#op:la

[kennnnnn3]

twinkdeath

i love them

reblogs very appreciated

[anetesenpai]

Guess which new hole I have fallen into

[autistic-katara]

oh my god theyre bros… (romantic)

[blnk338]

Oh I’m in love

Kiss, Marry, Kill: Part 1/2 (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: In which Buggy overhears a private conversation and uses that knowledge against you. Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: Semi-explicit. Word Count: ~3k (of 5.3k) Warnings: Clown abuse, strong language, incorrect use of a straight razor.

Never had you on my mind Now you're there all the time Never knew what I missed until I kissed ya

---

By all accounts, Buggy should be having a great time. There's food, alcohol, gambling... hell, there's even a swimming pool. Not that he can partake, but he can live vicariously.

Instead, he's got a whole school of shark eyes trained on him as he sits on a stool next to Arlong's throne. This water park sucks.

He's not chained up or anything. The threat of a couple dozen sets of teeth ripping into him is reason enough to sit perfectly still, keep his mouth shut, and try to look as small as possible. No sudden movements, no change in expression, no—

"Kiss the clown, marry the waiter, kill Pink Hair."

Buggy sits bolt upright and looks around. Who the hell said that?

Arlong doesn't even deign to look at him. "Hear something?"

Clear. Crisp. With a little bit of an accent, maybe. He's heard it somewhere recently, but where?

Certainly not here. It was a woman's voice, and Arlong Park is a bit of a sausage party at the moment. Not that he can tell on sight with fishpeople.

"Answer me, clown," Arlong rumbles.

He forgets who he's talking to for a moment. "Eavesdropping's an art," he snaps. "You can't rush art."

Big mistake. Arlong responds with a low, wet growl. "It's been three days. My patience is running thin."

Quiet chatter. The clinking of silverware. Someone chewing with their mouth open. The little pirates are at a restaurant, it seems.

He relays this to Arlong. He's less than pleased. He enunciates every word to show his teeth. "Care to be more specific?"

A shudder crawls up the back of Buggy's neck. He takes a swig of his drink to cover it. He places his fingers over his remaining ear, straining.

"You're shitting me." That voice he recognizes. The redhead. The one who ruined his show. The one Arlong's so interested in. Nadi? Nani? Noni?

The other woman speaks. "Nami, you rejected him," she says. "Girl Code only applies if you were dating."

Nami. That's her, the conniving little bitch. "No, not the waiter. I mean you'd seriously kiss the clown? He nearly killed us."

He'd recognize Rubber Boy's voice anywhere, the little shitheel. "And his nose would get in the way."

The mystery woman speaks up again. "That's nothing new. I’ve smacked noses with plenty of guys."

Okay, that narrows it down. It’s not the redhead, it can't be Rubber Boy or the bounty hunter, so that leaves...

...you. Of course it's you. How could he forget you? You're the only one who laughed at Axe-Hand Moron. Granted, it was more like a snnrrrk and you immediately clapped your hand over your mouth, eyes wide with horror, but it was a laugh all the same.

And in that moment, he knew he liked you. Bad sense of humor. Cute smile. A little bashful. He appreciates that. Sure, you helped humiliate him not an hour after the fact, but all's fair in love and piracy.

"Look, I'm not saying it’s a good idea," you continue, "but sometimes you gotta live dangerously."

The bounty hunter speaks, dry and droll. "Storms are dangerous. Bar fights are dangerous. You're just insane."

"Oh, c'mon, you're not seriously gonna hold Fu..." You pause. "Kiss Marry Kill answers against me."

So that's what's going on. "They're just chattering like they always are," he says to Arlong.

Arlong does not like that answer. He snatches Buggy up by the neck, lifting him clear off the ground with only one hand.

"Wait! Wait wait wait! They're still talking! I might have something!" He kicks and struggles, but it's no use.

You speak. "You think everything pops off? ‘Cause a gal could really— hyurk.”

Laughter all around as you’re cut off by something. Sounds like you choked.

“Thank you, Usopp,” Nami says. “I am not having that conversation.”

Arlong saunters over to the pool, carrying Buggy like a ragdoll. He has precious few seconds now. C'mon, he wills them, say something useful!

A slap, a spit, then a couple of hard coughs. “Nice shot,” you wheeze. “Use the unspicy peanut next time. I think I burned my windpipe.”

The new guy — Usopp — scoffs. “Spicy? Please. This isn’t spicy. Baratie spicy is barely a zip. Now, you want spicy, you gotta hit up the Great Pepper Isles. Their chilis are so hot, I had an out-of-body experience.”

And boom, there it is. Right as he's about to be dropped into the water, his ticket to life.

“Baratie! They're at Baratie," he chokes out. "That floating restaurant. That really nice one I got thrown out of, the pricks."

It was Cabaji's fault. Turns out whipping a unicycle out at the bar is frowned upon. Who'd've thunk.

Arlong 'smiles.' All teeth and gums and no mirth at all. "Consult our charts," he says to the nearest fishman. "I'll prepare our compass."

He grabs Buggy by the hair and yanks. In the interest of not getting his neck broken, he separates his head from his body. Unfortunately, gravity takes over and his body plunges into the pool.

Weakness swamps him like a rogue wave. He can't say a word as he's stuffed into a cloth sack and everything goes dark.

In both ears, all he can hear are the sounds of laughter.

---

Someday, Buggy will learn not to run his fat mouth. That day is not today.

Usopp barges into the galley and lobs his head through the air, a low slow toss. He only has a moment to appreciate not being overhand pitched before landing on the floor. Not on his nose, fortunately, but it still hurts.

He points at the blonde guy — Sanji? Sanji. "I can't take it anymore. He's your problem now. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

He tramps off as Buggy flips himself upright. “What’s his problem?” he asks no one in particular. “Sheesh, you make one ‘your mom’ joke and—“

A decidedly unmanly yelp escapes him as he's popped up into the air. The world spins and turns and he braces himself to hit the ground again, only to be caught in soft hands. He's spun around...

...and comes face to face with you, regarding him with curious, contemptuous eyes.

Oh, you're even prettier up close. The redhead's a looker, but she's still a kid. Soft. Pale. Set like a mousetrap, ready to spring and break some poor chump's neck at the slightest provocation.

But you? You're a grown-ass woman. Comfortable in your sun-kissed skin. A twinkle of experience in your eye and the ease of someone who's been sailing her ship for years.

He can't help but smile. "Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here, gorgeous," he says with a wink.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Sanji shoot him a glare. Your expression remains cool and uninterested. Shifting his head to your side, you hold him against your hip like a laundry basket. Even through your trousers, the soft swell of flesh warms his cheek.

“Weren't you just on buggysitting duty?” you ask Sanji.

Buggysitting? Really? "I'm right here, y'know," he grumbles.

He's ignored, as per usual. Sanji straightens up and huffs. “New guy always gets the shit jobs.”

“Let’s trade,” you say. “You take my watch and I’ll mind our chatty compass.”

Rude. “I’m still right here.”

Sanji shakes his head. “Go get your beauty sleep. Not that you need it, of course."

Wow, that was a bad line. Buggy makes his displeasure known with a retch.

“Sleep is for people who don’t have coffee.” You flap your hand toward the door. "Shoo.”

Sanji glances between you and Buggy, but heads for the door. "Any trouble at all, love, and I’m a shout away."

A little smile colors your voice. "If he starts gnawing my ankles, you’ll be the first to know."

Sanji returns the smile, sickeningly sweet. As he leaves, you sit at the table, placing Buggy across from you.

He wants nothing more than to plant his leg on a stool, lean in on his knee, and give you a toothy grin. But alas, he must settle for the grin. "Alone at last. Come here often?"

You don't even bother to look at him, too preoccupied with picking up a very shiny straight razor and a strip of leather. Muscle ripples under your skin as you slide the blade back and forth.

"So you're the barber," he says. You don't respond. "Can't imagine you're too busy on a ship with a bunch of babyfaces." Still nothing. "Don't suppose I could get a shave, then? Last time I used a straight razor, I ended up like this!"

"Barber surgeon," you say as you inspect the blade. Dissatisfied with some invisible blemish, you continue stropping.

He shrugs, only to remember he can’t. "Say, doc, I can't feel anything below my neck. Could you take a look?”

Irritation tints your voice. “Not a doctor,” you say. You’ve clearly had to explain this countless times before. “Doctors treat the inside. I fix up the outside.”

“Splitting hairs, Miss Sawbones.”

Shiff shiff shiff goes the razor. "If you don't stop talking, we’re gonna see if cutting off the nose really does spite the face. Might be an improvement for you.”

That’s just low. “Keep talking shit and this bark is gonna turn into bite.”

You finally look up. You level the razor at him, glaring down the blade. “You’re the only one talking, clown.”

Damn. Your eyes are pretty. Warm as the first sunbeam of a summer morning, but dark as the blotches he gets in his eyes when he looks into a spotlight by accident. Hot like one, too. Heat lurks below the dark surface, like warm charcoal about to catch fire.

Nerves ball up in his absent chest. He swallows them and summons his bravado. “Can ya blame me? I’ve got shit else to do. I’ve met parrots with more to say than you.”

"Count the cracks in the ceiling."

"One, two, three—“ He gives an exaggerated groan. “Didn't you say you were gonna make coffee? Can I get in on that?"

You scoff, but you do stand. "Last thing you need is caffeine.”

“The last thing I need is to be held hostage by a bunch of greenhorn nobodies,” he says, "and yet here I am."

“Sucks to suck,” you say. You pull a pot out of a cupboard and fill it with water. “How do you take it? Sugar? Cream?”

“Black. Like my heart.”

You let out that snnnrrrrk of a suppressed laugh again. What a nice sound. “Something we got in common.”

“Black heart or black coffee?”

“Yes.”

Such a simple, easy response. Not even particularly clever. But the delivery with no hesitation, no intonation, no second guessing the punchline. He laughs. “I knew I liked you!”

You glance over your shoulder at him. “You try to kill everyone you like? No wonder you have no friends.”

He hops to the edge of the table. Not an easy feat with only a stump. “C’mon, babe. All’s fair in love and piracy.”

Calling you babe was a blindfolded over-the-shoulder shot in the dark, but it lands. You add a smile to your glance. “I’ll give you that and nothing more.”

Somewhere, miles away, his heart flutters. He lets it. “Will you still give me coffee?”

“Only if you shut up ‘til this water boils.”

In this state, he’ll take any scrap of stimulus he can get. He bites his tongue and bites it hard, willing himself not to speak.

Silence creeps in. Silence leads to stewing, and stewing leads to bad thoughts. Bad feelings. Lonely feelings. Like how long it’s been since he’s had a friendly cuppa joe with someone. Or had someone honestly laugh at his stupid jokes.

Especially not someone as quick as you. Or as pretty. Or with such a nice ass. Or who maybe-sorta-kinda-might-possibly be interested in him. Potentially. Hypothetically.

There’s no damn way, he tells himself. You’re humoring him. You’re definitely shacking up with that cook — young, charming, handsome. Or the bounty hunter, maybe — tall, dark, broody.

You wouldn’t give him a second glance. Him, a pathetic, painted, big-nosed weirdo. Who is currently a severed head. A temporary state, but still not a good first impression. Even though his actual first impression was trying to kill you and your buddies. This second first impression is just as bad.

A sharp groan escapes him before he can stop it. He eyes you, expecting you to snap at him or worse.

But you don’t. You pause in your pouring to peer over your shoulder at him, gaze soft. “Y’alright?”

There goes his heart again. Ugh. “Peachy. That coffee done yet?”

You curl your lip. “What’s got your panties in a knot?”

“Just realized I’m gonna need a straw or some shit.”

Still sneering, you set a shallow mug in front of him. “I’ll see what I can find.”

See? You definitely don’t like him. Stupid fucking jackass, letting his hopes get up. This is what he gets.

…A nice, warm cup of coffee. If you really hated him, you wouldn’t have given him coffee, right? Or be looking for a straw?

You’re just humoring him. You just want to save your friend. Catch more flies with honey and all that. He’ll be more agreeable if you’re friendly.

Across the room, you open a drawer. “Hey, bendy straws. Perfect.”

You’re breaking out bendy straws for him? There’s gotta be something there! At least a little something!

No. No way. Coincidence.

You place an oddly long straw into the mug. He realizes it’s three normal ones jammed end-to-end, creating a pipe ending just about level with his mouth.

You just pulled some engineering shit so he can drink coffee with you. There’s definitely something.

An ice cube plops into the mug and you slide back into the booth with your own cup. “Might dilute it a bit, but can’t have you burning your mouth.”

His distant heart flips again. He has to say something. Before he can convince himself otherwise. He says the first thing that comes to mind.

“So,” he says, “‘kiss the clown,’ eh?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That’s the first thing he thought of? Seriously? He braces himself for boiling coffee thrown in his face.

You freeze mid-sip, brows raised. “Excuse me?”

Okay, you don’t look mad. “Don’t deny it, babe. I heard everything. Kiss Marry Kill? Nice job keeping it kid-friendly, wink wink."

You stare at him with those dark eyes. "No idea what you're on about."

"I know you know. And I know you know I know." He waggles his eyebrows, hoping for a laugh, but he gets nothing.

You watch the steam swirling up from your mug. "What do you want me to say, exactly? That I chose you to kiss?"

"I just wanna know what possesses a woman to make her want to shack up with the guy who tried to kill her and her friends." He lips the straw into his mouth and takes a test sip. Still quite hot.

"Circumstance. Process of elimination. Being put on the spot." You pick up the razor. Your fiddling with it belies your agitation.

"Don't lie to me, babe," he croons. "I can see right through you."

You stare at him. "And what is it that you see?"

What does he see? "A woman on a knife's edge of self-satisfaction and self-destruction. Once bitten, twice shy, but when he comes around the third time, you just can't help yourself."

Your fiddling becomes more insistent. You break eye contact to look at the razor. He's hitting on something. Time to push some buttons.

"You bet on the wrong horse every time. You think it'll be different this time. But it never is." He smiles bitterly. "Something else we got in common. Birds of one ugly feather."

Your gaze softens as you return your gaze to him. "So you found the problem, Doctor Headshrink. What’s the prescription?"

Shoot your shot, Buggy. "Kiss the clown and maybe we'll find out."

You're still for a few moments. Then slowly, carefully, you slide your hand across the table. You pull him closer as you lean lower in your seat to eye level with him.

He can't help the way his breath quickens. It's been so, so long since he had any kind of intimacy. Your reedy fingers trace his jaw down to his chin. Your thumb comes up to pull at his bottom lip, and he lets out a satin-soft whimper as he opens his mouth to you.

You strike like a snake, yanking his tongue out with one hand and readying your razor with the other. His choke turns into a scream as you bring it down, severing his tongue clean at the root.

It's one thing to disconnect body parts. Pop a leg off, drop an ear — he’s used to it. But it's a different story when said part is supposed to be inside of him. His tongue waggles like a fish as he tries to return it to his mouth, but you keep a firm grip.

"You can have this back in the morning," you say.

He wants to cuss you out, but what comes out is ew bihck, whadda fuhck iss won wif ew, gif ih bahck.

You laugh. And lord, what a laugh you've got. Loud, like a party gone late into the hours of the night. Clattery, like a dozen plates shattering on the floor. Full of mirth, like a drunk on payday.

And, for the briefest of moments, his rage is forgotten. He wants to make you laugh like that.

But it returns with a vengeance, replaced with a desire to see you squirm.

---

<;&lt;< | mastahpost | >>>

[luscaina]

here's are some of my favorite little things from the OP:LA

the fact that they let Iñaki Godoy keep his lil accent even when playing Luffy like i love that so much

THE BOUNTY INTROS!!! i love how they get interacted with, Arlong's one is my favorite so far

Coby's huge bug-like glasses

Zoro's three little earrings – they look so NICEEEE I WANT THEM

Nojiko. [⬅️ Completely Infatuated]

Sanji being so sweet & kind with Luffy especially

Iñaki's acting oh my god he's so fun to watch and he has such youthful energy that's perfect for Luffy

THE ENTIRE SCENE WHERE ZORO WAKES FROM HIS COMA AND LUFFY CLIMBS ON HIM

Usopp and Nami holding hands for comfort...

The Outfits – everybody fucking thank the costume department RIGHT NOW AND ON YOUR KNEES

Garp throwing the cannon ball

Mihawk's little head tilts that remind me so much of an actual hawk surveying their surroundings

also Mihawk's speech pattern; i never knew someone could speak cursive

Zeff saying "little eggplant" (derogatory/affectionate)

Garp and Zeff's dinner feeling like old ex-lovers reuniting bitter-sweetly like what the fuck was that vibe and can we get more of that please

Gum Gum Gatling

SANJI CALLING ZORO "MOSSHEAD"

just Sanji's temper in general, he's so funny bc he's genuinely sweet but gets riled up so fast

Usopp accidentally meeting Mihawk 😭

Luffy's casual touches and complete disregard for personal space

KAYA BEING READY TO SHANK KURO LIKE YOOOO

everyone's genuine confusion/horror/exasperation when it comes to Luffy's antics

[svgvru]

✮ 𝗖𝗥𝗔𝗩𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗙𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡! despite how proud he might seem, he's a little boy starved for love and attention.

𝗗𝗨𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗖𝗧! ꒰ buggy d. clown / dom,m!reader ꒱: spicy ꒰ sex is mentioned ꒱, slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader is mentioned to be trans. op:la buggy in mind ꒰ but anime!buggy can be interpreted ꒱, "gay" can be interpreted for either of its meanings, this is just rambling about him frfr, some headcanons abt his past are incorporated!

𝐘𝐄𝐒, 𝐁𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. he's craved it from before his time on gol d. roger's ship, to now in his fame, where he's grown to be a feared pirate all across the east blue. his parents were assholes, assholes who abandoned him. and like deadbeat parent, they never gave him an ounce of love and attention. his apprenticeship on roger's crew didn't grant that much love and attention either. but no matter what time period, no matter what character arc he's in, your attention—your love mattered above everyone else.

no matter what time period, or character arc your in, he's always shouted for your attention in his own way. from the time you were just a girl—another brat on roger's crew, to the present where you've met with ivankov and became a man and a revolutionary. from pretending to do something grand, or taking credit for something shanks did on an island, he was always trying to impress you. even more so now that your a famous pirate and revolutionary, even more famous and strong. even more so now that your a man—that made his little gay heart jump at the sight of you.

and no matter how stupid he looked, whether it be trying to take credit for someone else's work, or fighting shanks, you always gave him your attention. the laugh that left your lips, and the smile that graced your face when he would do something goofy made him blush. it made him more determined to him have your eyes on him, no matter what he does, good or bad. he just needs your love.

a simple look of disapproval from you would bring a sting to his heart. he tried to be cool! he tried to get you to notice him like you did when you were on roger's ship. however, he went about it the wrong way.

how stupid could be, forgetting that you are in fact a revolutionary? the look you had on your face, a mix of digust and he could swear anger, when you heard of the "audience" he had aquired sent an arrow through his heart. and it wasn't cupid's type of arrows. how could he forget the reason you joined dragon in his efforts to destroy the world government. idiocy. it was idoicy on his part, and he desperately hoped you didn't hate him. if you were to hate him? there's no telling what buggy may or may do.

he deserved getting his ass beat by the ragtag pirate crew known as the "straw hats." he deserved having his plans ruined, and maybe you liked it? did you think it was what he deserved? if you did, then that it was.

and the anxious feeling he felt when he pulled back together the broken peaces of his "freaks" and heard that you were in the east blue was one like no other. just a few islands away, there was the man he's been craving attention and love from. he desperately hoped you would grant that silent wish of his.

of course, he was curious as to what a big shot like you was doing in the east blue instead of the grand line, though he didn't think on it too much. all was focused on was the image of your smile directed in his way.

it was only a "coincidence" that his ship pulled up right next to yours—looking quite small in comparison he might add. it was only a "coincidence" that he appeared at the same bar you were in out of 5 others on the island. it was only a "coincidence" that he happened to sit next to you at the bar when he ordered a beer. "buggy?"

the calm, smoothness of your voice made his heart flutter and he looked in your direction, pretending he "hadn't noticed you," as if he wasn't staring at you in the corner of his eyes. "whhaaat?! your here? shock—errr..."

you chuckled at the nervous chuckle he let out after his words. you always happened to love the way he speaks. the inflections in his voice and how constantly excited or host-like he seemed was adorable to you. although, you'd never out right say that. buggy hesitantly started the conversation, carefully asking what you were doing in the east blue, dodging questions about his circus in fear it'd bring that expression back.

he was awkward and like his 13-year old self again, he awkwardly blurted out his wish to converse with you longer, but elsewhere. "to learn about the revolutionary army," he said, and you clearly knew otherwise. everyone in the bar new otherwise. his crew, your crew, the bartender, and innocent bystanders could look at you do and practically see the tension the two of you have. "sure, we've booked an inn nearby," you suggest, walking backwards out of the bar while looking at him. you gave a quick glance and a smile to one of your crew, which he assumed was your right hand. the two of you talked with your eyes, and the man nodded back and started whispering to the other members of your crew.

"c'mon, bugs." you nod towards outside with the door propped open by your foot. bugs?! well, that means your not mad. his heart thumped and he silently gave orders to his crew and happily ran walked behind you.

you could see his puppy eyes, hell, they matched his behavior, following you to the inn like a lost puppy. cute.

buggy silently begged for your attention, your affection, wishing you could read his mind and look at him, smile at him. he desperately wished you were focused on him. he, of course, got his wish when the two of you arrived at the room you booked in the inn. his heart leaped at being so close to you after so long.

his breath hitched and his heart thumped when you looked up at him as you sat on the edge of the bed. his breath hitched when you told him to take off his fur-lined jacket, when your hand accidentally grazed his bare arm. his heart thumped when you got close to him, when your smile was wide and bright, begging for him to talk. his breath-hitched and halted when you smashed your lips against his. his heart thumped when your hands massaged his sides and slid off his striped, red tunic. his breath became ragid when you touched him all too delicately, prepping him for you. he swore his heart jumped from his chest from when you first slid into him and touched his prostate.

his eyes watered from your tender touches. fat tears rolled down his cheeks as you were being so gentle with him, cooing and reassuringly squeezing his thin waist. he only wanted to cry more when you missed away his tears and whispered the sweetest things to him. buggy the clown, a feared pirate of the seas, was crying because he finally felt the love and attention he so craved, specifically from you.

it would be you and only you who could do this him. you were the only one who could fuck him this good and reduce him to tears with your love.

buggy didn't think you loved him. no one loved him, so he'd buy that love, or make people love him. but the genuine love he felt from you was something he'd never experienced. it tipped the scales and nothing could hold a candle to it. to you holding him delicately, wiping his tears and kissing his lips with an "it's okay," with an "im here, baby." nothing would ever be better than this and he hoped and prayed to whoever would listen that this would last forever. that he would always be able to feel your warm touch and your love till the day he took his last breath.

his trembling lips mumbles an "i love you," and the moment you say it back, "i love you too, buggy," in the sweet voice of yours, he looses it.

no matter when or where, he will always crave your attention. and now, he was always get it. he'll always be fulfilled, he'll always be loved, by you. by the only person who dared to pay attention to him and grant him affection. he'll ask you to tell him you love him every day, every few hours. "do you love me? tell me you love me." "i love you, bugs." even when you put a ring on his finger and kiss him, promising the world, he'll still get insecure. "do you—do you still love me?" "yes, buggy. i still love you, always will." a quick kiss to his lips'll shut him up and he'll smile to himself. it doesn't matter who loves him now, he just needs yours and he'll be just fine.

꒰ n: i love him sm :( he's my baby and jeff ward was fantastic acting as him! i could talk about buggy for hours, okayy. ive got the urge to keep writing for him, so any buggy requests r welcome! ꒱

[bucksboobs]

Completely delusional of me but… Michael Cimino for Ace in OP:LA

[assiraphales]

Your posts are some of the highlights of my tumblr experience – I've always been focused on Luffy/Zoro but before OP:LA released it seemed kinda? Rare, almost? At least in comparison to other things. But now so many people like it too! And are writing wonderful little essays like yours! I feel understood. Personally they've always been a qpr to me (I hold Luffy's basically-canon aroace status VERY close to my heart) in the most soulmate, ride or die, married without even kissing once, forever and always with their own special kind of love no matter what anybody else thinks, kind of way. I love reading your thoughts because even if may not be in the exact same flavour as me (which I respect) I feel like you get them already. Keep having fun! The world of OP has so much in store for you!

don't say such nice things to me i'll cry :(

[pcktknife]

like on one hand i’m glad they hired a trans actor in op:la but on the other hand. the character who’s dream is to join the navy? really ?

omg i didnt know that diversity win

[davegrohlsbf]

ok tbh like if buggy even glanced in my direction i would like DROP DEAD.....MELT RIGHT THEN & THERE INTO LKIE A PUDDLE OF MELTED FLESH N BONES like anime or op:la, if he so much as like looked at me i'd be absolutely obliterated

[todo-dorky]

every time something is tagged OP:LA I read it as One Piece: Los Angeles like some kind of NCIS spin off

[zarahjoyce]

(op:la fic) sow the seed

Summary:

From the other side of the ship, they could hear Luffy shouting about... something... in a very excited, Luffy-esque way. Could be about something Sanji prepared, or an antic Usopp is up to - who knows. Nami and Zoro certainly don't. But she finds herself glancing at Zoro all the same, and her smile widens at seeing him looking so highly amused himself. "Y'know, I've been thinking," she says, casually turning and plucking an orange from her tree, "us being officially part of the same crew can probably teach us a thing or two." "Yeah?" he replies, one eyebrow raised as he looks at her over his shoulder. "Like what?"   or   OP:LA Zoro & Nami piece because I needed closure

Notes: binge-watched this show yesterday and UGH ZORO IS SO HOT AHHHH so I'm like... no way I'm gonna get over the show without writing something so. tadaaaa

ao3 link!

[pwnyta]

Me shipping Luffy/Coby and Helmeppo/Zoro because if this-

OP:LA-

[enabi-seira]

Watching OP:LA with my mother is both funny and a pain.

Her: So, that's Lussy? Me: Luffy. Her: Luffy. . (Zoro cuts Mr 7 in half) Her: And you liked the cartoons as a kid? Me: The anime isn't THAT explicit... *fails to think on a fight were there's no blood, broken bones or deadly wounds* . Her: Haha, the ship is a goat? Me: Yeah... *cries inside* . Her: What's her name? Me: Kaya. Her: Kana? Me: Kaya. Her: Kala. . Her: He (Merry) is a lamb? Me: Eh... Yeah... . (Zoro has flashbacks where we see Kuina) Her: Oh, that's where he killed his friend!? Me: Noo, he didn't kill her! . (Luffy reveals Garp is his grampa) Her: Grampa!? Me: Yessss!!! *vibrates with knowledge* . Her: And he (Nezumi) is a rabbit?? Me: A mouse. . Her: *laughs at Ussop reteling the fight* Me: *dies of cuteness and accomplishment*

[blnk338]

PLEASSEE <33 read this one on accident before and honestly reading part 2 then part 1 made it fun. Great work!!!

Kiss, Marry, Kill: Part 2/2 (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: In which Buggy saves your bacon and you continue to lie to yourself. Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: Explicit. Word Count: ~2.3k (of 5.3k) Warnings: Canon-typical violence, sexual fantasies, needles.

A/N: I was going to wait a few days to post this, build some anticipation, but y'all thirsty and I am a woman of the people.

---

Does Buggy feel a twinge of regret as he hauls ass out of Arlong Park? Sure, but not out of any sense of honor or decency or whatever. He just wishes he could have seen your lovely face one last time.

And he must have racked up some good karma recently, because he does indeed see your lovely face. It's curled up in a snarl as a fishman bears down upon you, but it's hot in a warrior princess kind of way.

You throw a right hook that collides with the fishman’s jaw, but no dice. He belts you right in the mouth. It lays you flat, but you take it like a champ and pop right back up.

He hates the idea of such a pretty face being marred in such an unfair fight. So he lends a hand.

Detaching said hand, he sends it floating toward the scuffle. A hard pinch on the ass throws the fishman off guard with a yelp.

You see the opening and slam him across the face once, twice, a third time. He collapses to the side. You waste no time jumping atop him, straddling his chest as you wallop his face into hamburger.

Still kinda hot.

Satisfied that he’s unconscious, you climb to your feet, resting your hands on your hips as you catch your breath. You run a hand through your hair, mussing it in a most handsome way.

Buggy saunters up behind you. Not particularly quietly, but you’re so winded you must not notice. He hovers his chin right over your shoulder. “Boo.”

You screech. Loudly. And whirl around and throw a haymaker that he only just catches with his remaining hand.

“Aw, c’mon,” he grumbles. “That any way to treat your coffee soulmate?”

You blink at him. “When’d you— How— What?”

He recalls his other hand. It reattaches with a little flourish. “Saved your life, babe. You're welcome.”

You look around, then frown. You give his chest a weak shove and stumble away. “I gotta… gotta find Usopp…!”

“Up-bup-bup. Not so fast.” He snags you by the back of the shirt and pulls you back. You whine in protest. "You owe me, Miss Sawbones.”

You scowl at him. “I didn’t ask for help.”

“No, but you got it. Which means…” He taps the tip of your nose. “You.” Tap. “Owe.” Tap. “Me.”

“Fine. Whatever. Cash it in later when I’m not in a rush.” You try to run again, and again he snatches you. “What’s your problem?!”

“My problem is that, if everything comes up Buggy, I’m never going to see you shitheels again.” He leans in close enough for his nose to bump yours. “But I don't like having unfinished business.”

Your eyes are so hot that steam might as well be coming out of your ears. “Just tell me what you want and fuck off.”

Finally, just what he wanted to hear. But what to ask for? You most certainly don't have money. And the map's a wash — even if you could get it, all your little friends would beat him black and blue. No, this has to be something that will get under your skin. Pull your pigtails a little. Hurt your pride.

Like a ray of divine inspiration, it hits him. He can't help but grin as he steps towards you. You take a step back. He matches it. Another step. Another. He backs you right into a tree.

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing his finger down your jaw to tip your chin up. He pulls out his best imitation of that damn cook. "Give us a kiss, love."

Your face screws up in disgust. You slap his hand and try to jump away, only for him to grab your arm. Swinging you back around, he pulls you flush against him, his free hand on your waist. He revels in your warmth. He missed his body so much.

He puckers his lips. “C'mon, just a little smooch. Won’t even use tongue.”

You yank your arm from his grip and stare up at him. Grabbing him by the collar, you jerk him downwards. He braces himself for a slap. Or maybe a punch. That seems more your style.

But then you yank him forwards and his lips collide with yours and every joint, every tendon, every inch of sinew in his body locks up. It's all he can do not to topple into a thousand parts and pieces.

He's in shock. He never freezes. Not in the middle of a performance, not in the middle of a fight, and certainly not in the process of sweet talking a kiss out of a pretty little thing.

And yet, here he barely stands. Probably because it’s none of those things — there's no one around, the fight's over, and you're not a pretty little thing. You're a very beautiful grown woman.

His heart flutters against his ribs like a starved hummingbird barred from a flower. He wants more. He wants everything. He wants you.

Oh, this isn't good. It's never good when he catches feelings. Especially not this quickly. Never ends well for him.

...but maybe this time...

You pull away with a pop, but your grip on his waistcoat stays strong. Your mouth remains open, and you waggle your lower jaw, running your lip along your bottom teeth. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips.

He wants to lick them too.

You let out a yip as he swings you down and dips you low, one hand on your neck and the other hooked under your leg. You gaze up at him with wide eyes, twinkling like mischievous little stars.

He dives in for the encore before he can lock up again. Somewhere, some idiot sets off fireworks.

Oh, what a kiss. It’s the kind of kiss they write songs about. The kind that breaks fairy tale curses and turns frogs into princes. The kind that lonely sailors dream of, wishing on shooting stars for someone to love. Someone to laugh with, argue with, cry with, share a treasure with, share a bunk with, share a crown with. Someone to be his and his alone.

And then he feels it. A little nudge against his lips. He pulls away in surprise. “So much for no tongue.”

Smears of red lipstick and flakes of white greasepaint coat your lips. You lick them anyways. “I never agreed to that.” You throw your arms around his neck and force your way inside his mouth.

Now it's the sort of kiss that haunts the dreams of all men. Fiery. Slick. Dexterous. You stroke his teeth and nip his lips and fill his mouth in due measure. He can barely keep up.

The images come unbidden. You, lying across his bed, eyeing him like a tigress eyes her meal. Him, ripping your shirt off to get at those delicious breasts. You, bouncing on his cock, moaning like a whore. Him, flipping you over to fuck you more efficiently. You, begging and whining as you hit your peak. Him, climaxing so hard he sees lightning. You, resting your head against his chest as you drift off to sleep. Him, pulling you closer and burying his face in your hair and whispering sweet little things that you won’t remember—

God damn, are all your kisses like this? Is this what you treat every man to? A lightning strike, a cool plunge, a searing brand, all in one? What kind of devil did you make a deal with to be so beguiling?

His head spins like a carousel as you pull away, from either shock or oxygen deprivation. Probably both.

Even more old paint covers your face. And you still don’t care. Your chest heaves and your gaze burns as you lick your chops. 

While his brain processes what just happened, his poor, stupid heart takes the wheel and shoots its shot. “Wanna come with?” he rasps.

The smolder in your eyes snuffs out and your brows scrunch. “Huh?”

“Ditch the punks. Join up with me. It'll be great."

You blink a few times, eyes darting around. “Why?”

Why? A kiss like that and you’re asking why? “Group of weirdos like us could always use haircuts.”

That marvelous sound leaves your lips. First that glorious snnnrrrk and then that clattery laughter. Your face lights up with glee, your pretty teeth on full display. “Sell me on it.”

That’s a good sign. “Your own cabin. An operating theater. More treasure than you can carry and the best barber chair it can buy.”

Your smile grows. You slip a finger below his chin as you gaze up through your eyelashes. “Sweeten the pot.”

Oh, that’s a dangerous look. His mouth starts writing checks his ego certainly won’t let him cash. “Your own act. Your name in lights. And you can kiss me like that whenever you want."

Those eyes turn downright smoky. You say in a low, low voice, "Just kiss you?"

He almost drops you. All the blood rushing to his cheeks stops dead in his arteries. Then it waterfalls all the way back down.

He jerks you upwards and presses his lips to your ear. “I’ll screw you to the wall every night and eat your cunt like a wild dog every morning. How’s that sound?”

A little hiccup of a gasp escapes you. “Sounds— Sounds good to me, Captain.”

He's ready to throw you over his shoulder like a sack of flour when something whistles through the air above him. He looks up. Pain explodes across his jaw, popping his head off and sending the rest of him sprawling.

It takes him a moment to shake the stars out of his eyes and get the blood back where it belongs. The sniper kid stands a few yards away, quaking in his boots as he loads up his slingshot. Next to him, you scramble to your feet, clutching your makeup-smeared hand.

"Nice timing," you say to Usopp. You pat his shoulder, leaving a streak of white.

“Don’t mention it.” He swallows. "What do we do about him?”

“Iunno. Either kill him or let him buzz off.” You grip your wrist. “Yeow, that hurt…”

Buggy recalls his head to his neck and gives it a good shake. How dare you? How dare you use him like that? Give him feelings only to play with them? What kind of heartless bitch are you?

He's got quite the eloquent insult prepared, but it vanishes as soon as his mouth catches up to his thoughts. “You...!”

He launches his fist at you, but the kid fires off a round from his slingshot. Buggy yelps as a dozen pinpoints of pain pierce his palm, and he recalls it back. There are, in fact, a dozen pins buried deep in his hand. Ow.

He looks up, but the kid is speeding away. You're close behind, but you do glance back. He swears he sees a glint of remorse in your dark eyes, but you're gone moments after.

Alone. Again. After getting his emotions kicked around like a naughty puppy.

Fuck this. Fuck Rubber Boy. Fuck the sniper kid.

And, most of all, fuck you.

—-

You're no good at art, but you're the only person around here with steady hands, a sterile needle, and a willingness to inflict pain. Thus, redoing Nami's tattoo falls to you.

"So how was it?" she asks.

You're so focused on tracing the design onto her arm that you almost don't respond. "Not too bad, if I do say so myself. Might have to adjust the angle."

"Not that. The other thing."

The tangerine connects to the tangerine leaf. The tangerine leaf connects to the pinwheel spoke. “Yes. Of course. The other thing.” 

“Heard you kissed the clown.”

The pinwheel spoke connects to the other spoke aaaand the pen slips from your fingers. Fortunately for you, it doesn’t screw up your careful tracing. “We’re gonna need a new sniper when I’m done keelhauling the old one.”

Nami laughs. It’s not bitter anymore, which you’re thankful for. Girl’s been through a lot. “C’mon, how was it?”

You scoff. “Sudden. Sloppy. Tasted like greasepaint and self-loathing.”

You leave out that you actually like all that. Surprise. Spit. Theatrics and desperation. What can you say? You’re a dumb bitch with a bad taste for pathetic men. You accepted this about yourself a long, long time ago.

If Nami picks up on your deception, she doesn’t let it show. “Thanks for taking one for the team, doc.”

Taking one for the team. Yeah. That’s what it was. A distraction. A diversion. You didn’t manipulate a madman’s feelings for you. He didn’t read you like a giant neon sign. Nor did you feel anything in that kiss. Not in any of them.

Certainly not the first time — that was impulse. Nor the second time — that one was thrust upon you. And the third time — brain was preoccupied with stalling for time so your cooch took over for a moment.

A moment that almost led to you abandoning your friends for a psycho, your conscience reminds you.

You shake the guilt off. “I’m not a doctor,” you mutter, “and let us never speak of this again.”

You swear she stares right into your soul. That she knows what you’ve done. But she nods. “Speak about what?”

It takes a few hours, a few curses, and a few tears, but the tattoo comes out great, if you do say so yourself.

And the entire time, you’re distracted by thoughts of a psycho with a very persuasive tongue.

---

Never had you on my mind

Now you're there all the time

Never knew what I missed until I I kissed ya

---

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[brothebro]

Regardless to say, i watched Op:la

And i adored it

As a one piece fan since the early 2000's i adored what they did to bring the world of one piece to life

It was so vibrant and felt real

Like kudos to all the people that worked in this series