Peric

I'm 32. Any pronouns. I like to write fanfic. Buggy gooner 👅

[deathbyclown]

Masterlist

Fanfics 

Buggy/Crocodile 

Bump in the Night - 11000 words, Teen 

The Outfit - 6000 words, Explicit 

Pollen - 3800 words, Explicit 

Cotton Candy Clown - 5200 words, Explicit 

Pushback- 3000 words, Explicit 

Expectation - 4400 words, Explicit 

A...Secretary? - 10000 words, Explicit 

Lipstick -3600 words, Explicit

Cry For Me, Part 1 -2800 words, Explicit

Cry For Me, Part 2 -3000 words, Explicit

Hunted -2300 words, Explicit 

Heya, Big Guy - 2500 words, Explicit 

Buggy/Shanks 

The Ride Home (Part 1) - 6400 words, Explicit 

The Ride Home (Part 2) - 5400 words, Explicit 

Heat - 3700 words, Explicit 

The Garden House - 3100, Teen

You Again - 3000 words, Explicit 

Oral – 1300 words, Explicit

Seeing Red -3800 words, Explicit (For violence/gore) 

Worthless -1900 words, Explicit 

Cross Guild

Voyeur- Part 1 – 3000 words, Explicit 

Voyeur- Part 2 - 8000 words, Explicit

Cross Guild Week, Day 1 - 2500 words, Teen 

CGW, Day 2 - 1100 words, Teen 

CGW, Day 3 - 4000 words, Teen 

CGW, Day 4 - 3000 words, Mature 

CGW, Day 5 - 4800 words, Explicit 

CGW, Day 6 -6000 words, Teen

CGW, Day 7 -5000 words, Explicit

Cross Guild/Reader

Pegging Cross Guild 

Free Use Reader 

Buggy/Mihawk

Buggy's Performance - 2300 words, Explicit

Buggy/Mr.3(Galdino)

Big Bottom Blaster - 2800 words, Explicit

Daddy - 3800 words, Explicit 

Sweet and Blue - 3000 words, Explicit 

Buggy/Alvida

My Good Boy - 4800 words, Explicit 

Buggy/Reader

Casual Thing - 3200 words, Explicit 

"Princess" - 2800 words, Explicit 

The Ruined Party - 4000 words, Explicit   

The Ruined Party, Part 2 - 3000 words, Explicit 

Unintended Audience - 7000 words, Explicit (includes Reader/Cross Guild) 

Sticky Skin - 3000 words, Explicit 

Crocodile/Mihawk 

Smoke and Spice - 3000 words, Explicit 

Crocodile/Reader 

Make This Fast - 1000 words, Explicit 

Crocodile's Pet - 2300 words, Explicit 

Tease - 3700 words, rated Explicit 

Take It - 3500 words, Explicit 

Crocodile/Doflamingo 

Taste - 4500 words, Explicit 

I Found You -7400 words, Teen (AO3 only) 

Shanks/Mihawk

Three Pump Chump - 2800 words, Explicit 

Mishanks Week 2025, Day 1: Phone Sex -1700 words, Explicit 

MSW Day 2: BDSM - 1500 words, Explicit 

MSW Day 3: Restraints - 4400 words, Mature 

MSW Day 4: Quickie - 900 words, Explicit 

MSW Day 5: Lesbian Sex and Public Sex - 800 words, Explicit 

Shamrock/Mihawk

Satanized: Part 1 / Part 2 / TBC - 3100 words, Explicit

Drabbles 

Wanihana Drabble 

Crocobug Drabble 

Bughawk Drabble 

Mishanks Drabble 

Shanks & Cross Guild Drabble

Headcanons

How Cross Guild Reacts to Bugs 

If Cross Guild Had Phones  

I’ve been writing more and I figured it’s probably best if I keep everything in one place so it’s easier to find. If you like what you see here, check out my AO3 . It’s exactly the same, but I have some buggy/reader stuff I didn’t post here that I wrote before I started cross-posting. Feel free to stop by in my dms and say hello. Let's gush about our faves <3

[zapfish-juice]

I was gonna upload these on an artdump but i think Doflamingo sniffing a line of coke from Crocodile's trans tits deserves its own post

[michelmims]

BUGGY 💙🤡🎪 

Shares are appreciated 💖

[deathbyclown]

Finished a blanket

I used this pattern but adjusted it for worsted weight yarn

[deathbyclown]

I LOST my fidget toy

[deathbyclown]

Oh nvm I found it 😊

[deathbyclown]

I LOST my fidget toy

[sillylilili]

❤️ I miss dressing him up

[nonbulka]

Just because I love what @sillylilili does🐙❤️

[amok0-art]

Are you done?

Just a little bit more.

[operationroots]

War of the Warlords #5

Chapters: #1, #2, #3 , #4

Tag list: @lostfirefly  @deathbyclown

FicSummary: Crocodile and Mihawk make a bet to see if they can seduce Buggy’s girlfriend for their own personal gain and to ruin Buggy’s life. Things, however, don’t happen as planned.

Will include HanBug (Buggy x my OC Hana)

Chapter Summary: With both of them unsuccessful in seducing Hana from Buggy, Crocodile and Mihawk ponder ending their bet until Galdino uncovers something involving the two lovebirds. 

This chapter will also include NSFW stuff (not as much as the previous one but still) so MDNI

Afternoon light sliced through the Cross Guild dining hall, finding Crocodile and Mihawk seated across from each other like chess pieces on opposite sides of a polished table. Crocodile had chosen the seat with the best view of the room and the exits. His coat was slung over the back of his chair like a flayed trophy, fur gleaming, gold hook glinting in the daylight.

Across from him, Mihawk looked every inch the aristocrat, his wine glass balanced on three fingers, posture straight as a crucifix. The table between them was a still life of untouched food: glistening piles of fruit, a tower of eggs that no one would eat, and a single silver coffeepot that hissed in the silence.

“So,” Mihawk said, breaking the silence and drawing out the word as if preparing it for dissection, “I take it your conquest was… unsuccessful.”

The last word was said with a deliberate, almost mocking, delicacy. It was a scalpel’s flick to Crocodile’s notoriously impenetrable hide.

The pause that followed was not quite silence as Crocodile didn’t bother to answer immediately. He ground the stub of his cigar into a porcelain ashtray. He then selected a new cigar from a monogrammed case, bit off the end, and lit it with the kind of predatory elegance that would have intimidated lesser men.

“Unsuccessful is a word for cowards,” he said. “I’d call it a temporary delay.”

“Ah,” Mihawk replied, swirling his glass with just a little too much force, “so she said no, then.”

Crocodile’s nostrils flared, but his voice remained even.

“She said a lot of things. Some of them were interesting.” He took a drag, eyes narrowed through the haze. “And you? Did you manage to out-duel her?”

Mihawk gave a minimal shrug. “She is not so easily won. But then, that was never the real point, was it?”

Crocodile flicked ash in Mihawk’s direction, which landed with surgical precision on the tablecloth, narrowly missing a slice of blood orange.

“The point was to prove superiority,” he said. “And yet here we are, neither of us with the prize. You can imagine how that offends me.”

Mihawk’s lips twitched. “I would have wagered on you lasting longer.”

“I don’t have that kind of patience,” Crocodile replied. He punctuated it by snapping the cigar in two and letting the dead half fall into his eggs. “I want to know what went wrong.”

“You underestimate her,” Mihawk said. He toyed with the stem of his glass, rolling it between his fingers like a chess piece. “She’s sharper than you think.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Crocodile growled. “If I had wanted her, she’d be here.” He gestured to the empty seat at their table, then to the untouched place setting across from them.

“Perhaps,” Mihawk mused. “Or perhaps she’s exactly where she wants to be.”

The silence settled heavy, a blanket of mutual disappointment and pride left unappeased. Across the hall, servants moved like shadows, adjusting plates that no one touched, refilling glasses no one drank from. The entire room felt poised on the edge of something violent.

Mihawk broke the quiet first.

“She chose the clown over both of us,” he said, tone smooth as polished steel. “Call it what you like. It remains… inelegant.”

Crocodile’s jaw tightened, grinding the cigar to pulp between his teeth.

“It was a rigged game,” he muttered. “She never intended to take either of us seriously.”

“Then perhaps your offer lacked appeal.” Mihawk set his glass down with deliberate precision. “Or perhaps she prefers chaos to control.”

A flicker of something sharper passed through his eyes.

“Some women do.”

Crocodile’s hook flexed.

“You speak as if you understand her,” he said. “You don’t. You’re as much a stranger to that as I am.”

“Possibly,” Mihawk allowed. “But I understand competition. And I know when I’ve been outplayed.”

His gaze lifted, cutting.

“You’re the one who can’t let go.”

The tension was palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap. Crocodile’s body language was controlled and calculated, reflected in the controlled exhale of smoke from his mouth. It was a moment frozen in time, where the slightest movement could set off an explosion of emotions.

“I’m tempted to call off the wager.”

Mihawk arched a brow. “Wouldn’t that be an admission?”

“She’s not worth the trouble.” The words came sharp, dismissive, and almost convincing. “I have better things to do than chase a woman who’d rather slum it with a—”

He paused, selecting the word with care.

“—clown.”

Mihawk smirked, faint but unmistakable. “You seem rather invested for someone who doesn’t care.”

“It’s the principle.”

“Ah,” Mihawk said softly. “The principle that says you should never lose. Let it go. There are always more wars.”

Crocodile’s eyes glittered, then narrowed. “Speaking of which, where are they? The two lovebirds?” I haven’t seen either of them since last night.”

“Nor have I,” Mihawk said. His tone was soft, but the muscles in his jaw twitched with the effort of saying it. “Perhaps they’re preoccupied,” Mihawk let the word linger just long enough to be deliberate.

Crocodile’s lip curled. “If he’s distracting her, it won’t last.”

“Or,” Mihawk said, “she’s chosen to stay out of sight.” His eyes flicked, sharp as a blade. “Like a fox that’s already outmaneuvered the hounds.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, the tension so taut it could have snapped steel. Mihawk’s hand tightened around the wine glass, the crystal groaning in protest. Crocodile’s cigar hovered just above his lips, unmoving.

“Should we void the wager, then?” Mihawk asked. His voice was polite, but there was a scalpel under the words.

Crocodile considered, then shook his head. “Not yet.” He leaned back, hook tapping the rim of his coffee cup. “I want confirmation.”

“Of what?”

“That we’ve truly lost,” Crocodile said. “Not just the bet. The game.”

Mihawk inclined his head. “How do you propose we acquire this confirmation?”

Crocodile didn’t so much issue orders as he did coil language around a victim’s throat, squeeze, and then release, just enough to let them twitch a little. He turned to Galdino, who stood at the edge of the Cross Guild dining hall with the resigned alertness of someone who’d long ago accepted that all jobs were humiliations waiting to happen.

He spotted Galdino hovering at the edge of the room and made a single, sharp gesture with his hook. The wax-man’s shoulders tensed visibly before he glided over, his face arranged in that careful blankness reserved for bearers of bad news or servants about to be sacrificed.

“Galdino,” Crocodile said, modulating his tone to something intimate and feline, “do me a favor and deliver coffee to our… esteemed associates.”

There was so much venom in the pause after ‘our’ that even Mihawk gave a fractional tilt of the head in acknowledgment.

Galdino’s expression didn’t flicker, but the way his lips pressed together made his distaste clear.

“Of course, sir.” He bowed, then turned on his heel, the movement too crisp to be respectful.

As Galdino wheeled the coffee cart out, the wheels squeaked against the marble floor, a sound that set Crocodile’s teeth on edge.

Back at the table, Crocodile reached for his cigar as if it were a dagger he might yet plunge into someone else’s back. Mihawk, meanwhile, rolled the base of his wine glass in small, deliberate circles, as if tracing the outline of some invisible battlefield.

The silence between them grew so thick that the room itself seemed to shrink, furniture and fixtures bending in toward the center of gravity: their mutual, bruised egos.

Crocodile’s eyes followed Galdino’s progress out of the room. His gaze was predatory, but there was something else behind it, an almost adolescent incredulity that things had not gone his way. His fingers drummed on the table, rhythm precise as gunfire.

“She’s making a fool of you,” Mihawk said at last, voice so low it barely rippled the surface of the air.

“And you?” Crocodile shot back, not looking away from the door. “You think being a spectator absolves you?”

“I think it’s less embarrassing than failing at the main event.” Mihawk smiled, thin as the line of a razor.

Crocodile huffed, the laugh so dry it evaporated on contact. “You get off on being above it all. But even you can’t deny this is…undignified.”

Mihawk shrugged. “Dignity is a comfort for the powerless. I’ve never had the luxury.”

Both men stared at different points in the middle distance, their eyes tracking nothing, as if the room had emptied of everything worth observing.

This whole afternoon had been a bitter reminder of their foolish pride and the dangerous game they played with a woman who never wanted to be their prize.

=========================

Down the corridor, Galdino pushed the cart with unnecessary gentleness, as if the cargo were not coffee but a collection of rare poisons.

This is beneath me, he thought bitterly. I am an artist. A craftsman. A man of refinement. Not— he glanced down at the tray …a glorified server in a floating den of degeneracy.

He rehearsed the coming encounter in his mind: how far to knock, whether to linger, what to report to Crocodile, what to do if the clown answered the door in some abomination of a robe.

No, worse…what if he answered without one?

He slowed outside the couple’s door, heart pounding with the doom of a condemned man.

And then he heard it.

The noises leaked through the heavy paneling with a persistence that suggested intent: giggles, and the staccato thump of something hitting the headboard at regular intervals.

Underneath, a woman’s voice warbled between breathless moans that would have made even the drunkest sailor blush.

Galdino froze.

I will not speculate, he told himself firmly. I am above speculation.

Another thump. A sharper one.

That is a structural concern. That is what that is. Furniture damage. Entirely unrelated to—

“Fuuuuuuck baby…” The muffled sound of Buggy’s voice rang out.

Galdino shut his eyes.

I hate this place.

He screwed his face into a mask of neutrality and tried very hard not to think about what might be happening on the other side.

Instead, he double-checked the cart.

Nothing’s amiss, everything’s in order… Good…Order does not giggle. Order does not—

A glass toppled inside.

A slap. A yelp.

And then…

The softest, dirtiest moan he had ever heard.

Galdino inhaled sharply through his nose.

I am going to knock, he decided, with the grim resolve of a man accepting his fate. I am going to knock, and this nightmare will end.

He raised a knuckle, hesitated, and was immediately rewarded with another round of moaning.

Of course…

He knocked.

At first, only silence. Then, the click of a lock disengaging, and the door creaked open a cautious six inches.

Buggy (and the floating upper half of his torso) appeared in the gap, hair wild, lips bitten raw, and clown paint gone uneven, as if he’d been making out with a street mural. His chest was bare, skin flushed and dusted with lipstick prints. Behind him, the comforter was thrown up in a tent, bulging and shuddering with what could only be described as “active occupancy.”

For a moment, Buggy just stared at Galdino with the glassy-eyed satisfaction of a man who’d achieved exactly what he wanted.

“What do you want?” he drawled, not bothering to hide the smug. “If you look any longer, I’m gonna have to start charging you.” He gestured vaguely behind himself. “Unless you’re here for a show. Then I’ll charge double.”

“The hell they are!” Hana called out from under the covers. “Go away!”

Galdino stood his ground, determined not to react. “Mr. Zer—Crocodile requested I deliver your coffee.”

From beneath the covers, a Hana’s fist appeared. She gave a thumbs down, then sank back down, the comforter undulating as her body rearranged itself with a muffled, “No thanks.”

Buggy grinned, teeth sharp and glinting. “We decided to eat in today on our day off. Room service, you know how it is.” He paused, then leaned in, lowering his voice to a confidential murmur: “I’m actually still inside her, so if you don’t mind—”

Galdino’s face contorted in a spasm of disgust. He tried to hand over the silver tray, but Buggy waved him off.

“We’re good, thanks,” Buggy said. Then, voice pitched to reach the bed: “You want anything else, babe?”

“Water,” Hana panted. “I’m dying. And maybe a towel, or, ahh, you know what, just the water—Buggy, get off for a second, you’re crushing my…AH—oh my god.”

Galdino didn’t blink. “I’ll have them send some up. Is there anything else?”

A pause. Then, from under the blankets,

“Galdino, do you know if there’s any aspirin? Or, like, an ice pack? I have a headache and… a situation.”

Buggy snorted. “Is it the thing with your hip again?”

“No, I’m just preparing for my lack of a functioning pelvis.”

There was a series of scuffling noises, the comforter pitching like a lifeboat in a hurricane, followed by a yelp, a thud, and the distinct sound of a body hitting the floor.

“Ow!” she yelled.

For one fixed moment, time seemed to suspend itself in the corridor. Galdino, who had borne witness to assassinations, mutinies, and the more avant-garde forms of torture, found himself confronted with the most unsettling tableau of all: a cartoonish symphony of amorous slapstick, performed by probably two of the most undignified pirates ever to disgrace the Cross Guild’s payroll.

“Don’t just stand there, man,” Buggy hissed. “You’re going to make it weird.”

Galdino could not think of a single scenario in which this moment was not already the weirdest thing he’d ever endured.

“I will ensure your requests are met,” he said, voice hollow.

“Good. Now go away.”

The door slammed in his face.

He stood there for a full ten seconds, hands shaking, before remembering himself.

"Okay, that was over and done with…”

He grabbed the cart and turned, pushing it back up the hallway with the speed of a man fleeing an active crime scene.

Inside the room, Hana’s muffled voice: “Is he gone?”

“He’d better be,” Buggy said. “Because if I have to listen to one more word out of his whiny mouth while I’m trying to fuck my woman, I will—”

“OW! Watch it—”

“Whoops, did I elbow your boob again?”

“YES, you idiot, it’s right there—”

“Sorry, babe. To be fair, they’re huge and hard to miss.”

“Uhh…thanks?”

"Okay, now shut up and let me make you see God.”

They collapsed into another tangle, the thump of their bodies against the mattress echoing down the hall.

Galdino, halfway down the corridor, shuddered violently. He abandoned the coffee cart at the nearest staff alcove, flagged a passing servant, and whispered,

“You. Take it the rest of the way. Don’t ask questions. If they want anything, just throw it at the door.”

===========

Galdino stalked into the dining hall with all the poise of a man walking to his own execution. His suit, crisp and immaculate at dawn, now sagged at the collar; his face, usually frozen in smug composure, was pale and pinched at the corners. He straightened his bowtie and forced himself to regain composure. He could still feel the echo of the morning’s debauchery pulsing in his temples, and he realized, with genuine horror, that the memory would haunt him for weeks.

He approached the table of warlords with a posture so stiff it seemed carved from ice.

Mihawk watched his approach with the stillness of a predator, one eyebrow arched in a silent, surgical query. Crocodile tracked Galdino’s progress with a single bored glance, then returned to the parade of untouched delicacies arrayed before him.

“Well?” Mihawk said, voice as measured as ever, though the flick of his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

Galdino stopped, composed himself, and spoke as if the words were burning his tongue.

“They won’t be having any coffee,” he said, voice flat. “Let’s just say they’re… occupied. Breakfast in bed, you see.”

Crocodile’s lip curled. “It’s almost one,” he said, gesturing at the clock, which ticked with insolent precision on the far wall.

Galdino’s jaw clenched. “It may be late for breakfast, sir, but they were certainly… in bed.”

Mihawk regarded him with cool detachment. “And you confirmed this?”

Galdino’s eyes darted away. “I didn’t have to,” he said. “I could hear it from the corridor.”

A small, amused huff escaped Crocodile, more contempt than humor. “I hope you didn’t linger.”

Galdino straightened, gathering the shards of his dignity. “No, sir. I value my sanity.”

He dipped his head in a curt nod and fled before Crocodile asked him to do anything else.

“…I think I need a drink” he mumbled to himself

Meanwhile, the two warlords sat in silence, the air between them spiced with humiliation and something darker.

“Breakfast in bed,” Mihawk repeated, voice as dry as the wine in his glass.

Crocodile’s jaw flexed. He ground the cherry of his cigar so violently against the porcelain ashtray that a hairline crack snaked across the surface. “If I hear one more word about that clown’s prowess, I’ll kill him myself. And I’ll make sure his whole damned crew watches.”

Mihawk’s lips twitched, the faintest trace of a smile. “It would seem our wager was poorly considered.”

“Not at all,” Crocodile replied. His voice was low and dangerous. “It has simply… escalated.”

He glared at the ceiling, the planes of his face thrown into harsh relief by the sunlight. “I will not be outdone by a clown. Not by that clown.”

Mihawk set down his glass, fingers whitening on the stem. “So we agree,” he said. “This is no longer about her.”

Crocodile bared his teeth. “It never was. It’s about not letting the clown win.”

Across the white linen, they sat like opposing monarchs, their pride as vast and cold as distant stars. Nothing moved except Crocodile’s cigar smoke, which twisted upward in the still air—a visible manifestation of their smoldering resentment.

Their eyes locked in silent combat. These were men unaccustomed to defeat, now bound by mutual humiliation. Mihawk’s fingers tapped once against his wine glass; Crocodile’s hook gleamed under the chandelier light. Neither would surrender this battlefield, each mentally calculating their next strategy against the clown who had somehow bested them both and how to transform embarrassment into triumph.

After all, a war was best savored slowly.

[operationroots]

War of the Warlords #4

Chapters: #1, #2, #3  #4 #5

Tag list: @lostfirefly @deathbyclown

(Feel free to request to be on the tag list if yall wanna join it)

FicSummary: Crocodile and Mihawk make a bet to see if they can seduce Buggy’s girlfriend for their own personal gain and to ruin Buggy’s life. Things, however, don’t happen as planned.

Will include HanBug (Buggy x my OC Hana)

Chapter Summary: Buggy and Hana have a discussion about what has been going on. Things get emotional, needy, sexy…and somehow funny too.

This chapter will include NSFW stuff so MDNI

divider can be found here

They didn’t make it five steps into their quarters before Buggy exploded.

The door slammed with a force that set every loose object trembling: the jumble of shoes by the threshold, the chipped glasses from last night’s binge, the heap of laundry Hana kept promising to wash. He stalked the room with frantic energy. Their bed, a monstrous thing, groaned as he threw himself down, then instantly up again, unable to settle. 

Hana took a deep, steadying breath.

“Buggy…” she began, as calmly as possible.

“Are you fucking kidding me with this?” he howled, not even looking at her. 

He yanked off his captain hat and hurled it against the dresser, where it landed on its side, absurd and deflated. 

“I mean…what the hell is going on with you three?!” 

His hands flew wide, encompassing the world’s most infuriating men. “Fucking Crocodile, and Birdman?!, and they’re both—God!—they’re both just—”

He broke off, words failing.

Hana, for her part, stood against the wall and watched the outburst as if he were a particularly loud storm seen from a safe distance. Her arms were folded, jaw set, but she had a sympathetic look in her eyes as she anxiously waited for him to calm down.

Buggy spun, hair snapping like a banner, and jabbed a finger in her direction. “You think I didn’t notice? How they look at you and talk to you?!” 

The volume was absurd. He was always performing, even when unraveling. 

“They’re not subtle! “You deserve better than a sideshow attraction. Someone who can offer you the world, not carnival tricks.” he mocked, sliding instantly into a passable Crocodile impression. “‘Join me, Hana, we could rule the fucking desert together!’”

He snatched up a pillow and lobbed it at the wall, where it struck, left a cloud of dust, and flopped to the floor. 

“Or—wait, wait, my favorite—‘You may think chaos suits you, but too much of it, and even the sharpest blade will dull.’ “

He mimed Mihawk with wide eyes and a frowning face.

Hana couldn’t help it. She snorted, seeing the way Buggy imitated the former warlords. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, the edge in his voice turning brittle. “Laugh it up. Guess I’m really entertaining tonight.”

Her expression shifted immediately, but he barreled on before she could speak.

“You think I’m being irrational? They’re trying to make you swoon like a fangirl! Just pluck you right out from under me like I’m nothing! Like I’m just a—” 

His throat closed. He clenched his fists, trembling.

He stopped. 

For a split second, he was all hollow sockets and smeared paint, every inch of him the punchline to a joke he didn’t write.

The silence stretched, heavy and mean.

Hana pushed off from the wall and approached, her heels padding a slow, deliberate beat against the floor. She stopped just out of reach, regarding him with a steady, searching look. 

“Buggy,” she said, “you know I’d never—”

“Oh, spare me!” he burst, hands flapping up to ward her off. “You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t enjoy it! The attention, the offers, the fucking diamonds!” 

He gestured wildly at the far wall, where her knife collection glittered. “They’re offering you kingdoms and blades and shit! What can I offer you, Hana?! A shitty circus run by idiot freaks?”

She pressed her lips together, drew a steadying breath. “You give me you,” said Hana, “It’s more than enough.” 

She let the words hang, open and vulnerable, a flag of truce in a room too small for either of them to retreat.

Buggy shook his head, the rejection automatic, a tic he wore like his painted-on sneer. 

His voice came out ragged, splintering along familiar wounds. “Don’t. Just don’t feed me that shit.” He wiped a trembling hand across his jaw, smudging the blue triangles, and even that seemed to enrage him. 

He grabbed a rag off the bedside table, scrubbed furiously, as if clawing his own skin would leave him clean. “You haven’t watched them circling you like vultures over meat—”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Hana snapped, heat rising. She hadn’t meant to snap, but the words were out before she could leash them. She huffed, tried to steady her tone. “You think I’m oblivious? I have eyes, Buggy.” She gestured at the chaos of their shared life—a cracked mirror, two chipped mugs, the ashtray overflowing with his cigarette butts next to her paintbrushes. “I see what’s going on, but I see you.”

But he wasn’t listening. Or maybe he couldn’t. He turned from her, shoulders hunched, arms crossed so tight it looked like he was trying to hold himself together by sheer force. 

“Everyone I’ve ever cared about has walked away eventually,” he muttered, voice nearly lost. “I guess it was just a matter of time.”

There it was: the wound, raw and ugly. It wasn’t just about Crocodile and Mihawk. 

The wound, jagged and unhealed, all the uglier for having been hidden so long. Hana felt it like a hand around her own heart.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, quietly but with the steel he knew she had. 

She waited for him to look at her, but he wouldn’t. She stepped closer, a slow, cautious circle, as if approaching a wild animal caught in a trap.

He stiffened at her nearness, but didn’t move away.

“Look,” she said, her voice cutting through the BS, “if you want to have this out, have it out. Scream, throw shit, whatever. I’m upset too, but don’t stand there and act like I’m some helpless thing being dragged around by whoever has the sharpest blade or the fanciest hook. “I don’t need rescuing.”

He twisted, her words jabbing as cleanly as any blade. “And you choose me?” His voice was disbelieving, wounded animal. “You really—after all of this—you really—” It was less a question than a confession, desperation leaking through every syllable.

She came closer, close enough that he could smell her skin, the remnants of sweat, and something sweet he’d never been able to identify. She put a hand on his chest, felt the frantic drumbeat of his heart.

“I choose you,” she said, slow and absolute. “Even when you’re an asshole.”

His posture collapsed; all the heat went out of him at once. He sagged onto the bed, arms limp at his sides, face buried in his palms. 

“You don’t get it,” he said, words muffled. “You don’t get how fucking terrified I am.”

Hana sat beside him, careful not to crowd. “Then tell me.”

He let his hands drop. The makeup was streaked from where he’d wiped at his eyes. When he looked at her, he looked like he was going to dissolve.

“I hate the idea of losing you to them,” he croaked. “Not because of them. Because of me. Because I’m not good enough.”

The words echoed. For once, he was deadly earnest. Hana studied him, something tender and complicated flickering behind her eyes as she began to feel them water. She leaned in, her forehead resting against his, her hand curling into the fabric of his sleeve.

“I don’t want diamonds. Or kingdoms. I want you. They can offer me the world,” she said, “but you’re the only one who ever made me want it.”

The words landed between them like a dropped knife. Buggy’s entire frame went rigid, as if the confession carried its own brand of danger. His breath caught, not just in his throat, but everywhere; all of him wound tight and vibrating with the urge to believe her.

She pressed even closer, the tip of her nose bumping his, lips grazing his mouth in a gesture so gentle it was almost an apology. 

“If you don’t believe that,” she whispered, “I’ll just have to keep proving it until you do.”

Buggy shivered. There were a thousand retorts he could have made, but for once he found himself empty of all of them. She hollowed him out with a look, a touch, a simple promise, and left him with only the part of himself that was afraid of being loved.

“You’re gonna be a stubborn pain in the ass, aren’t you?” he said, but there was awe in it, and gratitude, and something that might even have been hope.

Hana’s mouth twitched up at one side, “That’s the line you’re going with?” she murmured. 

He tried to muster a glare, but it collapsed under the weight of her gaze. He squeezed his eyes shut, a full-body shudder running through him. 

When he opened them again, she was still there; still choosing him. 

He wrapped his arms around her, knuckles white with desperation, and pulled her so close that he could feel the hammer of her heart. He squeezed his eyes shut again, clinging to her like a man trying to keep from falling. 

“I love you,” he whispered. The words landed heavy and true.

She held him as he shivered, her own hands shaking a little as she stroked the back of his neck, thumb tracing the sensitive spot just below the hairline. 

“I love you too, Honey Bugs,” she said, the nickname rippling with new gravity.

For a while, neither of them moved. The only sound was the distant thump of activity two floors down, filtered up through thin walls: the clang of bottles, the everyday violence of a pirate crime syndicate. In their room, the silence was a blanket, heavy with everything unsaid.

He pressed his face into her shoulder, letting the silence spool out until every molecule of anger had bled away.

Hana was first to break. The pressure of the moment made her chest feel too small for her lungs, and when she inhaled, it rattled in her ribcage. Her fingers hovered above Buggy’s wrist, then landed, tentative but determined.

He startled at the touch. She felt the quiver through him, a tremor that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with uncertainty.

Eventually Hana leaned back, just enough to study his face. His makeup was smeared under his eyes, his hair stuck out in odd angles, and there was a residue of misery that made him look even more himself than usual. She ran her thumb along his jaw.

“Listen to me,” she said, the edge gone from her voice, replaced by something closer to plea. “I know you’re scared. But you have to trust me.”

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her own composure. She caught his hand in both of hers, folding his fingers between her own.

“This is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. I think there’s something off about all of this,” she said. “With Mihawk and Crocodile, I mean.” She watched his face carefully, the color, the twitch of muscles, the flicker of panic in his eyes. “I mean, really? You think either of those guys actually gives a shit about me as a person?”

Buggy hesitated. The question hung in the air with the same gravity as a guillotine blade. 

“They seem pretty into it,” he said, but the words came out brittle.

Hana gave a small, tired laugh. “Oh, they’re into something. But it’s not—” She trailed off, the next part catching in her throat. “Look at them. Crocodile, suddenly interested in someone who can further his political agenda, and not just as a pawn? He’s too proud to truly share real power with anyone! Least of all me.” 

She shook her head, dislodging the memory of Crocodile’s slow, reptilian smile. 

“And Mihawk? The man barely speaks to me, and now he’s waxing poetic about the ‘allure of chaos’? They’re playing a game. I just know it. I don’t know what it’s about, but I know something’s up.”

He shook his head, the movement helpless. “What if you’re wrong? What if they actually want you for you, and I’m just… in the way?”

She re-captured his hand, refusing to let him back away into old habits. 

“Buggy. No one has ever wanted me like you do. Not even close.” The words came out sharp, like she didn’t trust them to hang in the air for long. 

“You might not be a warlord…anymore, or a king, or whatever. They can offer the world, but they don’t care if I stay or go. You’re the only one who can’t stand to lose me.”

He tried to muster a joke. “Yeah, well, guess I’m just a sucker for punishment.”

She gave him a look, all exasperation and love. “Maybe you are. But you’re my sucker.”

He smiled, a real one this time. For a moment, the room’s sharp edges seemed to fall away, replaced by the trembling vulnerability in his eyes. It broke something in her.

Hana felt it in her chest, the way his need for her was nothing like the hungry, predatory games of the other men in the Guild. He wanted to be chosen. He wanted to look in her eyes and know, beyond any scheming or rivalry, that she was his and his alone.

She leaned in, forehead to forehead, their breaths mingling. “Let them play their games,” she said, voice low and fierce. “Let them strut and posture like peacocks. I’m not interested, and I’m not for sale. I only want you.”

She punctuated it with a nudge of her nose, a gesture so intimate it eclipsed any attempt at bravado.

Something in Buggy’s chest buckled. His fingers dug into her skin, not in passion or anger, but as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered to the moment.

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. 

“You mean that?” His voice was a rasp, stripped of all the showman’s bravado. There was a tremor behind the words, a quivering need that bordered on desperation.

She grinned, “You could have the whole world chasing me, and I’d still pick you. I’d pick you a thousand times. I mean it.”

He stared at her, unblinking, as if waiting for the punchline. But there was none. Only Hana, her scent and sweat and the salt of her words, close and real. For a long beat, neither spoke; she simply held him, letting her pulse hammer out the truth.

Buggy’s composure fractured. He buried his face in her neck, arms locked around her waist, clutching her with the ferocity of a drowning man. 

“Say it again,” he whispered, muffled against her skin.

She gripped his jaw, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You’re the only one I want.”

He shuddered, every muscle taut with the effort of holding himself together. “You promise?”

The words were boyish, barely a whisper. He blinked hard and his eyes were wide.

Hana softened. She closed the distance, their foreheads touching, the air between them exchanged, a single breath. 

She kissed the tip of his nose. “I promise.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling. The tension in his shoulders eased, and for the first time in hours, he seemed to actually inhabit his body again, not just orbit it.

She tilted his chin up again.

“Besides,” she said, smiling now “I kind of want to see how far they’ll go. Might be fun to watch them embarrass themselves.”

A genuine laugh escaped him. “That’s… that’s fucking devious.”

She grinned. “You bring that out in me.”

They hovered in that space, inches apart, neither quite ready to break the spell. His thumb traced slow, absent circles on the back of her hand. She cupped his face, hands gentle now, and kissed him. The kiss was soft, at first. It was meant to comfort and reassure, but it didn’t stay soft. It deepened, sharpened, and became something hungry and affirming. 

When they broke for air, he looked up at her with something like pure love. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Hana peppered kisses across his jaw and throat, her hands tracing the edges of his collarbones, delighting in the shiver she could draw from him with a single well-placed touch. He made a strangled sound, half-protest and half-invitation, and writhed beneath her in a way that would have mortified him if he’d been with anyone else.

She smirked, licking her lips. “You made me genuinely happy.”

Her mouth then crashed into his with renewed hunger, washing away his doubts like a tide as if to remind him of all the ways he’d ever made her feel wanted and safe and alive. This time, she pressed him back into the mattress with the full force of her body, pinning his arms above his head in a way that was equal parts threat and promise. He let her, of course. He always did, when it was her.

When she nipped at his bottom lip, he felt the electric current of her pulse against his and sensed the dangerous edge beneath her tenderness that always left him dizzy.

He grinned around the pressure, the red paint on his mouth smudging across her cheek, leaving a slash of color. He wanted to say something witty, but she swallowed every word he tried to form, her mouth everywhere, her hands everywhere else.

She suddenly then drew back, fixing him with a glare that was ninety percent affection and ten percent threat. 

“By the way, if you ever doubt me again, I’ll stick you to the mattress with your own knives.”

He grinned, his face transforming like a storm breaking into sunshine. “Sounds sexy. Promise?”

His lips then found the hollow beneath her ear, trailing fire down the column of her throat. His fingers tangled in her hair, then skimmed down her sides, gathering her against him with a desperation that made her gasp. The heat between them built, turning the air thick with salt and sweetness.

Hana let herself melt into the moment, her hands tracing the ridges of his shoulders, the damp paint on his jawline, the wiry tension in his arms. She felt him hard against her thigh, and the urgent roll of his hips made her laugh, low and wicked, into his ear.

She raked her nails down his chest, making him groan.

She grinned. “You like that?”

“Don’t stop.”

She didn’t.

He slid one hand up her back, the other snaking between their bodies, tracing the zipper on her diamond dress, but the way it clung to her made his head swim. He fumbled with the fastener, hands shaking with anticipation and impatience.

His words came in gasps between her kisses. “Okay…okay, babe. This dress—I mean, you’re stunning. So beautiful in it—but—“ He tugged at the zipper with fumbling fingers. “I need it gone. Now.”

He managed to get the zipper down two inches before she stopped him with a palm to his chest.

She fixed him with a look, all mischief and intent. “You know Croc gave me this dress, right?”

He blinked, thrown for a second. “What?”

She arched a brow, lips brushing his ear. “Said it would ‘help lure in more potential clients.’” 

She dropped her voice to a mockery of Crocodile’s, all gravitas and gravel. “‘You wear it well, Hana. A weapon and a lure.’” The last word hissed with mockery.

Buggy’s face contorted, jealousy and lust battling for supremacy. “He did not.”

She laughed, low and wicked. “Oh, he did.”

“Ugh.” He grimaced. “Suddenly I’m less turned on.”

She nipped at his jaw, her tongue flicking at the painted line of his cheek. “I know. But I think I can use this dress differently.”

The bedframe caught Buggy as they tumbled backward together. He landed with a soft thud against the headboard, and before he could catch his breath, Hana was already climbing over him. Her diamond dress hiked up around her thighs as she settled her weight against him, rocking her hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm that drew a strangled gasp from his throat.

He gripped her ass, fingers digging into the tight fabric. “Fuck, Hana…”

He whined and she relished the sound.

They tumbled together, half wrestling, half kissing, hands grabbing at whatever they could reach as laughter tangled between them. Buggy suddenly pulled back just enough to flash her a cocky grin.

“Oh, you think you can handle this, huh?” he said, voice dropping like he was about to deliver the most devastatingly seductive move of his life.

Before she could answer, he grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked.

Nothing happened.

He blinked.

“…Hang on.”

He yanked harder. The fabric stretched. The seams strained. One sleeve popped loose with a dramatic rrrip—but the rest of the shirt stubbornly clung to him like it had a personal vendetta.

Buggy froze halfway through, one arm free, the other completely trapped, shirt bunched up over his head.

“Shit…wait…Okay no, this is—this is part of it,” he insisted, voice muffled as the fabric slid over his face. “Very intentional and seductive—”

He twisted, but it got stuck worse. Now the shirt was halfway off, tangled around his shoulders, his hair sticking out in every direction, one eye barely visible through the collar.

“…I am going to win this fight,” he muttered.

Hana just stared at him, lips pressed together, clearly losing the battle not to laugh.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” he warned, pointing blindly in her general direction while still trapped.

She snorted “You dork!”

Buggy groaned. 

“Traitor. Absolute traitor. I was having a moment!”

He gave one final, aggressive yank and nearly toppled backward off the bed as the shirt finally gave up and came free in a dramatic, undignified mess.

He landed flat, hair wild, bare chest heaving, shirt dangling from one hand like a defeated enemy.

There was a beat of silence.

Then he looked up at her, trying so hard to recover his dignity.

“…Nailed it.”

Hana’s laughter erupted in that distinctive snort-giggle that should have been ridiculous but somehow made Buggy’s chest tighten with affection. His wounded pride dissolved as she collapsed against him, her breath warm against his ear, loose strands of her hair trailing across his newly exposed skin.

“Watch and learn, clown.”

Hana didn’t bother with ceremony; she reached for the hem of her diamond dress, gathered it just enough to let her hand disappear up the inside of her thigh. Buggy’s breath hitched. He watched, entirely transfixed, as her fingers worked deftly beneath the fabric. He could see, in the way her hips shifted and her teeth pressed into her lower lip, that she wasn’t just putting on a show. She was savoring it. 

She peeled her underwear off inch by inch, then flicked them carelessly at his face.

He caught them, because of course he did, and brought them to his nose, inhaling deeply as his eyes darkened. 

“You’re a fucking menace,” he said, voice low and worshipful.

She bared her teeth in a predatory smile. “You’re not wrong.”

He was already impossibly hard, the front of his pants tented to the point of being ridiculous. She eyed the bulge and licked her lips.

“Need a hand with that?” she teased.

He pawed at the fly, struggling with the snap. “Do your worst.”

She did. She unzipped him with a practiced flick, freeing his cock and giving it a single, appreciative stroke that made him hiss. For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, the rhythm of her hands stroking him slow and deliberate. For a moment, she just watched his face: eyes gone glassy, mouth slack, chest heaving.

“Mmm, you’re so pretty like this,” she murmured, running her thumb over the head, smearing a bead of precome.

She wanted to memorize this every twitch, every arch, every helpless groan. He writhed under her, greedy for touch, needy in a way that would have mortified him anywhere else.

The dress bunched around Hana’s hips as she positioned herself above him. With one fluid motion, she took him inside her completely. 

Buggy’s choked moan echoed through the room, his fingers digging into her thighs as he threw his head back. She drew a sharp breath at the fullness, adjusting to the sensation with her hands pressed against his chest for balance. 

For a moment, they remained perfectly still. They were connected and complete as they each savored the exquisite pressure where their bodies joined.

His hands roamed up and down her body, from her thighs to the small of her back, memorizing every muscle, every quiver.

“You… you’re not just using me, right?” Buggy managed, his voice breaking on the edge of a laugh, sharp and desperate. “Not using your… sex powers to brainwash me into forgetting all this?”

Hana’s answering snort was half-mirth, half affection. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, lips skating his pulse, her words hot with mirth and certainty. “I swear, Bug. If I had sex powers, you’d be the first and only person to know.”

Buggy grinned despite himself, his doubts dissolving in the heat. She pressed her hips down, rolling them in tight circles, and he felt the boundaries of his body blur, lost in the sensation. He dug his heels into the mattress, thrusting up just enough to meet her rhythm, lose himself in the dizzying push and pull of their bodies. His vision shimmered at the edges; he was close to the precipice, but not ready to fall just yet.

“Besides, I just want you,” Hana whispered, and it was not a line, not a seduction. It was just truth, raw and soft in its honesty.

He wanted to say something cool, something devastatingly clever, but the words stuck as the pleasure was too good. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Instead, he let his hands say what he couldn’t. He ran them up her sides, over her shoulders, down her arms. 

Then, with a mischief that was all clown, he detached them at the wrists and sent them up her body—one to tangle in her hair, the other to explore the curve of her waist, the dip of her navel and the rise of her breasts.

Hana’s eyes widened, laughter cracking through her haze of lust. 

“Show-off,” she muttered, but her breath hitched as one of his hands, no longer attached to anything but willpower, danced beneath the neckline of her dress, cupping her breast with an almost reverent tenderness.

The other hand let go of her hair and joined the first, pulling at the fabric, thumbs circling until the diamond-studded material yielded to the pressure and a breast spilled free, pearled nipple beading instantly in the cool air.

“Just trying to get the full experience,” Buggy joked, but there was nothing casual about the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing holding him to the earth.

She rode him harder, matching his rhythm, the bed squeaking in protest with every thrust and gasp. Her hair clung to her face, sweat rolling down her neck, but she didn’t care.

His mouth latched onto a nipple, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. She gasped, clenching around him. He let go with a pop of his mouth and smirked at his smeared makeup on her nipple.

“Like that?” he asked, grinning up at her, teeth flashing.

She nodded, biting her own lip.

With a twist of his wrists, he freed her other breast and massaged them both, feeling their heaviness and fullness. Buggy then gave her nipples a playful squeeze.

“Honk, honk…”

It was so stupid that it made Hana burst out laughing, nearly falling off of him.

“Don’t you dare get off of me” Buggy hissed, grabbing her hips and steadying her.

She calmed down on her laughing and braced her hands on his chest and rode him harder, the bed lurching under the effort. The room filled with the sounds of sex: wet, rhythmic slaps; the squeak of the headboard; Buggy’s broken gasps, alternating with her own, rising in pitch and urgency.

“You like this?” she taunted, leaning in so her hair fell over his face. “You like me wearing Croc’s little gift while we fuck in it?”

He went cross-eyed for a second, then snapped back, grinning even as he arched up into her. 

“Damn fucking right I do”

He thrust up harder, meeting her rhythm for rhythm. The bedsprings shrieked in protest, but neither of them cared.

Buggy’s head snapped back against the pillow, his features contorted in that perfect agony where pleasure becomes almost too much to bear.

“God, Hana—fuck—don’t stop—”

“No…not..s-stopping…” she said, voice jagged, and slammed down on him again and again.

They moved together, a blur of heat and sound and need. It was equal parts competition and collaboration, both of them desperate to wring the most pleasure out of every moment.

The black dress gathered in waves around her thighs, forgotten in their frenzy. His fingers pressed crescents into her skin as he held her hips, steadying her, treasuring her. She kept her gaze locked on his face, watching every flicker of pleasure.

Buggy’s lips formed silent words before finding only her name, a chant, a prayer.

“Fuuuck—Babe, I’m gonna—shit—I’m gonna…”

She dug her nails into his chest, leaving red lines. 

“Do it. Cum for me. I’m close…” she commanded. 

“Ah! Ahh!”

His body seized beneath her, back bowing off the mattress as pleasure crashed through him. His face contorted, mouth falling open in a silent cry as he came inside her.

She didn’t slow, riding through his release with determined focus, her own breath coming in sharp gasps as she chased the edge of her pleasure while he twitched helplessly beneath her.

“Buggy…Buggyyyyy…”

When she finally came, it was with a shudder that rocked them both, her fingers like vines entwined in his hair, pulling and tugging with a deliciously painful force. They collapsed together, a heap of tangled limbs and ruined clothing, both gasping for air.

The thing about sex with a clown was this: it was never, ever dull.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. 

Finally, Buggy, voice barely a whisper, said, “If Crocodile and Mihawk could see us now…”

She laughed, soft and wild, and rolled off him, curling up at his side.

“Fuck them,” she said.

Buggy, still catching his breath, grinned up at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” he said, “fuck them.”

The world outside their room rattled on, but for now, nothing could touch them. For a long time, they lay tangled on the bed, Hana’s leg thrown over Buggy’s hip, his fingers tracing lazy spirals on her thigh. The room had the smell of sweat, sharp with the aftershock of sex, and neither seemed in any hurry to get up.

She rolled to face him, dark hair a halo on the pillow. Her eyes, still half-wild, flicked to the dress bunched around her midsection, the bodice stretched and askew.

“You know,” she said, “I thought about setting this on fire just to piss Croc off.”

Buggy’s eyes went wide. “Don’t you dare. That thing cost more than my entire wardrobe.”

“Fine fine…what if I wore this the next time we all had dinner, knowing we had sex in it?”

He cackled, the sound rumbling through her bones. “That or if I jacked off with it and ruined it.”

She rolled her eyes and swatted his belly. “You’re disgusting, you know that?”

He shrugged, unrepentant. “It’s my brand.”

She picked at the shredded bodice, pulling the fabric up over her chest. “Still, I kinda like it. Even if it’s tainted by Crocodile.”

Buggy ran a finger along the neckline, his touch gentler now. “I’ll never be able to see you in it and not get hard,” he confessed.

She grinned. “Good.”

He laced their fingers together, voice softer. “I still don’t get why you picked me. Out of everyone.”

She shifted, pillowing her head on his shoulder, staring at the water-stained ceiling. “Because you’re the only one who never tried to make me smaller.” She paused, considering. “You let me be a mess. You made space for it.”

He went quiet, soaking it in.

She kissed his jaw, then whispered, “So you’re stuck with me, clown. Like gum on the sidewalk.”

He squeezed her hand, hard. “If you ever leave, I’m coming after you. With, like, a thousand cannons.”

She laughed. “Deal.”

They laid together, drifting off to sleep in a tangle of limbs and shared breath, and for now, that was enough.

Buggy, ever the fatalist, still expected disaster at every turn. But as he glanced at the woman at his side: her eyes closing, the shadow of a smile curving her lips, he wondered, just for a second, if maybe he could actually win, after all.

“I love you, Honey Bugs.”

He let himself believe it.

At least until morning.

“I love you too, Baby Cakes…”

[hairscare]

cross guild is the messiest work environment ever WHERE IS HR

[asgardian-arse]

Was talking about Buggy’s makeup at some point and my friend said he’d love to see a 2010s style make up tutorial from Buggy, and the rest kind of got away from me 😩

[rowanfreakinedres]

Oh my god I forgot about these as well

Censored to avoid croc pussy on main

[deathbyclown]

Worthless Pairing: Shanks/Buggy Rating: Explicit Words: 1900

Summary: A short BDSM scene with Buggy degrading and using Shanks, who is using this as an opportunity to vent his self-hatred and insecurities. There's no plot.

Notes: Shanks is not nice to himself and Buggy isn't nice to him either LMAO. There's asphyxiation and face slapping, degradation, over-stimulation, and aftercare. Buggy is the dom bottom and Shanks is the sub top in this little plotless smut piece.

AO3 Link 

🍶 🎪🍶 🎪🍶 🎪🍶 🎪🍶 🎪🍶 🎪🍶 🎪🍶

Buggy gripped Shanks’ jaw, the scruff prickly against his scarred and calloused fingers. His rust eyes were dark, unfocused, but still they were drawn to Buggy’s crystal stare.  

“I know that look, like you’re about to sneeze. If you cum inside me before I’m finished using you, you’re going to get punished.” Buggy threatened, slowing the roll of his hips in favor of grinding on Shanks’ lap.  

Shanks’ throat bobbed, his parted lips pressing together for a second before pulling apart to expose the pink flash of his tongue against his teeth. He felt like he was in slow motion, his brain struggling to process what Buggy said while he was balls deep inside of him. 

“I-I can’t Bugs. I’m-” Shanks stuttered out, before Buggy covered his mouth, squeezing his cheeks together, immediately cutting off his words. 

“I always knew were good for nothing. Pathetic. And here I thought you’d make a good toy. Guess I was wrong.” Buggy rolled his hips, the tight grip of his insides swallowed Shanks’ rigid cock impossibly deeper. He couldn’t think straight, the feel of Buggy’s body addictive and hypnotic, his words cruel enough to get his blood pumping harder. He knew he had to resist, but he was never good at stopping himself from indulging, especially when it came to Buggy. He wanted so badly to please him, wanted so badly to be worth something to Buggy. 

Shanks brought his hand to his mouth and bit down hard on his fingers, attempting to use pain to stave off the orgasm that was on the cusp of cresting. He squeezed his eyes shut, teeth digging into flesh until he tasted blood, until he felt like he could focus long enough not to spill too quickly inside his lover. 

“Use me. Please, Buggy. Use me until you’re satisfied.” He husked, pulling his chewed fingers from his mouth, blood blending with the residue of Buggy’s kisses. 

Buggy’s lip pulled up in disgust and he loomed over Shanks, hands beside his head, blocking the light with the curtain of his long blue hair. 

“I am going to use you, but I doubt you can satisfy me.”  

Shanks’ words were stolen away, replaced by a surprised moan when Buggy harshly pinched one of his nipples between his thumb and forefinger. It was like he plucked a humming thread, enough for the need to cum to rush right back. His cock twitched inside of Buggy, eager to spill, to breed, to fill. He clawed at the bedsheets, the mild sting from his open wound barely enough to keep him grounded. 

“Wow, are you really going to cum from me twisting your nipples?” Buggy scoffed, the steady motion of his hips keeping Shanks right on the edge. Shanks’ red hair clung to his forehead and neck, sweat keeping his skin tacky as he fought against himself. He couldn’t speak, shaking his head in response to Buggy, pouring all of his focus going into stifling his mounting need to cum. 

“Hah! Yeah right!” Buggy snarked, a wicked grin growing on his face. Both hands slid to cup Shanks’ pecs and before Shanks could ready himself, Buggy pinched and pulled at his nipples, just as ruthless as before. The small thrum of pleasure and pain was enough to push him over the edge. 

“Shit!” He hissed, abdomen clenching, the addictive rush of pleasure had him shamelessly thrusting up into Buggy as he chased his high. He didn't have time to come down before he felt the sting of Buggy’s palm across his cheek, bringing him back to reality. 

“You worthless little bitch.” 

A lump grew in his throat, his sharp tone like a tendril of thorns wrapping around him, sinking themselves into his skin. It hurt, and he craved more. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll do better.” Shanks panted, reaching out to touch Buggy’s arm. Buggy captured his wrist and wrapped a hand around his throat in a second, both tight, holding him in place. The hand on his throat put pressure on either side of his windpipe, making it difficult to breathe. 

“You can’t do better. You’ve already made the mistake, shithead.” Buggy gripped his throat tighter and Shanks couldn’t draw breath. Shanks mouth gaped open, his hand wrapped around Buggy’s wrist but he didn’t pull or fight him.  

“You’re going to shut the fuck up and stay hard, got it?” 

Shanks only nodded, resisting his body’s urge to counter the threat, letting his hand drop to the bed as the clearest sign of his submission. 

“Wow, finally listening to me for once.” Buggy eased his hold, but kept his hand over Shanks’ throat. The rush of air into his lungs was a relief, making him feel his own body a little more clearly. And he ached. He was only erect because of Buggy’s quick pace, stoking his half-hard cock back to full stiffness with the unyielding stimulation. Each plunge inside of Buggy’s tight heat increased his discomfort until he was in pain, his breath short, tears welling in his eyes as he struggled to hold back the whimpers that threatened to spill out. Buggy gave him a second chance. This was his punishment and his redemption. All he had to do was stay quiet and be a good fuck toy for him. He could do that. He’d do anything to please Buggy. Anything. 

“Hn- hah- This is the only thing you’re good for. You know that, don’t you Red?” Buggy panted, looking down his red round nose at Shanks, who could only stare up, blinking away hot tears. “Everyone thinks you’re so great, but you’re not. You might be strong, but you can’t do a single thing right. Always too late. Never there when it matters most.” 

Shanks let out a sob, quickly biting his lip to stifle the sound, and the tears began to flow. He really was worthless. Buggy was right. The least he could do was this. The least he could do was listen and obey in this moment. 

The slap made his ears ring, his tear-stained cheek stinging more sharply than before. 

“I thought I told you to Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” The grip around his throat tightened, but it didn’t matter, he could barely breathe anyway, the guilt squeezing his chest like a vice. He needed more pain, more punishment, he needed to atone. This was the only way. 

“I know.” He whispered, eye lids falling shut, sinking into the discomfort, into the ache, allowing those cruel words to slowly slice him open until the most delicate and vulnerable spots of himself were bared to Buggy. 

Buggy growled, striking Shanks again as his other hand tightened around his throat, only allowing the redhead to pull in wheezing breaths. He was starting to feel lightheaded, the thump of his heartbeat growing louder in his ears, the rush of fear and panic making his skin tingle. It made the pain feel distant, a throbbing in the background. 

“Don’t try to be brave, I know you’re a coward. Just like the rest of us. You think you hide it so well, but everyone knows. The whole world can see that Red Haired Shanks is a sad pathetic little man.”  

Its true. Its all true. He’s tried so hard to do the right thing and he’s only made people's lives worse. He can’t do it. He can’t fix the world. He can’t even fix himself. His grief, that useless self-pitying sunk into his chest like a dagger, the spot sensitive and frayed from years of abuse, plunging deeper and deeper until he could taste the sharp point on the back of his tongue like a bitter pill.  

Buggy released his hold and everything came rushing back to him, the world feeling too real, too tactile, overwhelming. The surge of oxygen made his whole body light up; self-hatred, mind-numbing pleasure, guilt, he could feel all of it so distinctly. He moaned aloud, tear-blurred eyes focusing on where he and Buggy were connected.  

So warm, so wet, so tight.  

He was painfully aroused, aching along with heady swirl of pleasure mounting in his abdomen. 

Buggy cut off his air again, and he was grateful. Let the burden of his emotions fade into something more tolerable. 

 He couldn’t breathe and he struggled, twitching, fingers flexing against Buggy’s thigh in an uncontrolled panicked response. He didn’t have to think anymore.  

Buggy seemed close, his bobbing cock drooling pre-cum, leaving a sticky string stuck to Shank’s stomach. His face was pink beneath the smeared makeup, ruby lips parted as heavy breaths and moans tumbled out each time his ass met Shanks’ hips. 

“Fucking -gasp- shitty, hah, Shanks.” He gasped out, his grip like iron on his throat. Shanks’ life was in his hands. He could fuck himself on Shanks’ cock and kill him all in one go. 

It was exhilarating. 

Shanks’ eyes rolled back in his head, vision growing darker as he gripped the threads of consciousness. He had to hold on for a little longer. 

Buggy released his throat in favor of pumping his cock, the air filling Shanks’ lungs was a painful rush, his whole body felt alight with sensation. He couldn’t control himself, body twitching and convulsing, muscles tense to the point of pain as he came with a loud cry. He couldn’t stop shaking, curling in on himself as soon as he finished pumping Buggy full a second time. 

“Useless bastard.” Buggy panted heavily as he got onto his knees so he could jerk off onto Shanks’ face. Shanks couldn’t keep his eyes open, whatever willpower he used to push himself this far had ran dry. He passed out, everything dark, the rush of blood in his ears roaring like the first dive into the choppy sea. 

He came to when the second spurt of warm semen hit his face. He let out a gasp, fingers going to his face to touch but his hand was slapped away by Buggy. 

“Stay still, you’ll make more of a mess and I don’t feel like changing the sheets.” Buggy breathed out a shuddering sigh as he squeezed the last of his cum onto Shanks’ cheek. 

He didn’t feel like moving anyway. It was easier to drift, to keep his eyes closed. He was only aware of his wet eyelashes, sticky with unshed tears and itchy face with dried tear tracks and cooling cum. He was too exhausted to care. He felt totally drained. Lighter now that the heaviest parts of him were worked over into a different shape. 

Buggy wiped him down with a warm cloth, the methodical sensation of warmth and wet over his face lulled him toward sleep. But as Buggy made his way down his body, Shanks jolted and turned away when he brushed over his sensitive cock. 

“I gotta clean you, shithead. I promise I’ll make it fast.” He grumbled, fingers gently squeezing his thigh. Shanks acquiesced, and Buggy was quick like he promised. It didn’t stop Shanks from whimpering and twitching away, but when it was over Buggy pet his hair and told him it was done, that he did good. 

'Good'. That’s all he wanted. Was to do good. Especially for Buggy. 

Shanks drifted between wakefulness and sleeping, only rousing mildly when Buggy slid into bed and adjusted them. Without needing to open his eyes, Shanks laid with his head pressed to Buggy’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat, sharing in his warmth. 

“Love you, Bugs.” He whispered, eyes closed, body sinking heavily into Buggy. 

“I love you, too.” He answered, tightening his arms around Shanks. 

[be-not-afraid-gg]

[aziidaa]

chopped4chopped ♥️