warnings: My works are made for mature audiences! They are also barely proofread and I have dyslexia, so please make me aware of any mistakes.🩷🩷
synopsis: I am always writing about Buggy. Other characters can make appearances! but I'll never write romance for someone else.
Characters: Buggy! Reader, Homosexual Supporting Cast, and whoever you request!
reader: I try to keep things neutral, but there are plenty of cases where I give the reader personality traits, signature styles etc, so read my warnings before going in!
also! please specify what pronouns you'd like. And for smut, i can do gender neutral, vagina, and penis.✨
wc: dependssss usually over 1k and under 5k!
a/n: thanks for stopping by lovie! some other info: im black, im 20, my pronouns are she/he, call me Star!
And my requests are wiiiide open!
*Entertain Me! Masterlist
Oneshots! Masterlist
Mime! Masterlist
*Entertain Me, is currently in a rough draft state! Eventually, when i finish posting it here do an overhaul and post to ao3! So, it's pretty much a little archive of each chapter. For now enjoy watching the process happen! And thanks for your support!
tbh if you are hot and sweaty after doing some chores, Buggy is gonna be all over you and make you even more hot and sweaty. 🥵 Don't bother cleaning up in between because he'll be disappointed you cleaned off the marinade.
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.
I genuinely think about this fic every single day!! Like multiple times, im insane. I just love faires!! so... Buggy! and faires! in one fic!! like idk it's just perfection and i adore it!!
I also adore everything that Hey-August writes!!! so its like a win win win win!!!!
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! if 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 silly little 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 excited 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.
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.
“..Hear me?” Your friend asks, concern clear on her face.
“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.
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.
“Fuckin’ tease.”
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 at the sound of 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, 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 at the sight. Leaning down, 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, your pulse making Buggy fuck 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? hnm, 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.
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, challenging his insecurities, 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.
“Now, what was your idea, my love?”
“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 at your expression.
“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. Buggy beams back 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 approval is immediate, his cock twitching inside of you with enough force to make you moan.
“Sounds perfect!”
~•~•~•~•~•~
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.
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 at the sound of his praise, 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, Everything 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 the bliss 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."
The moment passes much too soon, but something makes you think that you’ll be feeling it again in the near future. Blinking, you fall back into yourself and catch your breath.
“Fuuck, spotlight.” Buggy moans, pulling out so he can sit down and gently tug you into his lap.
1.1k words into a new wip, if it's not out tonight it should be by Monday!! Just wanted to keep you all updated! I will be dropping the resident evil fic teaser afterwards!
Warnings: SMUT/NSFW, Reader-Insert, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert, Soft Buggy, Protective Buggy, Buggy cares about his crew, Reader is the crew’s sailmaker, Mutual pining, Masturbation, Scent Kink, Buggy is a freak <3
Summary: You isolate yourself and Buggy does the same for a very different reason. An optional add-on to the events of Parts 1/2.
A/N: Shameless smut dead ahead, proceed at your own risk and enjoy!!
—————
The first thing you notice when you wake is that it’s warm. Comfortably, blissfully warm. The type of warmth that makes you want to stay in bed all day, responsibilities be damned. The morning sunrise casts a soft golden glow through the room, and you don’t think twice before rolling right over, pulling the covers tight around you, and nuzzling into the softest pillow you’ve ever rested your head upon. Then you remember that you sleep in a hammock, not on a soft mattress with plush pillows. That’s when your eyes snap open and yesterday comes flooding to the forefront of your sleepy brain. Your mood. The tears. The coat. Buggy’s words. Had you not just woken up in his bed, you would have never believed that any of it was real. But here you are, in the real world and beneath his sheets, and you suddenly feel quite concerned as to why you’re still here.
The next thing you notice is the soft trim of Buggy’s coat tickling your chin. It’s still tangled in your arms, soft and bright and smelling just like your captain. In fact, the entire bed smells just like him— obviously. The mild panic that had begun to well up settles just a little as you hold the coat a little closer, allowing the scent of him to envelop you. It’s… kind of nice, actually. You’re almost tempted to sink into the sheets a little more, even.
Almost.
But this is Buggy’s bed, and you’re positive that he would have your head if he caught you dawdling. It was highly unexpected of him to even let you lay there in the first place, much less spend the night and laze around the next day. That brought up another important question: where was he right now? Crewmen who dared to sleep in were guaranteed a personal wake-up call complete with scolding and a complementary berating, courtesy of the captain himself. As far as you knew, you were no exception. And yet, despite that, Buggy was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t in the nearby chaise, nor at the desk. He wasn’t in the room at all, but he had been last night. You very clearly remembered that he had ordered you to sleep in his bed after you tried to walk out, then falling asleep while he worked on something at his desk.
You idly wonder where he slept, seeing as how his bed was quite occupied overnight. The chaise looked comfortable enough to at least nap on, but this was Buggy. There was no way that he would settle for something like that, right? But if that were true, he would have just kicked you out— and kicked out, you were not. A very small part of your mind even entertains the thought of him simply climbing into bed next to you, but you banish the idea the moment it registers in your mind and blame the warmth in your cheeks on the blanket you’re under. You’re displeased to find that, no matter how hard you try to push it away, the inappropriate thought resurfaces again and again. Silky blue hair splayed across the pillow, his loud blustering quieted to soft snores…
No.
…
You wonder what he wears to bed. If he wears anything to bed.
And just like that, you’re up! Another moment in your captain’s bed would be the death of you, or at least the death of your dignity. You were not going to allow a single thought like that, especially after Buggy had been kind enough to check on you and offer his comfort in your time of need. You toss the blanket off and sling your legs over the side of the bed with a soft huff, his coat still wrapped in your arms. As much as you would love to think that he would still be sweet on you today, you had to get a hold of yourself and be realistic. That was a once in a lifetime thing that would never happen again.
A once in a lifetime thing that you would likely hold onto for far longer than you’d ever admit to yourself.
It takes a few more moments of bringing yourself back to reality, but you finally manage to stand up and toss Buggy’s coat over the chaise. You make his bed next, wanting to leave things looking nice for him in return for last night’s generosity. After that, it’s back to the real world. The ship is already bustling and there’s work to be done on clothes and sails. Yesterday’s events had slowed your progress, so there was plenty to catch up on and likely more to add to your to-do list.
The walk to your makeshift workstation is uneventful. Everyone is busy cleaning up after yesterday’s festivities, and Buggy is most likely meeting with Mohji and Cabaji since you don’t see any of them running around nearby. That’s alright, though— you’re not sure if your poor heart can handle seeing the captain right now anyway. Not when you had just rolled out of his bed, your mind wandering with dangerous thoughts of him and how he looked and how he acted last night. Worse yet, you swore that you could still smell his coat. Were you really so far gone that you were hallucinating the smell of your boss? Perhaps the bed had drained you of all self-respect.
The answer to that question came when you reached to grab a spool of thread and caught another whiff of him. You figured it was a one-time thing, a trick of the mind. Then it happened again, while you tucked a bolt of fabric overhead. Sweat, booze, and makeup, but Buggy nowhere in sight. You weren’t complaining, in all honesty, but it was screwing with your head to keep smelling him when he wasn’t actually around. The third time his scent washes over you is when you’re finally able to discern where it’s coming from. You pull the collar of your shirt up to your nose to confirm your suspicion and, sure enough, a quick sniff reveals that it was not, in fact, your mind playing tricks on you.
You’re not sure whether to be relieved or horrified with this knowledge— perhaps a healthy mix of both. It’s a relief to know that you aren’t delusional, but smelling like your boss after he called you to his quarters last night would not be a good look if anyone else found out. Your cheeks begin to burn at the mere thought of the kind of implication that encourages, and you very quickly realize that no one can catch you like this if you want to live to see tomorrow. Buggy was just as volatile as he was flashy, and his reaction could range anywhere in between laughter and murder. You would prefer not to take your chances with either.
The simplest fix to this whole situation would be to just take a bath and wash your clothes. Easy enough, until you consider where you are. Floating in the middle of the sea with at least a few days until the next opportunity to dock meant that clean water was now a scarce luxury, and wasting that luxury on washing up was just as risky as someone catching Buggy’s scent on you. The next best thing was a change of clothes, which would have been perfect if this wasn’t your last fresh set. Unless you wanted to wear grimy, week-old clothes, your current rags would have to do.
That meant that, no matter what was going on outside, you needed to stay holed up at your workstation and pray that no one needed anything from you. A simple enough plan, but you had already missed breakfast and lunch would soon pass as well. Dinner would be a no-go too, unless you could sneak your way into the kitchen for some scraps. It was the safest plan for sure, but your stomach was already disagreeing after missing dinner last night. Still, you’ll happily take some hunger pains over the possibility of being tossed overboard, so you will your stomach to shut up as you get back to work.
☆彡
Yet again, Buggy’s mood was very quickly souring. The usual morning meeting with Mohji and Cabaji took longer than it normally did as they debriefed him on the chaos that ensued after he had retired to his cabin for the night. A few rowdy crewmen with one too many drinks in their system had noticed that Buggy was gone and, in their idiotic drunken stupor, had the gall to start a food fight. Now the deck was even grimier than usual, and they were running slightly short on food after just getting back on the water.
Any warm fuzzies that had lingered from seeing his beautiful sailmaker tucked into his bed this morning were now dead and gone, much to his irritation. He left the crew alone for one night— not even a whole night— and they just had to go and make a mess. He was tempted to storm right out of that meeting and crawl into bed beside you with a nice middle finger to the rest of the crew, but unfortunately being a captain meant keeping things in order. That, and he wasn’t sure if his heart could handle casually snuggling up to you like that.
He had promptly ordered Mohji and Cabaji to retrieve the guilty party responsible for ruining his deck, and each sorry soul got their very own personalized ass-beating until they swore to never pull such a stunt again. Buggy made sure to yell at them before turning them loose to scrub the worst of the mess clean, just to make sure the message was crystal clear. As much as he would have loved to make those idiots clean the whole ship themselves, he had no time or patience for rotting food attracting rodents and pests. So, to his immense displeasure, he was scrubbing the deck clean with everyone else.
Well, almost everyone else.
Just like last night, his star sailmaker was nowhere to be seen. He brushed the absence off at first, figuring that you were still fast asleep or lazing around in bed. It took everything in him not to sit around and daydream about how you must look, sprawled out and sleepy and adorable beyond words. But as the sun rose higher and the day dragged on past lunch, he began to worry. Were you having a repeat of yesterday? Was it worse than yesterday? He thought he had made it perfectly clear that you were to ask for help or come to him specifically if you were having a hard time— had you agreed last night just to placate him? That possibility makes his chest ache more than he’d like to admit.
But Buggy knew you, and he knew that you were no liar. That’s why you were his favorite. That’s what he loved so much about you, among many other things. You were genuine, far more genuine than he could ever bring himself to be openly. So that must mean that his dearest sailmaker was suffering, and suffering alone to make matters worse. His words to you last night echo through his mind, causing him to slow his cleaning.
“Like it or not, you’re my sailmaker and therefore my responsibility.”
There was no way that he could just keep cleaning. Not when he had essentially promised to be there for you.
So he stops. He drops his scrub brush and barks an order at everyone nearby to pick up the pace, and he stomps off to find you. A quick peek into his cabin reveals that you had left at some point and you’re not in your hammock, either. That leaves one other surefire spot, and he damn near sprints there.
☆彡
It was well into the afternoon now, and so far your plan was going off without a hitch. Only a few people had come in to drop off a garment in need of repair, and you were able to avoid getting close by having them toss whatever they needed fixed into a nearby pile. Your stomach was still very unhappy, but you were getting work done and passing the time just fine. It seemed that you had been worried over nothing, until the door suddenly slams open and causes you to jump nearly a foot into the air.
Standing in the doorway is none other than your beloved captain, but he looks… off. An entrance like that was usually accompanied by a fit of shrill laughter or equally shrill shouting, but right now? Buggy is quiet. His blue-green eyes are wide, his body tense as he practically scrambles into the room. “There you are.” He says softly, and you don’t like how he sounds almost frantic. Did something happen?
“Captain, what’s wrong?” You ask, setting down your current project. That’s when Buggy’s signature attitude returns, his concerned expression morphing into a frown that’s equal parts irritated and confused.
“What’s wrong?!” He shouts, throwing his arms up as he takes a step closer. “You tell me what’s wrong! You disappeared again and didn’t even try to come find me!” He inches closer and closer with every word, and you stand to start backing away until your back presses against the wall.
“Captain-“
“I told you to come to me if you were upset, and yet I find you cooped up in here after not seeing you once today!” He’s completely in your space by now, trapping you where you stand. It’s an odd feeling, being boxed in by your boss who you’re hopelessly crushing on. Part of you mildly fears for your life, another nearly swoons at the thought of him caring so much about you, and the other part is hoping he’ll close the distance even more. You quickly push the two latter thoughts away, raising your hands defensively to calm his rage.
“Nothing is wrong, Captain! I’ve just been busy, honest!” It’s a half-truth, and you can tell that he knows by the way his eyes narrow. His hands clench into fists and he takes a deep breath in through his nose, and you shut your eyes and prepare for the worst.
Then, nothing.
A moment passes. A long moment. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his wide-eyed stare. His cheeks redden steadily, and you nearly ask what’s wrong before you recall the entire reason you’ve been isolating yourself and realize exactly why he’s making that face.
Oh, no.
You had been fearful of what the crew would think of you smelling like Buggy or his reaction to what they thought, but you hadn’t even stopped to consider how he would personally react. This could be bad. Very, very bad. You’re just about to open your mouth to apologize, to change the subject— anything to keep him from realizing that you’ve spent the entire day walking around smelling like him.
Then your stomach growls, loud and embarrassing as all hell.
The sound seems to startle Buggy out of whatever trance he’s in, and he takes a quick step back that grants you a bit of relief. “You’re hungry,” he points out, “I didn’t see you at any of the mealtimes today. You haven’t eaten at all, have you?” You feel your cheeks grow warm as you shake your head. He looks at you a moment longer, then lets out a small huff and turns away. “You need to eat, dumbass. I’ll have Mohji bring you something.” You watch silently as he leaves without another word, shutting the door behind him. The moment he’s gone, you let out a sigh of relief and sink into your chair.
What a day.
A gentle knock about half an hour later signifies Mohji’s arrival, and your mouth immediately begins to water when he steps into the room. There’s a large plate in each hand, both piled high with fresh food. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been given such generous portions, and you wait politely for Mohji to set the dishes down before you dig in ravenously. “Here ya go,” he says with a smile, “special order from the captain himself. Eat as much as you want, and let him know if you want more. He seemed real worried about you.”
You pause, fork in hand and mouth stuffed full of food. “He did?”
Mohji nods, crossing his arms over his chest. After a moment, a knowing smirk crosses his lips. “Mhm. I dunno what’s going on between you two, but anyone with common sense can see that he favors you.” He pauses a moment, his expression growing almost smug. “And judging by how you smell just like him today, I’d assume you favor him, too.” The fork falls from your hand and clatters onto the plate, and Mohji laughs. “Relax, I won’t say anything to him. Not until you do, at least— your little secret’s safe with me.” Your face goes hot, and you only give a curt nod before picking up your fork and taking another big bite. Partly because your stomach was screaming at you, and partly because there was no way you’d be able to find the words to respond to that. Mohji laughs again before turning to leave, shutting the door quietly behind him and leaving you alone with a heaping pile of food and your thoughts.
☆彡
As soon as Buggy had ordered Mohji to take two massive plates to you, he beelined straight to his cabin. His heart did somersaults the whole way there, his brow furrowed and cheeks flushed nearly as red as his nose. The relief he had felt when you said that nothing was wrong vanished the instant he stepped closer and realized that you smelled like him. It shouldn’t have been surprising. You had been wrapped in his coat yesterday, after all, and you had slept in his bed overnight. It only made sense for you to smell like him.
Even still, he couldn’t deny the way it made his heart beat just a touch faster. His condition only worsened when he locked himself in his cabin, the sight of his bed stirring up last night’s memories in conjunction with your encounter today. All he could think of was you— his dear sailmaker, the star of his crew. You were so unfairly attractive and the mere thought of you laid out on his sheets, smelling like him, was the perfect cherry on top of this whole mess to have him already pitching a tent (circus pun unintended). How wildly inappropriate this was, for him to be so horribly turned on by the mere thought of his subordinate. Then again, he was a pirate, and ethics rarely stopped him from taking what he wanted.
No, no. He was supposed to be helping you, showing his support like he had done last night. It would be nothing short of perverted of him to jerk off to the thought of you like this. So he pushes those urges far away and steps over to the chaise, grabbing his coat and slinging it over his shoulder-
-and oh good gods of the sea, it smells like you.
Buggy freezes in place, gripping the coat tight. A flash of guilt runs through him as he slowly brings the garment closer to his nose, but his steadily building arousal wins out and he inhales deeply.
This was so, so wrong.
His other hand moves down to palm at the growing bulge in his trousers, a shiver running down his spine as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. He inhales again, exhaling a low groan as his hand works his hardening cock through his pants. You smell downright heavenly, a dizzying mix of whatever fragrance you’ve been using and your natural musk. Something about the way his coat smells like you while you’re out there smelling like him has his lust-addled mind reeling, his hips bucking to meet his hand. He needs to lend you his coat far more often. Maybe even find something of yours to keep, if he could get away with it.
His eyes soon wander down to the sheets and a question passes through his mind. He doesn’t even consider maintaining his decency before shedding his pants and rolling onto the mattress, hissing at the friction of his clothed erection brushing against the sheets.
The sheets that also smell just like you, lord help him.
One arm supports his weight while his hips roll in desperate little circles against the bed, a high whine slipping from his painted lips as he buries his face in the very pillow you rested your head upon last night. “Fuck, starlight…” He whispers into the pillow, gripping his coat tight with one hand while the other pulls his shirt up. He can’t help but wonder how gorgeous you would look right here with him, your scent enveloping him as you moan his name. What kind of sounds would you make? Would you want to take the lead, or were you more of the submissive type? He wanted to know it all. Every last detail, even if he shouldn’t be asking such questions in the first place. You’d surely be horrified if you knew that this was what he’d left you alone to do.
And yet he continues to thrust pitifully against the mattress, inhaling your scent with every labored breath.
But it’s not enough. Fuck, it’s not nearly enough. He needs more. He needs you, but that isn’t an option. His hand will have to do instead. He rolls over, pulling off his hat first, then his bandana, his shirt and gloves following after. His boxers are next after he lays back against the pillows, and he lets out a shuddering exhale as the cool air meets his aching length. The head of his cock is an angry red, already dripping precum as he wraps his hand around the base. A deep inhale of your scent on the pillows brings his imagination to life, and he fantasizes that it’s your hand instead of his own. His other hand pops off and fishes around in the nightstand before grabbing hold of a bottle of lube, and he’s quick to squirt some into his hand before setting a slow, lazy rhythm.
It isn’t long before he picks up the pace, your name leaving his lips in a soft moan as his hand glides over his length with increasing urgency. His hips buck with each pump, fucking into his hand as he brings the coat to his nose once more. Every breath leaves his mind feeling fuzzy, your scent more than enough to push him closer and closer to the edge. He wonders if you’re just as much a mess as he is, if maybe his lewd fantasy could ever be anything more than a pipe dream. Your hands would feel so perfect on him, nimble fingers teasing him until you’d take him into that perfect mouth of yours-
“Fuck!” A broken whimper leaves his lips and he moans your name again, his wrist moving in quick little circles as he focuses on the sensitive head of his cock. His mind swims with the image of you taking him into your mouth, your tongue and hands working him better than he could ever do for himself. You’d look so fucking gorgeous on your knees, your mouth full of him and those pretty eyes looking up into his. Shit, he wasn’t going to last much longer. He groans your name, shallowly thrusting into his hand as his mind runs wild with how you’d want him to finish.
He wonders if you’d want to swallow it all down, or if maybe you’d prefer him to paint that pretty chest of yours white. Fuck, what if you took it even further? Buggy brings his other hand to his mouth, biting down to muffle a desperate moan as he moves his hand a little faster, squeezes down a little harder. Your mouth would be wonderful he’s sure, but to actually be inside of you? He bites down harder, throwing his head back into the pillows. To feel your tight, warm heat taking him to the hilt would be exquisite. And fuck, you would take him so well, so prettily. His lovely star, taking every last inch like the perfect, dedicated beauty you were. You always aimed to please when it came to him, and he wonders if you’d go so far as to let him finish inside of you.
His eyes screw shut— fuck, he doesn’t think he could handle that. His hand moves faster, his chest heaving with each heavy breath into the pillows as he imagines you begging for him to cum inside, barely able to get the words out as he’d fuck you senseless. Or maybe you would take the lead and order him to, riding him until he’d be reduced to nothing more than a desperate, babbling mess. He can’t decide which idea is hotter. All he knows is that he’d give anything to see you breathless and dripping with his cum, and fuck he’s so close-
He doesn’t last much longer, only making it through a few erratic thrusts into his hand before he buries his face in his coat. Your name leaves his lips in a drawn-out groan as he feels himself spill onto his hand, the evidence of his debauchery soon covering his abdomen in thick, pearly ropes. He lets out a shuddering sigh, falling limp into the mattress and letting the pleasure wash over him in waves. He can’t remember the last time he got so desperate or came so hard, his vision still swimming with stars. All of this just because you smelled like him today. His chest heaves as he takes a minute to catch his breath, taking his time with coming back down to earth. When he finally does, he lets out another sigh that’s equal parts satisfaction and resignation. After this, there’s no denying or ignoring the way he feels about you.
Warnings: Reader-Insert, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert, Reader is having a bad day, Soft Buggy, Protective Buggy, Buggy cares about his crew, Reader is the crew’s sailmaker
Summary: Your captain is a selfish man with little regard for others. That ends up working out in your favor. Or, the same story but from another perspective.
Characters/Relationships: Buggy/Gender-Neutral Reader, Cabaji, Mohji, Buggy’s Band of Pirates
Words: 4.6k
A/N: Thank y’all so much for the love and support on Part 1!! It’s so lovely to see other Buggy enjoyers out there! This part is the same set of events from the first part, just focused on Buggy. Part 3 coming soon! Until then, please enjoy!!
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Today was wonderful. The sea was calm, the weather was nice, and a grand party was in full swing. The Buggy Pirates had stumbled into a handsome amount of treasure on a seemingly deserted island, and there was even a small town nearby that allowed— or, more accurately, were forced to allow— the crew to restock on food, clothes, and booze. The townspeople were quite agreeable, stepping nicely out of the way when Buggy threatened to erase their little village with a flashy ‘kaboom!’ That was a couple of days ago, and now the crew was back at sea and on the hunt for another score.
The Big Top was loud and chaotic, as it always was during a party. Crewmen smiled and laughed heartily as they knocked back tankard after tankard of booze until they swayed drunkenly across the deck. Shanties rang through the air, off-key and slurred, and louder than all the rest was their one and only captain, Buggy the Clown. He reveled in the admiration of his crew, chest puffed out with pride as they complimented his “negotiation” skills. Oh, how he adored his crew’s praise and adoration. Even if they could be a disingenuous bunch of sycophants at times, they were his bunch of disingenuous sycophants. There was one particular member notably missing from today’s festivities, however.
“Are any of the sails in need of repair?” He had asked Mohji, and the beast-tamer shook his head. “No clothing in need of mending, either?” Again, negative. Buggy huffed and stomped his foot no differently than a petulant child would. “Then where is our sailmaker?” If there was anyone whose praise he soaked in the most happily, it was that of the crew’s sailmaker. You were the sole member of the Buggy Pirates whose praise was always genuine, a true gem in a sea of empty words and yes-men to stay on Buggy’s good side. That honesty earned you a nice little spot in the captain’s good graces alongside Mohji and Cabaji.
With such a privilege came a certain degree of neediness from the captain, however. Being the preferred source of praise made it all the more important that his sailmaker was present for his victories and flashiest moments. The compliments of the crew were a wondrous boost to his ego, yes, but you were different. Buggy would never admit aloud— he barely found it in himself to admit it mentally— that your praise set his flashy heart aflutter every now and then. And by every now and then, that meant every single time. He basked in each compliment and preened under your words of admiration, always over the moon to know that you found him just as amazing as he truly was. Or, more precisely, how amazing he wanted to be, but he wasn’t quite ready to address the immense need for validation at the risk of spiraling into his own insecurities and failures. There were far flashier and more interesting things than therapy in the life of a feared pirate, after all.
One of said flashier and more interesting things was supposed to be this party, but Buggy found his mood dampened by the absence of the one person who would feed his ego the way he liked best. His voice disappeared from the drunken shanties echoing above deck and he instead opted to sit around, watching and waiting as he grumpily nursed a bottle of booze. The more time passed without seeing you on deck, the more furious he became. What nerve did that sailmaker have, ditching a party thrown by the great captain Buggy? He had half a mind to hunt you down and toss you overboard for snubbing him, but he was well aware that such thoughts were nothing but empty threats. He huffed at his weakness before calling Cabaji over. “You.” He grumbled, sitting back in his seat. “You haven’t seen the sailmaker, have you?” When Cabaji shook his head in reply, Buggy huffed again, shooting out of his chair and tossing his arms up. “You’re Chief of Staff! How do you not know where one of our most important staff is?!”
The swordsman straightened up as Buggy raised his voice, drawing a few drunken stares from nosey crewmen. Even as one of the higher-ranking members of the crew, Cabaji would rather not piss off the captain. A guess would be better than nothing, at least. “I haven’t seen them since the party started,” he explained, “but I did notice they were lounging in their hammock beforehand. Didn’t talk to anyone or get up to do anything. Seemed kinda down, now that I think about it.” Apparently that guess was good enough, because Buggy was no longer shouting. The clown returned to his seat, gaze downcast as he pondered something that Cabaji had no real interest in. They were in the middle of a party, and he wanted to get back to the festivities. As such, he was more than happy to scram when Buggy dismissed him with an irritated wave.
Buggy’s previous rage had fizzled out into… something. No longer rage and not quite irritation, but certainly not contentment. It was an odd feeling that left his chest feeling unusually heavy, as if Richie was sitting right on top of his sternum. It was frustrating, and he knew that it had to do with you since he had only started feeling this way after talking to Cabaji. He had said that you seemed down, but what did that mean? Down as in depressed, or maybe ill? Illness would explain why you’d stay in your hammock all day, but he supposed a fair bout of depression could do the same. Regardless of why, though, he demanded your company. Perhaps that was selfish of him, but he didn’t entirely care. He was practically entitled to it as your captain, and he sure as hell planned on using that entitlement to his benefit.
There was only one problem. One itsy-bitsy, teensy-weensy issue that left Buggy wracking his brain for a plan: he would have to find a way to get you to come to him. The possibility of rejection was hardly an issue. He was your captain, and he knew as well as you did that declining his summons was a death sentence in and of itself. No— it would just be lame to ask his sailmaker to come hang out with him, like some snot-nosed kid begging their friend to come and play outside. And if Buggy’s reputation was anything to consider, he would not under any circumstances make himself look anything less than utterly flashy. Somehow, though, he had the feeling that bursting into your space with his usual theatrics would not give him his desired result. Even if he did manage to get you up like that, you would undoubtedly be less than eager to sing his praises. Cabaji said that you weren’t feeling well, and that demanded at least a modicum of restraint— something that Buggy did not do well.
He took a sip of booze to hopefully get the creative juices flowing, but he still came up short. How could he possibly rouse you from your hammock, lift your spirits, and get you to come spend time with him instead of being all by yourself? He reached to adjust his coat on his shoulders and froze the moment his hand grasped the bright-orange garment. There was an idea. It wasn’t a great idea by any means, but an idea all the same. Ill-planned with no real explanation, and it would surely crumble if they asked any questions, but it was all his lightly buzzed mind could come up with and better than admitting that maybe, just maybe, he was missing you. Only a little, if anyone had to know. Not that he would tell them.
After making sure that his crew was still well-occupied with the party, he shrugged his coat off and reclined where he sat. To anyone else, he was the picture of relaxation with his hands folded casually behind his head. If anyone noticed that his coat had mysteriously disappeared, the warm weather made a wonderful scapegoat. Meanwhile, a disembodied hand discreetly maneuvered below deck, holding his coat tight. Muscle memory made it a breeze for his hand to swiftly navigate its way to where a certain someone’s hammock was strung up. He tossed the coat over what he hoped was the right person, even taking the time to tuck it around them before speedily recalling the appendage to reattach to his wrist. An odd, fluttering sensation bubbled up in his chest as he set his plan in motion. It was the very same feeling he would get every time you complimented him, and it left his cheeks just a tad rosier than they would be ordinarily. Easy to blame on the booze, but even he didn’t buy that weak excuse.
That unbearable fluttering intensified as Buggy put on his best mask of irritation and stomped over to Cabaji, who was mid-drinking contest with Mohji. The beast-tamer was the first to notice his approach, eyes practically bulging out of his skull as he choked on his drink. Cabaji cackled in response, but a loud “ahem” from Buggy was all it took to shut him up. If he looked pissed before, he looked ready to kill now. The acrobat set his drink aside and stood, waiting for orders and trying to look the least amount of put out after having his revelry interrupted again.
“Go get the sailmaker.” Buggy ordered simply, and Cabaji wasn’t sure whether to be more or less terrified for the poor soul since Buggy wasn’t yelling. The captain turned away before Cabaji could give an affirmative, waving one hand in a vague gesture toward the stern of the ship. “They’ll be meeting me in my quarters. No disturbances.” The last words were less of a request and more of a warning, and Cabaji caught the message immediately. Whatever that poor sailmaker did, they were in for it. He almost felt bad for them.
While Cabaji made his way below deck to relay Buggy’s order, the clown found his heart plagued with nerves yet again. This whole situation would be utterly humiliating if it went wrong. He was very well aware of his reputation as a ruthless, yet somewhat agreeable captain. His crew was full of freaks and misfits that were— per his own words— less flashy and cool than him, but bearable enough to keep around. At times, he truly enjoyed and took pride in his odd band. If he was going to be the flashiest pirate the world had ever known, it only made sense to have knife-throwing acrobats and swordsmen who could swallow their own swords as part of his legendary crew. And while he would never tell them to their miserable faces, he quite valued his crew. Not in the way that stupid straw-hat treated his cronies, of course, but there was a certain fondness that he held for them. He wouldn’t trade his men for any other band of pirates, and that applied doubly so for those in his good graces. Their problems were his problems, for better or worse, and Buggy hated when his crew whined and complained. Naturally, that just meant that he had to be the best captain possible and provide for the idiots he called his crew. Right now, that meant putting aside his fearsome reputation and comforting his sailmaker. Partially to get what he wanted, and partially to get rid of that annoying sinking feeling in his chest.
Cabaji soon returned to the party, and that was Buggy’s signal to head back to the cabin. He subtly weaved his way out of the festivities and to his quarters, then made sure the room looked presentable for his sailmaker’s arrival. He wasn’t necessarily worried about their opinion on how things looked, but he supposed that a bit of care should be put into the environment if he’s to comfort them properly. As he smoothed out the sheets and displayed his most impressive maps, he mentally rehearsed exactly what he wanted to say. It had to be flashy, but not forceful. Comforting, but not too soft. There was only so much sappiness allotted to a feared pirate captain such as himself.
After settling on exactly how he wanted to go about the encounter, Buggy slipped out of the room and busied himself with sharpening his knives just around the corner. He would wait for your arrival, allow the suspense to build, and then bam! A flashy entrance to begin his perfect scheme for your praise. He soon hears soft footsteps creaking closer, and a quick glance reveals the very person he’s been waiting for. All at once, that fluttering feeling comes back again. It takes a deep breath and a small mental pep-talk to will away his nerves, and then it’s showtime. He adjusts his hat and ensures his hair looks good, and he can’t help but grin when he hears your voice coming from just inside the room.
“Buggy…”
That’s his cue, and he slips inside to make his presence known. “You called?” He replies, still sporting that signature manic grin of his. It’s impossible to mask the delight he feels at seeing you before him, and his heart does a funny little flip-flop when he sees his coat in your hands. He doesn’t miss the way you stiffen and stand a little straighter at the sound of his voice, how your movements are almost robotic when you turn and hold out his coat to him. A small part of his mind wonders if it smells like you now, but he’s quick to shove that thought far, far away and stroll past you instead.
“It’s not very flashy to be early, you know.” He begins, following the plan he had mentally laid out. It helps to recenter him and silence the mix of odd thoughts and feelings that always seems to well up when you’re around, allowing him to appear relatively unbothered. “Dramatic, fashionably late entrances always steal the show.” With a flourish and a dramatic wave of his arm, he takes a seat on the bed. So far so good. He doesn’t allow you to get a word in as he continues— if you said something unexpected, it could turn this whole plan on its head. He just needed to fill the space until he found a way in. “You’ve been notably absent today, little sailmaker. When I throw a party, I expect everyone to attend and flashily bask in my presence.” He allows a moment for a dramatic pause, narrowing his eyes at you. It’s only when you straighten up and open your mouth to speak that he cuts in again, his dramatics working exactly as he intended. You’re hanging off of his every word, and he would be a liar to say he wasn’t thoroughly enjoying it.
“Why weren’t you there? Explain yourself.” He demands, taking a moment to look you up and down. The corners of his mouth downturn ever so slightly as he takes in how tense you are. Is that all because of him? Maybe he could stand to be a bit gentler in his approach. He switches gears and detaches one of his hands, guiding it to the small of your back. A small shiver runs down his spine at the feel of your warmth beneath his gloved hand. He applies gentle pressure and guides you to the chaise just near the bed, then retracts his hand for the sake of your comfort and his sanity. It does little to help, however, because seeing you sitting so prettily right there has his heart doing somersaults in his chest. His fingers tap nervously against the sheets as he awaits your response, and those nerves quickly cool into concern when he notices the way your expression shifts.
You don’t even look him in the eye when you finally reply, and your meek, shaky voice fills him with the urge to obliterate whatever it is that has you fighting tears in this moment. “I just… wasn’t feeling it, Captain. It’s been a rough day.” You admit, and he’s moving from the bed to sit next to you before he has time to think about what to do next. Silence drags on after that as he contemplates what to say. You sound so small— he’s never seen you like this before. To know that one of his dearest crew members has been suffering alone is almost offensive, as if your lack of seeking his help sooner meant that he was incapable of helping at all. He’s tempted to scold you at first, but then he remembers his plan.
Be gentle. Be nice. Lift their spirits, convince them to join the party, and bask in their praise and your ingenious success.
But right now, Buggy finds that his clever scheme is the last thing on his mind. Your wellbeing matters more right now, so he sets aside his ego for once and does the right thing, detaching his hand and moving it to gently tug his coat from your hands. You let go of it easily, and he’s quick to lay it over your shoulders again. He tucks it around you silently, a stand-in for a hug that he isn’t sure he could handle giving. He finally speaks after that, his gravelly voice softened by concern. “And you didn’t think to ask anyone aboard to help you?” He asks, but he already knows the answer. He doesn’t bother letting you respond before he continues, his tone a little harsher than before. “What ship are you on right now?”
“The Big Top, Captain.” You reply quickly, and he huffs before continuing to work toward his point.
“And who is your captain aboard this flashy ship?”
He watches as you take a breath before replying, “You are, Buggy.” The sound of his name on your lips briefly steals his focus, but he’s quick to recover.
“And what does that make you?”
Your answer isn’t so quick this time, and he watches you expectantly. Of course you wouldn’t know what he’s getting at, not with the entire reason you’re here right now.
“A… sailmaker?” You finally reply, clearly unsure. He’s quick to shoot you down.
“Wrong.”
The moment he does that, he very quickly regrets it. He watches as your expression cycles through surprise and offense, and he knows he’s really fucked up when he sees tears welling up in your pretty eyes. He has to fix this right now, otherwise his conscience will never recover. So, Buggy does the one thing he knows how to do best— make a scene. He reaches forward, placing a finger beneath his poor sailmaker’s chin and directing you to look up at him. The sudden movement seems to shock you out of your tears, and he can’t help but internally preen a little at how breathless he’s got you from a simple touch. If the situation were different, he certainly would have teased you. Right now, though, he just takes you in. His sea-green eyes linger on your stunned expression with a mix of emotions he dares not put a name to, and all he knows is that you look strikingly beautiful right now. Fragile and vulnerable, yet gorgeous all the same, and it’s impossible for him to hide the soft appreciation in his gaze. In this moment, your praise and his selfish little plan are no longer a thought. He just wants to make this right and let you know that he wants you to feel better, even if his pride won’t let him say that outright.
“It makes you my responsibility, you fool.” He finally continues, and he’s almost shocked at how gentle his voice sounds when the words come out. It’s not an outright admission, but it gets his point across clearly— you matter to me. He shifts a touch closer as he continues, wanting your full attention on him and nothing else. He’s always loved being the center of the room, but this moment feels different. The way you’re looking at him right now is different from how you usually would, different from how anyone looks at him. He hates the way that it brings back that fluttery feeling in his chest, but he pushes through to finish making his point.
“Like it or not, you’re my sailmaker and therefore my responsibility.”
You are one of the most valued members of my crew, and I don’t want to see you in tears.
“That means you’ll attend the parties I so flashily throw— and if, for whatever reason, you can’t…” he trails off, his grip on your chin tightening ever so slightly as nerves set in all over again. When he continues, his voice is little more than a gruff murmur, “…you’ll come to me personally instead.”
I want you by my side, no matter your mood.
With that final order and his true admission behind it, Buggy’s heart is pounding so hard that he worries you can hear it. He can feel his cheeks and ears burning, and he’s only able to hold your gaze for a moment longer before withdrawing for the sake of retaining his dignity. When he hears your soft “Yes, Captain,” he grumbles and immediately relocates to his desk. From here, you won’t be able to see the way his ears nearly match the color of his nose or hear the way his heart is racing a mile a minute. He can feel your eyes on him, but he doesn’t look back. There’s a long silence after that, and he only looks at you again when he hears you stand. His gaze is sharp, but not unkind, and he’s back to willing his heart to calm down once you sit again.
Several more tense minutes of silence pass, and Buggy isn’t sure how to proceed. For once, he isn’t in the mood to party. He would much rather stay here with you, in the quiet of his cabin with his coat wrapped around you. He wants you near, but not at all for the same reason as before. When he hears a soft yawn from the chaise, he figures out exactly what to do next.
“Captain-“ You begin, and his hand detaches the moment your mouth opens. It floats into the air and points to the canopy bed. His canopy bed. Just when he had convinced it to calm down, his heart begins to race again.
“You’ll sleep there.” He says simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It isn’t, and he knows that, and he knows that you know that, but he doesn’t go back on his words. His hand lingers in midair as you hesitate, pointer finger extended toward the bed. His other hand begins to write on the map spread over his desk, a desperate attempt to seem nonchalant while his mind is floundering in the absence of a plan. Again, a tense silence falls over the room, broken only by the soft sound of his writing. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you pull his coat tighter around you. The sight thrills him more than he’ll ever admit. When you stand again, his eyes watch your every move.
He’s taut as a bowstring, wondering if you’ll listen or walk out. When you utter another soft “Yes, Captain,” he visibly relaxes and recalls his hand to his wrist. His eyes stay locked on you as you pad over to his bed, and it feels like his heart pounds louder and louder with every step you take. He’s honestly a little surprised by your obedience, but admitting that is also an admission that he had been preparing himself for rejection. When you climb into his bed, his heart does another flip-flop and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Watching you sink into his crimson silk sheets fills the room with a sudden intimacy that has a whole range of emotions rushing to the forefront of Buggy’s mind.
He could look away and shut his eyes tight, but he would still have the image of his gorgeous sailmaker wrapped in his coat and nestled in his sheets burned into his memory. And by the gods, what an image that was. He immediately returns his gaze to the parchment on his desk when he notices you starting to look his way, putting on a very fragile mask of indifference. Well, as indifferent as he could look with his ears and cheeks growing redder by the second. He hears a soft sigh come from the bed and he glances from the corner of his eye for only a second, his mind running wild with why you would sigh. Was it a content sigh? It had to be, right? You looked so comfy and he was well aware of how soft his bed was, but what if—
“Captain?” Your timid call pulls Buggy out of his own head, and he responds with a soft grunt. If he looked over and you looked anywhere near as cute as you sounded right now, it would be curtains for him. When you’re quiet for a long moment, though, he passes a small glance at you.
That’s when he sees it.
A soft smile on your lips. Subtle and devastatingly gorgeous, just like the rest of you. When you speak again, he feels as though he’ll melt. “Thank you. For all of this.” He stops writing as the feels the equivalent of an entire crate of Buggy Balls exploding in his chest all at once, and his ears must certainly match his nose in hue by now. A good ten seconds pass before he lets out a long exhale and starts writing again, more to distract himself from the warmth radiating from his face than actually needing to get work done. He continues to mindlessly scribble until his heart rate returns to normal, and by then he can hear you snoring softly. He waits another minute for good measure before standing and slowly making his way to the edge of the bed, which proves to be another fatal mistake on his end.
You’re stunning. Completely and utterly ethereal, and you’re sleeping so peacefully in his bed. The sight renders him breathless, no different than if he had stumbled across the greatest treasure in the East Blue. So much of Buggy is tempted to reach out and just feel you, to just make sure that this is real and not some cruel dream. In the end, he isn’t sure that he could handle that confirmation and opts to keep his hands to himself. It was already difficult enough to deal with the fact that he very clearly felt more than simple camaraderie for his lovely little sailmaker, and he wasn’t ready to address those feelings just yet. Instead, he would settle into the nearby chaise for the night and rest there, his old plan to return to the party with you at his side forgotten. In all honesty, he had the feeling that even if the entire crew worshipped the ground he walked on, it would be a mere drop in the sea in comparison to the warmth of this quiet moment. They would be just fine without him until morning.
Perhaps that was selfish of him, but he didn’t entirely care.
Warnings: Reader-Insert, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert, Reader is having a bad day, Soft Buggy, Protective Buggy, Buggy cares about his crew, Reader is the crew’s sailmaker
Summary: Reader is having a bad day, and Buggy surprises them in several ways.
Characters/Relationships: Buggy/Gender-Neutral Reader, Cabaji, Buggy’s Band of Pirates
Words: 3.4k
A/N: This was the first Buggy fanfic I wrote, and since writing this I’ve only come to enjoy Buggy even more! This is a very self-indulgent work that I wrote while I was having a bad day, so hopefully it brings you some comfort too! Please enjoy!!
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Today was not your day. It seemed that anything that could go wrong was doing just that, leaving you in the most sour mood possible. The worst part wasn’t even that you were having a bad day— those happened every now and then, and there was nothing you could do but blow off some steam and wait for your foul mood to pass. Not today, though. Today was the kind of bad day where distractions weren’t enough— hell, punching something with all your might wasn’t enough. It was one of those days where the frustration reached a fever pitch, where it completely overwhelmed you, and all you could do was cry about it. Try as you might, nothing could get rid of the lump in your throat or the tears threatening to spill if a seagull so much as flapped its wings wrong.
The flashy chaos of the Big Top was only worsening your mood and overstimulating you further. What would normally make you laugh had your skin crawling, and the smiles of the crew only highlighted how awful today was going. You wanted nothing more than to join them, to smile with them, but the irritability and tears stinging at your eyes left you holed up in your quarters instead. Hours went by of crying to yourself, curled up and desperate for these overwhelming emotions to pass. Muffled hollers and shanties bled into the quiet space where your hammock swayed in time with the boat— even here, you couldn’t get away from their partying. You had half a mind to stomp up to the deck and quiet them yourself, but you knew better. Buggy was up there and louder than anyone else, and attempting to stifle his flashiness would only result in being thrown overboard.
At least, that’s what you thought. That made it all the more surprising when you felt something warm and soft being draped over you. You hadn’t heard any footsteps, and you didn’t see anyone nearby— how the hell did this blanket get onto you? You carefully grab it, and the moment that you do, it becomes crystal clear. The “blanket,” a familiar brightly-colored coat with tasseled epaulettes and fuzzy trim, smells just like your captain. A combination of alcohol, sweat, and makeup encompasses the uniquely flashy musk of Buggy— it’s less than gentle on the senses, but standard for a seafaring man such as him. Though you would never admit it, you found a sort of comfort in his scent. With it came loyalty and protection, and that signature style of his that you somehow never tired of.
It was no secret that Buggy’s crew was a band of misfits. The lot of you were just as much a circus as you looked, but that only made the crew “flashier,” in your captain’s words. A crew of both sword-swallowers and mercenaries made you powerful and unpredictable, and that made you especially dangerous. You had all become a found family of sorts— though Buggy would never admit that aloud, for fear of being associated with “those damned straw-hat idiots”— that had less of a loving-each-other vibe and more of a tolerating-each-other-for-their-own-benefit kind of feel. Sure, they would party together and celebrate their wins as a crew, but personal problems were just that: personal.
That’s why, try as you might, you just couldn’t wrap your head around why anyone would seemingly come to comfort you on your bad day. There was realistically only one person onboard who could enter the room, lay the captain’s coat over you, and leave completely unheard and unseen— Captain Buggy himself, obviously. He must have used his devil fruit powers to disembody a hand or something, but it still made no sense. How could he have known that you specifically were having a bad day? More importantly, why would he even care in the first place, much less enough to do something like this? You couldn’t understand.
Maybe he didn’t intend for you to have it. Maybe it was just really hot outside, and he wanted to ditch the coat, so he put it on your hammock to keep it away from the other crewmen. Perhaps it needed a wash, and he meant to toss it with the dirty laundry. A million rationalizations race through your mind— anything to explain this hopefully insignificant accident— because if he somehow intentionally came to comfort you, your heart would damn near explode. The mere thought was enough to make your cheeks burn, and you hated it. You hated how your boss, your captain, managed to have you weak in the knees with his goofy-ass laugh and his even more ridiculous mannerisms. If you found out that somehow, beneath all the greasepaint and shouting, Buggy was a caring sweetheart? You would just have to jump ship on your own. At least then, he wouldn’t be able to follow you and you wouldn’t have to acknowledge the way your heart fluttered just a little every time he addressed you. With a huff, you bury your face into the fuzzy trim of Buggy’s coat. You’re not sure whether this whole thing has made your day better or worse, and your ability to think about it vanishes when you hear soft footsteps.
When you cast your gaze to the source of the noise, you’re relieved to see that it’s just Cabaji. His quiet is a stark contrast to the shouting from above-deck, and his presence grants your mind a much-needed break from thinking about Buggy.
“Sailmaker.” He greets, and you don’t miss the way his eyes zero in on Buggy’s coat. You swallow and wait for him to continue, hoping he doesn’t say anything about it. Mercifully, he continues on after a small pause. “The captain has requested your presence in his cabin. Er… or demanded, more accurately.”
Your heart stops.
“I’m sorry?” You reply, unable to mask the nervous confusion in your voice. Cabaji looks at Buggy’s coat again and crosses his arms.
“He seemed irritated. I dunno if that has anything to do with it,” he gestures vaguely to the coat, “but I’d be quick in getting over there if you don’t want to piss him off even more.”
You take a deep breath and nod politely. “Thanks, Cabaji.” Inside, you feel like crying all over again. When Cabaji gives a nod of acknowledgement and leaves you alone once more, you do. It’s impossible to blink away the hot tears as they come pouring for what feels like the millionth time today. Buggy gave you his coat himself, and now he’s upset about it? What does that have to do with you? It’s bullshit, and it only sours your already awful mood further. Truly, everything that could possibly go wrong is going wrong today.
Even still, you weren’t foolish enough to ghost your captain. Dramatic fool he is, he would most certainly take it as a personal insult, probably find a way to tie it back to his insecurity over his nose, and throw your ass overboard while yelling at you all the while. So, after wiping your tears and splashing some cool water on your face to hopefully look at least a little less disheveled, you grab the coat and make your way to the rear of the ship. You hate that you have to go above deck to get there, but everyone seems preoccupied and/or drunk enough not to notice the puffiness of your eyes or the fact that their captain’s coat is grasped tightly in your hands.
When you make it to Buggy’s cabin— or, more accurately, his massive circus tent, you hesitate. It’s eerily quiet, save for the distant hollers of partying crewmen. You had never been inside of his cabin before, and the thought of entering while he was supposedly in a foul mood filled you with heavy, suffocating dread. Still, you had no choice but to press forward if you didn’t want to end up marooned. So, with a deep breath, you finally gather your courage and slip inside.
To your mild surprise, the inside of Buggy’s tent looks like any ordinary captain’s cabin. It still has its unique charm with flamboyant, expensive-looking furniture and a few items matching his clown aesthetic, but otherwise it was mostly maps, a crate of spare Buggy Balls, and personal possessions. You catch a glimpse of his bed, and you immediately have to purge the image of those silk sheets from your mind, lest your imagination run in a direction that could get you killed. There’s also a large, empty desk with some sort of parchment on it— most likely another map— and a nearby chaise that looks as soft as it does pricy.
As you take a few more steps in and look around, it becomes apparent that Buggy isn’t in the room. As soon as you realize that, you’re not sure whether to be relieved or pissed off. Did that arrogant clown really call you all this way just to get under your skin? You grit your teeth at the thought, clenching his coat tighter in your hands. “Buggy…” His name escapes your lips in a low rumble, your irritation palpable as you try not to fall apart for what feels like the millionth time today.
“You called?”
As soon as you hear that familiar, unhinged voice, you stiffen. Any irritation is replaced by dread, heavy and nauseating. You quickly fix your face, putting on a more neutral expression in hopes of hiding your agitation and the shitty day preceding this little rendezvous. You clear your throat and turn around to face him, immediately holding out his coat. Naturally, he strolls right past you from the doorway without so much as a glance at what you’re holding, and he’s already talking before you have a chance to get a word in.
“It’s not very flashy to be early, you know. Dramatic, fashionably late entrances always steal the show.” He plops down onto his plush canopy bed that almost looks like a miniature circus tent— go figure— with a dramatic wave of his arm, grinning at you like he isn’t pissing you off now. Cabaji said that Buggy was upset— what the hell was this? Again, you’re unable to speak as your captain continues to ramble. “You’ve been notably absent today, little sailmaker. When I throw a party, I expect everyone to attend and flashily bask in my presence.” He pauses for a moment and narrows his eyes at you ever so slightly, and you straighten your posture.
You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to the punch again. “Why weren’t you there? Explain yourself.” He looks you up and down, then shoots a disembodied hand out to rest against the small of your back. It applies gentle pressure, guiding you to the velvety chaise near Buggy’s bed before reattaching to his wrist. You decide to ignore the way your stomach fills with butterflies at the touch and take a seat, his coat still in your hands. Your mind races all the while, trying to come up with some relatively believable reason other than having an off day. Nothing sticks, and anything that does is too blatantly a lie. Buggy waits on the bed impatiently while you think, tapping his fingers against the sheets as he waits for your explanation.
Once you’re sure he’s not going to interrupt you, you take a breath and have no choice but to tell the truth. You say a quick prayer to any deity listening that you won’t start crying, even as you already feel the lump in your throat returning. “I just… wasn’t feeling it, Captain. It’s been a rough day.” Your voice is meek and you don’t dare to meet Buggy’s eyes. You’re more than aware of how weak of an excuse that is, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your captain outright laughed at you.
It took you by surprise when, instead, he quietly moved to take a seat next to you on the chaise. He didn’t say a word, but you could feel the warmth radiating from his proximity. There’s a long stretch of silence before, just like earlier, a disembodied hand tucks his coat around you before retreating once more. When Buggy finally speaks, his voice carries a softness you’ve never witnessed in-person.
“And you didn’t think to ask anyone aboard to help you?” He sounds almost offended as he replies, and you realize that he’s upset for an entirely different reason than you thought. Suddenly, his comforting gestures make a little more sense. As you open your mouth to reply, he cuts you off with a harsh bark of a question. “What ship are you on right now?”
You swallow and reply quickly, “The Big Top, Captain.”
He huffs. “And who is your captain aboard this flashy ship?”
You take a breath. “You are, Buggy.”
“And what does that make you?”
You pause and think for a moment. “A… sailmaker?”
“Wrong.”
‘Wrong?’ What the hell was that supposed to mean? You feel indignant almost, your craft so readily dismissed by your own captain. You can feel hot tears threatening to well up once more, but a sudden touch jolts you out of your rapidly cresting emotions. The feeling of Buggy’s gloved hand gently lifting your chin renders you speechless, and it feels like all the breath leaves your lungs when he directs you to look at him.
He looks… soft. Your notoriously loud, temperamental, overconfident captain looks soft, and those sea-green eyes of his are looking at you like you’re a delicate flower caught in the middle of a maelstrom. You’re not sure what to do at all, now. Should you say something? What would you even say? It feels like one wrong move could break whatever spell has Buggy acting so tame, so you opt to not make a move at all. To your relief, he continues on anyway.
“It makes you my responsibility, you fool.”
Yet again, he’s caught you completely off guard. It was clear that Buggy cared for his crew, and that his crew held him dear in return. Not once, though, had anyone actually said anything to confirm that implicit truth. But right here, right now, he was doing more than enough to prove himself to be a caring captain. You feel him shift closer, enough so that your knees touch. His hand is still beneath your chin, keeping your eyes on his to make sure you’re hearing exactly what he’s trying to say. “Like it or not, you’re my sailmaker and therefore my responsibility. That means you’ll attend the parties I so flashily throw— and if, for whatever reason, you can’t…” he trails off, his grip on your chin tightening ever so slightly in a way that leaves nervous butterflies stirring in your stomach. When he speaks again, his voice is little more than a gruff murmur, “…you’ll come to me personally instead.”
Your eyes widen and it feels like your heart is going to leap right out of your chest. Even in your wildest fantasies— ones that you would never admit to enjoying— you had never imagined that Buggy could be so outwardly caring or protective. It seems that he may be just as surprised as you, because you swear that his cheeks and ears are ever so slightly flushed. He holds your gaze for a moment longer before withdrawing his hand, and immediately you miss the warmth. Pulling his coat tighter around you works for now, though, as you softly reply, “Yes, Captain.”
He rises to his feet again with a soft grumble, moving to sit at the desk now. You follow him with your gaze, but he doesn’t look back at you. Was that it? He just… wanted you to know that he cared? He had noticed you were having a rough time, and he went out of his way to make sure you knew that he had your back. If you weren’t so baffled and shocked, you certainly would be crying. Worrying about feelings wasn’t exactly pirate culture and, quite frankly, Buggy could be more than a little self-centered. That only made it more confusing as to why he would bother with comforting you.
You rise to your feet after a moment, ready to excuse yourself from his private quarters. When you do, he shoots you a sharp look that has you sitting right back down. Once you’re seated, it’s as though you don’t exist again. The silence is tense and deafening, and you’re so confused and ready to just go to sleep and put the day to rest. You yawn, wondering if he’ll let you go if you ask nicely.
“Captain-“ You begin, and one of his hands detaches the moment your mouth opens. It floats into the air, then points to the canopy bed. His canopy bed.
“You’ll sleep there.” He says simply, and you’re surprised that he isn’t yelling or making a flashy fuss. You’re even more surprised that he’s telling you to sleep in his bed, of all places, just when you thought today couldn’t get any stranger. You stare at him for a long moment, quiet and unsure, perhaps waiting for him to go back on his words. He doesn’t. His hand still lingers in midair, pointer finger extended toward the bed. Again, a tense silence falls over you, broken only by the soft sound of him writing on the parchment covering his desk with his other hand. You pull his coat just a little tighter around you. After another long moment, you rise once more. Immediately, his sea-green eyes are on you again.
“Yes, Captain.” You reply softly, and he seems to relax just a touch. His hand reattaches at the wrist while he watches you pad over to his bed, and you feel his eyes on your back as you hesitate. Was this some kind of trap? A sick joke or prank? You have no clue who would even set it up, or why. Even if it was, could the humiliation really be worse than pissing off your hot-headed captain and being strangled by a disembodied hand? You highly doubted it. So, with a deep breath, you climb into bed. Your captain’s bed. Buggy’s bed.
The crimson silk sheets are divine, soft and cool, and the bed itself is surprisingly plush. Then again, Buggy spared no expense when it came to himself, so it truly isn’t all that surprising. You allow yourself to sink into the mattress with a soft sigh, your head falling onto one of his pillows. By the time you’ve settled in and turned to look at Buggy again, his eyes are back on his desk. You should thank him, right? But how? Would he flip out if you mentioned his generosity and take it all back? You sigh. It’s like walking on eggshells with him half the time, and even still you can’t bring yourself to hate or even dislike him. Your fingers tighten their grasp on Buggy’s coat in mild frustration. Consequences be damned, he did something nice for you, and you’re going to thank him for it.
“Captain?” Your voice comes out much more timid than you intend it to be. Buggy replies with a soft grunt, not bothering to turn his gaze toward you. When you’re sure he isn’t going to say anything else, you offer him a soft smile— the first truly genuine smile you’ve had during this wretched day. “Thank you. For all of this.”
You hear Buggy stop writing for a good ten seconds, and then he starts again. Again, he grunts without looking at you, and you’re not sure whether or not to be surprised. Normally, a modicum of praise was enough to inflate his ego enough to warrant a party celebrating his very existence. Then again, neither of you were your usual selves today. You were certain that all would return to normal tomorrow, and he would be back to his loud, obnoxiously flashy self with plenty of orders to give you. For now, though, you yawn and allow your eyelids to droop. In the unexpected safety of Buggy’s quarters and the soft embrace of his bed, you find restful slumber that finally carries the day’s woes far away.
“I have had the best idea ever. It’s positively brilliant!”
“Oh?” you said. You rolled over onto your back, sheets tangled around your legs, finding Buggy’s head hovering above you like he’d sent it ahead before the rest of his body. “You sound excited about it. I’m scared.”
He laughed proudly. “You’ll love it. I’m going to make you a costume!”
“Is it another maid costume?”
“No, no. It’s actually a uniform! Together, the two of us are going to reveal our secret relationship to the crew through a magical performance! I’ve decided to be gracious and let them know about it!”
Secret relationship?
You frowned and looked around just to check you were still in his room. Lying on a massive, four-postered bed in your nightwear, with his lipstick still smudged onto your collarbone. Where Cabaji had brought you dinner less than an hour ago like normal.
“I think they know already,” you said.
“Nonsense. How would they know?”
“I sleep in your quarters every night.”
He grinned and the door opened, the rest of his body catching up. “Don’t worry. I’ve been very subtle. I told them you stay here so I can keep an eye on you in case of a betrayal but now I’ll expose the truth! We can show them a story of how deep your love for me truly is!”
You couldn’t help but smile lightly at his enthusiasm. As though the volume with which he shouted wouldn’t have alerted them to something anyway.
And he hadn’t dragged you into any acts recently so you weren’t too tired of playing around yet. You pulled lightly at his hair, tugging his head slightly closer. “Okay Bugs,” you teased. “We can do the play. But no exposing costumes.”
He huffed. “What counts as exposing anyway?”
“My tits are remaining in my shirt.”
“Aw, but they’re the reason I lost the first time we fought! You used them as a cruel trick against me!”
“I did not and that is not the reason you lost that fight.”
The script was brought to you the next day. A disembodied hand bumped insistently against the side of your head while you sorted through the latest pile of plunder spread across the deck. Coins clinked beneath your fingers alongside cheap jewellery, damp stacks of playing cards, and somebody’s extremely ugly silver candlestick. After a few seconds, you relented to the nudging and took it from him, flipping through the pages of very detailed dialogue and action.
“What do you think?” he asked, his voice making you jump slightly as his head arrived. “It’s the history of you joining my crew!”
“Not a very accurate one,” you remarked. “There’s a scene of you saving me from Red-Hair Shanks? I’ve never even met the man nor has he ever threatened to kill me.”
“Eh, I’ve added a few embellishments for artistic flair.”
“A few?! Bugs, never in my life have I declared you the single most attractive man in the world on a public stage?”
“It’s subtext! Besides, a play is never exactly like real life. We need to add some engagement so the audience doesn’t get bored. And you would, if you had the opportunity to.”
“I would not. Why am I trying to arrest you here?”
“Because you’re a secret spy for the marines. Obviously.”
You blinked at him. “Right. Obviously.”
“But when I win the fight against you, you’re going to realise I’m amazing and you’ve fallen in love with me! Then you have a heart change, beg me to join my crew, and we kiss dramatically to the sound of raucous applause!”
He beamed at you, clearly proud of himself, and as non-sensical as it was, it didn’t seem too bad. Not until you flipped to the end of the script and saw a number written at the back.
“Day one?” you said. “How long do you expect this to be?”
“I’m thinking maybe a week? We can have two days of intermission between.”
“Absolutely not. I’ll give you a few hours, at most.”
Buggy’s shoulders deflated somewhat as he did that expression you always sort of bowed to if you weren’t careful. “But baby, our tale couldn’t possibly fit into a few hours! It’s an epic! A global phenomenon that simply must be told in all its glory so everybody will know your name and who you’re with!”
You held up a hand. “Three hours. Nothing more.”
He muttered under his breath as he took the script and dramatically flounced from the room. You went back to the plunder, a smug smile on your face. As much as every compliment he gave you circled back to him, you still appreciated it.
Costuming came two days later and the outfit he found was definitely not marine standard.
“I made some improvements to the one Alvida had,” Buggy told you proudly.
You didn’t know why Alvida had a marine uniform, nor why it had large patches of blood that had been covered with large patches of rhinestone. But you also didn’t entirely want to ask too many details.
“This is going to be difficult to move in,” you said.
“The flashier it looks, the better. Now you won’t be washed out by the bright lights of the stage!”
You reached for the handcuffs beside the uniform and immediately frowned. They were heavier than normal metal, cold against your palm in a way that sank deeper than temperature alone. “Are these real sea stone?”
“They are!” he announced, hands propped up on his hips. “This has got to be the most authentic play I’ve ever done! It’s important.”
“You won’t be able to act with them on.”
He scoffed and shook his head. “Of course I will! I’m the great Captain Buggy but you just need to make sure not to lose the key!”
You closed one around his left wrist, twisting around him quickly to snap the other shut, his arms now locked in front of him. His shoulders began to slowly slump as he stared at you over his shoulder, expression aghast with betrayal.
“Don’t collapse,” you warned him with a small laugh. “I know you can stand with them on.”
“Is this how your betrayal reveals itself?”
“Bugs.”
“I knew I should have been more careful!”
“Bugs.”
“I must admire your persistence in catching me,” he said. “You distracted me with your assets and then – ”
You grabbed the chain between the cuffs and yanked sharply. Buggy stumbled forward with an offended squawk that disappeared against your mouth as you kissed him messily and hard enough to knock his hat crooked. He surged into you, immediately throwing everything he had into it with full energy.
Then you pushed him back, your lips separating with a wet pop. “If you gave me a second to talk,” you said. “I was going to flirt with you.”
“Handcuffing me isn’t flirting, you madwoman!”
“It depends who you ask.”
He huffed. “No, it doesn’t. It would have worked better if you had been the one in them because that makes sense. You’d never capture me!”
You glanced at the handcuffs. “Are you sure?”
“I allowed you to do that out of pity.”
“Well, then you don’t need the keys, right? You can get out of them on your own?”
Buggy froze for a second, grin melting into something closer to a sweetened, begging expression. “Baby, I – ”
“I’m going to go read the script to memorise my lines. Catch you later.”
“No, wait, honey! Kitten! Babycakes!”
The next script you got didn’t include handcuffs at all and yet the first rehearsal devolved into something chaotic regardless.
“No, no, no!” Buggy announced, throwing his hands dramatically into the air. “You’re doing it wrong again!”
You lowered your fake sword in exhaustion. “We’ve been doing this scene for an hour. I have run out of different ways to say this line.”
“I need you to commit emotionally!”
“What does that even mean?!”
Every crew member had been roped into the performance, functioning as multiple characters and the audience. Half-finished props littered the deck around the makeshift stage; painted scenery leaning crookedly against barrels while somebody’s abandoned fake moustache stuck to the floorboards nearby.
Nobody had been given the full script to ‘preserve the surprise’ but all that meant was no one fully knew what they were doing. They were all trying not laugh around you as you stared at your script.
Buggy stormed over the makeshift stage and grabbed your shoulders dramatically. “Listen, this is very important! Your character is torn between duty and overwhelming attraction! You need to sound it!”
You sighed and read from the script as flatly as you could, “Captain Buggy, your crimes against the World Government end today.”
He gasped in outrage, clutching his hand over his chest. “That was the worst one yet!”
“The words have lost all meaning at this point.”
“You’re supposed to sound conflicted!”
“Why would I sound conflicted?”
“Because you’re secretly captivated by my dangerous charm!”
“I don’t have that in my script,” Mohji said from somewhere behind you.
“Silence backstage!” Buggy barked before his expression softened into that pleading one, he knew you couldn’t resist. “Baby, come on. Try it again.” And then, as though realising what he’d said wrong, he straightened quickly. “For the scene.”
He only used that tone when he genuinely cared about something. Unfortunately, that usually made it impossible to refuse him.
You pinched the bridge of your nose for a second before you lifted the sword loosely. “Captain Buggy,” you deadpanned. “Your looks and charisma are clouding my judgement.”
His eyes lit up instantly. “Yes! Exactly like that!”
He was far too easy.
The actual play didn’t go much better than rehearsals had. Mainly because of the brand-new script handed to you while his hands flew around your head, tugging on your hair and fixing your make up to be ‘stage ready’.
“More changes?” you asked. “You’ve added another scene where you battle a sea king?”
“Of course. I have to make it clear that you fell in love with me because of how amazing I am!”
You batted one of his hands away before you got stabbed in the eye with the eyeliner pencil. “I fell in love with you without all of this nonsense though.”
Buggy stared at you for a second, red climbing up the sides of his neck before his hands flew back to him and he looked away. “Obviously because you knew I could do all of it without needing to see it. My skills are that world-renowned!”
“Of course.”
The smoke bombs detonated with enough force to rattle the stage beneath your feet. Thick smoke flooded across the deck instantly, bitter against your tongue and eyes as coughing broke out through both the audience and backstage crew alike.
You watched through watering eyes as he stepped out, unable to see anything of him through the smog. The crew cheered loudly, clapping even though they couldn’t make out what was happening.
You got through half of the first scene before you realised you weren’t following the script anymore.
An improvised sword fight sent one of the painted backdrop walls crashing sideways into the railing before the entire thing tipped offstage. The impact cracked loudly against the deck below, splintering wood while the audience cheered like that had definitely been intentional. Your fake sword snapped and you had to be given a real one with a warning to be careful.
Buggy’s lines only grew further from the original as time went on.
“Don’t you see, the Marines will betray you too! I bet they won’t even give you the money from turning me in!”
“The money?” you repeated, looking over the script briefly. “What are you talking about? I don’t get a bonus for catching criminals.”
He sighed and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “No, my bounty. When you turn me in, they’re going to spurn you and not give you the beri.”
“Why would they to begin with? If I’m a marine, I don’t get beri for catching you. That’s for bounty hunters.”
The audience was silent, watching between the two of you. Buggy looked conflicted enough that you sighed. You supposed you could play along.
“Fine. I’ll be a bounty hunter turned marine who still gets paid.”
“Excellent! That’s what I wrote in the script anyway.”
“No, you didn’t!”
Your supposed romantic rival was carried onto stage midway through the play. He’d originally been cast as Cabaji but now was a poorly drawn, cardboard cutout of a marine. Its painted eyes pointed in entirely different directions, the marine symbol had somehow been drawn upside down, and it barely reached your chest in height. One arm had also been attached slightly higher than the other.
The crew booed loudly when it was put down and Buggy took a deep bow to them while you blinked at it and lowered your new, new script.
“What is this?”
“There were some creative differences in the casting,” Buggy said with the wave of a hand.
“You threatened to cut anybody who played the rival in half!” Cabaji called from somewhere in the audience.
“That’s because you all wouldn’t stop flirting with her!”
“It’s in the script!”
“You don’t have to enjoy it!”
You looked over the cardboard rival with a critical eye. “You didn’t even have to give yourself a rival to begin with. He’s not real. You made him up.”
“It’s for realism,” Buggy insisted. “You’d obviously have several men interested in you.”
“Why is that obvious?”
He gestured to you as a whole. “Hello? Do you have a mirror?”
The Big Top rolled sharply beneath the stage as waves struck the hull, making the scenery sway dangerously and the cutout teetered to the side, falling flat on the deck. Buggy scoffed loudly and pointed at it.
“Weak stage presence,” he said. “Just pathetic.”
“I can’t have a conversation with a piece of paper,” you said.
“Sure, you can. I’ll act as his voice.”
You looked down at your script to find a hand scribbling notes in the margin with a red pen; new lines being added in a truly awful handwriting. You flicked it up to read it yourself.
“You marine dogs are nothing compared to the great Captain Buggy,” you said, squinting to understand. “Ever since I’ve met him, I – okay, no, I’m not reading that.”
“Is it wrong?” he asked.
Before you could retort, Alvida stepped onto the stage for her role as the admiral (she didn’t even have a costume) and her boot landed on the cutout’s neck. It tore off loudly and you stared down at it.
“My vision!” Buggy cried out.
“Thank you,” you said to her in complete sincerity.
The final battle ended up being the least coherent part of the play which was honestly impressive considering you’d lost understanding of the plot almost two hours ago. You didn’t even realise it was the ‘final’ battle until the smoke bombs exploded behind Buggy for no reason, sending the audience into another coughing fit.
“Face me, coward!” he shouted dramatically.
“You already beat me in a fight twenty minutes ago!” you yelled back over the chaos; jumping a cannonball that was rolling around the stage. “We’re meant to be in the part where I finally agree to join your crew!”
“Yes but this is your final stand! If I win, you must surrender and swear your loyalty to my crew but I am not cruel! I’ll let you have an ally in the fight!”
The cardboard cutout with its head duct taped back on was brought out and Alvida immediately grabbed it, throwing it overboard. The crew applauded loudly. You loved that woman sometimes.
“Hey!” Buggy yelled. “That character had narrative potential!”
“He’s already died twice!” she shouted back.
Buggy sighed dramatically over nobody respecting his vision and immediately swung his sword toward you again with enough force that the fake jewel glued to the handle flew off. It hit Cabaji square in the forehead and he yelped loudly.
“No participation from the audience!” Buggy shouted.
You laughed despite yourself; a true, bubbling sound that escaped from deep in your chest. You couldn’t help it. It was far too much fun to entertain.
He turned back to you, grin widening so suddenly it was almost blinding.
“There!” he declared triumphantly, pointing at you like he’d won something important. “That’s the expression I was envisioning! You are clearly falling in love with me even as we battle to the end!”
Then he lunged dramatically toward you again with enough commitment that his boot caught on part of the broken scenery.
His eyes widened.
“Oh, shit—”
He crashed directly into you. The two of you hit the deck hard enough to rattle the stage while the crew exploded into loud cheers. Your wrist twisted painfully from throwing the sword aside at the last second, the blade skidding harmlessly across the stage instead of through Buggy’s ribs.
“You alright?” he asked quickly.
You blinked up at him. “Fine, Bugs.”
His expression shifted as realisation caught up with him and he immediately sprang back to his feet, throwing both arms into the air with theatrical grandeur.
You stayed down on the ground, watching him with unconcealed amusement. His cape billowed around him and you propped yourself up slightly, sword resting carefully far enough away that he couldn’t fall on it. The crew erupted into loud cheers and whistles.
You laughed gently. “I am never doing this again.”
“But you were incredible! Terrifying! It’s like you were born to be on the stage!”
Cabaji wiped tears from his eyes in the audience, a large red mark swelling up on his forehead. “This is the best performance we’ve put on!”
“You’re welcome,” Buggy said graciously.
You pushed yourself upright as he strutted across the deck, absolutely glowing beneath the attention. He basked in the praise for a few moments more before he raised his arms in silence.
Oh no.
“My loyal crew!” he shouted. “After many months of secrecy and deception, I have decided that you are all lucky enough to learn the truth!”
The cheering quietened immediately. The crew looked between one another, some frowning in confusion, others clearly getting the idea of where this was going. You stood and dusted off your clothing.
Buggy pointed at you with a dramatic flourish. “This play was actually a retelling of true events and of how this woman, defeated by my overwhelming charisma and strength, fell hopelessly in love with me!”
The cheering died almost immediately. Even the waves against the hull seemed louder for a second before somebody finally spoke from the crowd. “Yeah, we know.”
Buggy blinked, pride morphing into confusion as he turned slowly to face his crew. They all stared back.
“What?” he asked.
Mohji smiled almost nervously. “Captain, you made us give her the room next to yours the moment she was on the ship.”
“And then knocked down the wall between them,” someone else added.
“You stab people for flirting with her.”
“You let her go into the treasure room whenever she wants.”
“You cried when I got sick,” you mentioned, unhelpfully.
“That was a stressful situation!” he countered, expression slowly turning into visible horror.
Alvida rolled her eyes. “You call her baby all the time.”
“I call everybody that.”
“Bullshit.”
The betrayal on his face was intense.
“You all knew?” he demanded.
The crew answered together this time:
“Yes, Captain.”
Buggy looked genuinely devastated. “No,” he said weakly. “No, there’s no way. I was subtle about it all the time! This is a joke, right?”
You pressed your lips together in a desperate fight against the urge to mention that you told him so. The rest of the crew were all awkwardly silent, not certain how to tell him that they definitely knew about the whole relationship.
“You’re all supposed to be shocked!” he groaned and immediately marched over to you, throwing himself against you, his face buried dramatically into your chest.
You barely managed to stay upright as his arms wrapped tightly around your waist.
“Bugs,” you said, barely holding in your laughter. “You’ve stopped raids when I’ve had a headache.”
“Because my plans include you and nobody else can fill your role!” He groaned miserably against you. “I can’t believe you all knew and never told me! This is betrayal!”
You smiled despite yourself and carded your fingers carefully through his hair. “Mm. It’s not.”
He lifted his head just enough to glare accusingly up at you. “You could at least pretend to support me.”
“I did an entire fake Marine performance for you.”
“That’s true,” he admitted after a moment. “You are very devoted to me.”
“Painfully so.”
Buggy grinned instantly, all embarrassment apparently forgotten already as he tightened his hold around you again.
“See?” he declared smugly to the crew. “She admits it willingly.”
“Oh my god,” Alvida muttered, already walking away.
