The Five Times Buggy Attempted to Confess his Love and the One Time You Put Him Out of his Misery (plus a bonus at the end)
WC: 3k
Pairing: OPLA! Buggy x Reader
Tags: fluff, friends(?) to lovers, mutual pining, pirate shenanigans buggy can’t communicate his feelings, inappropriate use of devil fruit powers (implied), implied smut, no use of y/n
A/N: I literally never write fanfics but this dumb clown wormed his way into my heart and I fear this is what was produced. i have no idea how to add page breaks or anything fancy so sprry. enjoy.
Buggy the Clown was a man of many talents—charisma, showmanship, theft, excessive violence, making an entrance.
But when it came to love?
He was a complete and utter disaster.
It wasn’t his fault, really. He’d never been good at genuine feelings. Lust? Sure. Flirting? Duh. Grand speeches about his own magnificence? Born for it.
But actual love? The kind that turned his stomach into a goddamn circus whenever you smiled? That was horrifying.
The two of you had circled each other since childhood, going through all the phases that two children raised on pirate ships find themselves in. It had taken years for Buggy to finally convince you to join his crew. Well, years and his crippling inability to budget the ships expenses. When he showed you the Big Top’s finances (which were nothing more than a stack of random papers that made PERFECT sense to him), you had literally laughed out loud. Despite this, Buggy saw the familiar gleam of a challenge in your eyes and knew you were hooked. Almost as hooked as he was to make you laugh like that again.
Now here he was, months later with a file cabinet on his ship, and no closer wooing you than when he started. Buggy had tried to flirt, but you were either too oblivious to notice his affection or you didn’t care. And Buggy had to believe it was the first option.
So, naturally, he needed to make it obvious. He need to put on a show of his love for you. He needed to confess.
Attempt #1: The Dramatic (Windy) Declaration
Buggy had planned it perfectly. They were docked at a simple pirate town, so he had given the crew the night off, under the guise of keeping morale up. Buggy knew that you would stay back, usually preferring to soak in the rare quiet of the normally loud ship.
After a very manly, normal amount of primping in the mirror, Buggy left his cabin to find you. He instantly found you alone on deck, the ocean stretching out before you, the stars shining just right. The moonlight reflected off your skin, casting a soft glow around your face. The floorboards creaked as Buggy approached, turning your head and gracing him with your brilliant smile.
“I’m surprised to see you here, Bugs” you said. “Normally you’d be out partying with your crew.”
Buggy had frozen at the sight of your smile, and still seemed incapable of expressing a single coherent thought. Any confidence he had walking out was slowly melting away. His brain quickly trying to recall the speech he had practiced earlier that day. Your brow furrowed slightly as you said, “Not that I don’t want you here. In fact-“
Buggy abruptly cut you off as he struck his best dashing pirate pose, cape billowing. "I have something very important to tell you."
Your eyes stayed glued to him, bright with curiosity. "What is it?"
And that’s when the wind betrayed him.
A particularly strong gust swept in over the shore, yanking his hat straight off his head and sending it onto the sand. The tide quickly swallowed the hat and floated it into the gentle waves of the harbor.
Buggy let out a horrified squawk, immediately abandoning all dignity as he scrambled toward the edge of the ship. "MY HAT!"
You blinked. "Uh… do you need me to—"
"NO, I’M FINE!" he barked, face burning. "FORGET IT! FORGET EVERYTHING!"
And with that, he stomped away, leaving you utterly baffled.
If Buggy had bothered to look out his window, he would have seen you shimmering down a rope and fishing his hat out of the water. It smelled a little like salt and seaweed, but hey, it was still perfectly good.
Attempt #2: The Grand (Cursed) Gesture
Fine. Words weren’t working. Maybe a gift would do the trick. You liked shiny things. That’s why you were so good at managing money in the first place. You had tried to teach him and Shanks how to save and budget for nicer items as kids, not that either boy had ever listened.
So, after their latest raid, Buggy picked out a very expensive, very rare, definitely-not-cursed necklace. …Okay, maybe it was a little cursed. It was a silver chain with a single purple gemstone wrapped in swirling dark metal. The gemstone seemed to pulse with an unknown energy, as if trying to escape the confines of the sparkling prison. The longer you looked at it, the harder it was to look away. Buggy thought that quality was like your eyes. And it was pretty.
"Here," Buggy said, thrusting the necklace at you with all the grace of a man handing over a bomb. "For you."
You frowned, holding your ear closer to the jewelry. "Is it supposed to be whispering?"
Buggy paled. "Whispering sweet nothings, just like I—"
The necklace let out an unholy shriek.
Buggy screamed.
You screamed.
The necklace levitated.
You immediately picked up a nearby bucket and trapped the thrashing necklace underneath. It seemed the jostle the bucket like a cornered animal as you sat on top of it, considering the best way to keep it contained. At least it had stopped screaming.
There was a long, painful silence.
Buggy cleared his throat. "So, uh… did you like it?"
You just stared up at him with an incredulous look. "Maybe try again. Without the haunted accessories."
You later retrieved the necklace from under the bucket and took it to a very old, very shady woman with way too many candles and got it properly un-cursed. It was actually very pretty.
Attempt #3: The Unfortunate (Drunken) Almost-Confession
Buggy didn’t mean to get drunk. But the crew had been celebrating, and he’d had one too many drinks, and you’d been sitting there looking like that, and before he knew it, he was leaning into your space with a stupid grin.
"You know…" he slurred. "You’re real pretty."
You raised an eyebrow. "You’re real drunk."
Buggy waved a hand dismissively. "Tha’s just my charm."
You rolled your eyes. "Uh-huh."
"No, really, I like you." His head detached and hovered close to yours, eyes lidded. "I wanna—wanna tell you stuff. Important stuff."
You smirked. "Okay. Tell me."
Buggy opened his mouth.
And then promptly passed out in your lap. Head nearly drooping to the floor.
He woke up the next morning with the worst hangover of his life, his head sitting in a soft pillow of old costumes, and a vague, horrible memory of something mortifying. Your smirk at breakfast did not help the sinking nausea in his stomach.
Attempt #4: The Love Letter (Disaster)
Fine. If he couldn’t say it, he’d write it. A love letter. Romantic. Foolproof.
Buggy poured his soul onto paper, writing and rewriting until it was perfect. His hand scribbled frantically on the paper as he paced around his room, performing his thoughts like an opening soliloquy to a show. Buggy was so enamored with his own turn of phrase, that he forgot to sign his name and your name on the letter. Then, with a proud smirk, he slid it under your door.
…Or so he thought. Buggy was walking down the hall to your room when he was summoned to the main deck of the ship. In a rush, he shoved the letter under the door, ready to rip the head off the crew member who was giving their captain orders.
The next morning, at breakfast, Cabaji casually pulled out the letter. “Turns out I have a secret admirer. Shall I read my note aloud?”
Buggy’s eyes widened and his hand froze mid-lift to his mouth, but was thankfully overlooked by the sound of cheers from the crew, encouraging Cabaji to read the note.
Cabaji cleared his throat, dramatically unfolding the letter. "From the moment I met you, you’ve been in my head—"
Buggy lunged across the table. "NO, NO, NO—"
"—like a damn curse, but somehow, the only one I’d never want to break—"
Buggy exploded.
Quite literally. His arms and legs detached in sheer mortification and scattered across the room, his head landing in an empty apple crate in the open pantry.
You, meanwhile, calmly took the letter from Cabaji’s hands, instantly recognizing the messy looping letters. "I think I’ll keep this."
Buggy, unable to fully hear or see the rest of the conversation, laid face-down on the pantry and groaned in defeat.
Attempt #5: The (Nose) Kiss
Buggy had had enough. He was just going to do it.
So, after a late night on deck, alone with you under the moonlight, he took a deep breath, grabbed your hands, and declared, "I’m in love with you!"
You blinked. "You are?"
"Yes!" he said. "And I— I wanna kiss you!"
Your lips parted slightly, and Buggy, emboldened by his own stupidity and the fact that you hadn’t run away in disgust, leaned in.
And then—
His nose bumped into yours.
Your heads tilted the same way.
Buggy tried to adjust.
You tried to adjust.
The nose got in the way.
Every time.
Buggy turned bright red. "Are you— are you dodging me?!"
You stifled a laugh. "No, but—"
Buggy let out a strangled noise and immediately yanked himself away, face burning. "You know what?! FORGET IT!"
And then he stormed off. Again.
The Final Confession (Or: You Save Him From His Own Stupidity)
Buggy was sulking in his quarters, face buried in his arms, contemplating faking his own death.
You barged in without knocking. "Alright, we need to talk."
“How did you get in here? I locked the door behind me.”
“You gave me a key a month ago after I complained out how sticky everything in your room was. You said ‘if you care so much take a key and clean it up yourself’. And I said ‘fine’. And then you said ‘you’ll get to see all the ways I can make my room sticky.’ And I’ve been wiping down your bedroom surfaces once a week ever since.”
Now that you reenacted the conversation, Buggy did seem to notice that his papers were sticking less to his desk. The revelation was swiftly forgotten as he processed the terrible pickup line he had attempted that day. Not his best work, but he couldn’t make it seem like he DIDN’T want you in his room. Buggy groaned. "Go away."
"No."
You stomped over and plopped yourself in front of him. "You’ve been acting weird for weeks."
Buggy let out a dramatic groan. "Oh, gee, I wonder WHY."
You just smiled and placed three things in front of him.
His hat.
The un-cursed necklace.
His letter.
Buggy froze.
"I thought these might look better in your hands than at the bottom of the ocean," you said casually.
His throat went dry.
"You… kept these?"
You rolled your eyes. "Of course I did."
Buggy swallowed hard. "Why?"
You took a step closer. "Because I love you, too, dumbass."
Buggy made a choked sound. "Y-You do?"
Instead of answering, you leaned in and, just to mess with him, pressed a kiss to the tip of his bright red nose. His brain flatlined. You smirked. "And now your cheeks match your nose."
Buggy sputtered. "I—You—THAT’S NOT FAIR!"
You laughed, cupping his face in your hands. "You gonna run away again?"
Buggy swallowed hard. "N-No?"
You kissed him properly this time. And for once, Buggy the Clown was completely, blissfully silent. When you pulled back, he stared at you, dazed. You just smirked back at him. “There is one question I’ve been dying to ask.”
“Anything.”
A faint color tinged your cheeks as you asked, “Does everything detach?”
Buggy’s grin widened. “Why don’t I show you, baby?”
You rolled your eyes and kissed him again.
Bonus Attempt #6: The Overcorrection
Buggy woke to a soft body wrapped around his arm and gentle breathing in his ear. Rolling over, he saw the sun streaming in through the porthole, illuminating your sleeping frame, making your bare back glow in the early morning light. The morning after your confession should have been perfect.
But it wasn’t.
Buggy had woken up before you, which in itself was rare (he definitely did not have your scheduled memorized, that would be crazy). He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything from the night before. The kiss, your words, the mind-blowing sex, the way you had looked at him like he wasn’t just some walking disaster in clown makeup, the sex.
Then it hit him.
“Oh no.”
Because now that he had you?
He could lose you.
Buggy shot upright in bed, immediately spiraling.
“What if I mess this up? What if I say something stupid? What if I do something stupid?” he muttered, pacing. “No, no, no, I have to be better. I have to be the perfect boyfriend. The BEST boyfriend. The most incredible, charming, irresistible -”
“Buggy.”
He froze. You were still lying in bed, one arm draped over your eyes, voice thick with sleep. “Who are you talking to?”
“…Myself.”
“Yeah, I figured. Why are you yelling at yourself at sunrise?”
Buggy puffed up, immediately switching into performance mode. “I am NOT yelling! I am strategizing. There’s a difference.”
You peeked at him through your fingers. “You’re pacing in circles and whisper-shouting. That’s not strategizing, that’s a breakdown.”
“I do NOT have breakdowns!” he snapped.
You sat up slowly, watching him with that same amused expression that always made his brain short-circuit. “Alright. Then what’s the plan, Captain?”
Buggy straightened, smoothing his coat like he was about to address an audience.
“The plan,” he declared, “is for me to be the perfect partner.”
You blinked. “…Oh no.”
“Oh YES,” Buggy insisted, pointing dramatically. “From this moment forward, I will be attentive, romantic, thoughtful, and-”
“You’re going to overdo it.”
“I am going to EXCEL.”
He started immediately that morning. Within the next hour, you had been handed three different breakfasts (all slightly burnt, because Buggy refused help), your chair had been pulled out so aggressively it nearly toppled backward, he had attempted to compliment you five times and insulted you twice by accident.
“You look— I mean, not that you don’t always look— not that you usually—” He groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “You look GOOD. Just—GOOD.”
You snorted. “Wow. Swept right off my feet.”
“I am TRYING!” he snapped.
“I can see that.”
By midday, the crew had noticed.
“Captain’s acting weird,” someone whispered.
“Captain’s always weird.”
“Yeah, but this is… different weird.”
Cabaji leaned over to you while Buggy loudly argued with a chair that wouldn’t “sit correctly.”
“So,” he said casually, “how long do you think this phase will last?”
You watched Buggy dramatically reposition the chair for the fifth time. “…I give it until sunset.”
By sunset, Buggy was unraveling.
He had tried so hard to be perfect that he’d tied himself into knots, almost literally. Every word felt rehearsed, every movement forced. He kept glancing at you like he was waiting for you to suddenly realize you’d made a terrible mistake. Finally, you grabbed his sleeve and dragged him away from the crew.
“Okay,” you said, crossing your arms. “That’s enough.”
Buggy stiffened. “Enough… being amazing?”
“Enough being weird.”
“I am NOT -”
“Buggy.”
He stopped.
You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “What are you doing?”
He hesitated, then looked away, unusually quiet. “…Trying not to screw this up.”
That made your expression soften immediately. “By turning into someone else?”
“I’m not -”
“You are,” you cut in gently. “You’re acting like you think I’ll only stay if you’re… perfect.”
Buggy’s hands clenched at his sides. “Well, yeah,” he muttered.
There it was. Not the loud, dramatic captain. Just him. You sighed, stepping even closer. “I didn’t fall for ‘perfect.’”
Buggy huffed. “Yeah, well, lucky you, because I am FAR from -”
“I fell for you,” you said. He stopped. “The loud, dramatic, overconfident jester who loses arguments with furniture and gives me cursed jewelry.”
“That was ONE TIME,” he protested weakly.
“Five attempts, though.”
“FOUR,” he snapped. “The hat incident does not count!”
“It absolutely counts.” There was a pause. The tension melted, just a little. You smiled at him, softer now. “You don’t have to perform for me.”
Buggy stared at you like you’d just said something completely incomprehensible. “…But performing is my whole thing.”
“I know,” you said. “And I like that about you.”
“…You do?”
“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Just not when you’re using it to hide.”
That hit harder than anything else you’d said. Buggy exhaled slowly, some of the stiffness leaving his shoulders. “…So what, I just… act normal?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know how to do that?”
“Rude.”
You took his hand. Not dramatically. Not for a show.Just… naturally. Buggy went very still. He had had you in bed less than 24 hours ago and this was the intimacy that made him blush.
“There,” you said. “Start with that.”
He looked down at your joined hands like it was the most confusing thing in the world.
“…That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“No grand speech? No fireworks? No dramatic music swelling in the background?”
You leaned in slightly, smirking. “Do you hear any music?”
Buggy paused. “…No.”
“Exactly.”
For once, Buggy didn’t try to fill the silence. He just stood there with you, hand in hand, the ocean stretching out behind you, the ship gently rocking beneath your feet. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a performance.
“…Huh,” he muttered.
You glanced at him. “What?”
“…This is kinda nice.”
You smiled. “Yeah. It is.”
A beat passed. Then Buggy cleared his throat, grin slowly creeping back. “…So,” he said, leaning closer, “now that I’m being a great partner—”
You groaned. “Don’t start.”
“—I think it’s only fair I revisit an earlier topic.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That already sounds like a bad idea.”
His grin widened. “The detachment question.”
You immediately covered his mouth with your hand. “No, I think you answered me well enough last night.”
“Mmph—”
“No.”
“MMPH—”
“Absolutely not.”
