─ Anchored Hearts

One Piece

Legend: ♠︎ = Fluff ♥︎ = Smut ♦︎ = Angst ♣︎ = Dark

⚫︎= Crack Fic

♦︎♠︎ jump for joy, buggy x spouse! reader: after four years of running, you can only hope that the universe will have mercy on you, and reunite you with the love of your life.

⚫︎ higher than a kite, strawhats x stoner! reader: short scenarios between the strawhat crew and their assassin who's always higher than the clouds.

♣︎♥︎ devour, sanji x obsessed! reader: gn! reader, the love you have for him is deep and might be concerning, but he doesn't have to know.

♥︎ such a tease - usopp x male! reader: after you tease usopp all day, he finally decided to do something about it.

♠︎ finer than wine - mihawk x kelton: 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. Fic trade done with @loganwritesprobably

♠︎ anchored hearts - shanks x pearl: through the motivation of their daughter uta, shanks and pearl stop dancing around eachother and finally go on their long awaited date. Fic trade done with @frillsinadress

♠︎ old habit die hard - strawhats x gn! reader: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, & Usopp. Strawhat men with an s/o, who picks at their acne/scars; and they do whatever they can to help them try to break the habit. [self indulgent]

♣︎ too tight, too much - yandere! luffy x strawhat! reader: 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.

♣︎ binding shots - yandere! zoro x bartender! reader: zoro couldn't get enough of the drinks you served, but he couldn't get enough of you even more.

− Tired

✎ your fav x reader

♦︎summary: your boyfriend is tired after a long day, and tries to convince you to come to bed

♦︎word count: 300+

♦︎warnings: none, short

Men who like to hug you from behind while you're busy. Their scent overwhelming you and simultaneously calming you. You can feel their chest against you back, rising and falling with each breath they take. Their warm arms wrapped around your waist, snugly, as if they were make to be placed there. Your face shifts to an expression of amusement, mind being taken off of your current task.

,,and just what do you think you're doing, Sir?,,

,,mmm... just seeing what you're up to, was getting lonely without you,, His husky voice sending vibrations through your upper back and chest. From the low pitch of his voice alone, you could tell he was about five minutes from collapsing in exhaustion.

,,you sound tired baby, why haven't you gone to bed yet?,, You questioned him, but continued with your task at hand. You felt him squeeze lightly at your waist, rubbing small circles where one of his hands rest on your stomach. You release a content hum, relaxing every more into his hold.

,,come t' bed with me, please?,, He rasps out, anyone who didn't know him well, wouldn't be able to notice the whine in his voice. You take pride in how much you know your man, quirks, ambitions and all, there was nothing he could do that would get past you.

Not even his light manipulation; he knew the affect his voice laced with sleep had on you. Knew you couldn't resist him, especially when he was in the mood for cuddles which was few and far between.

,,okay, just let me finish this and I'll be right with you-,, he cut you off, pulling you impossibly closer to his body, as if trying to fuse you into becoming one.

,,you can finish t'morrow, you always over work 'ya self,, His words began to slur together, his tiredness getting the better of him. You supposed it would be better to abide by his wishes, before he falls asleep where you both stand and traps you here; a common occurrence.

,,alright big guy, come on, you win,, Your hand intertwines with his as you pull him with you to your shared bedroom. Your eyes growing heavy as you make your way to that sweet mattress where you could bundle up with your love under warm comforters.

♦︎note: This is really me just testing out the waters before I really start writing. I haven't written in a long time, so I'd really love if you all would send me any requests you have! 😊

─────✿ KINKTOBER DAY 1: OVERSTIMULATION

✎ zoro x gn!reader ♦︎ synopsis: zoro knows he can pull one more from you, and you're not one to disappoint zoro. ♦︎ word count: 600+ ♦︎ cw: overstim, creampie, biting, light praise, light aftercare, pet names [baby, used once], mutual mastetbation [reader receiving], intended lowercase

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there is something about pushing you to the edge that drives zoro insane, his body molding against yours, holding your warm, sticky body to his own. he enjoyed the control he has over you, the control you allows him to have. it shows that you trusted him to be gentle with you, to cherish your body to the fullest. which is why he kept insisting he copied pull one more orgasm form you. you'd lost count after 5, your essence mixing with his, and being pushed back into your tight canal with each plunge of his toned hips.

zoro makes it his mission to be gentle with you, knowing that his cock isn't exactly average; although nothing about about him truly is. but after your third orgasm, be knew that you could handle if he went a little faster; your hips connecting a little harder. his hand, warm to the touch, held one of your legs in the air as he continued to plow into your tight canal.

your mind growing evermore hazing, your latest orgasm creeping up on you; the tip of his cock abusing that special button. his hips never relenting despite your protests, he insisted that you could take more, that you could give him one more. and well, you've never been one to disappoint zoro.

a warm, calloused hand lowers down towards the place you need him most and he wastes no time stimulating you. you become increasingly hot under his touch, it almost hurts to be this stimulated even after the multiple orgasms you'd previously had. zoro was relentless in his persuit, his hand kept a steady pace that aligned with each of his thrusts; you became increasingly wet under the attention from his hand. that burning sensation you'd felt began growing exponentially; you hadn't even noticed your hands gently prying at his own.

,,zo,, you couldn't even muster a full sentence, barely being able to huff out his name. the wet sounds echoing through the room only stirred him on, the sight of your wet lower regions connecting continuously, several strings of your combined essence being more proof of just how long you both were going. ,,mmf- fuck! zo, zoro!,,

,,promise baby, this the last one -fuck, I know y' got one more in you,, by the way his words were slurring together and his voice has in increasing in pitch, you just knew that we was getting closer. his aching cock hadn't gotten as much as a break since the moment you both started this escapade. his hips were losing the rhythm he'd been flowing and so was his hand, although his hand increased in pace.

,,fuckfuckfuckfuck- zo' m' so close, i c-cant ngh-,, all you could do was whisper into the base of his neck, hoping his hand would have mercy on your weeping body. the burn hurt so good, you couldn't hold back the sounds of pleasure that escaped your larynx; your breath hitched with each of his thrusts yet becoming more ragged as you felt your surroundings grow blurry.

zoro's rough voice groaned from above you, his hot face leaning down towards your throat. sloppy yet passionate kisses being trailed up and down your collarbone as your vision shifted again, turning white. your face shifting into an expression of pure ecstasy as you finally reached your high; every muscle in your body tightened as you pulled zoro even closer. despite your head being practically numb you still noticed how zoro's body stilled, his thick cock pressing deep inside of you. hot, sticky ropes flowed into your hot canal, yet also pooling onto the mattress being too much for your body to hold in. the small nibbles he placed around your jugular didn't go unnoticed, only adding to your orgasm as your body convulsed once more before fully relaxing in his hold. light kisses being trailed against your steaming skin, whispers of 'you did so good for me' and 'im proud of you' faded into the night.

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 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.

─ Old Habits, Die Hard

✎ Strawhats x gn! reader

Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp [Separately]

• fic type: drabbles

• summary: Strawhat men with an s/o, who picks at their acne/scars; and they do whatever they can to help them try to break the habit.

• word count: 3.9k [Collectively]

• warnings: skin picking, acne picking

• a/n: These are based on my own experience with skin picking, which won't be like everyone else's. So I ask that you be considerate when reading, please! I kinda got carried away with Sanji and Usopp 🧍‍♀️

Luffy:

The sun beams down on the Thousand Sunny, its golden rays glinting off the calm ocean waves. You lean against the railing, your fingers drumming absentmindedly against the wood. Your gaze wanders toward the horizon, thoughts meandering as the ship cuts through the water.

You shift slightly, fingers brushing your shoulder. There it is again—the familiar itch of idle hands meeting your ever-stubborn acne. Before you can pick at it, a familiar voice snaps you out of your trance. “Y/n! Look at this!” Luffy’s voice rings out, cutting through the salty air. Turning, you see your captain sprinting toward you, holding something in his outstretched hands. Usopp trails behind him, yelling something about "not losing it this time."

Luffy skids to a stop in front of you, shoving a palm-sized beetle practically into your face. “Isn’t it cool? Usopp and I found it on the mast!” You lean back instinctively, raising an eyebrow. “Cool? It looks like it’s planning world domination.” Luffy cackles at your remark, his grin widening. “You’re funny, Y/n! But look at its horns! They’re huge!” You snort, glancing at the beetle. “Yeah, massive. Bet it benches twice my weight.” You flash a mock-serious expression before bursting into laughter, your tone dripping with pompous flair.

“Oi! Don’t insult Beetle-sama!” Usopp protests, pointing a dramatic finger at you. “He’s the strongest beetle in all the seas!” Rolling your eyes with a chuckle, you cross your arms. “Alright, alright, I concede. Beetle-sama is a paragon of strength and charm.” Luffy laughs again, his joy as infectious as ever. “See? Told ya it’s awesome!” He’s gone as quickly as he came, bounding off to show the beetle to Robin next. You shake your head, amused, as your fingers drift back to your shoulder.

“Stop that,” Chopper’s gentle voice interrupts, his small hoof swatting your hand away. “Caught red-handed, huh?” you reply with a sheepish grin. Chopper frowns, his little doctor’s coat billowing slightly in the breeze. “Y/n, you’ve gotta stop picking at it. It could leave scars or get infected. You should take better care of your skin!”

You sigh, nodding. “I know, Doc. It’s just...a bad habit, y’know? Boredom, stress—it happens.”Chopper nods sagely, but before he can respond, Luffy reappears, his curiosity piqued. “What are you two talking about?” Chopper hesitates, glancing between you and Luffy, but you wave him off. “It’s no big deal, just some skin stuff.”

“Skin stuff?” Luffy tilts his head, clearly not understanding. Chopper sighs, taking pity on him. “Y/n picks at their acne sometimes, especially when they’re bored or stressed. I’ve been trying to help them stop.”Luffy blinks at this, his rubbery brain gears turning. Then, with the sudden decisiveness only he can muster, he declares, “Alright! I’ll help too!” You blink, caught off guard. “Help? How?”

“By making sure you’re never bored!” Luffy grins, puffing out his chest like he’s just announced a grand plan. You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s a tall order, Captain.”

“Not for me!” Luffy insists, stretching his arm out and wrapping it around your waist. “C’mon, we’re gonna explore the ship!” And so it begins. Every time you find yourself sitting alone, fingers starting to twitch, Luffy appears like magic. Whether he’s dragging you off to explore a new island, shoving some bizarre food Sanji’s made into your hands, or excitedly ranting about his next dream, he always manages to keep your hands busy—and your mind off your habit.

One evening, after a particularly chaotic adventure involving angry sea kings and narrowly avoiding an ambush, the crew is sprawled across the deck, basking in the quiet. You sit alone near the bow, the familiar itch creeping up again. Your fingers twitch, drifting toward your shoulder, when—

“Y/n!

You startle as Luffy plops down in front of you, cross-legged and beaming. “Wanna hear about the biggest fish I’ve ever seen?” he asks, leaning in close. “Let me guess—it was this big?” You stretch your arms wide, grinning. “No, bigger!” Luffy laughs, mimicking your gesture but stretching his arms far past the point of realism. “It was huuuge!” You chuckle, shaking your head. “Sure it was, Captain.”

As he talks—animatedly describing a fish so large it could swallow the Sunny whole—you realize something. His hands have found yours, his fingers weaving through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The urge to pick at your skin fades, replaced by a warm, calm feeling. You smile softly, letting yourself be swept up in his energy. “You’re really something, Luffy.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” he asks, cocking his head. “Just...thanks,” you say simply, your voice lighter than usual. Luffy grins, his face lighting up with joy. “Of course! You’re my crew, Y/n. And you’re my partner! I’ve gotta take care of you!" The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, but you quickly mask it with your usual humor. “Aw, shucks. Flattery will get you everywhere, Captain.” He laughs, throwing his head back, and you join in, the sound of your laughter mingling with the ocean breeze.

Zoro:

The salty breeze of the ocean tickled your nose as you leaned on the Sunny’s railing, the waves sparkling under the sun. You were currently watching Luffy attempt to catch fish with his bare hands—unsuccessfully—and your amused chuckles were drowned out by his cries of determination.

“Don’t laugh!” he hollered. “I’m gonna catch the biggest fish in here!” You snorted, smirking. “Sure you are, Captain. At this rate, the fish are probably betting on who’ll pull you in first.” Luffy splashed water in your direction, though he was far too far away for it to land anywhere near you. You grinned, leaning back and crossing your arms. Being on the Thousand Sunny was never boring, and neither were the people on it. That was especially true when it came to Roronoa Zoro.

You felt his presence before you even saw him, his heavy footsteps and steady gait unmistakable. You turned just in time to see the swordsman approaching with his usual lazy scowl, swords at his side. He stopped a few feet from you, hands tucked into his haramaki. “Oi, you done slacking?” he asked. You grinned, tilting your head dramatically. “Slacking? My dear mosshead, I’m hard at work being me. It’s a full-time job, you know.”

Zoro rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitched slightly. “Tch. You’re coming with me. Training.” You groaned, throwing your head back theatrically. “Again? Zoro, I’m not trying to become a human pretzel! Besides, what’s the point of training if I can already outwit you with my superior intellect?”

“That’s rich coming from someone who trips over their own feet,” Zoro retorted, grabbing your wrist. “I was testing gravity,” you deadpanned as he dragged you across the deck. “It still works, by the way.” You could hear Nami chuckling in the background, but Zoro ignored everyone, his grip firm yet not painful. You’d long since stopped resisting his training sessions, mostly because he was stubborn enough to carry you over his shoulder if you didn’t cooperate. Plus, you knew why he was doing it.

As the two of you reached the training area, Zoro handed you a practice sword. You stared at it with mock horror. “Oh no, not again. My arms still feel like noodles from the last time.” Zoro raised an eyebrow. “Good. Then you’re warming up faster.” You groaned but complied, holding the sword in a half-decent stance. Zoro began to correct your posture, his hands brushing yours briefly. You tried not to think too hard about it, focusing instead on his instructions.

“Stop slouching. Keep your wrist steady,” he said, circling you like a predator assessing its prey. “Sir, yes Sir,” you quipped. “Just focus, idiot,” he muttered, but you could hear the faintest trace of amusement in his tone. The training session lasted longer than you’d anticipated, and by the end, your muscles ached, and your bad habit had all but slipped your mind. Zoro had a way of keeping you so focused that there was no room for idle thoughts—or idle hands.

Later, as you sat on the deck with Chopper tending to a scrape on your hand, the little doctor gave you his usual stern look. “You need to stop picking at your skin, Y/n!” he scolded. “It’s bad for you, and you’ll get scars!” You gave him a sheepish grin. “Aw, c’mon, Doc, it’s not that bad.”

“It is bad,” Chopper insisted. “And Zoro’s been telling me you’re getting better about it. Don’t ruin the progress!” Your head snapped up, and you blinked. “Wait—Zoro’s been talking to you about it?” Chopper nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He said you’re too stubborn to admit it, but the training helps keep you from doing it. I think he’s really proud of you.”Your face grew warm, and you glanced over to where Zoro was lounging in his usual spot, swords by his side. He was fast asleep—or so it seemed—but his presence felt... steady, grounding.

That night, as you sat beside him in the crow’s nest after he’d dragged you there “to keep him company,” you finally worked up the courage to ask. “Hey, Zoro,” you began, your voice softer than usual. “Hm?” He cracked an eye open, glancing at you. “Why do you... you know, keep bugging me to train with you?” He stared at you for a moment before closing his eye again. “You’re less annoying when you’re focused.” You snorted, leaning back against the wall. “Wow, I’m touched. Truly.”

A brief silence fell between you, but Zoro’s voice cut through it, lower and more serious. “...You’re not alone on this ship. So stop acting like you have to deal with everything by yourself,” he said. Your chest tightened at his words, and for once, you didn’t have a snarky comeback. Instead, you smiled, your voice light. “Thanks, mosshead.”

He smirked, leaning back with his arms behind his head. “Anytime, idiot.” And just like that, you realized how much Zoro cared in his own, gruff way. You didn’t need flowery words or grand gestures. His actions spoke volumes, and you silently vowed to keep working on your habit—not just for him, but for yourself.

Sanji:

The scent of sea salt mixed with the delicious aroma of baking bread wafted through the galley. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, as Sanji expertly kneaded dough with the kind of finesse that only he could muster. His blond hair fell into his eyes, and you couldn’t resist the urge to tease him. “Careful, chef,” you said with a smirk. “You’re going to knead that dough into another dimension if you keep putting your back into it like that.”

Sanji shot you a look, one eyebrow arched in mock offense. “Oh? And what would you know about dough, my dear?” “Oh, I know plenty,” you replied, puffing up your chest dramatically. “I’ve got years of experience eating bread. That practically makes me an expert, don’t you think?” He chuckled, shaking his head as he transferred the dough into a bowl to rest. “You’re impossible, you know that?” “Thank you, I try,” you said with an exaggerated bow, laughing at your own antics.

As much as you loved joking around, you could tell Sanji was keeping an eye on you—specifically on your hands, which had started to wander toward your face. You were picking at a small spot on your cheek, absentmindedly scratching at the imperfection as you talked. His smile faded slightly, and he quickly stepped closer, gently catching your wrist before you could do more damage.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice losing its teasing edge. “Don’t do that, Y/n.” You blinked, glancing down at his hand holding yours. “What? Oh, this?” You waved your free hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Just a little battle with my face, nothing serious.” “It’s not fine,” he insisted, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “You’re hurting yourself. I hate seeing you do that.” The earnest concern in his voice took you off guard, and for a moment, you felt a pang of guilt. “I’m not trying to hurt myself,” you said, your tone softer now. “It’s just... I don’t know. It’s a habit.” Sanji sighed, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand before letting it go. “I know, love. But it still worries me.”

There was a pause before you brightened up again, forcing a grin to lighten the mood. “Wow, look at you, Mr. Worrywart. What’s next? Are you going to start measuring my water intake?” He gave you a flat look. “If I have to.” You burst out laughing, unable to help yourself. “Oh, Sanji, you’re killing me! You’d make an excellent mother.” “And you make an excellent troublemaker,” he shot back, though his lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “But seriously, Y/n, I want to help.” Later that day, you found out what he meant by “help.”

Sanji had roped Chopper into his mission. You walked into the infirmary to find the little reindeer scribbling on a clipboard while Sanji paced back and forth like a man on a mission. “I feel like I’m walking into a conspiracy,” you announced, startling them both. “What’s going on here? Are you plotting my demise? If so, I’d prefer poison. Very dramatic, very Shakespeare.” Chopper turned to you, flustered. “N-No! We’re not plotting anything bad! Sanji just asked me for advice on how to help you with your… um… habit.”

You raised an eyebrow and turned to Sanji. “You went to Chopper for advice? What, are you worried I’ll pick myself into oblivion?” Sanji crossed his arms, clearly unamused by your humor. “I’m serious, love. If you can’t stop, I want to at least help you keep your hands busy. Chopper mentioned stress balls and fidget toys, but I figured you might like something more… hands-on.” “Hands-on?” you repeated, intrigued.

That’s how you found yourself in the kitchen later, standing next to Sanji as he handed you a cutting board and a knife. “If you’re going to be fidgety, you might as well put it to good use,” he said, grinning. “Wow, I’ve been reduced to junior chef status,” you said, pretending to look offended. “What’s next? Do I have to peel potatoes?” “Not today,” he replied, amused. “Today, you’re cutting vegetables. Think you can handle that?” “Oh, I’ll handle it all right,” you said, twirling the knife dramatically before starting to chop. “Watch and learn, chef.”

To your surprise, you found the task oddly soothing. The repetitive motion of chopping vegetables kept your hands busy, and having Sanji nearby made it all the more enjoyable. He’d occasionally lean over to check your work, offering tips or cracking a joke to keep the mood light. “You know,” you said after a while, “this isn’t half bad. I might actually be good at this.” “Of course you are,” Sanji said, giving you a proud smile. “You’ve got me as your teacher, after all.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling back. “Don’t let it go to your head, love."

Over the next few weeks, Sanji made a habit of inviting you to join him in the kitchen whenever he had the chance. When he was too busy to cook with you, he’d leave behind recipes for you to try on your own—always tailored to your tastes. One evening, as you both worked side by side to bake a batch of cookies, you glanced at him and felt a wave of gratitude. “You know,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence, “you’re pretty amazing.”

Sanji looked at you in surprise. “What brought that on?” “Just… everything you do for me,” you admitted, your usual snark giving way to sincerity. “I know I joke around a lot, but I really appreciate it, Sanji. You’re kind of the best.” He blushed, his cigarette almost falling from his lips. “Y-Y/n, don’t say stuff like that so casually.” You laughed, nudging him playfully. “What, can’t handle a compliment? Poor Sanji, so unused to praise.”

He shook his head, smiling despite himself “You’re impossible.” “And you love it,” you said, grinning. “I do,” he admitted softly, his voice full of warmth. The moment hung in the air like the scent of freshly baked cookies, and for once, you didn’t feel the need to pick at your skin.

Usopp:

Usopp was on of the most interesting people you'd ever met. He had this magnetic way of weaving words, turning even the most mundane tasks into grand adventures. He was funny, brave (well, mostly), and, above all, kind. And somehow, despite the larger-than-life personalities around him, he made you feel like the most important person on the ship.

Which was why you were currently sitting on a barrel in the workshop, your hands idly fidgeting with a small mechanism Usopp had given you. He was pacing back and forth, gesturing wildly as he described the intricate designs for a new cannon he and Franky were working on. “And then,” he said, his voice rising with excitement, “the cannon will have this rotating mechanism that lets it fire in three directions at once! Can you believe that? Three! It’s genius, right?”

“Absolutely,” you replied with a grin, turning the small gear in your hand. “Though I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Usopp paused mid-step, his jaw dropping in mock offense. “Y/N! How could you? I’m sharing my brilliant ideas with you, and you’re not even trying to understand?”

“Hey,” you said, holding up the gear like it was a prize. “I’m doing my part. Look, I’m keeping my hands busy so I don’t accidentally pick at my face and send Chopper into another lecture.” At that, Usopp puffed out his chest, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Well, you are welcome, by the way. I did make those fidget toys for you, remember?”

You laughed, the sound ringing through the workshop. “Oh, don’t worry, Captain Usopp. I’ll sing your praises for the rest of my days. Truly, what would I do without you?” His cheeks flushed a deep red, but he quickly turned away, pretending to inspect a nearby toolbox. “Y-you don’t have to go that far,” he mumbled, though you caught the hint of pride in his voice.

You hopped off the barrel and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist in a sudden hug. “Thank you, though. Really. For noticing and for caring. It means a lot.” For a moment, he froze, his entire body going stiff. Then, as if on cue, his chest puffed out even more, and he placed his hands on his hips, striking a heroic pose. “Of course, Y/N! As your boyfriend, it’s my duty to look out for you!” You stepped back, biting back a laugh. “Wow, look at you. The very picture of chivalry.” “Darn right,” he said, grinning ear to ear.

Your days soon seemed to develop a rhythm, and you found yourself spending more and more time in Usopp’s workshop. Whenever he noticed you sitting by yourself, your fingers absentmindedly scratching at your skin, he’d beckon you over. “Y/N! Come here! I’ve got something cool to show you!”You’d roll your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. He’d hand you some little trinket—usually a part of a gadget he was working on—and challenge you to figure out how it worked.

“These gears fit together how exactly?” you’d ask, holding up two mismatched pieces. Usopp would smirk, leaning against the workbench with a cocky expression. “Ah, you see, that’s a trade secret. But I suppose I could teach you… if you’re nice to me.” “Nice? Oh, please,” you’d reply, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’m always nice to you, Love.” He’d chuckle, then launch into an enthusiastic explanation about the mechanism, complete with sound effects and exaggerated gestures. Half the time, you had no idea what he was saying, but you didn’t mind. Watching him light up, his voice filled with passion, was more than enough for you.

Then there were the quieter days. On those rare occasions when the crew wasn’t caught up in some grand adventure, you and Usopp would retreat to the aquarium. The peaceful hum of the water and the gentle swaying of the Sunny made it the perfect spot to relax.

The gentle gurgle of water and the soft, rhythmic swish of fish fins filled the aquarium, creating a tranquil symphony. The light refracted through the tank’s glass, casting wavy blue shadows across the floor. You sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Usopp on the cushioned bench, his hand clasped warmly in yours. Neither of you spoke, but there was no need for words—the silence felt full, not empty, like a soft blanket wrapping around you both.

Your thumb idly traced the callouses on his palm, a subtle reminder of the work he put into everything he cared about. Usopp’s hand fit perfectly in yours, rough yet comforting, like holding a tether to something steady in an unpredictable world. You could feel his heartbeat in the quiet stillness, a steady rhythm that mirrored the calm you felt whenever he was near.

Usopp’s gaze lingered on the tank, but you caught him sneaking glances at you out of the corner of your eye. His face softened whenever he looked your way, a quiet, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. For all his bluster and bravado, there was a gentleness to him in moments like these—an unspoken vulnerability that made your chest tighten with affection.

The fish glided lazily through the water, their vibrant scales shimmering under the soft glow of the tank lights. You wondered if Usopp saw the same beauty in them that you saw in him—bright, intricate, and endlessly fascinating.As if sensing your thoughts, Usopp gave your hand a small squeeze, grounding you. He didn’t say anything, but the action spoke volumes, You'd leaned your head against his shoulder, a quiet smile curling at your lips.

Over time, you started to notice a change in yourself. The fidget toys Usopp had made, the trinkets he gave you to tinker with, the quiet moments in the aquarium—all of it seemed to help. You weren’t picking at your skin as much. The urge was still there sometimes, but it was easier to resist. One evening, as you sat on the deck watching the sunset, you turned to Usopp. “Hey.” He looked up from the slingshot he was polishing, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. He tilted his head, confused. “For what?” “For everything,” you replied. “For noticing when I’m struggling. For finding ways to help without making me feel bad about it. For just… being you.” His eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Then he smiled, a small, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. “Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I guess I should say thank you too. For putting up with me. And, you know, for being you.” You laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder. “We’re a pretty good team, huh?” “The best,” he said, his voice full of confidence.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in shades of orange and pink, you couldn’t help but feel grateful. Life on the sea was unpredictable, filled with dangers and uncertainties. But with Usopp by your side, you knew you could face anything. After all, he wasn’t just your boyfriend. He was your partner, your teammate, and, most importantly, your friend. And that was more than enough.

− Jump for Joy

✎buggy x spouse! reader

♦︎summary: after four years of running, you can only hope that the universe will have mercy on you, and reunite you with the love of your life.

♦︎word count: 2.1k

♦︎warnings: hallucinations

Four years, four years of running, four years of hiding four years of preparation, all leading up to this very moment. Your time on this island had been the most calm you'd been in 4 years. The constant running from a special group of Marines, specially trained to target you, Hadad weighed down, mourn you than you would've ever thought possible. But the promise the determination to get back to your husband kept moving through their darkest moments.

The days stretched, time bending; bleeding into itself. Sometimes you had trouble differentiating the days from your memories when it didn't contain him. The nights were the hardest to deal with, because then you were left alone with your thoughts. The stars shined down over you, offering you some form of comfort but nothing could compare to him.

Four years since you felt the warmth of his embrace, four years since you heard his hearty laugh, four years since you felp his soft lips coated in red, against your plump ones. Being apart from him was a daily fight, an ongoing war against memories that threatened to overwhelm you.

Your constant running had pushed you to the farthest reaches of the Grand Line. Your powers, connected to the gravitational field of the earth, made you a target. You could alter the gravitational field around you, capable of reducing entire ships to splinters. This gift, or curse, had to force you to leave the only home you'd ever know, the only person you'd ever truly loved; had forced you to stay on the move, never lingering too long in one place.

You missed Buggy with an intensity that surprised even you. His absurd, but equally charming antics; he was such a unique person that you couldn't help me drawn to him. Buggy had a way of grounding you, of making you feel safe and loved despite the chaos that surrounded you.

You remembered how he would stand by your side. Even when he was trembling with fear himself, and how he would use his Devil Fruit powers in the most ridiculous yet effective ways to protect you.

Your thoughts would often drift back to the day you left. 'He Who Waits' had finally caught up to you, and there was nothing you could do except run. No matter what you did, you could never forget the absolute devastation and hurt that crossed Buggy's face once before you disappeared into the night.

You didn't have enough time to explain it to him, didn't have the heart to drag him into your mess when he had his own dreams and ambitions ahead of him. Every day, since then you'd regret not being upfront with your husband, the one you promised to spend the rest of your life with.

Some days, during your most lucid moments, you would see him, standing on the deck of his ship, his pretty blue hair that you loved so much, tucked into his hat. His astonished shouting was practically audible, seeing the way his face would light up with that mix of anger and joy that was so uniquely him. The thought of his toned arms around you again, holding you tight as if to make sure you were real, gave you strength to keep moving forward.

----

The sun is high in the sky, radiating intense heat that makes the island's air shimmer. You stand on the cliffside, the salty breeze of the sea ruffling your hair, however long or short it was. Your heart aches with a mix of longing and nervousness, but also a fierce determination.

Although this day is just as uneventful as the ones before it, you always hold hope that today would be the day. That you soon will be reunited with the love of your life, that blue hair would cloud your vision and those soft, slightly chapped red lips would connect with yours once again.

The sun beams down on you, ever present, you hear the distant sound of many voices, blending together, some louder than others. You'd usually ignore them because it's not rare that pirates dock on this island for respite or repair. Many times you would go into hiding out of fear of 'He Who Waits' finally catching up to you. You wouldn't put anything past him, no matter how secluded this island was. You could always feel him lurking, deep, red eyes glaring into your back even if he wasn't physically there.

Your thoughts were cut off by a faint but familiar voice, you were used to your mind playing tricks on you but this was far too cruel. Usually your hallucinations would fester in the head of night, where not even the stars could comfort you.

They never happened in broad daylight, where you could easily differentiate reality from your mind's torture. You felt yourself being drawn to the voice, a sliver of hope blooming in your heart. Maybe, just maybe the Universe had found favor in you, has seen enough of your suffering and decided to give you a break after all these years.

You stalked through the terrain of this lush forest, which turned into walking silently, calculating each footstep that hit the forest floor to not draw attention. The sound of that voice become more clear, orders being barked that seemed so familiar, you let go of all reason. Your walking turns into running, and so you're running through the dense foliage, your heartbeat echoing through your head. That familiar, warm feeling in your chest is returning, but so is your anxiety.

You grow anxious that this isn't him, that you've finally gotten away from 'He Who Waits' but in the process, lost the love of your life. You're anxious because you know that if it isn't, your heart won't be able to take it anymore, and you'll lose yourself. Mind slipping into deep darkness, never to be retrieved again, but you refuse to lose hope.

You think about the way his red nose would wrinkle when he laughed, the mischief in his eyes that made him a pirate feared by many, yet adored by you. You recall his boisterous voice, always larger than life, and the moments of vulnerability he showed only to you. Your lips curl into a smile as you brush aside a low-hanging branch, your eyes scanning the horizon. You take in the new addition to the familiar surroundings of the beach. Many when we're going to and from the ship, they seemed busy but you weren't here for them.

You eyes continued to wander before focusing on a familiar figure approaching from the distance. The vibrant colors of his attire are unmistakable—red and white stripes with his oversized captain's hat bobbing as he moves. It's him, it's so unmistakably him, and you find yourself weeping because finally you'll be reunited.

“Buggy!” you cry out, your voice trembling, the tears never ceasing, the larynx in your throat was sore from disuse but you pushed through. Buggy’s posture stiffens, his commanding voice trailing off as he processes the sound of your voice. He turns slowly, almost as if he’s afraid to believe it. His eyes, those sharp, playful blue eyes, lock onto yours. They widen in shock, the mischievous sparkle momentarily replaced by raw, unfiltered emotion. His mouth opens slightly, his breath catching as if he’s seeing a ghost.

“[Reader]?” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, filled with disbelief. You step towards him hesitantly, you wanted to say everything and nothing at all, but the only thing that fell from your lips was, "Buggy!" you shout, your voice breaking with emotion. "[Reader]!" His voice reaches you, a mix of shock and joy.

He quickens his pace, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. You take a few steps forward, your heart pounding in your chest. As he gets closer, you can't contain the laugh that breaks through your sobbing. The sight of him, flustered and frantic, is endearing.

Buggy finally reaches you, skidding to a halt just a few feet away. For a moment, the two of you simply stare at each other, taking in every detail, every change. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, you're in his arms, his grip tight as if he's afraid you'll disappear again.

His arms wrap around you with a fervor that takes your breath away. You’re engulfed by the familiar scent of salt, sweat, and a hint of the sea, the smell that has always meant home to you. “I can’t believe it,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I’d lost you forever. I searched everywhere, [Reader]. Everywhere.” His words hit you with the weight of his longing and desperation. You pull back slightly to look into his eyes, your hands cupping his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath your fingers, his face make up smearing slightly.

“I’m so sorry. I had no choice, I wish I could have explained everything but I didn't have enough time!" You sob, holding on to him as if he's disappear if you let him go. His gaze softens, and he gently brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. “You don’t have to explain now. You’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

You laugh through the tears threatening to spill over, the sound a mixture of relief and happiness. “You always knew how to make me feel better.” He grins, that signature mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “And you always knew how to make me worry." You wink at him, your voice playful despite the tears. “I seem to remember you enjoying that.”

Buggy chuckles, a deep, hearty sound that vibrates through you. “You’re a handful, [Reader], but yes, I do love it.” You lean in closer, your lips just inches from his. “And I love you, Buggy. Always have, always will.” His eyes widen in surprise, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “[Reader], you can’t just say things like that…”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within you. “Why not? It’s the truth.” He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re going to be the death of me, love.”

“But you wouldn’t have it any other way,” you say, a teasing lilt to your voice. You laugh, a sound that feels foreign after so long, but oh-so-good. The energy flows through you, a mix of joy and relief that makes you feel lightheaded. It's a familiar sensation, one you've experienced before when your powers surge unexpectedly. Before you realize it, your feet lift off the ground.

The sunlight intensifies around you, the warmth of the rays seeping into your skin and filling you with a pulsating energy. You start to float upwards, the realization hitting you only when Buggy's eyes widen in panic. "[Reader]! You're floating away!"

You blink in surprise, looking down to see the ground getting farther and farther away. You laugh again, more out of surprise than amusement. "Oops!" Buggy's hands reach out, his Devil Fruit powers activating. His arms detach from his body, elongating as they grab hold of your outstretched arms. The sudden jolt brings you back to your senses, and you stop rising.

"Get down here, you airhead!" Buggy shouts, though there's no real anger in his voice, just exasperation. You focus, pulling the energy back into yourself and slowly descending. As your feet touch the ground, you give Buggy a sheepish grin and chuckle lightly. "Ahaha, it's been a while since that's happened."

His grin widens, and he pulls you closer, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s both tender and passionate. You lose yourself in the moment, the world around you fading away. His kiss is a promise, a reassurance that you’re finally where you belong. When you finally pull apart, you’re both breathless. Buggy rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you reply softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Every single day.” He opens his eyes, the intensity of his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “Promise me you won’t disappear again.”You nod, your voice firm. “I promise. I’m here to stay.” Buggy smiles, a look of pure happiness on his face. “Good. Because I don’t think I could handle losing you again.” You lean into him, your heart full. “You won’t have to. We’re together now.”

♦︎notes: - I was rewatching Steven Universe, the episode where he's stuck floating and I was heavily inspired to write about [Reader] who goes through the same thing! Plus Buggy is becoming one of my favorite characters 😊

Miscellaneous 

Legend: ♠︎ = Fluff ♥︎ = Smut ♦︎ = Angst ♣︎ = Dark

♠︎ Tired, your favorites: your boyfriend wants to go to sleep but can't seem to without you, his occupied spouse, by his side

— 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.

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

korii. 9teen. soulaan. they/them

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𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖆 𝖉𝖎𝖌 𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖘 𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖊𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗?

my coffin ☥ cemtetary rules ☥ the graveyard

art account

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Kinktober Masterlist, 2024

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𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴♠︎

❖ binding shots, yandere! zoro x bartender! reader

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