I’m Cam (She/He/They), a 23 year-old black disabled artist with a passion for all things artsy!
I’m a Texas-based plush maker who specializes in anime/anime-inspired dolls and writes self-indulgent fanfics on the side, and this blog is where I can dump it all!!
Fanfics, crafts, HelPol, and art will all be categorized by tag, that way you can skip anything you don’t like!
Please be aware: There will be NSFW content!! I’m dumping all of my interests here, smutty fanfics included!!
Warnings: Reader-Insert, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert, Buggy had a Rough Day, Soft Buggy, Reader is the crew’s sailmaker, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sappy Pet Names, Kissing, Shoulder Massages, Cookies
Summary: After a rough day on the stormy seas, you decide to pamper and spoil Buggy in hopes of lifting his spirits. Sappiness and cuddles ensue.
A/N: Marineford utterly destroyed me, so I wrote some domestic fluff to make myself feel better!! Not a super fleshed-out story, but just enough to get me to stop ugly crying over One Piece lmao. Hope you enjoy!!
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“Lovely” was not a word often used to describe your partner. His crew would sooner label him many other things— brash, temperamental, arrogant, and maybe even calculating, when he so desired to be. Never lovely, though.
That was reserved just for you, his special star. He had been over the moon to announce your relationship to the crew, and he was not at all shy in his affections. Your kisses in particular were like a drug to Buggy, one that he would never be able to quit. He took every chance he could to kiss you, frequently detaching his head and sending it your direction for a quick peck as he passed by. The crew saw it constantly, turning to address him only to find him headless. They would frequently find him missing a hand as well, only to later spot it holding yours tight. He especially loved doing that during meetings and meal times.
You wondered to yourself if he had some kind of secret exhibitionist kink or something, because he seemed even more forward in his affections when others were around. The sight of anyone else ogling you was more than enough for him to pull you close, capturing your lips in a heated kiss for all to see. One hand would busy itself with roaming your body, squeezing every curve appreciatively while his other hand flipped off the idiot who dared to look at his beloved. Whether it was exhibitionism, jealousy, or just Buggy being his usual dramatic and flashy self, you didn’t mind the extra attention one bit.
You were proud to call him your man, and you loved him as much as the sky was blue.
As forward as he was around others, you saw a completely different side of him in the privacy of your bedroom. The cocky man the crew saw dissolved into a needy mess when it was just the two of you, eager to be spoiled and pampered. You loved brushing his hair, running your fingers through the silky blue strands and massaging his scalp. He made the sweetest little noises when you did that, melting into your arms with a blissful grin.
You loved most of all when you could kiss him in private. The stresses of a long day on the seas melted away when you pressed your lips to his, finally alone and able to unwind. He would quite literally fall to pieces right into your lap, his head cradled in your hands while the rest of him would practically try to fit into your clothes with you in an effort to be closer. There was no better feeling than watching him flush red as you whispered sweet nothings against his lips, each soft declaration of love rendering him a flustered mess. He would push back at first, insisting that “the Great Captain Buggy is not cute or lovely.” Then he would begin to bask in your praise, urging you to continue and complaining that “no one else understands my greatness like you do.” Finally, he would grow quiet or shut you up with a kiss, too overwhelmed to put on the high-and-mighty mask he wore so often.
Tonight was a bit different, though.
It had started as usual, with you waiting on him to come to your shared quarters at the end of the day. Today had been long and draining thanks to an unexpected storm cutting rehearsals short. It was a miracle that the stilt-walkers didn’t tumble overboard or that the sword-swallowers didn’t cut their throats open as the ship rocked, the harsh waves crashing against the hull while thunder rumbled in the darkening sky. Buggy took the reins the moment the storm hit, barking orders and rushing around to keep the Big Top from capsizing. If you hadn’t been so busy pulling the sails up and ensuring you’d live to see another day, you certainly would have been admiring how hot your lover looked when he was in full-on captain mode.
The entire crew was exhausted and soaked to the bone by the time the storm passed, but at least you were alive to complain about it. As soon as he caught sight of you, Buggy had urged you to go and dry off while he made sure the rest of the ship was in order. Being the captain’s partner sure had its perks— you couldn’t help but grin all the way back to your spacious room complete with a big, comfy bed and plenty of privacy to change into some dry clothes.
But here you were now, dried off and still all alone. You had taken your time too, but Buggy still wasn’t back. The storm must have been worse than you thought. You quickly set to work with tidying the room a bit, a small act to make his life a little easier for his return. The bed is made and the pillows are fluffed, the haphazard pile of maps on his desk neatly tucked away for later.
Still, nothing.
You almost start to worry before the door dramatically slams open to reveal your one and only, just as soaked as you had been earlier. His makeup is running down his sneering expression and his pigtails flop pitifully from his hat, making him look more like a drenched cat than a fearsome pirate captain. He stomps into the room with a groan and slams the door shut behind him, and you offer your most patient smile. “Hey, Bug.” You greet gently, and he glances at you for only a moment before stomping his way to his wardrobe with a soft grunt of acknowledgement. The way his gloved hand comes to rest on his temple tells you everything to know. He’s got a headache after all the chaos, and understandably so, so you offer your support in the best way you can.
“I’ll be right back, ‘kay? Go ahead and get dried off.” Your voice is soft as you step toward the door, waiting for him to nod in acknowledgement before leaving the room to give him some privacy. Poor thing. You hated that he was feeling so rough— a bit of pampering was in order to ease his foul mood. You hurry to the kitchen while he gets dried off and changed, grabbing some painkillers and water along the way.
The kitchen is empty, you’re pleasantly surprised to find out, so you don’t have to sneak around when you reach into the back of a cabinet and pull out a small bag. You had been lucky enough to run across a nice bakery in the last village the crew had ransacked, and the owner was ever so gracious enough to discreetly fill a bag with cookies after you’d threatened to burn their beloved establishment to the ground. That bag snuck its way to a secret spot in the kitchen just for you, but tonight’s occasion warranted some sharing. Buggy would surely be pleased to find a sweet treat waiting on him, especially with everything else you had planned.
Now it was time to set it all in motion.
☆彡
“Buggy, my love?” You call softly, slowly creaking the door open to enter your shared quarters. You can hear a muffled grunt in response, and you smile softly when you see that he’s sprawled out on the bed with his face buried in a pillow, hair pulled into a ponytail and wearing only a pair of boxers with hearts all over them. So much of you wanted to pull him close and coo sweet nothings to him right away, but you needed to address that headache of his first. “I brought you some medicine,” you continue, shutting the door behind you before taking a seat next to him on the bed. “Some water, too. C’mon, love.” When he doesn’t reply, you set the cookies on the nearby nightstand and reach out to gently rub his shoulders.
Buggy groans as your hand slides over the warm flesh of his shoulders and upper back, coaxing him to roll over, sit up, and take the painkillers from your hand. He looks utterly exhausted, and you try your hardest to keep it casual for now as you offer him the water. Any doting right now could easily be misconstrued as pity thanks to his headache, so you’d have to wait until he was back to his usual flashy self to get sappy. He’s quick to knock back the medicine and gulp down some of the water, but he doesn’t immediately lie back down. Instead, he leans his head against your shoulder with a soft sigh.
You’re unable to hide the loving smile that crosses your lips— how lucky you are, to be his and to have him as yours. “Wanna cuddle while the meds kick in?” You offer, and he answers by pulling you down with him as he lays back on the pillows. You chuckle, happily snuggling up to him and allowing him to rest his head on your chest. He quickly tangles his limbs with yours, tossing a leg over your hip while his arms wrap around you and keep you close, and you pull the blanket up over the two of you. A comfortable silence falls over the room as he nuzzles into you, content to quietly share your warmth beneath the covers for a while.
☆彡
“Starlight?”
Buggy’s voice is low and drowsy as he softly calls for you. You yawn and blink the sleep away from your eyes— the two of you must have drifted off.
“Yes, honey?” You reply, yawning again.
He’s quiet for a moment, then you feel Buggy bury his face in your chest again. “…Was just seein’ if you were awake.” You chuckle, gently threading your fingers through his hair. It didn’t take a genius to know that his words meant “I want to spend time with you.” Luckily for him, you’re more than happy to oblige.
Your fingers gently massage his scalp, earning you a pleased sigh from him. “How’s your head?” You ask, testing the waters. When he smiles, you know that it’s time to put your little plan into action.
“Better,” he replies with a cocky grin, “as if a mere headache could take down the Buggy the Clown.” You smile back, deciding not to mention his less-than pleasant demeanor before the painkillers and snuggles. He was too cute. “Buuuuut,” he continues, snipping off a hand to float into your line of sight, “I’d be even better with one of those.” He points to the cookies on the nightstand, and you roll your eyes as your smile widens.
“Of course you would.” You tease, reaching to grab the bag. He huffs petulantly at that, trying and failing to snatch the bag from you.
“What’s that supposed to mean!”
You laugh, pushing him off of you and rolling out of bed. The bag of cookies is still tightly in your grasp, and you dangle it smugly in front of you while Buggy groans. “It doesn’t mean a thing, Love-Bug. Now lay on your stomach. You can have these after you follow my instructions.” He looks as though he wants to argue at first, but another glance at the cookies has Buggy obediently moving to do as you say. He looks mildly irritated as he looks back at you from his place on his stomach, rolling his eyes at your triumphant grin. “There’s a good jester.” You chuckle, taking a cookie out of the bag and handing it to him.
He scoffs as he snatches the cookie from your hand. “‘Good jester?’ I’m not some pet, y’know.”
“Oh, my bad.” You reply teasingly, crawling back onto the bed. “Would a massage make up for my insolence, oh brave and fearless captain of mine?” You position yourself right next to him, your hands already sliding up his back toward his tense shoulders.
He grins immediately, pleased to have his ego stroked. “A massage, hm? Coming from a pretty thing like you, I’d be insane to say no.” As soon as he gives his permission, he takes a bite of the cookie and your hands begin to move. Working with clothing and sails makes it easy for your dextrous hands to work out the knots in his shoulders, earning you a pleased groan from Buggy. “You’re not so bad at this,” he praises through a mouthful of cookie, “maybe I should get a new sailmaker and promote you to my personal masseuse.”You scoff playfully in reply, giving him a quick pinch between the shoulder blades. “Gah! Joking, joking!” He yelps, and you laugh before returning to massaging him.
“You can just ask for more massages, babe.” He merely huffs in reply and shoves the rest of the cookie into his mouth. “So,” you change the subject, “wanna tell me about your day?”
At that, he bristles and lets out an exaggerated sound of displeasure. There’s a brief pause as he swallows, then the ranting begins.
“My day? My day? It sure as hell would’ve been a lot better if our navigator actually did their job! I walk out of a meeting to see that we’re headed straight into a storm!” His voice gets louder as he riles himself up, his shoulders tensing even more. “How do you get that close without realizing we need to change course?!”
You smile patiently, guiding him back to relaxation as your hands diligently work over his shoulders. “I was wondering why we were smack-dab in the middle of it. Sounds like they need a stern talking-to.”
“Oh, they’ll get much more than a talking-to. They should thank their lucky stars I haven’t already flashily tossed their ass overboard! That storm ruined my makeup!” He gestures wildly to his now-bare face with a scoff.
You have to hold back a snicker at the thought that he was more upset over ruined makeup than the storm itself. “Mhm. They’ll learn their lesson once you’re done with them, I’m sure.”
His scowl turns into a cocky grin as he nods, pointing his thumb at himself. “Of course they will, sweet thing. And if they don’t, I’ll just get a new navigator.”
“Of course, baby. Anything else happen today?” Buggy thinks for a moment, letting out a pleased sigh as you finally work out a particularly stubborn knot.
“Hmm…” He hums, popping off one hand to snatch another cookie from the bag. “Y’know, now that you mention it, I’ll have to deal with Mohji, too. Did you hear what he said today?”
You cock your head. “Yeah, what about it?” You glance over to where Buggy’s newest pair of flashy shoes sits, glittering bright red with golden laces. Mohji had been less than polite about his opinion on them, from what you had heard. Buggy had poorly applied the glitter himself, according to the beast tamer, which explained the specks of red glitter you had been finding all over the ship this past week.
“What about it? He was insulting my nose! He called it a garish red abomination! If we hadn’t been so focused on the damned storm, I would have wrung his neck!”
You sigh. As much as you adored him, Buggy truly had a horrible case of selective hearing. It often resulted in him hurting his own feelings over something that was never said in the first place, which made mentioning anything related to the color red a balancing act. It was funny at times, but the underlying insecurity always made your heart ache for him. “Love-Bug, you don’t think maybe he was talking about, I dunno… your new shoes, perhaps?”
Buggy “hmph”s before taking another bite. He’s quiet as he chews, and you wonder if maybe he’s taking your words into consideration before he blows up again. “Even if it was about my shoes, that’s no better! My shoes are flashy and perfect!” He huffs. “No one appreciates my artistic vision. Except you, maybe.”
You roll your eyes lovingly. “Thanks, Bug. And I’m sure Mohji was just messing with you— it’d be odd for him to comment on some clown shoes when he lives on a circus-themed ship.” Your reasoning seems to be enough to ease Buggy’s temper, and he nods in agreement.
“Fair point.” He clicks his tongue with mild irritation, letting out another huff. “Wouldn’t kill him to show some gratitude, though. It takes a lot of work to maintain our flashy theme!”
You chuckle at his complaint, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “No one works harder than you to keep our crew flashy and functional, Captain.” He beams at your praise.
“Damn straight!”
His signature laugh bubbles from his chest, loud and silly and perfect. When his laughter fades, there’s a brief pause. He fidgets with the cookie in his hand and his cheeks flush ever so slightly, his gaze darting around the room. Then, ever so slowly, he turns to finally look at you. His eyes don’t meet yours for more than a few moments at a time, and he clears his throat softly to get your attention.
“…Thanks for always listening to me, starlight. And for understanding, even when other people don’t.”
Your heart melts. “Aw, honey…” You coo, and he grumbles as he turns his head away again. His attempt to hide is futile, however, quickly foiled by your hands abandoning his shoulders in favor of grabbing his head and popping it off of his neck. The soft noise of surprise he makes is silenced when you press your mouth to his in a sweet kiss, unable to stop yourself from smiling against his lips. He’s bright red by the time you break the kiss, and you peck his lips one more time before putting his head back where it belongs. “Anything for my lovely clown.”
Buggy immediately begins to sputter, hiding his flushed face from your adoring gaze. “I am not lovely!” He argues, “I’m flashy! And fearsome!”
You giggle and lean down, throughly pleased by the way he shudders when your breath ghosts over his ear. “I dunno, honey… you’re pretty lovely to me.” You don’t miss the small whine that catches in his throat when you take his hands in yours, bringing each one to your lips to pepper them in kisses. You take your time, allowing your lips to brush over both palms, each finger, and every knuckle. “Your hands are quite lovely…” You trail your lips up his arm next, “and so are your strong arms. Roll over for me?”He obeys immediately, reduced to putty in your hands in record time. Now that he’s lying on his back, you take a quick moment to appreciate the view before continuing to shower him with kisses.
Your lips find his shoulders, then his neck. “Your shoulders and your neck are lovely, too.” His cheeks are next, hot and red as you kiss each one. “And how could I forget about your lovely face? Especially…” You smile and gently kiss his nose, “your perfect nose,” then your lips meet his with a final, lingering kiss. “And your oh-so-kissable lips.”
“Okay, okay!” Buggy finally yelps, his voice high and flustered as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you down against him. You can’t help but laugh at how flushed he is, and he huffs petulantly before burying his face against you. “I’ll have you know,” his arms tighten around you, “flattery isn’t enough to make me hand over the rest of my cookie.”
You can’t help but laugh. “Oh yeah? It’s not flattery if it’s the truth, Love-Bug. And,” you pluck the bag of remaining cookies from the nightstand and place it in his hand, “I don’t need cookies when I have you right here. Just as sweet, and ten times more delicious.” You shoot him a salacious wink, and he becomes even more of a mess.
His cheeks match the hue of his nose by now and he scoffs, a poor attempt to mask how utterly wrecked your simple affection has left him. He opens his mouth to give a witty retort, but nothing comes out aside from a little noise that’s equal parts adorable and amusing. He finally manages on his second try, “…You’re so sappy.”
“Perhaps,” you reply with a grin, “but you love it.”
He shoves a cookie into your hand with a fake-grumpy huff.
“Yeah, yeah… Love you, starlight.”
You beam and snuggle into him, pleased that your little plan to spoil him ended in success.
After one too many dramatic outbursts, Captain Buggy is tricked into therapy by his long-suffering first mate. He expects nonsense, insults, and a waste of his valuable time. He does not expect you to be the one sitting across from him with a notebook, a calm voice, and far too much insight into his ego, Shanks-related issues, and spectacularly bad coping mechanisms.
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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If Buggy had known where Cabaji was taking him, he would have thrown himself into the sea.
Not dramatically.
Well, no, dramatically too. He would have pointed at the horizon, declared betrayal in three languages, and launched his body off the dock like a wounded emperor refusing capture.
Instead, he found out too late.
“This,” Buggy said slowly, staring up at the brass plaque on the tidy office door, “is a clinic.”
Cabaji, standing beside him with the expression of a man trying very hard to look innocent and failing beautifully, crossed his arms. “Mhm.”
“Cabaji.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Why,” Buggy asked with terrifying calm, “Am I standing in front of a clinic?”
Cabaji straightened. “Because you need professional support.”
There was a long silence.
“Professional support,” he repeated. “For what?”
Cabaji made a vague gesture. “Everything.”
“Everything?”
Cabaji shrugged. “The yelling. The pacing. The chair incident.”
“The chair insulted me.”
“It was a chair.”
“It knew what it did.”
Cabaji rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Captain, in the last two weeks, you’ve screamed at three crew members, two lamps, a soup pot, and one emotionally uninvolved seagull.”
“The gull was mocking me.”
“It was eating bread.”
“With attitude.”
Cabaji inhaled slowly. “Look, call it whatever you want. Consultation. Guidance. Executive resilience. Leadership maintenance. I don’t care. But Mohji says if you throw one more knife at the wall because someone said the word ‘Shanks,’ we’re going to run out of walls.”
Buggy’s eye twitched. “First of all,” He snapped, “That red-haired menace is not relevant to this conversation.”
Cabaji stared.
Buggy stared back.
Cabaji said, “I didn’t say anything about him being relevant.”
Buggy opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then pointed one accusatory finger at him. “That was psychological warfare.”
“Great,” said Cabaji. “You can tell the doctor that.”
Buggy looked back at the plaque with naked disgust.
He hated tidy places. He hated polished brass. He hated the lace curtain in the window. He hated the little potted plant by the door. He hated the idea of “processing emotions,” whatever that meant. Most of all, he hated the fact that Cabaji had brought him here like some unstable theatrical horse in need of calming.
“I am not going in there,” Buggy declared.
Cabaji nodded. “Okay.”
Buggy narrowed his eyes. “That was too easy.”
“Captain, I can’t force you.”
“Obviously.”
Cabaji leaned one shoulder against the wall. “But if you go back to the ship right now and keep acting like this, I’m telling everyone you got scared of a notebook.”
Buggy gasped.
Actually gasped.
“I am not scared of a notebook!”
Cabaji smiled faintly. “Then prove it.”
Buggy glared at him for five solid seconds. Then, muttering open the clinic door and stormed inside.
The waiting room was even worse.
Soft chairs. Quiet clock. Shelves with books whose titles looked deeply judgmental. A vase of flowers trying far too hard to be calming. A woman at the front desk smiled politely.
“Hello, welcome.”
Buggy slapped both hands onto the desk. “I’ve been abducted.”
The receptionist blinked. “Do you have an appointment?”
“He has,” Cabaji said, appearing behind him.
Buggy whipped around. “You made an appointment?”
“Yes.”
“In my name?”
“Yes.”
“With my reputation?”
“That wasn’t one of the fields on the form.”
The receptionist glanced down at a ledger. “Captain Buggy?”
He stiffened. “Unfortunately.”
She nodded. “You’re expected. You can go right through. Second door on the left.”
Buggy froze.
Expected.
He hated that word in this context.
He hated it so much that, for one irrational moment, he considered climbing out the nearest window.
Then the second door opened.
And Buggy stopped moving altogether.
You stood there.
Calm as anything.
One hand resting on the doorframe, the other holding a small notebook.
For a split second, your face betrayed you. Not much. Just a flicker. Surprise, sharp and bright, before professionalism slid neatly into place over it.
Buggy stared.
You stared back.
Cabaji, behind him, made the smallest noise of understanding.
“Captain,” You said at last. “Please, come in.”
Buggy did not move.
Cabaji, the traitor, gave him a helpful little shove between the shoulders.
He stumbled one step forward into the room.
You stepped aside and let him pass.
Cabaji offered you a quick nod, the kind exchanged between conspirators and exhausted people, then disappeared down the hall before Buggy could turn around and strangle him.
The office was somehow worse than the waiting room.
It was warm. Organized. Intolerably peaceful. There was a broad desk, two chairs, one faintly ridiculous couch, and an enormous window letting in late afternoon light. No bars, no chains, no theatrical shadows. Just order.
Buggy hated order when it wasn’t his.
You closed the door gently behind him.
He spun around at once. “Absolutely not.”
You blinked. “What part?”
“This.”
He flung both arms wide, indicating the room, the couch, the notebook, your entire professional existence.
You sat down in one of the chairs and crossed your legs with infuriating composure. “The session?”
“The session,” Buggy repeated. “The clinic. The notebook. You sitting there like some kind of... emotional assassin.”
You made a note.
He stared. “Did you just write that down?”
“Yes.”
“What did you write?”
“I wrote that you seem uncomfortable.”
“I am not uncomfortable.”
You looked up. “Would you prefer ‘deeply offended’?”
Buggy pointed at you. “That one.”
You nodded and wrote again.
“That’s worse,” He muttered.
He remained standing for a beat, then another, clearly hoping his refusal to sit would somehow collapse the structure of the session itself.
It did not.
Finally, in a huff worthy of opera, he dropped into the chair opposite you and folded his arms.
Silence.
You opened the notebook.
Buggy squinted at it like it was a loaded weapon.
“Before we begin,” You said, “I should explain confidentiality.”
“I don’t care.”
“All right. Everything discussed here stays here unless there is a serious risk of harm.”
Buggy nodded once. “Excellent. Then let the record show I’m innocent.”
You looked at him.
He looked back.
Then, because stillness made his skin itch, Buggy leaned back and said, “I should also explain that I don’t need therapy.”
“I see.”
“I’m here under protest.”
“I see.”
“This whole thing is a set-up.”
“I see.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you mocking me?”
“Not yet.”
Buggy’s mouth twitched against his will.
He hated that.
You set the notebook lightly on your knee. “Why do you think Cabaji sent you here?”
Buggy scoffed. “Because he’s weak.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Because he’s dramatic.”
You waited.
Buggy rolled his eyes. “Fine. Because apparently the crew can’t handle a captain with standards.”
“Standards?”
“Yes. Expectations. Discipline. Presence. I run a circus, not a knitting club.”
You nodded. “And how have those standards shown up lately?”
He looked pleased with himself for half a second, then suspicious. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” you said mildly, “How many objects have you thrown this week?”
Buggy sat up. “That is not a fair opening question.”
“Three knives, one cup, and a spoon?”
“It was an expressive spoon.”
You wrote something down.
He leaned forward. “What now?”
“You’re counting.”
“I am not counting.”
“You corrected my total.”
“That’s because accuracy matters.”
“Of course.”
He threw his hands in the air. “See? This is ridiculous already.”
You tilted your head. “Then help me make it less ridiculous. Tell me what’s been going on.”
Buggy opened his mouth and gave you exactly what you expected.
“Nothing.”
You smiled the smile of someone who had watched people lie for a living and no longer found it creative.
“Nothing.”
“Correct.”
“And yet your first mate made you an appointment under false pretenses.”
“Cabaji is dramatic.”
“And Mohji?”
Buggy groaned. “Mohji is worse.”
“So the whole crew is overreacting?”
“Yes.”
“All of them.”
“Yes.”
You made another note.
He leaned in again, scandalized. “Are you writing that I’m right?”
“No.”
“What are you writing?”
“That you feel ganged up on.”
Buggy blinked. “That’s not what I said.”
“No,” You agreed. “It’s what you described.”
He sat back slowly.
For the first time, he looked as though he had realized this might not be a fight he could win by volume alone.
That would have been delicious enough on its own.
But then, because Buggy was Buggy, he rallied.
“Fine,” He said. “I’ll tell you what’s going on. The crew is incompetent, the budget is offensive, one of the acrobats keeps landing like gravity has a personal grudge, and Cross Guild is a nightmare staffed entirely by overgrown weapons with emotional problems.”
You lifted a brow. “Including you?”
“I am the exception.”
“Mm.”
“And,” He went on, warming to the rant now, “if one more person tells me to ‘calm down,’ I’ll set something on fire.”
You wrote.
He slapped the arm of the chair. “Stop doing that!”
“Doing what?”
“Making notes every time I say something interesting.”
“You think what you’re saying is interesting?”
He paused. Then frowned. “That’s manipulative.”
You smiled faintly. “And yet effective.”
Buggy looked away, muttering.
You let the silence settle just long enough to irritate him properly, then asked, “How often do you think about Shanks?”
Buggy whipped his head around so fast it was almost theatrical whiplash. “What?”
“How often,” You repeated calmly, “Do you think about Shanks?”
“I don’t.”
You looked at him.
He glared.
You looked back.
He lasted seven seconds.
“Constantly,” He snapped. “But not in a pathetic way.”
You nodded. “And what comes up when you think about him?”
“Violence.”
You wrote.
“Annoyance.”
You wrote.
“History.”
You wrote.
“His stupid hair.”
You wrote.
“My hair is better.”
You wrote.
Buggy pointed at you with growing outrage. “You are reducing years of complicated emotional nuance into little scratching noises on paper.”
“That’s one way to describe it.”
He folded his arms tighter. “He’s unbearable.”
“Why?”
“Because he exists.”
“That’s broad.”
“He left.”
The words landed differently.
You did not move right away. Buggy seemed not to realize he had said something honest until a full second later, when his own face changed.
Then, immediately, he threw a hand in the air. “Not that I care.”
You waited.
He kept going, too fast now. “I mean, I care in the sense that it was annoying. Strategically. Symbolically. But I was obviously fine. Better, even. Probably.”
You said, very gently, “That sounded important.”
He glared at the carpet. “I hate this room.”
“I gathered that.”
“I hate your face too.”
“That’s less professional.”
“You’re not being professional,” He said. “You’re ambushing me with insight.”
“That’s not ambush. That’s listening.”
“It feels aggressive.”
You almost smiled. “Let’s try another topic,” you said.
“Good.”
“Women.”
Buggy made a choking sound. “No.”
You made a note.
“What are you writing now?!”
“That you’re avoiding the topic.”
“I am not avoiding it. I am rejecting it.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Compelling.”
He got up at once. “That’s enough. Session over. I’m leaving. This is absurd. I was promised executive resilience.”
You looked at him. “Sit down.”
“No.”
“Captain.”
“Don’t ‘Captain’ me. I know what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?”
“You’re being calm on purpose.”
“Yes.”
“It’s sinister.”
“I’ll survive.”
He paced once across the room, then twice, boots loud against the rug.
You watched him without speaking.
Finally he stopped by the window and turned.
“Women are easy,” He said. “That’s all.”
You said nothing.
He hated when silence pulled more out of him.
“They laugh. They flirt. They say nice things. They want something simple. I know how to do simple.”
“Do you?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.”
“I’m asking.”
He looked at the window instead of you. “Admiration is easy,” He muttered. “Attention is easy. That’s not...” His jaw tightened. “That doesn’t ask anything.”
“And what does ask something?”
Buggy laughed once, bitter and tiny. “You know.”
That one sat between you.
You did know.
Maybe too well.
You kept your voice even. “Say it anyway.”
He looked at you then, furious not with you but with the fact that you had made the room safe enough for honesty to become possible. Which, for Buggy, was apparently its own kind of violence.
“Closeness,” He snapped. “Trust. People deciding they know me. People wanting...” He gestured uselessly. “More.”
“And how do you usually respond to that?”
He gave you a very flat look. “Have you met me?”
“Yes.”
“Then there’s your answer.”
You held his gaze. “Try again.”
He stared.
Then laughed under his breath. “You really enjoy this.”
“I enjoy accuracy.”
He dragged a hand over his face. “Fine. I perform. I joke. I flirt. I make a mess. I leave first if I can.”
The room went quiet.
There it was.
The skeleton under all the sequins.
For a moment neither of you moved.
Then you asked, softly now, “Why?”
Buggy looked suddenly tired. “Because if I ruin it first,” He said, “Then at least I know what happened.”
That one hurt.
Even now. Even funny, even ridiculous, even seated in a neat office with a notebook between you and a potted plant in the corner pretending this was ordinary.
You kept your expression level.
Buggy saw the pause anyway.
Immediately he recoiled from his own honesty like it had bitten him.
“Great,” He said. “Excellent. Wonderful. We’ve reached the tragic core. Can I go now?”
You looked down and wrote.
He made a sound of deep personal betrayal. “What now?”
“Breakthrough.”
His jaw dropped. “That’s insulting.”
“That’s progress.”
“I hate progress.”
“I know.”
He sat down again with the air of a man being crushed by fate and upholstery.
For a while, the conversation turned stranger in a more survivable way.
He ranted about Cross Guild.
You asked why he kept describing everyone there like hostile furniture.
He ranted about his own image.
You asked how much of it belonged to him and how much of it he had built so no one would see the parts underneath.
He objected to the phrase “coping mechanism” on principle.
You wrote it down twice.
At one point he accused the couch of being judgmental.
At another he announced, with great dignity, “My ego is perfectly calibrated.”
You asked, “To what?”
He pointed at the ceiling. “Greatness.”
You wrote, inflated but fragile presentation.
He lunged halfway across the desk. “Let me see that!”
“No.”
“You’re profiling me.”
“That’s literally my job.”
“That’s offensive.”
“That’s your sixth use of the word.”
He sat back, deeply offended for a seventh time.
And yet, minute by minute, something shifted.
Not healing.
Absolutely not healing.
But loosening.
The performance never fully disappeared, but it started snagging on truth here and there. Little tears in the fabric. Enough for things to show through.
He talked about applause.
How it felt good because it was loud and simple and didn’t ask questions.
He talked about leading.
How if everyone expected him to be impossible, he could at least control the shape of it.
He talked about girls in ports and around the crew, and this time his voice lost some swagger.
“It’s not even about them,” He admitted, staring at his rings. “It’s just...” He made a face. “Evidence.”
“Of what?”
“That I can still...” He looked disgusted by the sentence before it even finished. “Whatever.”
“Be wanted?”
He glared.
You wrote.
“Yes,” He snapped.
A beat.
Then, almost under his breath: “Which is not the same thing.”
“No,” You said quietly. “It isn’t.”
He fell still.
There it was again. One of those tiny moments when the room stopped being funny for half a breath and became something else. Something more dangerous. More honest.
Buggy looked at you, really looked.
Then cleared his throat and said, “This has been deeply unpleasant.”
You smiled faintly. “That’s an understandable clinical response.”
He stood at once. “I’m leaving.”
“All right.”
He blinked.
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not going to psychoanalyze my exit?”
“I could.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”
“I won’t.”
Buggy hovered by the door and his hand found the doorknob.
Stayed there.
Then he glanced back over his shoulder, trying to look casual and failing so hard it almost became charming.
“So,” He said. “Hypothetically.”
You waited.
“If someone were,” He continued with immense dignity, “To return. Not because he needs anything. But because this was... strategically less intolerable than expected.”
You nodded very seriously. “Hypothetically.”
“Yes.”
“Would you like to schedule another appointment?”
He looked offended by the directness of it.
Then muttered, “Maybe.”
You took up your pen. “Next week?”
Buggy squinted and sighed, “Same day.”
“Same time?”
He hesitated. “Fine.”
You wrote it down.
He watched you, then asked, almost suspiciously, “Was this a disaster?”
You looked at him over the edge of the notebook.
“No,” You said. “Just a very difficult patient.”
“Cruel.”
“Accurate.”
“Same thing, usually.”
That got a laugh out of you.
He went still for a second, listening to it. He opened the door.
Paused.
And without turning fully back, said, “For the record... Cabaji’s still dead to me.”
“I’ll add it to the file.”
“That better not be a joke.”
“It wasn’t.”
He gave a low grumble that sounded dangerously close to satisfaction, then strode out into the hall with all the offended grandeur he could gather around himself.
Two seconds later, you heard him bark, “Cabaji! I hope you know this counts as mutiny!”
Cabaji’s voice drifted back, infuriatingly calm. “So... same time next week?”
There was a pause.
Then Buggy shouted, “Shut up!”
You smiled down at your notes.
At the top of the page, beneath his name, you had written: Resistant to treatment. Responsive to honesty. Extremely dramatic.
Then, after a second thought, you added one more line.
I CANNOT STOP THINKING ABOUT FAIRIES. AND BUGGY. AND BUGGY WITH A FAIRY.
IT'S BEEN WEEKS AND I CAN'T STOP.
WC: ~1.4k
Warnings: nsfw, possibly dubcon, buggy x f!reader, fairy!reader, reader is held captive, size difference, idk exhibitionism + voyeurism, some degradation, slight praise, masturbation - reader and buggy, fingering (sorta), facial (sorta).
"What a fucking nuisance," Buggy grumbled as he carried you away.
The hammering of your fists and cries of protest did nothing to deter the captain or his stormy march.
"…a pain in my ass for three damn days. Screwing up everything, practically fell overboard…"
His seething continued as he listed every real and perceived sleight he attributed to your mere presence. Buggy finally fell silent when you two reached his quarters. He set you down on his desk and stared.
And inside the small birdcage, you stared back.
You were small, although maybe bigger than he expected. Buggy held up a gloved hand and closed one eye. Then opened it again because that did nothing. Ignoring the wings, you were almost the same size as his hand.
Spreading his fingers and moving his open hand directly in front of you and your sneer, Buggy decided that you were plenty small, even with the wings. You must have been caught in a gust of wind and too stupid to properly hide your presence.
"Maybe I should feed you to Richie."
Yet again, your cries and pleas had no effect. You stamped your tiny bare feet and grabbed at the wooden bars of the cage, shaking with all your might. All Buggy could hear was the sound of the small creaks from the flexing reeds and the notable absence of the insults you were hurling his way.
He stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it. Then listened again.
"…nothing." He shrugged with a grin before walking away. Whatever fairies talked about wasn't meant for human ears.
The birdcage sat on the edge of Buggy's desk, almost entirely ignored. He remembered to drop in bits of food and water, but you were no better than unwanted decor. Just a trinket he planned to sell at the next port.
Buggy was surprised with how quickly your tirades and pity-parties yielded to regret, acceptance, then curiosity. You were small and your emotions must be even smaller.
Sometimes, in the chilly, quiet mornings, he noticed you talking. A barely-there sound was carried by the air, so light that just the weight of listening would overcome it. Meanwhile, your little hands would gesture and your wings would flap, moving to the beat of your silent conversation.
One late, late night, Buggy heard it. Just for a moment, until your little voice was lost to the muffled surf outside the ship. But he knew it was you. And it was different.
He walked over to your cage, half-expecting you to be dying. It would be his kind of luck.
In the dim cabin light, he saw you kneeling on the wicker floor and breathing heavy, but instead of death throes, Buggy caught you succumbing to a different type of fit. One that involved your hand between your legs.
The expression on your flushed face was so plainly obvious that Buggy couldn't help but laugh. "You little freak!" Buggy wheezed.
Sheepishness and embarrassment flitted behind your half-lidded eyes.
"What a little pervert. Look at you, too horny to stop touching yourself." He giggled and leaned closer to get a better look.
You shivered with his approach, riding the tingle of nerves until you were riding your hand. You rolled your hips and squeezed your thighs while a warm, heavy breath fell into the cage.
"C'mon, let me see."
The surprised flutter of wings brought out another laugh from the pirate. Seeing this type of action wasn't new for Buggy, but he was still curious about what was going on under that dress you wore.
"Just a look, honey. A little peek, hm? Let the ol' captain see how good you're doing?" he coaxed with a smile, nodding slowly as his words ended.
You got up on your knees and spread your legs, resting them between the reeds that made up your floor. With one hand, you held up the thin fabric of your dress. That was the only garment in the way of either of your desires. Now your other hand, which was busy rubbing quick, small circles, was in clear view.
But it wasn't enough for Buggy. He had leaned in so close that his nose bumped into the cage. He swore under his breath, earning another twitch from your wings.
Oh.
"I've never seen such a little slut," Buggy teased.
Your wings stiffened and stopped moving.
"Ahh, so you are a fucked up fairy, hm? A pervert pixie? A nympho?"
For a moment, he thought he heard you responding. Agreeing. Your mouth was moving, but for all he knew, you could be moaning nonsense.
"Come closer, let me help," Buggy said, sticking his finger between the bars of the cage. "You want me to help, don't you?"
Fuck, Buggy didn't expect to have such a physical reaction to you shuffling towards him while still on your knees. He palmed his growing erection through his underwear, soothing it with pressure. Meanwhile, he watched as you brought yourself to your feet, in front of his finger.
He curled the digit, inviting you even closer. One small step. And another. Your knees were practically shaking. You hadn't stopped touching yourself for even a second.
"Move," Buggy mumbled, pushing his finger forwards to replace your hand.
You gasped - he assumed - and grabbed onto him with both free hands. He wiggled slightly, feeling the wetness between your legs. His fingertip dragged along your slit, rubbing everything.
Without being prompted, you pulled up your dress again, letting Buggy see how your pussy hugged the tip of his finger. How your bush sat on top, so prettily. How you were able to grind against him and rub into his fingerprint. How much wetter he could make you.
Buggy watched, stuck between observation and obsession. He was captivated. Although his own hand couldn't match the pace of your hips, he touched himself to the slow beat of your wings. When they were spread wide and twitching in anticipation, his hand was wrapped tightly around the base of his cock.
A pinch from your tightening grip was the first sign. Your hand squeezed as you tried to stay upright, but the desire bottled inside you had become far too much pressure to hold. With an audible cry, you slumped forwards onto Buggy's finger, legs trembling and wings utterly useless.
He could still feel your intentional movements against him. Your ass wiggled as you rode out the orgasm, desperate to enjoy every moment of it. And at the end, you looked up at Buggy with the dopiest grin on your face. Utterly and completely content.
"F-fuck-"
Buggy hastily lowered you off his finger and back onto the floor of the birdcage.
"Look at me, again. Just like that," he huffed before licking what little wetness you left on his fingertip.
Buggy barely needed your eyes on him. A few strokes were all it took to spill his load. With his tip pressed against a gap in the cage, he aimed for you, intent on coating you in cum.
He made a mess. Besides one shot that landed on paperwork near the cage, most ended up on tiny target. You were drenched. Covered in the hot, viscous liquid. It clung to everything - soaking into your hair, staining your clothes, weighing you down entirely.
It was vulgar.
Some must have gotten into your mouth and you clearly didn't appreciate the flavor. Buggy couldn't blame you - he also found his cum too bitter and sour, probably from all the drinking. Still, he couldn't hold back the laughter when you spit out the offending goo.
His crinkled eyes were met with that same stupid expression that had tipped him over the edge. One of amusement and satisfaction. You said something that went nowhere, yet again.
Buggy sighed. A hint of honeysuckle lingered on his tongue, a taste of air and sweetness.
"...I could use a freak like you on my crew. A show like that could be real profitable," Buggy mused out loud before walking towards the bathroom for some towels. It wasn't an offer, but it wasn't a demand either. Not yet.
Later, while Buggy laid in bed with empty balls and an empty head waiting to fill with dreams, another unexpected sound came from his desk. One that carried clearly before it dissolved in the darkness.
warnings: swearing, zombie apocalypse, corrupt government, blackmail, abuse, descriptions of all those things, body horror? more to be added
synopsis: description below
Characters: Buggy, Reader, (everyone else is a secret for now.)
reader: description below
wc: undecided
a/n: I ofc don't own Resident Evil, its characters or concept, same goes for One Piece!
I'm super excited to start this fic! i will likely start posting it starting within the next two weeks or so as I focus in on this and a personal project! so keep an eye out and feel free to send in questions or suggestions!
also this post will be edited frequently, most likely through reblogs! but once I have my entire outline decided I will add all the extra info and make a proper master post for the series!
and to finish, this intro may have mistakes and grammar issues in it! sorry!!
now enjoy! and cheers!🎉✨🎉✨🎉
~•~•~•~•~•~
You: Are a stylish journalist, clicking your pen impatiently as you wait in the Reindeer City police department for an interview with the chief regarding rumors of unethical experiments in the area.
☆
Buggy: Is in a holding cell, waiting to be questioned about the museum heist he was just caught conducting. But there are some really strange noises coming from the room next to his and he's getting desperate to leave.
☆
While you search for answers about the sudden apocalypse that has taken over the city and try to connect it to your life's work, Buggy is getting less and less confident that there's an exit in this hell hole. You work together more by accident than anything and at the end of this horribly long night you wonder if you can get the job done without him.
~•~•~•~•~•~
This dialogue and scenario may change in the final product! But for now enjoy your first meeting with Buggy in the fic, as a treat!
the teaser is 1.7k words :)
~•~•~•~•~•~
The first thing the room does is stink. Its rotted stench of decay, shit, and blood chokes you near tears as you push the wooden door open.
The second thing the room does is startle you, sure you were worried about running into officers while going on your unauthorized tour, but you don’t think the people stumbling around the room are capable of pointing you towards the bathroom if you used that lie on them.
The three officers are all pressed against the cell on the far side of the room. Leaving their dark desks and green spinny chairs unattended in favor of gnawing on the rusted bars and taunting someone.
“Hey I heard that door open! Come get your friends offa me!” the person calls from inside.
Before you can reply to the stranger's nasally voice, the officers turn to you, groaning from deep within their stomachs as if they’ll cough out their hearts with a bit more effort and shuffling towards you. Their skin is glazed over with sweat and tinted into an unhealthy hue, their eyes are hazy and unfocused yet they lock in on you. They snap their jaws as they approach and their green tinted teeth practically break with each attempted bite.
“What's wrong with them?!” You call, reaching for your gun and stepping back into the hallway.
“Hell if I know! You’re the cop!”
“I’m not a-” You cut yourself off with a shot from your gun, straight into one of the three officer’s skulls as he lunges towards you.
His dull nails nearly dig into you as he falls, two more come in quick succession all three lie at your feet twitching and creating puddles of blackened blood to soak in.
The putrid smell is strengthened by the fresh death and makes both you and the imprisoned man gag in unison.
The third and final thing the room does is provide you an opportunity. Swallowing down your lunch, you assess the room again and shut the door, stepping over the dead officers to inspect a locked bookshelf on the left side of the room. There must be something related to these strange occurrences in here.
While fumbling with the lock you hear the stranger's voice again.
“Hey! Thanks! Now lemme out of here!”
You huff and turn, before you stands a clown. You’ve seen his wanted poster somewhere before, but everything besides his bright blue hair, matching eyes, and of course, his large round nose, has faded from your memory.
For him to be here he must be worth something, but you can’t possibly tell if he’s more of a footnote or a headliner from a glance.
“Not so fast, who are you and what are you here for?” You start, opting to look around the room to imply disinterest. If he thinks you’ll leave him here he might get desperate enough to be interesting.
“What does it matter!! you wanna leave an innocent man here with those things?!”
Your gaze travels from the framed photo of the creatures that you killed prior to their descent into death, all the way over to the man in the cell.
You take in his slightly disheveled state, hair pulled high into a sweeping ponytail, painted red smile smudged around the edges, striped shirt untucked, teal trousers… And a pair of light seastone handcuffs keeping his hands in front of him.
They don’t have enough of the sea in them to make him loopy, but they should keep any powers he has at bay for questioning.
He frowns under your skeptical gaze and shakes his head.
“Well I’m partially innocent, all this is a big ole misunderstanding! Just let me go and I'll explain everything!”
“You could be even more dangerous than the creatures in here.”
“Well, that's.. flattering I guess, but I clearly don't have any weapons or anything on me and I swear I won't hurt you, so be a good…” He pauses, it's a struggle, but you don’t pull your sights from the photo in your hands as you feel his eyes wash over you. “fashion student? And let me go.”
“I'm a journalist.” You scoff, grabbing a file from one of the desks.
“Right of course, silly me, be a good journalist, and let me go! … Please.”
“How do I know that you won't run off as soon as I free you?”
“So what if I do! you seem awfully comfortable walking around in this shit hole! just lemme out and we can both go our separate ways!”
“I don't know… If I let a wanted criminal free I could lose my job”
“WHAT JOB?!? The world is ENDING!!” He cries, finally close enough to grip the bars of his cell, avoiding the spots that were being chewed on by the officers.
“You don't know that.” You start calmly. “Based on my findings, this outbreak should be contained in the city. No one outside its borders knows this is happening. I need to be the one who gets this story out there and I can't do that if I'm known as an accomplice to some clown.” You explain, walking away from the desk and kicking the creatures to ensure that they won’t bite while you check their pockets.
“It's Buggy, and who cares! I won't tell! Scouts honor, promise!”
“You're not understanding, Mr. Clown.”
“Captain.” He interrupts, voice strained into a hiss.
“Uh huh, what I'm saying is that this entire outbreak has been planned. There's no way that you're here due to coincidence, and if you're that important then I'll need you to complete my story.”
Your casual manner finally seems to strike fear into him. He shakes the bars of the cell making everything sound like a baby rattle made of scrap metal.
“What no! no no no! I was just robbing a museum nearby! This was all an accident! My crew left me and I got caught, silly mistake! Learned my lesson!”
You stand back up with a pair of keys in your hand. Ignoring his desperation despite the way it overpowers the room.
“Maybe… But there's something about this that-”
“Okay okay!” He cuts you off, voice crashing against yours. “Say that I'm here for some grand reason! what you should do is let me free to throw off the organization behind this and-and find my file!”
Bingo. You spin to face him, making sure that the keys jingle in your hands as you approach the cell
“Your file?” You ask, finally gazing into those blue eyes.They soften a bit as his face falls into a smile
“Yes! if im some sort of sacrificial lamb or whatever, the big brain behind this must have some sort of log with all my relevant info! so go find that and you'll have your damn story.”
“That's an interesting theory… And if that's the case it's all the more important that I keep you close because you might know something. You have information that isn't in your file so they captured you.”
You hold in a smirk as his jaw drops, he shakes his head frantically, hair swaying over his shoulders and down his back.
“You can't be serious, look I may be a cheat and a thief but you're gonna risk my whole life for a news article!? That's just plain old heartless!”
“I- I'm not risking it, you are! You're safer here than you are wandering around.”
“Sure! Until I die of starvation or something! Come on, I may be a pirate but this is pretty harsh!”
You falter, you’ve heard things like that before. Life ruiner, career ender, coldhearted cunt, and every other name under the sun. All for the lengths you've gone to for an inside scoop. He stares at the keys in your hands, panicked eyes flickering between them and the tense expression you’re sure is on your face. Before he can speak you turn your head away from him and nod.
“If you look for information while finding an exit, do you promise to meet me in the lobby and tell me what you found before you go?”
“Yea yea sure of course!!” Buggy beams, big teeth glinting in the stale electric lights that buzz overhead.
“Okay, but you have to give me your pants.”
“Alrigh- I HAVE TO WHAT?!?” He screeches, voice harmonizing with the shaking bars.
“Relax!” You insist, crossing your arms. “It's just so that I can make sure you come back.”
Buggy scoffs, rattling the bars harder.
“Are you insane?! why would I walk around creatures that BITE ME with NO! FUCKIN! PANTS ON?!?”
“Okay okay, a shoe then.”
The clown grumbles, and soon something is dangling in your field of view. His purple hair ribbon.
“How about this? It's a family heirloom, no way I'll run away without it.”
You stare at the strip of fabric and shake your head.
“A family of gerbils? This looks like it's been chewed to hell and back.”
“Fine! No hair tie! How about my hat! I'll definitely be wanting that!”
You scan over the large orange hat that hangs from a hook by the door. Next to it is a jacket in a similar color with a white fur lining and many pockets.
“Doesn't match my outfit though…” You hum, walking to the hook and stepping over the dead officers.
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?” Buggy roars.
“Calm down. I'll take it, I was only joking.”
“Ha. Ha. Now let me outta here!”
You take the captain’s hat off the wall and lay it on your head. It's a bit chilly, and the lingering scent of the sea wafts off of it, but it's not that bad overall.
Waltzing to the cell, you unlock the door with one key from the ring in your grasp and undo the cuffs with the other. Buggy practically pushes you to the side as he rushes for his jacket, and apparently, the eight daggers that were hidden in it.
“Thank-”
“Wait! Got a watch on you?” you ask.
“In one pocket or the other, why? You trying to rob me now?” he hums, a tense smile greets you as he whips around.
“No, just meet me at the lobby in three hours. If I find an exit while looking around I'll lead you to it.”
“Fine. See ya!”
“Go to the left! and stay quiet!” You call, but you’re not quite sure he heard you.
~•~•~•~•~•~
Masterlist and more to be added soon!
finally, please follow the "RE!Buggy" tag at the end of the post to stay updated!! I will not be posting every chapter under his main tags; so it's the best way to see what is and isn't available so far!
has a description of reader's dress! I was having trouble envisioning it, so i drew it! i just wanted to share this in case anyone else was struggling to see it.
This dress can be changed anyway you see fit as you read the fic ofc! of you see my messy drawing and would rather wear something else, I know for a fact that Buggy will love whatever you're wearing!! anyways, here is my suuuper messy sketch!!
synopsis: Buggy helps you celebrate your birthday!
Characters: Buggy, Reader, mentioned crew
reader: Loves to dance! is the birthday girl, uses she/her pronouns, has breasts and a vagina.Wears a dress, Your friend leans down to talk to you, and Buggy has you sit on his lap at some point, called "dollface" "spotlight" "honeycakes" etc.
wc: 3.6k
a/n: Happy Birthday to me! it was a while ago, but i am happy to put this out anyways! happy early/belated birthday to you all!! 🎉🩷🎉🩷🎉
and i finished this one suuper late at night, so i will probably do a little overhaul in the morning/late afternoon when I wake up!
Oneshot masterlist. ao3. the dress
~•~•~•~•~•~
“Flashy!” It seemed that everything that Buggy did, wore, or in this case; Who he loved, managed to embody that word and all it stood for.
And today was no exception, you spun around the dance floor catching the lights like prey and tossing them back out to the enchanted passersby who got a glimpse of you through the windows of the bar.
Buggy pitied those poor fools, but not by much since he was the one who got to whisk you away once you got your fill of dancing… Though it was starting to look like that wouldn’t be happening any time soon, which was bad news for Buggy and the ‘V.I.P. only’ tent he was pitching in his pants.
Today was your birthday, and your dear clown celebrated it as flashily as possible, starting with breakfast in bed and fresh flowers. Though he had slightly burnt your food and there was so much glitter on the blooming buds that you couldn’t tell what they were, much less smell them without posing the risk of sneezing sparkles for a week. Still, you accepted both gifts with open arms and peppered Buggy in the first wave of kisses.
Then, you got your special birthday outfit, a custom mid-thigh length dress that featured his patent-pending red and white stripes. It had a strapless neckline, and a deep V cut in the back that went dangerously low on you. It was held in place with a golden bow that matched the piping of your dress.
The look was enhanced by a purple scarf much like his own, but with a squirting flower brooch and matching socks. Then, to tie everything together, was a bright orange tiara that resembled Buggy’s hat, fit with spikes, swirly details, and his jolly roger gleaming front and center. It hardly goes without saying that each part of the ensemble was either covered in rhinestones, sequins, glitter, or a mix of all three. You easily put every disco ball to shame.
After helping you into the dress and accessories, Buggy received his second wave of kisses, and you got princess treatment. Each of the fabulous freaks on board were waiting on you hand and foot while asking if you wanted anything else. You even received an offer to be fed, which Buggy did not appreciate. (“What!? She doesn’t need any help with that! And if she did I would be handlin’ it!... Right darling?”)
Following that was the presents, of which you received many, then the cake and singing. Somewhere in between all the festivities, Buggy received his third and fourth waves of kisses.
All of that leads to now, you’re docked at an island where you could dance the night away with your friends as a final gift. Your beloved jester had once been with you under the lights, laughing and singing along, but he had gotten tired and went to grab a drink or two. Though you simply shrugged off his disappearing act, Buggy loved to dance until he got tired, then he loved to sit down and relax more than anything else.
Which is why, when you felt his familiar, strong grip on your waist, you assumed that he had caught his breath and decided to join you again.
But, as his fingers tail up your side, you realize that you can’t lean into his chest because it's not behind you. None of him is.
You scan the bar, beginning to solve the mystery of ‘where the hell is the rest of my boyfriend’ so you can dance on him again, but each time you cast your gaze around the dance floor, you’re greeted with waves from fellow freaks, or interesting glances from strangers. After your third attempt, the hand moves to squeeze your ass.
“Buggy!” You hiss,
“Hm?” Your friend asks, dipping down to hear you.
“Nothing, nothing!”
You scowl, hoping that he can feel your cold stare from wherever he is.
The hand slips under your dress and inches up your thigh, pressing and squeezing you as it goes. The sensation of his bare skin exploring you makes you bite your lip, the heat of the crowded room grows as you try to dance the way you were before, not wanting to draw any suspicion.
You fall back into the music with ease, closing your eyes and letting your hips sway to the beat. Around you the bass thumps like a loving heartbeat, fueling you through the soles of your shoes to the tip of your crown, and back down again. The air is soaked through with sweat, but also the sweet scent of the flavoring added to the drinks, and an intoxicating mix of perfume and cologne that makes your head spin in the best way. You brush against your friends, and share laughter with them, sneaking jokes between songs. You're in the middle of commenting on the day so far when Buggy makes his next move.
His hand slips up the curve of your rear and into your panties, a lacy red pair that he gave you today. He doesn’t dare to feel the wet spot growing in your center, instead he continues to grope your ass from new angles. You gasp and press your legs together slightly, your mind wandering to what Buggy might be doing while he teases you here.
Another part of you grows bolder. Fueled by the thought of your lover's eyes on you right now, you spin a little slower, wind your hips with a bit more purpose, and run your own hands over your body in the ways you hope he’ll copy later.
Just then, as if the day couldn’t get any better, they begin to play a song you know, one that Buggy loves. You’ve given him so many private shows to this passionate beat, and it’s been the reason behind more ripped pairs of panties than you can count. You can tell Buggy hears it when his hand slips further, he pauses at your core as if impressed by the amount of slick dripping from you, but manages to continue his travel towards your clit, where he begins to rub slow circles in sync with the music. You bite your lip and close your eyes in response.
It was easy to slip into the music before, but now you can feel it thumping through you like a second heartbeat, and from that space you relax and let it take control of your body, as if for its own pleasure. In this state, you feel like an onlooker as well. As if you and Buggy have given into a shared voyeuristic fantasy where the song manifests itself through his skillful fingers and brings you to the brink of ecstasy each time the chorus hums in.
From your perch on the climax you watch along as the tune pleases itself through you and Buggy, playing with the both of you like toys made to bring it to its own selfish orgasm. Each brush against your clit and greedy breath from your mouth is amplified in the base, the strings lift you from the floor while the bass pulls at you from deep within. Buggy’s fingers use you like an instrument, taking away all your senses.
The sweet scent in the air would be like drinking in ash in comparison to the soothing pulse that he presses against so beautifully. The pain of your heels has dispersed upwards and into your soaking cunt, reduced to nothing but passion. Your drinks from earlier are gone from your tongue, having been replaced with a thirst for the sound coming from within you.
Around you, the dancefloor has disappeared and all bodies but your own are like mirrors, reflecting your shameful waltz back to you, yet stoking your pleasure. Under normal circumstances you might worry how this comes across to anyone else. You would catch the eyes of curious people and look away shyly, dancing a little tamer, holding yourself back from whatever beast you’ve given into tonight. But now, the idea of your bliss being visible, palpable, something heavy that controls the atmosphere and dampens the air, it makes your head spin like the disco ball above you, and brings you closer to the edge.
It’s visible now, the peak of the song, the brilliant sumit where you and Buggy will succumb to the will of the music, each wind of your hips and circle on your clit have led to this moment. It feels like your intimate movements have only begun, at the same time it feels like an eternity of lustful euphoria has passed within you. Still, you must move on, in order for you to ever understand what has happened to your body, you have to let this moment go. And that you do.
“..Hear me?” Your friend asks, concern clear on her face.
It's a miracle you don’t squirt all over the dance floor. But the slight shivers that run through your body snap you out of your… experience go entirely unnoticed. Whatever you may have done, or looked like while the song was playing must not have been too distracting. Around you, the room is the same as before, Buggy has gone back to groping your ass, if not for the wetness on his fingers, you would have wondered if what you felt was even real.
“Yea! Well, no, sorry.” You hum sheepishly, your voice feeling almost foreign to you now.
“It's fine lovie! We’re gonna grab some drinks, did you wanna come? Or stay and dominate the dance floor some more?”
“I’m gonna try and look for a bathroom.”
“Okay, bring the Captain with you though, just in case!”
“Mhm, stay safe.”
“You too!”
You watch her and a few others wiggle away, that's when you spot it. An awfully convenient storage closet. You march towards the dark wood door, dodging dancers and smiling at your crewmates as if your not aiming to get your brains fucked out in a second.
As soon as you wrap your hand around the doorhandle, he sinks a finger into your cunt. Your moan is muffled by the thump of the music. It begins to pump inside of you without warning, dipping deeper within you with each thrust, until you're almost sure that Buggy has detached it from his palm.
You fumble with the doorknob for a second before finally bursting into the room and slamming it shut behind you.
“There she is.” Buggy sings, his voice quivers with the weight of his desire.
At the sight of him you clench and feel another finger slip in.
Your boyfriend is seated on a large upside down crate. With his teal sash being used as a barrier between his bare ass and the wood. His pants are hanging down around his ankles, and his cock is leaking onto his fist.
He trails his eyes over you shamelessly. The room is dimly lit by the leftover lights that spill between the seams of the door.
Looking at you makes his fingers move faster inside you as he pumps himself. There's about one step between the two of you, and you close the distance quickly. Buggy whines eagerly into your kiss and embrace. But you avoid his lips, giving him his fifth wave of kisses instead. When you pull back, satisfied with your work, he pops his head off and goes in for his prize.
“Fuckin’ tease.”
He tastes like one of those fruity drinks you both like and his lipstick is no doubt coating you like a million declarations of love, you press yourself into him. Careful to avoid his lap as you push him gently against the wall.
You both hiss at the same time. You laugh, resting your forehead against his and moving your hand to cup his balls. As you do, the fingers inside you spark back to life.
Buggy speaks first, “You look so good out there honeycake.”
“You felt amazing, I don’t know what happened when our song came on-”
“You felt that too?”
“Yea, It was strange right?”
Buggy nods, his palm pressing against your clit, forcing a moan from you.
“It was spectacular.” He hums, pulling you to straddle him on the crate, your dress brushing against the head of his cock as you lean over him.
“And I want an encore.”
His voice is like a soothing balm over aches you can’t recall getting, but you welcome it all the same. Warm silk laid out in the sun could be put to shame by the way your darling is looking up at you right now, desire about as visible as the blue in his eyes, and adoration bleeding through every hushed moan and breath. You return his feelings in kind, dipping down for a searing hot kiss.
As you kiss him, you bring your hand down to replace his own, teasing his cock with slow, strong strokes. He pumps his fingers inside you at a matching pace, purposeful thrusts that make your eyes roll back even though they’re already closed.
When you both finally pull back for air, you pull your panties to the side giving him just enough time to pull his fingers out before you sink down onto him.
“Fuck baby! You’re- hah- so fuckin wet.”
You lay your head on his shoulder, licking your way up to his ear and drinking in the way he shivers underneath you.
“All for you, Captain.” You breathe out, feeling his thick length twitch in response to his title.
“My good girl.”
You nod, nipping at his neck and grinding your hips down in lazy circles.
Despite being in a small storage closet in the club, it’s clear that you both intend to take all the time necessary to chase the feeling from mere moments ago.
As you sway against Buggy, he lets out soft gasps and whimpers. Hands greedy for every inch of you, he squeezes your ass and palms your tits. Pulling at your nipples gently and smacking your rear. His actions send little shockwaves through you, doubling your pleasure as he explores your body.
“You know how hard it was all day seeing you in this damn- mphnn- dress?”
You hum in response, blinking up at him with false innocence as you speed up a bit. Your lover bites his lip in response, strong arms pulling you closer.
“Looked so fuckin’ pretty under the lights. Fuuck.”
His words only make you feel bolder, you yank down your top and tease yourself with your free hand.
Buggy nearly growls in response. Leaning down and taking you into his mouth and lapping at your nipple in quick swipes that match the new pace that he fucks you at.
You cry out, voice muffled by your free hand. His cock thrusts up into you, each drag pressing against that spot inside you that makes you see stars.
The feel of his tongue against you sends bright shivers through your body, your hot cunt clenches down with each swipe, in response Buggy fucks you harder, each push from his hips hitting deeper and deeper.
You whine out, nails digging into his shoulder as you take everything he gives you.
His cock damn near splits you in half, each thrust making your tits bounce in your grip and his mouth. The pleasure makes your thighs try and press together, but with Buggy’s hips in the way, you end up holding him tighter.
Then, he pulls back, flashing you a grin before slowing to a lazy pace.
“You taste soo good my spotlight,” He sings, pressing a kiss to your lips that quickly melts away into passion. Your tongue dances with his, both of you moaning into one another to the point where you can hardly tell where you end and he starts.
“Hah- I have an idea, sweet thing.” He whispers between kisses.
You start fucking yourself onto him again, biting his lip when he whimpers out.
“And what might that be?”
“Mhm- damn tease- hah- shit a little more first, please.” He begs, hips stuttering under you.
The feel of his strong thighs working against your own fuels you to press down harder, forcing his length farther into you. The sounds of your hips meeting his bounce off the walls and mix with Buggy’s whiny moans as well as the sounds of bliss from you.
“This is what you- hnn- get for making me cum out there.” You hiss, taking his jaw into your grasp and peppering messy kisses all over his face. His lipstick must have been smeared on you, because there are matching prints left all over when you’re done.
“Your fault.” He gaps between moans. “You kept kissing me like that, fuuck, all day long I’ve been holding back, hnmn.”
“Really? Shit, That’s what did it? My kisses?”
Sheepishly, Buggy nods, suddenly embarrassed by his confession. You giggle, pressing a kiss to his nose, and capturing his lips before he can protest.
“Now, what was your idea, my love?”
It’s as sloppy as all the rest you’ve shared tonight, made up of desire and love. You can feel his hesitation to embrace you fully, and in response you do all you can to sink your adoration for your dear clown into the moment. You can feel him accept it, and relax into your grip. Slowly, he pulls back and places a timid kiss on your forehead.
“Well first, you’re gonna need something to muffle those pretty whines of yours honey.”
Buggy hums, taking this time to play with your tits using both hands as you stop thrusting.
“Me? You’re the one whimpering.” You huff.
“So what? You can’t put your panties in both of our mouths.”
“Who said anything about that?”
“Well what did you think you were gonna suck-”
“Do not finish that sentence.” You pout. Buggy giggles in response.
“I’m already inside of ya dollface, a little innuendo won’t do any extra damage.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love it!”
“...You can have my panties.”
“What about your loud ass?”
“What was that?”
“Nothing! Nothing!”
You roll your eyes dramatically, but fail to hold in the smile that takes over your features. In return Buggy beams at you, his blue eyes finding a way to sparkle in the dark room.
“I’ll suck on you.” You hum, lifting one of his hands and pushing two fingers against your tongue, the Captain's response is immediate, his cock twitching inside of you with enough force to make you moan.
You lean forward, hands pressing against the hardwood wall in front of you. The crate under you bites into your knees, but the pain is dimmed by the thin barrier of Buggy’s teal sash and the feeling of his cock hammering into you.
“Sounds perfect!”
~•~•~•~•~•~
Your lover’s blissful cries are hardly contained by the dampened fabric that was once between your legs. If anything, the taste of your slick is only making him louder. With each thrust, Buggy whines out your name, alongside praises and whimpers.
You can’t mock him though, because his fingers do next to nothing to hide the whimpers that break free from you.
“Mhnn Bayby, so nmm tight.” He slurs, laying his head on your shoulder and increasing his pace.
You moan in response, digging into the wall while pushing yourself back to meet him. The harsh pace makes you wonder which one of you is fucking the other as you both connect in the middle to add to your pleasure.
The sound of your ass against his thighs bounces off of the walls, probably escaping into the bass outside, you hope your ecstasy is muffled by the music. Your shameless attitude from before may have gone, but with each thrust, you feel that euphoria returning, and you’re sure that Buggy does too.
His movements slow just enough to go deeper. Each press of his hips against your ass forces his dick to kiss that spot inside of you, making you clench around him. Below you, you’re sure that there's a puddle of slick collecting on his sash.
“Fuuck darling, I’m getting- gettin’ close- ah! Fuck! Harder!” You plead. Biting down with enough force to make Buggy whine out.
“Mhm, cum for me, hnm- shit- cum on this cock- spotlight.”
You squeeze down at the sound of his pet name and push back to meet him, it all hits you then. The bass bleeds in through the floor, finding its way to you though the crate, and sinking into Buggy the same way.
Every part of you feels aglow, the world is bright behind your eyelids, bright blue lights swim gently in your vision, as if they’re washing off of your lover and onto you. You breathe in but the scent of sex and sweat has been replaced with a refreshing emptiness that soothes your lungs, making your moans sound echoey and light. Buggy’s free hand finds your clit amidst the climax, doubling all that you feel. Every twitch of his cock is like its own orgasm, you write against him and drink in the soft whines he lets out. You can still taste him on your tongue, but lean back to capture his lips all the same. In some strange way he tastes like a sound, and you feel like a vision. He says something, and while you can’t hear over your shared ecstasy, you know to say “I love you too” all the same.
The moment passes all too soon, but something makes you think that you’ll be feeling it again.
Blinking, you fall back into yourself and catch your breath.
“Fuuck, spotlight.” Buggy moans, pulling out so he can sit down and pull you into his lap.
