tough into the furthest reaches of your cunt, making you keen in pleasure. this only eggs him on as he returned his tongue to its normal state and lapped at your glistening lips, eagerly stimulating you. he flattened his tongue before licking up to your clit; switch in up he wrapped his lips, wet with your essence, around your sensitive clit and sucked it with purpose. you felt your legs quivering around his head, one hand grasping the sheets for stability while the other was comfortably situated in his black tresses.

,,Oh- fuuuck,, the heat pooling where your bodies joined had your vision blurred and your arms growing weak, you couldn't do anything but slowly sink into the mattress. luffy reveled in the affect he has on your body, only increasing his attack on your weeping cunt. your essence mixed with his saliva was a taste he just could get enough of, you hole constantly leaking more and more, giving him just what he wanted. ,,y' taste s'good,, although his words were slurred and his voice was a lot huskier, you could understand exactly what he was saying; his words sending heat to your cunt pulling your closer to your next orgasm.

you knew luffy had an insatiable appetite, but you had no idea it'd carry over into sex. the quivering in your legs was back, and you could feel his already sloppy pace increase as you began rocking your hips against his eager mouth. that thread was mere minutes away from snapping and although you wanted to cum, this felt different. you didn't have too much time to dwell on it because luffy lifted slightly from your throbbing cunt, slick slower dripping from his chin back onto your soaked thighs. the pout evident on his face not deterring you from whining at the lose of contact; but he began to rub your sensitive button with his fingers.

,,stop squirming, I can't focus on eating,, with his wording and the pout on his face, you'd think he wasn't talking about you weeping cunt below him. while you wanted to listen and follow your captain's orders, the sensation his fingers were delivering to your cunt were distracted. ,,'m sorry luffy ngh- i can' help it, you feel s'good.,, luckily your words wiped the frown off his face as his iconic laugh bounced off the walls of the room and he resumed his assault on your poor pussy. it didn't take long before you felt that thread second from snapping. ,,captain, fuck, fuck! I'm- CUMMING!,, your vision darkened around the corners was you reaching your climax, your essence gushed all over luffy's face and your thighs. your thighs closed around his head subconsciously and ou felt your body moving against your will, rocking your aching cunt against luffy's face.

soon your vision returned and your head became clear, embarrassment clouded your thoughts and you lifted up, beginning to apologetic profusely. ,,oh my goodness, luffy I'm sorry, I didn't know that would happen.,, the sound of his laugh cut your rambling to a halt, his tan shoulders in amusement. the evidence of your climax evident on his reddened face, and yet he didn't seem bothered in the slightest. ,,i wanna see you do that again.,, his signature grin decorated his face and you knew that this was only the beginning.

Rules & Requests

Fandoms

♦︎ One Piece, OPLA

♦︎ Demon Slayer

♦︎ATSV & ITSV

♦︎ Invincible

♦︎ Stranger Things

♦︎ TWD

♦︎ MCU

What I WILL WRITE

♦︎ Smut, Fluff & Angst

♦︎ Dark-Fics & Yandere

♦︎ Female, Male & Gender Neutral! Reader

♦︎ Headcanons

♦︎ Female & Male characters x reader

♦︎ x reader (only)

♦︎ Sub & Switch reader (mainly), Dom reader (somtimes)

What I will NOT Write

♦︎ Smut on underaged characters or in any nsfw way.

♦︎ Non-Con/Dub-con /pedophila/ddlg /mdlb

♦︎ Gross kinks, p!ss, sh!t,

♦︎ Race play, Master/Servant play, big age gaps (Over 5 years unless characters are 25+)

I KNOW IM LATE BUT HAPPY JUNETEENTH!!!

I realized I don't have to be so OVERLY organized with my blog and when it comes to posting my writing, creativity shouldn't be hindered.

─ Too Tight, Too Much

yandere! luffy x gn! reader

• fic type: oneshot

• summary: you felt like a burden to the strawhat pirate who constantly grew stronger by the day, especially Luffy. So you decided to do them a service by leaving the crew, little did you know Luffy doesn't like to let go.

• word count: 2.3k

• warnings: obsessive tendencies, kidnapping, possessive physical touch [nonsexual]

• a/n: I forgot to post this, sorry chat 🧍‍♀️,, also can be read as platonic or romantic. Also also,, I tried something different w/ this writing style! ^^

The decision had been made long before you ever set foot on that island. It wasn’t a fleeting impulse, nor was it born from doubt in Luffy’s dream. You believed in him—more than anything.

But belief wasn’t enough.

You saw the way the others grew stronger, how their names carried weight across the sea, how they each carved their place into history with their own hands. Zoro’s blade could cut through steel. Sanji’s legs burned brighter than the sun. Robin could summon a thousand hands to break an army.

And you?

You had no grand ambitions, no great power. No Devil Fruit, no Haki, no title whispered in fear. You weren’t weak, but you weren’t enough.

So you made your choice.

It was easier than you thought it would be. The town was alive with music and laughter, lanterns swinging in the ocean breeze. The crew was lost in their own celebrations—Zoro and Sanji already in the middle of another argument, Usopp animatedly recounting some grand tale, Chopper stuffing himself with sweets. Luffy was in the center of it all, as he always was, grinning wildly, a beverage in one hand and a drumstick in the other.

It was the perfect moment. He was happy.

Distracted.

You turned away before doubt could creep in. Your steps were silent, your presence barely a whisper in the wind as you moved through the streets. No hesitation, no second thoughts. You told yourself you were doing the right thing.

That this was for the best.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

Luffy would never forgive you for this. And you would never forgive yourself.

••••

The island had been peaceful. A quiet little stop along the trade routes, where merchants gathered to restock their ships, exchange goods, and barter over prices with a mix of tenacity and exhaustion. The scent of salt and various spices hung heavy in the air, blending with the distant hum of the waves.

You had taken up temporary work guarding one of the ships docked there—a simple trade of protection for passage. The work was easy enough. A watchful eye, a firm stance, and most left you alone. You were a ghost passing through, a nameless traveler in a sea of transient faces.

Or so you thought.

After fulfilling your end of the bargain with your employer and receiving your pay, you found yourself wandering the market area, searching for an inn. The moment your boots met the soft dirt of the market, something in the air shifted. It was subtle at first, a prickling sensation along the back of your neck, a whisper of something inevitable.

Then you felt it—him.

His presence wasn’t loud or forceful, but it was all-consuming. Overwhelming. Undeniable. And when you lifted your gaze, there he was. Luffy stood in the middle of the bustling street, his straw hat tilted slightly back, dark eyes shining beneath its brim. His grin stretched wide, the same carefree expression you had seen a thousand times before, as if no time had passed at all.

“Y/n!”

His voice shattered the din of the marketplace, rising above the merchants’ calls and the chatter of weary travelers. It was raw, unfiltered joy—too much joy.

Your muscles tensed.

For a moment, you considered running. You could slip into the crowd, weave through the alleyways, disappear before he got any closer. You had done it before. You could do it again. But your feet refused to move.

Because to run would be cruel. Even for you.

You watched as he closed the distance between you with long, eager strides, his sandals slapping against the dirt road. His arms were already outstretched, reaching, claiming.

And then, he was there.

The force of his embrace nearly knocked the air from your lungs. His arms wrapped around you like iron bands, pulling you in against the familiar heat of his body. He smelled like the sea, like sun-warmed cotton and something undeniably Luffy.

He held you tight. Too tight.

A moment passed. Then another.

Slowly, you exhaled, allowing your hands to lift—to rest lightly against his back. Not quite returning the embrace, but not rejecting it either. Luffy made a sound—a breathy, contented sigh—as if something within him had finally settled.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at you, his fingers still curled against the fabric of your shirt. His eyes burned bright, his grin never wavering.

"I knew I’d see you again," Luffy said, his voice warm and bright, like he had never once doubted this moment.

His arms were locked around you, his grip firm—too firm—as if he thought you might slip away if he let go. His fingers pressed into your back, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you aware. His breath was warm against your shoulder, carrying the scent of salt and something faintly sweet, like the remnants of a half-eaten meal.

“You’re back now.”

Your lips parted, the words forming before you could decide whether you even wanted to say them. “I—”

“I missed you.”

The words came quickly, cutting off whatever you might’ve said. Luffy met your gaze, his expression unguarded, open. His dark eyes gleamed beneath the brim of his hat, wide and too bright, like the sun reflecting off the waves. There was something in them—something you couldn’t quite place—and it sent a slow prickle down your spine.

You had known Luffy since childhood. You had seen him angry, sad, frustrated. You had seen him laugh until he couldn’t breathe. But this? This was different.

And it made your chest feel too tight.

Luffy continued to grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His fingers twitched against your sleeve, then tightened, his knuckles going white for just a fraction of a second before his grip relaxed again.

"Come on," he said, his voice light, casual, like this was any other day. Like you hadn’t left. Like he hadn’t spent who-knows-how-long searching for you. "The others are here, they’ll be happy to see you!"

You opened your mouth—to protest, to ask him to slow down, to breathe—but the words never left your throat.

Because before you could decide what to say, his fingers wrapped around your wrist.

And this time, he didn’t let go.

There was no force behind his grip, no sharp tug that demanded movement. But it was firm.

Unrelenting.

Final.

You hesitated. Just for a second.

That second was too long.

Luffy moved, and you moved with him, pulled effortlessly into his stride as he led you through the streets.

The market blurred around you—the murmur of voices, the clang of metal, the scent of spices and fresh bread—all of it faded into the background beneath the steady press of his hand.

People turned as you passed, their gazes flickering to the infamous Straw Hat Captain. Some whispered, some pointed, but Luffy didn’t even glance their way.

His attention was locked solely on you.

And for the first time since you’d known him, you weren’t sure if that was a good thing.

••••

The reunion was warm. Too warm.

The moment Luffy dragged you into the familiar chaos of the crew, you were engulfed. Arms thrown around your shoulders, voices overlapping, laughter echoing through the air. It was suffocating in its sincerity.

Zoro was the first to acknowledge you, though in typical fashion, he kept it brief. A smirk pulled at his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Took you long enough,” he said, voice even, as if he had expected this outcome from the start.

Nami let out an exaggerated sigh, placing a hand on her hip. “You owe me for the stress you put me through,” she scolded, though there was no real anger behind her words.

Just relief.

Sanji, on the other hand, was all action. The moment you were seated, a plate was shoved in front of you, the aroma of a perfectly prepared meal filling your senses. “You’re too thin, Y/n-chan,” he fussed, already halfway to the kitchen to fetch more. “Have you even been eating properly?”

Usopp puffed out his chest, his hands gesturing wildly. “You should’ve seen what I did the other day! You’d have been impressed, I swear! I took down this massive sea beast with just—” he stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Where were you, anyway?”

Before you could answer, Chopper had scrambled onto the chair beside you, pressing small hooves against your arm, his face scrunched in concern. “You’re healthy, at least,” he murmured, checking you over despite your insistence that you were fine.

Robin smiled knowingly from her seat, eyes studying you as if she already understood the story you hadn’t told.

Franky let out a booming laugh, giving you a hearty pat on the back that nearly sent you tumbling forward. “Took off on your own adventure, huh? Well, welcome back, bro!”

Brook, ever the performer, strummed at his guitar. “Ah, Y/n-san, I would ask if you missed me, but alas, I have no heart to feel longing, yohohoho~!”

Jinbe hummed lightly in approval, his eyes looking at you over the steaming cup of tea he'd raised towards his lips. "It is nice to have you back with it, Y/n."

It was almost too easy to fall back into place.

Almost.

Because Luffy never let go.

His eyes never left you, even as he laughed at Usopp’s exaggerated storytelling or tore through his usual mountain of food. His attention remained anchored to you, sharp and unwavering.

Every time you moved, his gaze followed. Every time you spoke, his attention sharpened. And then there was his touch. Fleeting, but constant.

A hand on your wrist when you reached for your drink. A brush of fingers against your shoulder when he leaned in to listen. The back of your shirt tugged absently when you shifted in your seat.

By the end of the night, you felt the weight of it. “I should go,” you finally said, standing up from the table. “I have a room at an inn.”

For a moment, just a second, something flickered in Luffy’s expression. A shadow, a hint of something unreadable, something wrong.

Then, just as quickly, his grin returned, wide and bright. “Alright,” he said, easy as ever. “I’ll see you later.”

Not goodbye.

Not see you around.

I’ll see you later.

But you didn’t think much of it.

Not then.

••••

You had fallen asleep easily, exhaustion pulling you under the moment your head hit the pillow. The day had been long, full of laughter and conversation, the warmth of old friends pressing in on you from every side.

You had thought you were safe.

But when you woke up, something was wrong. The air smelled different—saltier, thick with the scent of the open sea. The faint trace of damp wood and metal drifted into your senses, something familiar, yet out of place.

The bed was softer, the sheets heavier, and when you shifted, you could feel the subtle sway beneath you. The sound of waves was louder—too close, too steady.

Your stomach twisted.

Your eyes snapped open, and as your vision adjusted to the dim morning light filtering through the room, the cold weight of realization settled over you. This wasn’t the inn.

This was the Thousand Sunny.

More than that—this was the Captain’s Quarters.

Your breath came slow, controlled, even as the unease crept up your spine. You sat up carefully, scanning the space, noting every detail—your bag tucked in the corner, your shoes neatly placed by the door, as if you had never left. As if you had always been here.

The door creaked open.

“Morning!” Luffy’s voice was warm, easy, as if this were just another day on the ship. As if nothing was wrong.

He stood in the doorway, his straw hat pushed back slightly, dark hair ruffled from sleep. His grin was the same as always—wide, bright, too full of something you couldn’t name.

“Sanji made breakfast,” he added, stepping inside like this was normal.

Like this was where you belonged.

You stared at him.

Your expression didn’t change, your voice remained steady. “Luffy.” He tilted his head slightly, his bare feet padding softly across the wooden floor as he closed the space between you.

“Why am I here?” you asked. Luffy blinked, as if the question itself didn’t make sense to him. “Because this is where you’re supposed to be.”

Supposed to be.

You exhaled slowly, forcing down the cold weight pressing against your chest. “You took me from the island.”

Luffy laughed.

Not a nervous chuckle. Not a guilty one.

A simple, carefree laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, as if it was obvious. “You fell asleep, so I brought you home.”

Your fingers curled slightly against the sheets. “…You should’ve asked.”

“I didn’t have to.”

His certainty was unshakable. And that’s what made your stomach turn.

Luffy moved closer, his warmth radiating off him in waves. His hand landed on your shoulder, a light press of fingers—too warm, too heavy. But then, he curled his fingers.

Not enough to hurt. But enough to hold.

“Now that you’re back,” he murmured, “I can keep going.” You didn’t breathe for a moment.

Your lips parted slightly, a rare display of emotion flickering across your features.

Luffy’s grip tightened just a fraction.

“You’re my Emperor,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I can’t be Pirate King without you.”

Your heart thumped, slow and heavy.

The weight of his words settled over you like an anchor.

Your lips parted, words forming before you could stop them. “…You don’t need me, Luffy.” He grinned. Wide. Too wide. “Yeah, I do!”

His hand slid down your arm, fingers tracing your skin, slow, deliberate. He didn’t grab. He didn’t pull.

But he didn’t let go.

Instead, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, his thumb brushing lazily against your pulse.

Outside, the ship rocked gently with the waves. The world stretched endlessly in every direction, open and unreachable.

You weren’t on that island anymore.

And you wouldn’t be again.

Luffy turned toward the door, still holding your wrist, still smiling like nothing was wrong. “C’mon,” he said. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

Your eyes flickered to his face, taking in the curve of his lips, the shadow in his gaze, the way he held you like he was afraid you might disappear again.

Your expression remained unreadable. But deep inside, something twisted.

This was Luffy.

And Luffy never let go.

— Otherworldly Differences

mark grayson x saiyan! reader

• fic type: oneshot & fluff

• summary: crash landing on such a feeble planet wasn't on your to-do list. although this being whose nearly as strong a you confronts you, so you decide to humor him.

• word count: 5.8k

• warnings: mild canon typical violence, threat of violence, blood

• a/n: As you can see I got really carried away. 🧍‍♀️I like DBZ and I like Invincible, so why not combine the two!! Also I've just started watching invincible so sorry if he's ooc.

A shrill, wailing sound yanks you from unconsciousness, vibrating through your skull like an alarm gone haywire. You groan, forcing your heavy eyelids open, and are immediately greeted by the acrid stench of burning metal and scorched earth.

Smoke billows around you, thick and suffocating, curling from the shattered remains of your ship—a twisted hunk of alien steel embedded deep in the cracked pavement.

Your head pounds in protest, a dull, throbbing ache pulsing behind your temples. You press a hand to your forehead, then glance down at yourself.

Dust clings to your skin, mingling with smudges of soot and dried blood. Your armor, now riddled with scorch marks and gashes, groans as you shift.

Damn. That landing must’ve been rough.

Muffled shouts rise above the ringing in your ears. Blinking away the haze, you finally take in your surroundings.

Small, weak-looking creatures encircle the crash site, clad in identical dark uniforms. They hold strange little metal sticks, aiming them at you like they actually expect them to do something.

“Put your hands where we can see them!”

“Step away from the wreckage!”

“You’re under arrest!”

You arch a brow, a slow smirk tugging at your lips. They think they can arrest me? That’s adorable.

With a groan, you push yourself upright, rolling your shoulders. A shower of debris crumbles from your armor, scattering across the crater floor. Your hair, wild and voluminous as ever, whips around your face as you stretch.

"Where in the name of Vegeta am I?" you mutter, voice thick with irritation.

The humans stiffen. Their fingers tighten around their weapons, eyes flickering between you and the destruction left in your wake.

The boldest of the bunch—a man with gritted teeth and an unfortunate mustache—steps forward, barrel trained directly at your chest.

“I said put your hands up!” he barks.

You tilt your head, gaze flicking over him with mild amusement. “Do you know who you’re speaking to?”

Apparently, he doesn’t. None of them do. Because instead of answering, they just keep shouting, their voices a frantic mess of demands and threats.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. This is exhausting. If they refuse to answer your questions, perhaps a demonstration is in order.

Your eyes scan the wreckage, landing on the nearest object of interest—a large, boxy vehicle with shattered windows and blaring alarms.

Without hesitation, you grab it by the undercarriage, lift it effortlessly over your head, and hurl it toward a nearby building.

Glass explodes outward as the car crashes through the structure, embedding itself halfway into the second floor. The ground trembles from the impact, sending fresh cracks spiderwebbing across the pavement.

That gets their attention.

“Holy Shit!”

“She’s a freaking alien!”

“No shit,” you scoff, crossing your arms. “Now, which one of you is in charge?”

Before anyone can respond, a gust of wind nearly knocks you back. A shadow streaks across the sky, descending at high speed.

You turn just in time to see a figure land in front of you, kicking up dust upon impact.

An array of yellow, blue and back filled your vision, toned muscles flexing between the tight material of a suit.

You recognize the stance immediately. A fighter. Interesting.

“You must be the problem everyone’s freaking out about,” he says, arms crossed. His tone isn’t immediately hostile—more wary than anything.

You grin, rolling your shoulders. “Depends. You here to challenge me?”

The guy blinks, visibly thrown off. “Uh, not exactly.”

You frown. “Shame. I was hoping someone here would be worth my time.”

Despite yourself, you’re intrigued. He’s strong—you can sense it. Not nearly Saiyan strong, of course, but there’s something different about him. Something… familiar.

He studies you just as intently, gaze flicking between your tattered armor, your battle-worn knuckles, and—most notably—the towering mass of thick hair atop your head.

His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, but he hesitates.

“I’m Invincible,” he offers instead.

You snort. “Bit cocky, don’t you think?”

He sighs. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

A beat of silence. Neither of you moves.

Then, cautiously, he gestures toward the chaos surrounding you. “Look, I don’t want to fight you.”

“That makes one of us,” you say, cracking your knuckles.

Mark exhales through his nose, clearly trying to be patient. “Seriously, can we just… talk?” He gestures at the wreckage, the police, the frightened civilians peeking from behind cover.

“You’re obviously not from around here, and you seem kinda… lost?”

You bristle at the implication. You are not lost. Saiyans do not get lost.

But.

Well.

You don’t exactly know where you are, and it’s slightly concerning that your ship is currently a pile of molten scrap metal.

“…Fine.” You roll your eyes, shoving your hands into the tattered remains of your belt. “But if this is a trap, I’m breaking every bone in your body.”

Mark exhales in relief, though the corner of his mouth quirks upward. “Noted,” he mutters. Then, more amused than he probably should be: “You always this dramatic?”

You smirk. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

His lips twitch, as if suppressing a laugh. Instead, he just shakes his head and gestures for you to follow.

You crack your neck, glance at the still-stunned humans, and grin.

Let’s see where this goes.

••••

You hate this place.

It smells like sterilization and fear, the kind of artificially clean air that makes your skin itch.

The walls are a cold, metallic gray, pulsing with dim overhead lights. The whole facility hums with electricity, the kind that suggests they have restraints for things stronger than humans.

And the way they’re looking at you? Like you’re a specimen in a cage? You really, really don’t like that.

You sit in a metal chair bolted to the floor, arms crossed, one leg bouncing slightly as you stare at the wrinkled man in front of you.

His name is Cecil. You’ve already decided you don’t like him.

For the past ten minutes, he’s been droning on, asking questions about your species, your ship, your intentions—like you owe him answers.

You’ve made a game of not responding, watching his patience wear thin.

“You’re really not gonna talk?” he asks, finally, voice dry as dust.

You smirk. “Why would I answer to someone who can’t even fly?”

Cecil’s face twitches. Across the room, Mark—Invincible, as he insists on being called—snorts.

He tries to smother his laugh, pressing his lips together, but you see the amusement flickering in his eyes.

Cecil doesn’t react beyond a slow exhale through his nose. He’s good at this, you’ll give him that. A lesser man would’ve cracked by now.

“I’ll be honest,” he continues. “You’re not our first alien visitor, and you probably won’t be our last. But if you’re planning to cause problems—”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on the table, flashing him a slow, sharp grin. “I am the problem,” you say, voice dripping with amusement.

“And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

The silence that follows is delicious.

Mark shifts slightly. You don’t need to look at him to feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his body tenses like he’s preparing for you to lash out again.

You’re not going to—yet—but the fact that he thinks you might is amusing.

Cecil just sighs and rubs his temple. “Get her out of my sight.”

You stand, stretching with a dramatic groan.

“Finally. This room smells like weakness.”

One of the armed guards by the door stiffens at that, knuckles whitening on his weapon. You give him a slow, pointed grin before turning away.

Mark steps beside you, shaking his head. “You’re so charming,” he mutters, voice laced with dry amusement.

You flash him a smirk. “I try.”

He gestures toward the exit. “Come on, oh mighty warrior. Let’s get you some fresh air before you pick a fight with the janitor.”

••••

Mark insists you need to learn about Earth.

Assimilate, he says. Blend in.

You think it’s ridiculous. Why should you have to adapt to them? You are superior in every way—stronger, faster, smarter. If anything, they should be learning from you.

But… well. You suppose humoring Mark is preferable to rotting away in that dreadful government facility.

So when he insists on introducing you to “the best thing Earth has to offer,” you allow yourself to be dragged along, arms crossed and skepticism at full capacity.

Which is how you find yourself sitting in a place called Mama Luigi’s Pizza.

The walls are plastered with photographs of grinning humans holding enormous, greasy slices of something that looks like food but definitely doesn’t smell like anything worth eating.

The air is thick with the scent of melted cheese and sizzling dough, mingling with the faint tang of tomato sauce.

Mark places a box in front of you with a dramatic flourish. “Alright, first lesson in being an Earthling, food.”

You narrow your eyes at the offering. The circular dish is sliced into uneven triangles, topped with bubbling golden cheese and a thin layer of something red.

You poke it with a finger. It squishes slightly. “What is this?”

Mark sighs like he was expecting this reaction. “It’s pizza. Just try it.”

You glance at him, then back at the pizza. It doesn’t smell awful, but it looks so… soft.

Your diet consists of meat cooked over an open flame, raw energy rations, and the occasional alien delicacy that most species wouldn’t dare touch.

This? This just looks like melted goo on soggy bread.

“Do humans consume nothing of nutritional value?” you ask, lifting one of the slices and examining it like it might try to escape. “How does this pathetic excuse for sustenance fuel you?”

Mark groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not always about nutrition. Sometimes it's about taste.”

You snort. “Taste is secondary to power.”

“Okay, Y/n,” Mark deadpans. “Just take a bite.”

You sniff it warily, then, with great reluctance, sink your teeth into the gooey mess.

The moment the flavors hit your tongue, your brain short-circuits.

Salty, savory cheese. Rich, tangy sauce. The warm, crispy-yet-doughy crust. Your taste buds—so accustomed to the harsh, metallic tang of survival rations—practically explode.

You don’t mean to make a noise, but something between a hum and a low growl of approval rumbles in your throat.

Your grip on the slice tightens, fingers flexing instinctively.

Mark watches with interest as your pupils dilate. “...Well?” he prompts, smirking.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you devour the rest of the slice in two bites, grab another, and tear into it like a starving beast.

Mark blinks. “Oh. Oh wow.”

The next few minutes are a blur. The pizza—this godly, divine creation—is disappearing at an alarming rate.

You don’t pace yourself.

You don’t breathe.

You just consume.

Mark leans back in his chair, watching in a mixture of horror and awe. “Uh, you do know you’re supposed to chew, right?”

You ignore him, grabbing another slice, cheese stretching between your fingers.

Mark’s brows shoot up. “Are you—oh my god, are you actually growling?”

You pause mid-bite, realizing that yes, you are growling—a low, territorial rumble vibrating from your chest. Your muscles are coiled, posture slightly hunched as if guarding your prize.

You force yourself to relax, clearing your throat. “Instinct,” you say, voice muffled around your mouthful. “Saiyan biology.”

Mark stares at you.

Then at the emptying box.

Then back at you.

“That’s terrifying.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, completely unbothered. “It is efficient.”

Mark gestures to the now nearly empty pizza box. “That was supposed to be for both of us.”

You glance at the single, lonely slice remaining in the box, then at Mark. Then back at the slice.

You grab it.

“HEY!”

You take an exaggerated bite, chewing slowly, making direct eye contact with him as you do.

Mark groans, slumping back in his seat. “I cannot believe I just witnessed a Saiyan discovering pizza.”

You swallow and grin. “Alright.” You gesture to the crumbs and grease-stained box. “This planet might have some value after all.”

••••

Mark insists you need to learn human customs if you're going to stay on Earth.

You think human customs are stupid.

“Just try to blend in,” Mark says as he leads you down a crowded city street, his voice already laced with exhaustion. “No throwing cars, no threatening people, and for the love of God, no fighting the barista.”

You scoff, ruffling your hair in annoyance. “If this barista dares disrespect me, they’ll have earned the beating.”

Mark sighs. “I’m begging you to be normal for five minutes.”

You don’t dignify that with a response.

The place Mark drags you to is small and cramped, filled with the scent of something bitter and the low hum of human chatter. Coffee shop, he calls it. You call it a waste of time.

The line moves painfully slow. You tap your foot impatiently, arms crossed, eyes scanning the ridiculous menu full of nonsense words like macchiato and venti.

“These names are stupid.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to understand them. Just order something.”

Finally, you reach the front. A young man stands behind the counter, looking more exhausted than Mark. His uniform is wrinkled, his expression blank.

He sighs. “What can I get you?”

You lift your chin. “Your strongest drink.”

The barista barely reacts. “Do you want that hot or iced?”

You narrow your eyes. “Is there a difference?”

Mark nudges your side. “Just say hot.”

You roll your eyes. “Hot, then.”

The barista punches something into his register. “Name for the order?”

You blink. “Why do you need my name?”

“It’s so we can call it when your drink is ready.”

You frown. “You mean I have to wait?”

The barista, clearly dead inside, just blinks at you. “Yes?”

You lean forward slightly. “Do you know who I am?”

Mark audibly groans.

The barista, now vaguely alarmed, glances at Mark for guidance. Mark shoots him an apologetic look before turning to you, voice dangerously close to pleading. “Just give him your name and be cool.”

You stare at the barista. The barista stares back. Then, slowly, you smirk. “Fine. My name is Y/N the Warmonger.”

Mark visibly deflates.

The barista, now beyond caring, just types something into the register. “That’ll be $4.75.”

You blink. “That will be what?”

“Four dollars and seventy-five cents.”

Mark pulls out a small green rectangle and hands it over before you can start breaking things. “I got it.”

You watch as the barista takes the rectangle, swipes it through a strange machine, and hands it back.

You lean over, voice low. “Did he just steal from you?”

Mark drags a hand down his face. “That’s how money works.”

“Money is a scam.”

Mark gestures for you to step aside as the next customer moves forward. “Welcome to capitalism.”

You huff, tapping your fingers against the counter as you wait. “How long does this process take?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

Mark shrugs. “How busy they are.”

You look around. There are only three other people waiting. “This is pathetic.”

“Do you have to say everything you think out loud?”

“Yes, I do.”

Mark stares at you for a long moment, then sighs. “Just… stand here and don’t start a fight.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I won’t start a fight.”

Mark looks at you like he doesn’t believe you at all.

Minutes pass. The baristas move at a snail’s pace, making drinks with far more effort than seems necessary.

Your patience—what little exists—wears thin.

Finally, someone calls, “Y/N the Warmonger?”

You smirk, stepping forward. “Ah, finally.”

The barista places a small cup on the counter.

You eye it. “That’s it?”

Mark claps a hand over his face. “Please don’t—”

You grab the cup and inspect it. It’s small—far smaller than you expected. And it’s hot, heat seeping through the flimsy material. You narrow your eyes at the tiny opening in the lid. “This is ridiculous.”

Mark nudges your arm. “Just take a sip.”

You do.

And immediately gag.

Mark snorts. “Not a fan?”

You shove the cup back at him, wiping your tongue on your sleeve. “It tastes like burnt dirt.”

“That’s coffee.”

“Why do humans drink this?”

Mark shrugs, taking a sip of his own drink. “Some of us like suffering.”

You glare at the cup. “This explains so much.”

Mark is laughing now, shaking his head. “Okay, maybe coffee isn’t your thing.”

You sneer at the cup as if it personally offended you. “I will destroy this establishment.”

Mark grabs your arm. “We are leaving.”

••••

Mark should’ve known better than to mention Halloween in passing.

The moment the words leave his mouth, you stop walking, whip around, and grab his shoulders so fast he barely has time to react.

"Wait, wait, wait—" Your grip tightens, eyes burning with intensity. "So you’re telling me there’s a day—a whole day—where I can wear anything I want, and people just… give me things?"

Mark blinks, looking mildly concerned for his well-being. "Uh… yeah? That’s… basically Halloween."

Your expression is deadly serious. "This is the best planet in the universe."

Mark sighs, prying your fingers off his shoulders. "You really don’t need to be this dramatic."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "I absolutely do. This is groundbreaking information, Mark. Do you understand how insane this sounds? Where I’m from, if you want something, you take it—or you beat someone into the ground until they hand it over."

"Yeah, we call that robbery," Mark mutters.

You ignore him. "But this? This is a sanctioned event?"

He shrugs. "Pretty much. Kids dress up, go door to door, and get candy."

Your head tilts. "Candy?"

Mark pauses, realizing something horrifying. "Wait. You’ve never had candy before?"

You raise a brow. "Should I have?"

Mark grabs you hand, a new found conviction stirring his heart. "Okay, new plan. We are absolutely fixing this."

The next thing you know, you’re standing in the middle of a store filled with costumes.

Mark drags you through the aisles, dodging plastic skeletons, fake cobwebs, and a disturbing number of severed limbs. You pick up a dismembered hand, inspecting it with mild curiosity.

"Humans celebrate death?" you ask, turning it over in your palm.

Mark huffs a laugh. "Kinda. Halloween’s all about spooky stuff. Ghosts, monsters, horror movies—"

"Horror movies?" you echo, dropping the fake hand.

"Yeah, it's filled with things that's supposed to be scary—like, creepy stories, jump scares, murder-y villains—"

Your eyes light up. "You have a murder holiday?"

Mark sighs, rubbing his temple. "That’s not—never mind. Just pick out a costume."

You survey the wall of options, eyes scanning the bizarre selection.

"What’s a ‘sexy nurse’?"

Mark chokes, face growing warmer. "Not that one!"

You grin, baring sharp canines. "Ohhh, so it's not just a murder holiday."

Mark groans, dragging you toward another aisle. "We’re not doing this."

After an obnoxiously long debate (and Mark vetoing several of your more violent ideas), you finally settle on something appropriately intimidating.

A black cape, sleek armor, and a terrifying mask with glowing red eyes.

Mark squints at the tag. "Darth Vader?"

You tilt your head. "This man—he was a warrior, yes?"

"Uh… kinda?" Mark hesitates. "More like an evil space dictator."

You grin. "So, a king."

Mark sighs. "I feel like I should stop you, but… honestly? You’re weirdly perfect for this."

You flick the cape over your shoulder, nodding in approval. "Yes. Lord Vader is ready to conquer this...Halloween."

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. "Please don’t start referring to yourself in the third person."

You smirk, already deep in character. "Lord Vader does as he pleases."

Mark groans.

Hours later, you’re stalking the streets with a plastic skull bucket (Mark refused to let you carry an actual skull), and your energy is through the roof.

"Look at them, Mark!" You gesture wildly at the groups of costumed children. "They fear me!"

"They don’t," Mark corrects. "They think you’re cosplaying."

You scoff. "They should fear me."

"That's called fear mongering."

You ignore him, marching up to a door and pounding on it like you’re issuing a challenge.

A kindly old woman answers, beaming. "Oh, what a lovely costume! And who are you supposed to be, dear?"

You puff out your chest. "I am Lord Vader! Kneel before me, mortal!"

Mark, standing behind you, mutters, "I can't do this."

The woman chuckles, unbothered, and drops a handful of candy into your bucket. "Well, Lord Vader, enjoy your treats!"

You stare down at the loot. Then at Mark. Then back at the candy.

Your voice drops to a whisper. "It worked."

Mark claps a hand on your shoulder, smiling lightly at the child like wonder in your expression. "Welcome to Halloween."

••••

Mark fascinates you.

You don’t know when it happened, or how, but somewhere between the endless sparring matches, the insufferable Earth lessons, and the way he constantly calls you out on your arrogance, you started… caring.

It’s infuriating.

He’s not a Saiyan. He’s soft. Idealistic.

Sentimental in a way that would get him killed on any real battlefield. Yet, he doesn’t break. No matter how many times he's knocked down, he always gets back up.

He’s stubborn. Stupidly determined. And worse—so much worse—he’s kind.

And every time he smiles at you, your stomach does this weird thing that you refuse to acknowledge.

You blame it on Earth’s atmosphere.

You’re sitting on the edge of a rooftop, the city sprawled out beneath you, golden from the streetlights. It’s late—too late—but neither of you seems particularly eager to leave.

Mark leans back on his hands, staring up at the stars. “Y’know, I used to think I was strong.”

You snort, swinging your legs over the ledge. “Used to?”

He gives you a sideways glance. “Yeah, and then I met you.”

You smirk. “Ah. A humbling experience, I’m sure.”

Mark groans. “I hate that you’re so smug about it.”

“But I earned the right to be smug,” you counter, grinning. “Besides, I’m doing you a favor. You should thank me for showing you how weak you are.”

Mark scoffs. “Oh yeah, thanks so much, Your Highness. I love getting my ass kicked on a regular basis.”

You shrug. “You should. It builds character.”

Mark huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “You love messing with me, don’t you?”

You tilt your head. “Of course.”

“Why?”

You blink. The question catches you off guard.

Mark watches you expectantly, but there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you—less irritated, more curious.

You feel a strange warmth creeping up your neck.

You click your tongue. “Because you react.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

You wave a hand at him. “Most beings—weaklings—would just fear me, but you? You get angry. You argue. You fight back.” You smirk. “It’s entertaining.”

Mark shakes his head, exasperated but smiling. “You are so weird.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He leans back again, gaze shifting to the sky. “It’s not.”

Something in your chest tightens.

You don’t like the feeling.

The next time you spar, it’s different.

You’ve fought Mark dozens of times now, and it’s usually predictable. You win. He loses. He gets slightly better each time, but the outcome never really changes.

Except… today, he lasts longer.

His movements are sharper, more controlled. His dodges are precise. His counters actually make you work.

You grin, blood pumping, excitement thrumming under your skin.

“Finally,” you breathe, dodging a punch by a hair. “I was starting to think you’d never improve.”

Mark exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I’ve had a very aggressive training partner.”

You smirk, throwing a kick that he barely manages to block. “And look at you now! Almost respectable.”

“Almost?”

You grin. “Let’s see if you can prove me wrong.”

He lunges again, and for the first time, you let yourself enjoy it—not just the fight, but him. The way he moves. The way he refuses to back down. The way he looks at you, like he’s actually enjoying himself too.

And then he smiles.

Not a smirk, not a cocky grin, but a real smile. Bright. Genuine.

And something in your stomach flips.

You stumble.

Not much—barely a misstep—but enough. Mark seizes the opportunity, slamming into you with enough force to send you skidding backward.

You catch yourself before you hit the ground, flipping midair and landing in a crouch. Your heart is pounding—not from the fight, but from the fact that you hesitated.

You never hesitate.

Mark grins, slightly out of breath. “Hey, did I actually get you just now?”

Your fingers twitch. You force your expression back to neutral. “No.”

Mark raises a brow. “Are you sure?”

You glare. “Absolutely.”

He smirks. “You totally hesitated.”

You stand up, rolling your shoulders. “You wish.”

Mark chuckles. “Oh, I know I did.”

You hate that he’s right.

You hate that you let him be right.

And most of all…

You hate that your stomach does that thing again.

••••

You don’t care about Earth.

That’s what you’ve told yourself, over and over again, ever since you crash-landed on this ridiculous planet full of weaklings. You don’t care about its people, its customs, or its foolish attachment to peace.

But then someone hurts Mark.

And suddenly, none of that matters.

It happens fast.

One moment, you’re watching him trade blows with some costumed idiot—some third-rate, no-name waste of oxygen who dares to think they can beat him.

And then—

Mark hesitates. Just for a second.

And in that second, the bastard slams a fist straight into his ribs with enough force to send him crashing through a building.

Your vision goes red.

Your usual smugness—your sharp, teasing quips—vanish. There's no room for anything but pure, feral rage.

You don’t think.

You react.

The air around you crackles as you launch yourself forward, faster than the fool can process. One second, they’re standing there, smug over landing a hit on Mark—

The next, you have them by the throat.

Their eyes widen, hands clawing at yours, feet kicking uselessly in the air. You squeeze, just enough to make them panic.

“You think you’re strong?” Your voice is low, almost a growl, vibrating with barely restrained fury. “You think you can just touch him?”

They make a choked noise, eyes bulging. You hate looking at them. This weak, insignificant thing that had the audacity to harm what’s yours.

Your grip tightens. The building behind you trembles from the sheer force of your energy surging outward. Hair flickering between its normal color and golden for a split second.

Mark coughs somewhere in the rubble. "Y/N—"

Your head snaps toward the sound. He’s trying to push himself up, one arm wrapped around his ribs, blood smeared across his cheek.

He’s looking at you now, eyes wide, expression torn between disbelief and something else—something softer.

You don’t like it.

You scowl, then turn back to your prey. You could end this fight right now. Just a little more pressure, and they’d be nothing but a crumpled mess of bone and flesh.

But Mark—damn him—is still watching.

And for some stupid reason, you care about what he sees.

With a growl, you throw the bastard across the street. Their body smashes through a lamppost before skidding to a limp halt. You don’t bother checking if they get up. If they know what’s good for them, they won’t.

The moment they’re gone, you stalk over to Mark, who is still gawking at you.

“Did you just—”

"Shut up," you snap, grabbing his wrist and yanking him to his feet.

He stumbles slightly, and you automatically shift to steady him, one hand gripping his forearm.

He’s warm under your fingers, his breath still uneven from the fight. His eyes lock onto yours, searching.

Your jaw tightens. "If you die, I’ll be very pissed off."

Mark blinks, then—despite the blood on his lip, despite the bruises already blooming across his skin—he grins.

“You care about me,” he says, tone dripping with amusement.

Your eye twitches.

"You care about me," he repeats, sing-song, like he’s delighted about it.

You shove him, hard enough to make him stumble back. "I will end you."

Mark just laughs, wiping blood from his mouth. "Yeah, sure. Right after you finish avenging my honor."

You hate him. You hate that he’s right. You hate that you let yourself care.

And most of all—

You hate the way your stomach flips when he looks at you like that.

••••

It’s late—too late for anyone else to be awake—but you don’t sleep much. Not like humans do.

So you sit alone on the edge of his rooftop, arms resting on your knees, staring up at the sky. The stars above are bright tonight, scattered across the inky black like shattered glass.

They stretch endlessly, far beyond Earth, far beyond this tiny planet with its weak gravity and fragile people.

Somewhere out there, a long time ago, there was a place you should have called home.

But Planet Vegeta is gone.

You don’t remember it. You were too young when it was destroyed, sent away before the blast could reach you. By the time you were old enough to ask questions, there was nothing left to return to—just empty space where your people once stood.

You should be used to it by now.

But some nights—like this one—your chest feels hollow.

The soft thud of footsteps behind you barely registers. You already know who it is.

Mark drops down beside you, not saying anything at first, just watching the sky with you.

The silence stretches between you, comfortable in a way you wouldn’t have expected months ago.

Then, quietly, he asks, “You ever think about going back?”

You exhale slowly, gaze never leaving the stars. “Not really an option.”

Mark tilts his head. “Why not?”

Your fingers clench slightly. “Because there’s nothing to go back to.”

His expression shifts. "Oh."

You don’t like the pity in his voice. You shoot him a sharp glance. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t lose my planet—I never had it to begin with.”

Mark studies you, his expression unreadable. "Still. That’s… a lot."

You scoff. "I manage."

Silence.

Then, softly—“Then maybe Earth is your home now.”

Your head snaps toward him, expecting mockery, but there’s none. No teasing, no sarcasm—just sincerity. Just Mark.

He looks at you like it’s an obvious answer, like it doesn’t matter that you’re not human, that you don’t belong here.

For the first time, you don’t scoff.

“…Maybe.”

••••

Mark is fidgeting.

You’ve been watching him shift awkwardly in place for the past two minutes, and you can’t decide whether you’re more entertained or secondhand embarrassed.

His hands keep clenching at his sides, like he can’t decide if he wants to put them in his pockets, cross his arms, or just gesture wildly. He rubs the back of his neck so much that you’re convinced he might actually rub his skin raw. And the way he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot?

Pathetic. Yet...cute.

Your brow arches. “Are you gonna say something, or are you just gonna stand there looking constipated?”

Mark flinches like you just punched him in the gut. “I—I have something I need to tell you.”

You cross your arms, tilting your head, unimpressed. “Clearly.”

He takes a deep breath, like that might somehow help him, then lets it out in a rush of air that makes him seem even more stressed.

His shoulders are too tense, his expression too strained, and his heartbeat—oh, his heartbeat is practically hammering through his chest. Is he nervous?

He’s never like this during fights. Even when he’s getting thrown through buildings, he usually keeps his cool, and pushing through with sheer stubbornness. But right now?

Mark looks like he might actually pass out.

“So, uh…” He drags a hand down his face, sighing. “I think I—no, I know I—uh—”

Your smirk widens. You can’t help it. “Spit it out, Invincible.”

That seems to make it worse. He groans, eyes squeezing shut, head tilting back like he’s begging the universe for patience.

Then, he just blurts it out.

“I like you, okay? A lot. A lot more than normal, And I know you probably think I’m beneath you, but—”

You don’t think.

You act.

Before he can finish whatever self-deprecating nonsense he was about to say, you grab the front of his suit and yank him forward, crashing your lips against his.

It’s instinct. It’s reaction. It’s the only thing you can do when faced with something that makes your chest feel tight.

For a second, he freezes.

Then, he melts into it.

His lips are warm, slightly chapped, and he’s so still. You realize he’s holding his breath, and maybe you are too. The world around you fades into nothing, like the only thing anchoring you to reality is the heat of his mouth against yours.

And then it’s over.

You pull back so fast you nearly trip over your own feet, letting go of his shirt like it just burned you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your face—damn it, why does your face feel hot?

You clench your fists, resisting the urge to cover your mouth, your brain screaming at you for what you just did.

Mark just… stares.

His mouth is slightly open, his eyebrows raised, his lips still parted like he’s still processing what just happened. There’s a deep flush creeping up his neck, painting his ears red, but—he’s not speaking.

Oh, universe.

Why isn’t he speaking?

Panic creeps up your spine like a slow-burning fire. You shouldn’t have done that. What if you—what if he—

“…You kissed me.” His voice is dazed, barely more than a whisper, and that’s when you snap.

You stiffen, looking anywhere but at him. “You were—talking too much.”

Slowly—too slowly—something shifts in his expression. The stunned silence fades, melting into something smug. His lips curl at the edges, the flush on his cheeks still present but no longer uncertain. It’s a look of pure, unfiltered victory.

His voice is annoyingly triumphant. “You like me.”

Your entire body locks up.

“No,” you say immediately.

Mark steps closer. “You so do.”

“I don’t,” you insist, but the way you’re backing up is not helping your case.

Mark follows, his confidence growing with every second. “You totally do. Oh my god.” He drags a hand down his face, but it’s not exasperation—it’s exhilaration. “I knew it.”

“You don’t know anything,” you mutter, face burning.

He grins. “You are so cute right now.”

Your hands clench into fists. “I will end you.”

“Oh, sure,” he teases. “But not before I kiss you again.”

You whip around so fast your hair nearly smacks him in the face. “I hate you.”

He has the audacity to laugh. A full, bright, obnoxiously victorious laugh.

“No, you don’t.”

Your mouth opens—probably to snap something back—but Mark just leans in, smirking.

“If it makes you feel better,” he muses, “I really enjoyed it.”

You go completely still, face burning impossibly warmer.

Mark grins wider, “And I know you enjoyed it too.”

Your eye twitches.

He laughs again, and you hate how much you don’t hate the sound of it.