#buggy x oc

[sillylilili]

Cross guild burlesque sketches!!

And my sona under the cut

[theghostinyourwalls]

I desperately need to know why people keep writing this attention seeking, love starved, pretty boy, mentally unstable, jealous, mean spirited, lonely, flirty, pathetic, charming, filthy, foul mouthed, silly little pirate clown WITH THE MOST GORGEOUS EYES as dominant when he’s clearly a sensitive babygirl that needs to be pampered and treated right. I mean just look at him. Plus he’s always getting captured and tied up and manhandled. He also literally said out loud he wants to be the king of pirates so that everyone will love him. Also there needs to be more writing on him 😤. I rest my case…

[silly-the-fool]

Some Buggy doodles....... ignore the last one

[be-not-afraid-gg]

Buggy whos self-conscious about how much he whimpers and whines instead of gruffily grunting like a masculine man (grrr)

So he prefer to have sex in noisy places

But then you manage to seduce him in a less noisy place and he's trying so hard to not make an embarrassed noise, even going as far as putting his hands over his mouth to muffle his voice, but you're riding him so well and the noises start escaping and you're not stopping and he's a complete mess beneath you

"How dare you hide these lovely sounds from me"

And then he looks at you with stars in his eyes, puts his hands on your hips, and starts fucking you properly, whimpering and all.

[lostfirefly]

Breakfast in Pieces

Buggy wakes up to the smell of breakfast and discovers Y/N cooking in the kitchen. Naturally, instead of entering like a normal person, he decides to use his Chop-Chop powers to steal toast, rearrange utensils, sabotage the eggs, and turn one peaceful morning into a full-scale domestic war. What follows is theft, teasing, flying body parts, and one very smug clown who knows exactly how loved he is.

Buggy x Reader Masterlist / Buggy x Catherine's sketches / Buggy x OC Masterlist / Buggy x Reader's sketches / Catherine's food songs

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Buggy woke to the smell of butter.

One second he was face-down in the pillows, blue hair covering half his face, one arm sprawled across the empty side of the bed. The next, his nose twitched.

"Eggs." He sniffed. "Toast. Something frying."

His eyes opened.

The room was still dim, washed in that soft early-morning light that made everything look quieter than it really was. Somewhere outside, the ship creaked lazily over the water. Somewhere below, someone dropped something heavy and cursed.

But from the kitchen came the unmistakable smell of breakfast.

Buggy lifted his head.

His hair stuck out in every possible direction. A faint crease from the pillow crossed one cheek. He looked deeply offended by consciousness.

Then the smell reached him again.

He sat up.

“Definitely food,” He murmured.

The word came out rough with sleep and almost reverent.

He dragged himself out of bed, wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and shuffled toward the door. He could have walked into the kitchen normally. He could have greeted you. He could have kissed your cheek, complained about being awake, and stolen a piece of toast while you pretended not to notice.

But Buggy was Buggy.

And normal behavior had never survived prolonged contact with him.

He stopped just before the kitchen doorway and peeked inside.

You stood at the stove with your back partly turned, humming under your breath as you moved between a pan of eggs and a plate already piled with toast. Your hair was slightly messy. You were wearing one of his shirts, sleeves rolled up, the hem brushing your thighs as you reached for the salt.

Buggy stared.

His sleepy expression softened for exactly one second.

Then his eyes dropped to the food.

Then back to you.

A grin slowly spread across his face.

Terrible grin.

The grin of a man who had just discovered breakfast, affection, and an opportunity to be unbearable all at once.

He stayed hidden behind the doorway.

Then quietly detached one hand.

It floated low along the floor, fingers creeping over the boards like a pale little spider.

You didn’t notice.

Buggy bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

His hand reached the kitchen.

Climbed the side of the counter.

Paused.

Then pinched your ass.

You jumped so hard the spatula nearly flew from your hand.

“Buggy!”

Silence.

You turned around.

Nobody.

The kitchen doorway stood empty.

You narrowed your eyes. “Buggy?”

From somewhere down the corridor came an exaggerated snore.

You stared toward the sound.

Then slowly looked back at the stove.

“Idiot,” You muttered.

Behind the wall, Buggy’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

His hand returned, floating behind you at waist height.

This time you were ready.

The second it moved toward you, you spun and slapped at it with the spatula.

Buggy’s detached hand dodged neatly.

“Oh, no you don’t!”

The hand darted sideways, grabbed a slice of toast from the plate, and shot back toward the doorway.

You lunged after it. “Give that back!”

The toast disappeared around the corner.

A loud crunch followed.

“Are you eating in the hallway?” You stopped in the middle of the kitchen.

No answer.

Another crunch.

You planted your hands on your hips. “You could come in and sit at the table like a normal person.”

“I’m not awake enough for social interaction.” A muffled voice answered from outside.

“You’re awake enough to rob me.”

“That’s instinct.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the eggs.

Buggy peeked around the doorframe again.

You caught him this time.

Only his head was visible, blue hair hanging loose around his face, red nose bright against his sleep-pale skin, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders.

“You look ridiculous,” You said.

He frowned. “I look mysterious.”

“You look like a haunted curtain.”

Buggy vanished behind the wall again.

You smiled despite yourself and reached for the pepper.

It wasn’t there.

You paused.

Looked at the place where you had left it.

Then at the other side of the stove.

Nothing.

“Buggy.”

Silence.

You turned around.

His detached hand was hovering near the ceiling, holding the pepper shaker.

“Oh, come on.”

The hand tipped it once over the pan.

Far too much pepper rained down.

“BUGGY!”

The hand fled.

From the corridor came a delighted cackle.

You grabbed the wooden spoon and marched toward the doorway. “You are going to eat over-peppered eggs and you are going to enjoy every bite.”

Buggy’s head appeared again. “I like pepper.”

“You like causing problems.”

“That too.”

He ducked away just before the spoon could reach him.

You returned to the stove muttering darkly.

The next few minutes became a war.

First, one of Buggy’s hands stole another piece of toast.

Then the other hand moved the butter dish from one side of the counter to the other every time you turned around.

You caught his foot nudging the kitchen chair backward for no reason.

His head floated in briefly, stole a piece of cheese between his teeth, and disappeared before you could grab his hair.

“Stop separating yourself around the kitchen!” You shouted.

“I’m helping!”

“You moved the salt into the fruit bowl.”

“Improved accessibility.”

“You stole three pieces of toast.”

“Quality control.”

“You put the spoon in my pocket!”

“That was funny.”

You reached behind yourself and pulled the spoon out of your pocket.

Buggy laughed so hard from the corridor that something thudded against the wall.

“You’re impossible.”

“But breakfast keeps happening.”

You pointed the spoon at the doorway. “Get in here.”

“No.”

“Buggy.”

“I’m supervising remotely.”

“You are stealing remotely.”

“That’s leadership.”

You took a slow breath and turned back toward the pan.

"Fine. If you wanted war, you could have war." You muttered.

You picked up one perfectly fried egg with the spatula and transferred it onto a plate.

Then, loudly enough for him to hear, you said, “What a shame. This one looks perfect.”

The hallway went quiet.

You added toast.

Butter.

A little cheese.

Then placed the plate at the table.

“Warm eggs,” You continued. “Crispy bread. Fresh coffee.”

Silence.

You poured a cup.

The smell spread through the room.

Nothing happened.

You smiled to yourself.

“Too bad the love of my life is apparently not hungry.”

A detached hand slid slowly around the doorframe.

You slapped it away.

It retreated.

A moment later, Buggy’s head floated into the kitchen with an expression of exaggerated dignity.

“I heard my name.”

“You heard coffee.”

“That too.”

His head drifted closer to the table.

You caught him by both cheeks before he could reach the plate.

Buggy blinked.

His face squished between your palms.

“Where is the rest of you?”

“Nearby.”

“Bring it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not feeding a floating head.”

His eyes narrowed. “That sounds discriminatory.”

“Bring your body into the kitchen. Now!”

He sighed heavily.

A second later, his torso floated through the doorway, followed by his legs and arms in no particular order. The blanket trailed behind them like a defeated flag.

You watched as he reassembled himself beside the table.

It was not elegant.

One arm attached backward at first.

Buggy glared at it, pulled it off, turned it around, and snapped it back into place.

You folded your arms.

“Done?”

He rolled one shoulder. “There.”

“Sit.”

“You’re bossy in the morning.”

“You stole my spatula.”

Buggy looked down.

The spatula was tucked into the waistband of his pajama trousers.

He blinked at it.

Then at you.

“Huh.”

You snatched it away.

“You did that!”

“I have no memory of this.”

“You are literally holding my bread in your other hand.”

He looked down again.

A fourth piece of toast was clenched in his fingers.

“See?” Buggy took a bite. “No evidence now.”

You stared at him.

He chewed smugly.

Then his eyes drifted toward the plate at the table.

His whole face softened again, just slightly.

“You made all this?”

“No. The breakfast spirits came.”

“Oh!” He glanced at you. “Sarcasm before coffee. Dangerous.”

“You woke up and chose theft.”

“I woke up hungry.”

“You could have said good morning, beautiful.”

Buggy dropped into the chair and pulled the plate toward himself. “Good morning.”

“You already ate half the toast.”

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“Too late.”

He reached for you with one arm.

You stepped back.

His detached hand continued forward without the rest of him and wrapped around your waist.

“Buggy.”

“What?”

“You’re using your powers to drag me across the kitchen.”

“Efficient.”

The hand tugged.

You slid half a step closer.

“Stop that.”

Another tug.

Now you were standing between his knees.

Buggy looked up at you with messy hair, sleep-heavy eyes, and the pleased expression of a man who had achieved something tremendous through minimum effort.

“There,” He said. “Better.”

“You’re a menace.” You rolled your eyes.

“You made me breakfast.”

“That doesn’t mean you can reorganize my entire kitchen.”

“Our kitchen.”

“You put bread in the fruit bowl.”

“It was visiting.”

You tried not to laugh.

Failed.

“There it is.” Buggy grinned immediately.

“What?”

“That face.”

“What face?”

“The one you make when you’re pretending I’m not funny.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious.”

“You’re sitting there wrapped in a blanket with crumbs on your chest.”

“Meh. That’s part of the performance.”

You brushed the crumbs away with your fingers.

Buggy went still for half a second.

Then caught your wrist and kissed the inside of it.

Just a quick, warm press of his mouth against your skin.

You looked down at him.

He looked away first and reached for his fork.

“The eggs are getting cold,” He muttered.

“You’re welcome.” Your expression softened.

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“You just did.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“You kissed my wrist.”

“That was unrelated.”

“To what?”

He shoved a bite of egg into his mouth and answered around it, “Kitchen morale.”

You laughed and ran your fingers through his hair.

Buggy leaned into the touch before catching himself.

Then frowned at the plate.

“You put too much pepper in these.”

You pulled your hand away. “You put too much pepper in them.”

“Then they’re perfect.” He chewed thoughtfully.

You reached for the coffee pot.

Buggy’s hand detached again and stole the cup before you could pour.

You stared at him.

“What?” He stared back.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Being unbearable.”

“Coffee.” He held the cup out toward you.

You poured it.

He waited until you put the pot down, then used the same detached hand to pinch your ass again.

“Fuck!” You nearly poured coffee on him. “BUGGY!”

He laughed so hard he folded over the table.

You grabbed the dish towel and started hitting him with it while he tried to protect his breakfast.

“Violence!” He shouted through laughter. “Domestic violence over a loving touch!”

“That was not a loving touch!”

“It was affectionate!”

“It was a crime!”

“You liked it!”

“I’m going to throw you overboard!”

“You’d miss me by lunch!”

“Not if you keep stealing it!”

Buggy caught the towel with one detached hand while the other wrapped around your waist again. He pulled you closer until you were trapped against his side, still trying to look angry while laughing too much to manage it.

He rested his head briefly against your stomach.

Warm.

Sleepy.

Smug.

“You smell like breakfast,” He murmured.

“You smell like ham from last night.”

“Romantic.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And loved.”

You looked down at him.

He lifted his face just enough to meet your eyes.

The grin softened.

“Yeah,” You said quietly. “Unfortunately.”

Buggy smiled like he had won.

Then his detached hand reached behind you and stole one more slice of bread.

You felt the movement.

Slowly lowered your gaze.

He froze with the bread halfway to his mouth.

“Buggy.”

He took a bite.

“Run,” he told the rest of himself.

And immediately split apart in six different directions while you chased him around the kitchen with the spatula.

[alexa-yukiyu]

Apprentice’s Apprentice ft Roger and Whitebeard pirates

Lesson 3: Sneaking off can be Scary

Prologue, Chp1, Chp2, CHp4

A/N: HERE WE GO OMG HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN SINCE WE HAD A FEW IN A ROW? Guys I just discovered sprints and it is thanks to it that we got this chapter done!

Dividers by @/firefly-graphics

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for reader in Japanese to ensure the enjoyment of both reader and oc character readers!

Consider Leaving me a Coffee : )

They should have known better than to think a three-year-old would listen to them and go against her curiosity, especially when that three-year-old was Dokucha, a kid who had taken after them and their stubbornness, a child who was currently getting closer and closer to the ‘enemies’ turf; more specifically, to a certain zoan-user.

Dokucha popped her little head out from the tree she had taken cover in, sneaking a glance at the blonde sitting criss-cross on top of a rock.

Snapping her body back into her ‘hiding spot’ as the man suddenly opened his eyes, gaze directed towards her, as another voice piped up.

“Hey, you’re with the Roger’s, right? You should not be on this side. We are currently in a cease-fire.”

“C’mon, Teach, she’s just a kid,” Marco called with a chuckle as he jumped down from his place and casually approached the kid, easily plucking them from the ground, leaning them on his hip.

“She’s so cute too,” He gushed, smiling at her, an expression that she happily returned, realizing that she had somehow ashieved her objective, ‘getting to the bird.’

“He is right tho, watchu doing on our side of the woods?” Marco wondered, digging his fingers into her side, watching her let out a cackle at the ticklish feeling.

“I waned to meet the bir man,” she admitted, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep herself from sliding down as she glanced behind him after hearing a slight snicker from one of his crewmates.

“Phoenix,” Marco easily corrected.

“Phoenix,” she parroted, looking up as a shadow enveloped both of them, shrinking once she noticed the huge figure of another of the whitebeard pirates.

“Hmm?” Marco called, looking up, and gave a grin once he noticed Jozu peeking in to see the child.

“Oh, that’s Jozu, he’s a pretty big guy, but don’t worry, he’s actually a softy!” Marco laughed, turning Dokucha around so she could look up at the man. Although she tried to hide herself at first, she eventually stared at Jozu for a second before extending her hands towards him. Jozu seemed to be in a trance as he stared at her, then grabbed her without saying a word.

“Zu?” She questioned, trying to sound out his name. In response, the teen couldn’t help the slight blush that appeared on his cheek, a small, dopey grin soon joining it.

“Oh! What about me?! My name is Marco,” Marco piped up, the same small blush in his face as he kneeled next to Dokucha after his brother had placed her down.

“Mako!” She echoed, letting out a squeal as Marco suddenly spun her around ,the exact same Dopey look his brother wore now on his face.

“You’re so cute!” He giggled, pulling her close.

Seeing the shift in attention, Teach slowly approached the group, something Dokucha noticed as she happily exclaimed.

“It’s you!”

“Me?” Teach repeated, confused, raising an eyebrow at her statement

“Yeah! My brothers weh talking about you! They say that that you never sleep! Bugs says that it’s kind of scary, but Shans says means you have so much more.... She rambled on.

Marco let out a slight surprised sound as she suddenly leaned closer to Teach, making the blond stumble at the switch in weight.

“I ike your eyes!” She noted, glancing at said eyes. Just like many three-year-olds, the girl often struggles to stay on task, causing her to frequently create confusion and whiplash at her quick switches in topic; something that, despite being around a child themselves, he was on the shyer side and had long since grown out of most sporadic quirks.

“My..Eyes?” he Gaped out, confused

“Boutiful Eyes!” she nodded, turning around as she suddenly remembered something, not noticing as Teach’s face grew red and he became bashful, turning away from the group and returning to his post.

“Mako, can you sho me the phenix, pleasee?” She begged, perhaps he had just spent a little too much time around his brothers tough love, but hearing someone wanting to see their Zoan form with nothing more than admiration pulled a heartstring in him that he didn’t even know he had as he preened in pride.

“Ye-

“Dokucha!” A voice hollered, causing all their heads to turn, spotting a blue and red head standing not far away.

“Come here!” Buggy Cried

“They don’t look too happy,” Jozu remarked.

“Woops,” she mumbled.

“Can you show me phenix later?” Dokucha whispered with a guilty face.

“Yeah! I will take you flying too!” Marco promised, rubbing his cheek against her as they both laughed.

“Hey! Get your hands off her!”

Marco couldn’t help but snicker at this as he placed her on the ground and watched her begin to scamper off, only to stop and turn around.

“Bye Bye Makko! Bye Zu! By pretty eyes! She hollered, waving them goodbye before resuming running, leaving behind the pink-cheeked boys and joining her brothers on the Roger’s side of the standstill.

Dokucha couldn’t tell how long she had to stay and hear her brothers scolding her, reminding her that she has to stay on their side lest she ‘Gets stolen by the Whitebeards,’ but it surely felt like an eternity. But did she listen? Absolutely not! No way she was missing on all the pretty plants the place had to offer.

To her defense, she hadn’t ventured past the invisible line the two crews had established for the cease-fire and instead had luckily conformed with collecting all plant life that caught her eye from a cliffside not too far away from the Roger’s Main Camp.

Although she had not ventured far, which had been the apprentice’s prime concern, it seemed the sea itself was determined to punish her for once again sneaking away from her brothers, as without any warning, the floor began to shake, and soon the sea started rising and falling in an impossible manner.

Dokucha had no time to prepare her little body and thus ended up tumbling down from the high cliffs.

It would have been a fatal fall, had it not been for the talons that suddenly swooped in and stopped her descent.

Looking up with teary eyes, she couldn’t help but gasp, starry eyes growing on her face at the sight.

It seemed that Marco had made good on his promise sooner rather than later, as he glanced down at the girl on his talons, a goofy grin on his face as he laughed.

“Mako”

“Looks like Pops got you!” he chortled.

“Pretty bir,” She awed, ignoring his statement in place of admiring the way golden and blue flames now replaced his arms, dancing around in erratic movements, seemingly being one with the carefree teen carrying the fire.

Again, he had been around the tough love, not only teenage boys engage in, but pirate teenage boys, and grown pirates, pirates that usually were not one to hand out compliments regarding one’s look, and especially not using such straightforward and wholesome words the girl in his grip was throwing out. So once again, he could do nothing but beam in pride, laughing gleefully and without restraint at the comment.

“Pretty cool, right?!” He boasted flying the both of them peacefully around the island.

“Ya!” she agreed, screaming in delight and excitement as the boy took that as a cue to show off, throwing both of them in a dizzying amount of loop-arounds and different but no less thrilling tricks the Phoenix engaged in, fueled by the girls’ cheering and laughing.

Do I still have it yall?

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@hannahbarberra162

@epochal-oracle

@mysouleaten

[itssocomplicatedyeah]

Imagine: Despite his love of good food and drink, Buggy still keeps an eye on his physique, even if it sometimes takes you dragging him out of bed piece by piece just to get him up on deck for a few exercises. Most training sessions happen under your watchful supervision, precisely because the moment you get caught up in your own workout, Buggy will seize the opportunity to sprawl out on the deck and watch you do squats instead (and trust me, the view on you from his angle is nothing short of divine).

In retaliation, you plant yourself directly in front of him and stare him down without blinking as he does his push-ups. But somewhere along the way you lose count, because you've stopped counting entirely, too busy watching the way droplets of sweat trace their way down his torso. And you feeling how a warm, fluttering knot tightening low in your stomach.

"I think it's time we wrapped up training, darling..." he says, with a smile. "In our cabin."

And honestly? You have no objections.

original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[cashiedoodles]

Just some royal shuggy

Inspired by this painting below