Would anyone care if I said I plan to write a story with a Reader/Vergo/Doflamingo love-triangle where Vergo has to choose between the woman he loves and the man he worships 😶
synopsis: Escape is seemingly impossible, yet Corazon doesn't give up. He grasps at every opportunity he gets to keep you and Law away from his brother.
tags: gn!child!reader & Corazon & Law, Vergo & Doflamingo, the angst gets worse here
The man carries you in his arms, following the direction you point at. He has no idea who you keep talking about, but he figured whoever it is, it must be the person who gave you the report form you had delivered to him.
“Cora! Law! Someone will help!” You yell as you get closer to the two.
Corazon looks like he was about to fall asleep, Law was keeping him away; still trying to figure out how to activate his powers.
“Vergo?!” Cora’s eyes snap wide open.
The man who’s holding you instinctively tightens his grip on you. In his mind, he’s putting one and two together and… He figured something out. “Corazon?! What are you doing here? You look awful!”
Vergo goes quiet for a moment; his mind processes what’s going on. “Wait- Did you just speak?!”
Law remembers Cora mentioning the name ‘Vergo’ a while ago, something about him being on a secret mission. The young boy defensively stands up before Corazon. “Don’t hurt him!”
Vergo frowns and destroys the report form you had given him earlier with his hand.
“No!” Corazon gasps; he coughs up some blood. “Not the message!”
“Now I understand, Rosinante.” Without letting you go, Vergo begins to attack Corazon; kicking the already injured man. Law attempts to stop him, but is way too weak compared to the tall man. You hit Vergo, small fists repeatedly punching against his face. By now, he’s figured out who you and Law are and what Corazon had planned to do.
Eventually, Vergo drops you to the ground to be able to attack Cora better without hurting you in the process; he knows Doflamingo wants you to return to his crew safely.
“S-stop! You’ll kill him!” Law cries out, too weak to do anything but scream at this point. He knows there’s nothing he can do for Corazon right now, as much as he wants to. You run into Law’s arms, crying and asking over and over why Vergo is hurting Corazon instead of rescuing him. And while he has somewhat of an idea what’s going on, Law isn’t entirely sure of it; and less does he know how to explain anything to you.
While Vergo is distracted, callling Doflamingo on his Transponder Snail and catching him up on the recent turn of events, Corazon uses the last bit of strength he can come gather for the sake of protecting you and Law. Cora grabs the both of you, each in one arm and runs as fast as he can. It’s just now that he realizes how cold you have gotten; how much you must be freezing.
Once he arrives in a forest, Corazon’s steps slow down. He knows he won’t make it much longer, but he has to do whatever he can to keep you and Law safe.
“What… what’s that?” Law points at the sky.
“…Doffy’s powers.” Cora carefully lowers you and Law to the ground. “The only thing I know… is that there’s no escape anymore…”
“What does that mean?” You cling to Corazon’s leg.
He shakes his head and kneels down to be closer to your and Law’s height. “Doesn’t matter. I promise we’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”
Despite his immense pain, Cora remains calm. He can’t worry about his injuries when he has two lives to protect. It’s only a matter of time until Doffy would find him, and until then you and Law must be hidden. But where? Especially now that Doflamingo has essentially trapped all of you on the island, the options are more than limited.
First, Corazon hid Law in one of the many treasure chests he found laying around. He considered hiding you in the same chest, but figured it’d be safer to hide you separately in the chest right next to Law’s. It’d save air for the both of you; Cora didn’t know how long you two would have to hide, after all.
While Law let himself be hidden quite easily, you display the opposite behavior. Crying, sobbing, clinging to Cora’s shirt with all the might your tiny fists can gather.
“Pshh… It’ll be alright. I promise…” Cora’s attempts to calm you down failed. Even with his Devil Fruit powers silencing your voice, there was nothing he could do to have you let go.
And suddenly, he’s surrounded.
“It’s been hald a year, Corazon.” Doflamingo’s voice. You haven’t heard nor seen him in person since the day Cora left with you and Law in tow.
The older brother pulls out a gun, pointing it at the younger one’s back. The latter turns around, revealing you in his arms. A huge risk; he doesn’t know if Doffy will still shoot, or if he’ll back away as long as you’re in danger.
“Navy code 01746. Naval HQ commander Rosinante Doflamingo, captain of the Donquixote Family…” Corazon adjusts you in his arms, hiding you under his coat to shield you from the view. “I infiltrated your group… In order to prevent the atrocities you have planned. I’m a Navy man.” He pauses then continues; not addressing his brother but the young boy hiding in the treasure chest right behind him. “I’m sorry for lying! I just didn’t want you to hate me…”
Doflamingo’s expression darkens. He doesn’t care for any of Corazon’s words, he’s decided to end his younger brother’s life the moment Vergo called him.
“Enough of the stupid jokes. Now return (Y/N. You had absolutely no right to take them away from me.” Doffy begins to walk towards Cora, who’s holding onto you tighter.
Corazon takes a step back, forgetting the stach of boxes behind him. He stumbles and falls to the ground, but still holding you as tightly as he can.
A grin forms on Doffy’s lips. “How about we make a deal? I’ll spare your life if you hand over the child.”
“No! Whatever you have planned for them, I know it’s horrible!” Corazon yells back.
“So you’d rather die than give them back? You know I’ll get them back no matter what, it’s just up to you if you’ll be alive at the end of the day.”
Hearing Doffy’s offer, you suddenly squirm your way out of Cora’s arms. He manages to hold you back, but the sight only fuels his older brother’s amusement.
“Looks like they want to return to me anyways. Come on, let them go.” He opens his arms, gesturing to welcome you back. “Let (Y/N) return to their family.”
Corazon’s grip on you loosens, he whispers that he’s going to shoot his gun into the sky to startle Doffy and his crew but mute the sound to you, then that’ll be your chance to run away. He’ll follow right after; he promises with a smile.
tags~ fluff, established relationship, gn!reader, some praise
a/n~ i sat and stared at a wall soooo hard deciding on who i wanted to group together and do. these b a s t a r d s came of it <3 istillhavesomanymoreplanned
warning uh apparently i dont know what a drabble is and i got carried away lmfao they're a little lengthy compared to the last ones
•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•
~ Caesar
He was irritated. Some clod of a lab tech fucked up a beaker of piranha solution which he did not understand how someone could fuck up something so simple. After ripping a strip off that tech he went off to go and remake it himself in his own damn lab, away from idiots that slowed down his work by screwing up simple tasks. The only person who could safely bug him now was you.
Lucky for him, you had noticed his sour mood and followed after him, planning to do exactly that. Using your lab access, you let yourself in a few minutes after he had been in there alone, a wide smirk on your face knowing you were gonna bug the hell out of your lover.
"Oh pretty boy~" You called out.
He froze, knowing it was you yet thinking you were talking to someone else still. He rolled his eyes instead and chose to ignore the comment, slowly mixing things into a beaker.
"Wow, are you really gonna ignore me pretty boy?" You scoffed, coming up behind him.
Hearing the name get used again finally made something click with him, realizing that you were talking to him. He slammed the flask in his hand down and turned around to find you standing before him, quite the unique expression on his face.
"Me???"
"Yes you. I don't see anyone else in here." You chuckled.
He sputtered and made various noises that could mean either embarrassment or appalment before he settled on a pout for a look, narrowing his golden eyes at you.
"I... am a fully grown mad scientist." He stated.
"Yeah, and?"
"I'm a MAN."
"You're still pretty~" You giggled, delighted to have gotten on his nerves a little. "Pretty when you're mad, pretty when you're whooping ass, and even pretty when you're at peace mixing up deadly concoctions. To me, you'll always be that way, you purple idiot."
Using a bit of haki, you took hold of his flowing lab coat and yanked him down into a sweet kiss that turned mischievous. You nipped at his lips playfully, only intending to tease a bit before you pulled back. He had other plans though, and suddenly you found yourself lifted up in his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around him for support as you let slip a squeak of surprise.
"What's the matter, pretty boy~? Assistant got your tongue~?" You teased further, your lips remaining inches away from his a you stuck out your tongue.
He took his opportunity and gently bit your tongue, earning a yelp from you that allowed him a hungry, open mouthed kiss with you. He took his time indulging in you before he pulled back, now wearing a smirk of his own.
"No, but a scientist seems to have yours~" He shot back.
With cheeks set aflame, you groaned at him in response, knocking your forehead into his. He laughed at you the way he always does, but quieter, as he found himself too busy gazing affectionately into your eyes; which you rolled at him dramatically.
"You're a shit head, but that doesn't change the fact that I still think you're pretty." You said to him.
"Mmm, and so are you~ Even with all that purple smeared across your lips." He chuckled.
"... Dammit. Not again."
"Here, let me make it worse."
Caesar proceeded to kiss you more, leaving purple lip prints all over your face despite your grumbling that came though your clearly joyous giggles.
͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘 𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙
~ Vergo
You had been told multiple times not to do it, but you just couldn't help yourself. He wouldn't actually kill you over something so silly... right? He was your lover for cryin' out loud... But man, would you ever be a dirty liar if you said you weren't a little afraid.
Roaming the halls in search of Vergo, you eventually found him minding his own business at the end of an empty hall. You got the brilliant idea to suddenly call out to him, but not by his title or name. You were going to call him by a silly nickname, which could mean good or bad things for you. He was a stickler for being referred to by his formal titles, after all.
"Hey you, pretty boy~!" You called out, throwing yourself into a nearby supply closet to get out of his line of sight.
He hadn't realized it was you just yet. The tone you used was song-like, and he froze in place, processing the name he had just heard that was most definitely used in reference to him. There was no one else down here, after all. Irritation built up inside of him as he slowly turned towards the direction your voice came from, and he held an unmoving expression of disappointment.
"Who just called out, and how dare you?" He spoke firmly, clearly insulted.
You couldn't help it; you giggled uncontrollably at his well managed displeasure.
"Who do you think, pretty boy~?" You called out again.
The silence that followed was deafening, and curiosity got the better of you. You decided to peek out the crack of the closet to see what he was doing, but that was your second mistake; the first being to call out to him like that in hiding. You saw that he faced the direction your hiding spot was in, and the moment any part of you poked out even slightly, he dashed straight for you. You let slip a gasp and stepped back against the wall between a couple of shelves when he slammed his hands into the door, momentarily closing it before it slowly swung open.
Vergo looked down at you with a raised brow, wondering how you had wedged yourself into such a spot. His expression wasn't so mean though now that he was closer, and the cookie stuck to his cheek definitely took away any intimidation, but you were definitely still nervous, waving at him with a guilty little smile.
He took in a deep breath and held it, "What did you call me?" before letting it go with his question.
"Uh... Pretty boy?" You repeated.
He leaned in closer to you, almost touching your nose with how he loomed over you. His eyebrow quirked up a bit though, and he huffed.
"That's sir pretty boy to you." He corrected.
A sigh of relief left you, nervous laughter having quickly bubbled up shortly after.
"Oh man, I thought you were gonna be pissed."
"I was for a moment, but then I realized it was you. That made it much less of a problem." He stated.
"Aw, I'm special- mm!"
He silenced you with a kiss, pressing you against the wall as he somehow fit his arms on either side of you between the shelves. He tasted of cookies; sweet in comparison to his approach. You were quite fond of being pressed up against him in such a cramped space, your skin littered with kisses until he finally gave you a moment to breathe.
"You are special." He chuckled, speaking a truth he'd preach forever.
͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘 𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙
~ Doflamingo
Sometimes you just loved to indulge your lover and inflate his ego, feeding into his antics and showering him with silly praise. At the moment, you lay across his chest as he reclined along the length of a sofa, grinning from ear to ear as you chattered on.
"Mmm, how did I end up so lucky~" You hummed.
"Lucky? Care to elaborate, little dove~?" Doflamingo asked.
"Well, if you must know, I just think I'm so lucky to have the privilege to be around you like this. I mean, really? Little ol' me gets to love and be loved by you~?" You elaborated as you crossed your arms over his chest and rested your chin atop them.
"But of course! You're the most beautiful flower to bloom in this city, my dove~" He hummed, resting a hand over your back.
You blushed, smirking at him. "Yeah? Well same goes to you, pretty boy~"
He hummed a noise of intrigue upon hearing the nickname used on him, lifting his head up a bit to look at you better. "I'm a what now??"
"A pretty boy." You repeated.
"Mmhmm, what else?"
He almost looked... eager, both of his hands now resting across your back. You could feel his eyes on you despite them being hidden by his glasses, and you could just tell what he wanted from you. Why not give it to him?
"Oh, well if you insist for me to go on, then 'm free to add on that you're a gorgeous man, right?" You said in a sultry tone.
"And??"
"A downright devious gentleman with looks that could kill~" You rambled on, sliding yourself forward bit by bit.
"Mmm, these words suddenly have meaning when they're coming from you. Never stop." He mumbled to you, tugging you closer until his lips brushed up against yours. "Unless I'm kissing you, that is."
He let slip a chuckle that sent shivers down your spine before he captured your lips in a hungry kiss, a small squeak of surprise escaping you before you melted into him. His warmth drew you in, his hold keeping you close as you found yourself lost in his affectionate kiss. You really were that special to him, and he made sure to show it to his fullest capacity in the moment.
When he finally pulled away from you and let his head fall back against the arm of the couch, he grinned at you. Your expression told him you were pleased, but before he could make a comment, you spoke first instead.
"Man, I love a devilishly handsome man who knows how to kiss." You hummed, resting your chin on his chest again.
"Oh, you listen so well as always. My, you really are my perfect little dove, aren't you~?"
͙۪۪̥ ͙ ♡𐡘 𐡘 𐡘 𐡘♡ ͙ ͙۪۪̥ ͙
~ Rosinante
He was always so damn hard to find sometimes. To be fair, it was sort of his job to be sneaky, but that devil fruit power of his made him too good at it. If he wanted to be hidden, he could remain hidden... that is, unless you drew him out with your surefire method.
He liked to hide from you for fun sometimes, and this was definitely one of those times. Patrolling an empty hall, you kept calling his name, hoping he'd let you win this little game of hide and seek he had you playing. Turns out he had no plans to reply... but he did make it incredibly easy for you to find him.
Having checked every room in the wing you were in, you eventually came to the end of the hall where a grand window was, long ceiling to floor curtains hanging on either side of it. One of the curtains however seemed to be a bit more lumpy than the other, and last time you checked, drapery didn't come with shoes as an accent/ You knew he was there for sure, and held back your giggles before you called out to him one last time, this time using a different name.
"Hey pretty boy~ I know where you're hiding~"
The curtain shifted a little, and you held back yet another chuckle as you waited for the inevitable to happen. It only took a couple of seconds, but a dim glow could be seen from behind the curtain before the whole thing caught fire. Lo and behold, the man you called your lover emerged from behind the curtain, cursing with a crimson cheeks, frantically trying to smack the fire out before it spread. You on the other hand calmly approached him and reached for a fire extinguisher that hung conveniently on the wall. Two good puffs and both of the fires were out; yes both, the second being on your love's large feather coat.
Now the laughter poured out of you, and how could you not laugh? Rosinante was covered in foam from his shoulders up, and you lost it when he spat a puff of air out to clear it from his mouth.
"Really??" He complained, slowly flicking off bits of foam as he let down his calm barrier.
"Well did you want me to let the estate catch fire?" You said between chuckles. "I think you mean to say 'thank you', right pretty boy?"
His cheeks flared up a deeper shade of red and he paused before he wiped the foam off of his cheeks, deciding not to instead to hide how flustered you had made him. His tinted skin still showed here and there though, so there was no point in hiding it. You approached him after dropping the extinguisher and stood on your toes, reaching up to wipe off his cheeks yourself. Sure enough they were practically on fire, and you let slip a hum of amusement as he leaned down a little more, making sure you could see the pout on his face.
"... Thanks love. Quit making me combust though..." He mumbled, nuzzling into your hands.
"If that means I have to stop calling you pretty boy, then I'm afraid that's not gonna happen, pretty boy~" You cooed.
You pulled him down a little more, his cheeks warm in your palms as you drew him into a big kiss. A lengthy breath came from him as he melted into your touch, finally giving in.
He really didn't mind being called pretty boy at all.
Vergo, a seasoned actor who has won several awards and is always sought out by companies for their films, and you, an aspiring actor looking to get your name out in the world, meet at a party, and Vergo promises you the spotlight-- riches and fame can be yours... at the price of sex.
notes
not back off my hiatus yet!! but this was a piece I wrote for the loverly @uminozerol 🥰 with her blessing, it has made it to the big screen (or, your phone screens, and if you've somehow decided to read ff on your tv screen, that's... a choice).
pairing -> actor!vergo x fem!actor!reader
warnings -> nsfw (18+, mdni), actor au, pw/p, piv sex "under contract", size difference (bc he's massive), oral sex (f!receiving), finger fucking, creampie; alcohol use (not involved w sexy times)
wc -> 5.6k
Contrary to mass naïve belief, the acting world isn’t all smiles and good times. Showing up to auditions and landing every role is a dreamer’s dream; personal sacrifice comes into play when desperation is present. The unspoken truth, the one hidden behind red painted doors to rooms with checkered floors…
But there’s a dark side to every industry.
The entertainment world, with its claws dug deep into society, dominates the public’s view of the world; only the most elite truly dictate what appears in the media, and, who. There’s nothing that speaks “power” like money does. A little investment goes a long way, but there are some actors and performers and entertainers who get away without needing that financial backing for their talents, raw and pure and whole; they do well on their own, beloved by the people.
And none of this has ever been a secret. It’s just something not many dare to tread on or over for fear of losing their own place under the LEDs. Fortunately for someone like you, a fresh-faced and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and all-too-eager to have your name known to and adored by the world. To have your skill acknowledged by the masses, to see them enjoy your work and laud about it to those who’ve yet to witness it for themselves-- it’s an honour like no other.
You’ve yet to fall on hard times from a lack of substantial work (small gigs, commercials and commercial voice overs, and a supporting role in a twelve-episode drama that wouldn’t be renewed for a second season in spite of an overwhelming positive response) but the drain on both your savings and your motivations as an aspiring actor had begun to weight heavy on your heart.
You had the skill set and the experience to be sought after as rookie talent— is there something you’ve been doing wrong? Certainly not even your manager is at fault; you’ve seen first hand just how hard they’ve been searching and fighting on your behalf.
If you could guess… it’d been your lack of networking. And, a lack of a network. You really were a rookie in that sense. All those roles were eaten up because of connections— entertainment is the industry of nepotism, after all. People who know people are how people get places.
You… knew this, too. Even in the beginning. It’s why you’re sitting in front of your vanity, face painted and already dressed in your black evening gown, second guessing everything you’d steeled yourself into doing tonight.
According to your manager, who’d heard through their own contacts, a huge networking event masquerading as a cocktail party was to be happening tonight, and she managed to surprise you with a ticket. A ticket. Which means you’d be going in alone.
The “Don’t Worry, I’ll Be With You In Spirit” line she fed you almost immediately after gushing over the expected attendees put you on edge. Especially considering she’d blurted out the name of your favourite actor: Vergo.
With a voice like butter and the smoothest acting you’d seen in your lifetime, you’d been instantly enthralled; you can recall how he’d been mostly chosen for darker, noir, thriller type roles because of this. You’d always wanted to see him in a romance film, but casting directors seemed to be heavily monopolizing his most infamous skill set. And, he seemed content in doing them.
You were about to be in the same room as your idol, your celebrity crush— alone.
Technically.
The drive to the venue is a quiet one. At the expression on your face, your chauffeur, your manager, couldn’t bring herself to comment any further about the situation, even to fill the silence brought about during the evening traffic (though you correctly assumed it hadn’t been for your glare of “retaliation”, but because of the crease lines that would appear along your forehead; something about “ruining your makeup”, she’d mumbled under her breath that made you relent).
She does send you off with a genuine well-wishing of luck, and a reminder to call her whenever you were ready to leave.
To your surprise, the event is not a private one. Or at least, perhaps it had been, but somehow was leaked to the public. A large security detail outlines the numerous gold and red velvet stanchions, arms spread eagle wide so as to bar the few more wily spectators that pressed forward a little too much toward the doors.
Maybe it never was a private event. Stanchions? A red carpet? This much security? Either someone had been brilliant enough to think ahead for a just-in-case scenario quite like this one, or it’d been a publicity stunt of some design.
Adjusting the chain of the clutch hanging off of your shoulder, you swing it forward to dig out your invitation, and present it to the host at the door. A nod, a brief welcome, you finally enter the building, greeted by a gentle breeze and gold adornments and bold crown mouldings-- from top to bottom, the chosen venue was a good choice. You only wish your heels wouldn’t click so loudly across the checkered floor; you get the point is to be noticed, in a sense, but having this many pairs of eyes on you as you drift further inside only rattles your nerves.
Being that it’s a cocktail event, there is no assigned table seating. Wouldn’t be much of a networking event if you were stuck at one table all night, you reason with yourself.
By suggestion of one of the staff, you check your shawl in. You’d expected the room to be much cooler and brought it just in case, but the sheer number of celebrities, interviewers, and recruiters already in the room brought the temperature to a comfortable enough level. You hold onto your purse, finding it not nearly enough of a nuisance to be rid of it.
Moving aside, you take in your surroundings, properly, no longer overwhelmed and overloaded by them as you’d been on entry. There are a lot of guests. In such a large foyer, you suspect well over one hundred to be in attendance. Your heart swells, recalling your manager’s words from earlier-- yes, the event is invitation only, but you could still apply to receive one, and if the hosts deemed you a fit enough guest, you may attend, yourself. For fresh blood like yourself, this meant everything. The chance to interact, the chance to create a connection, to establish that network; you didn’t have all those fancy business cards made up for them to be used as a paperweight, after all.
You’re able to hand out quite a few of them before you find your battery drained, casting directors and curious producers alike finding you an interesting conversation piece after you tell them the series you’d co-starred in. Some of them even recall your role played and your acting, a very small “some”; you’d appreciated their kind words. But it’d been a long two hours of non-stop chatting and casual drinking. As fancy as the event was, wearing three inch heels (or heels of any height, really) hadn’t been an ideal dress code requirement, and you were beyond parched.
Trying not to sigh too loudly, you let yourself collapse into a plush barstool, immediately noting the velvet upholstery to match that of the rest of the venue’s, and hail down the bartender when you spot them having finished with another guest.
I won’t drink tonight, you tell yourself, thanking them with a nod. They set a glass of water before you a moment later, and you begin sipping gratefully from its straw. Mmm.
Finally having a moment to yourself again, you allow your eyes to wander around the room. It’s gotten a lot fuller since the time when it started… Celebrities and their dedication to arriving fashionably late… isn’t fashionable at all.
You spot a lot of familiar faces around you: the small group of men bickering loudly in one of the furthest corners who’d all recently starred together in a “buddy”-cop movie, affectionately nicknamed on one of their sets as the Three Stooges; the tall raven haired woman who’d brought along a novel to read, a smile on her face while she covets it from a singular lounge chair, Nico Robin; just entering the fray after checking in his coat, a former co-star of yours, Donquixote Rosinante; and, to your right, cradling a tall drink of something clear and violet, sitting several feet taller than yourself and who’d be the one person able to send more than just your heart fluttering--
V-Vergo?! As unnoticeably as possible, you straighten in your chair, shimmying your hips to fit against the backing, and take another sip from your own water.
Now, stage fright was something that you managed to siphon out of your repertoire after the first couple years of acting. It managed to control a lot of aspects of your life and even lucked you out of receiving a couple of good, substantial roles. So being here, for an event meant to help entertainers new and seasoned form connections or start networks or begin partnerships-- it means there’s no time for you to tremble on the sidelines.
The time it takes for you to summon up the courage is embarrassing; Vergo’s already ordered a second drink, and you’re quite sure he’s noticed you glance his way (multiple times) in his own peripherals. If he did, he doesn’t mention it, nor would you have been able to tell with those dark shades he always wears.
You also order a drink -- this time, a half-strong cocktail -- and swivel in your stool, the head of it rotating beneath you. Your eyes rise first, before you’re about to speak, only for your words to catch in your throat. Next to his lip sits a smudge of something soft orange in colour; a cream, of some sorts. You determine it’s one of the dips from the appetizer bar, and wonder how long it’s been there that no one’s said a word to him about it.
“Are you content with simply staring, or is there something you’re looking to say?”
This time, your breath catches in your lungs. He hadn’t even turned your way, still hunched over the bartop. You want to apologize, or maybe, laugh. Instead, you swallow your introduction and reach up, collecting the food sauce on the pad of your index finger. His flinch is subtle, only the shoulder closest to you tensing in surprise at your bold gesture.
“The roasted pepper goat cheese dip must’ve been really good for you to miss your mouth,” you muse, your heart pounding so hard it began to make your throat tighten. You’re about to reach for a napkin, when something otherworldly (you suspect) possesses you to tongue away the cream from your finger. “Yep. Roasted pepper goat cheese.”
“... and you are?”
You hold back another, smaller laugh, this one to cover your own mortification. “Sorry! I meant to introduce myself first.” And you do, though you curse the small stutter that carries along with it. “It’s nice to meet you, officially. I’m… a big fan of you-- ah, your work!” You breath trembles. “S-Sorry, I’m trying to be professional here, but…”
“It’s fine,” Vergo says, lowering his cup to the bar. “We’ve all been there.”
“T-Thanks,” you murmur, sipping from yours. “I suppose you came here for the networking bit of the event?”
“That, and the open bar.” You snort. “You’re not familiar to me,” he adds. Although you figured he wouldn’t have seen you in any of your small productions, you can’t help the flush of abashed heat that crawls across your skin. “Have you had any luck?”
“Nothing substantial… Mostly just a lot of “we’ll be in touch with your manager”, but we all know what that means, haha…” His lack of response hints to the contrary. “A-And you? I’m sure you don’t need networking yourself, so… are you building one for your agency?”
“I’m here on their behalf,” he confirms. “Supposedly, my presence brings a lot of attention; we’ve had a lot of applicants over the past few years.”
Wonder where they might’ve gotten that idea from, you think.
Another thought filters into your mind that makes embarrassed heat sweep through you; you chastise yourself for even considering asking something so… vulgar? But you manage to seal your lips to keep it contained.
“It looked like there was something you wanted to say.” Until his decision to ask it out of you was made.
Really, this could’ve been asked to any other person in the room -- but maybe not every person -- and yet, you find yourself blaming the measly half ounce of alcohol for your own perverted curiosities.
“I just… You hear about these kinds of things and wonder if they’re true, right…? And usually, it’s the more established folks who get involved with these kinds of things, or at the very least, know about them…” You clear your throat and lean toward Vergo, who cranes his head down to match your height. “Do people really still try and sleep their way to the top?”
If he’d reacted in any way to your words, you don’t catch it. Rather, he politely clears his own throat, and stares down at you.
“Is this something of interest to you?” he inquires, polishing off his drink a moment later. You flush.
“I, uh, n-not exactly…” You sigh, defeated. “But at this rate, I’d have more luck sleeping with some… executive producer or some superstar actor than landing a role through normal means. It’s just so frustrating. Why did everyone want to enter show business at the same time?”
Eyes stuck, you watch the bartender clear your glasses with a nod of approval from the two of you.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Vergo says. “This stands true, even outside of the script of a movie. Are you asking because you’re considering it?”
Your laugh is light, but self-pitying. “Wish I could lie and say I’m not. It’s… not cheap living in this city and getting few to no call backs. It’s either I get a part-time job as some minimum wage barista or, I don’t know… Whore out my talents, I guess.”
“And you’d do that with some… skeevy executive?”
You grimace. “Well, when you put it that way, it’s kind of gross. Something like that would be the last thing I’d ever want. God, I just wish I could get real, honest work…”
Vergo goes silent. After such a strange turn in conversation -- even though he’d been the one to ask!! you remind yourself -- you don’t blame him for not knowing how to deviate from it; you don’t even know what to say from here.
There’s a bit of shuffling from your right where he sits, and you find him sifting through the inner pockets of his blazer. He pulls out a card clip of his own, filled thick with laminated black and light blue business cards, and a white permanent marker, and begins writing on the bare backside of it.
“Take this,” he says, and slides it across the bar to you. “This is where I’ll be staying for the weekend. My room number.”
“Wh-- why--””A business proposition. One that I won’t speak about in public. Come or don’t come, that’s up to you. I’m not some “gross executive”, but I’ve at least been in this business long enough to tell you that it would be one worth your while.”
You pick up the card with trembling fingers, eyes still wide and glued on him, even as he stands up to adjust his suit.
“I’ll be saying my goodbyes to everyone now. Come at eleven tonight, if you do.”
Eleven… That’s only an hour away now.
You’d called your manager to pick you up shortly after Vergo left. She’d inquired about your lack of conversational skills when you’d gotten into her vehicle, but your mind had been so occupied with thoughts of Vergo, the man you’d only idolized and, if you were being completely honest, simped after for a majority of your teenage and adult life.
You’d reasoned you could only speculate about the business proposal he had for you, but you know exactly what he intends to suggest should you decide to make your way to his hotel. It’s definitely not something he should suggest in public -- it’s not something he should’ve suggested at all considering his very public position in the media limelight. You could’ve taken this information and sold it to one of the paparazzi waiting outside.
Maybe you looked more desperate than you’d meant to come across as. Because prior to your conversation with him, no; you’d never seriously considered “selling yourself” for a role or for fame, let alone to some equally-as-desperate executive. You’re pretty sure a song had been made about that.
It would’ve taken you an hour from your own apartment to reach Vergo’s hotel through downtown traffic anyhow… which is why you found yourself here earlier than you would’ve intended. However he plans to phrase this proposition of his, it’s not like you’ve said “yes” to anything yet. At the very least, you could hear him out.
You’d changed into an outfit more casual, more professional, than the glittering evening gown you showed up in for the networking party-- a pair of loose slacks and a sweater vest-button up combo. Underneath, however, you made sure to wear something a little more… for the occasion.
It’s just in case!! you swear to yourself as you clamber into the elevator, heart pounding. Like I’d be caught dead on any occasion wearing granny panties and a sports bra.
Vergo’s room is on the highest floor, the hotel’s penthouse suite they often reserved for VIP guests such as notable politicians and top names in the media. You hadn’t been sure how things normally work, but you learn that his room isn’t guarded by his security detail (not that you thought he needed it with him having self-defense training and him being built like a fridge) like you expected. It makes it easy for you to walk up and press the video doorbell, despite it being physically difficult. A moment later, the camera clicks on, and without a single word from the suite’s inhabitant, the door clicks, too, and you enter.
You expected nothing short of excellence and minimalist beauty for the room and you aren’t disappointed. The penthouse suite is decked with expensive paintings and high-end leather furnishings and beautiful, shining black lacquer tables and stainless steel appliances-- you have to remind yourself to breathe.
“You came after all,” Vergo's voice echoes through the room as he descends from the second level. If you could afford to own and wear pearls, you’d be clutching them; it looks like he’d freshly showered just before you arrived, and, lucky you, he’d yet to put his glasses back on.
“Hello again,” you greet. Anxious, you shift your weight onto one foot. “I figured I should at least hear out your “business proposal” before I turn it down.”
“I see. That’s very professional of you.” Standing only feet away from you now, you feel yourself shrinking and shriveling before him. “Drink?”
“Uh-- j-just water, please.” Vergo collects two glasses and fills them from the fridge’s cold water depository, handing one of them to you, and gesturing for you to follow him into the common area; a set of four cream-coloured leather couches, all facing each other with those black lacquer tables sitting at the end of each and in between them. You sit, and rather than sitting across from you, or at least adjacent to you, Vergo sits but a couple of feet away on the same couch. You take a drink before setting the cup on the table, swallowing harshly.
Vergo does the same. “I’ve been in this business a long time. I’ve seen filth and I’ve seen good faith. The question you asked back at the party, if it’s all true? Yes. Of course, it is. Only a fool would dare to challenge this fact. Some are lucky, however; sometimes their attempt into “sleeping their way to the top”, as you’d put it, is achieved without a hitch.
“Others, not so much. Years to date, they’re still stuck in a cycle of use and abuse.” Vergo sighs at you. “I can only assume that you might have been joking earlier, about whoring out your talents to some no-good executive. You seem like an earnest young woman. The last thing I wish to see, and to remember being responsible for, is not ridding the idea from your head; is seeing you lost in that same cycle. So, I offer this to you:
“Roles. Riches. Fame. I can ensure you’ll receive it all, in exchange for that one thing.” It remains nameless, but the implication is clear. “As you put it, you’ll whore out your talents to me, and I’ll put them to good, proper use. You’re not without skill; simply, you’re without guidance.”
You decide to name it. “In exchange for sex.”
Vergo nods. “Yes.”
“That was all very straightforward of you.”
“Do you dislike it?”
With almost zero hesitation, you shake your head. “No.” You pause. “Besides the sex, what else are you getting out of this? Because it seems like I’m reaping double the rewards in this deal.”
“Self-satisfaction, perhaps,” he says. “Hm… I was once told I wouldn’t be a good mentor.”
“I’m hoping you’ve never propositioned another rookie like this before to earn that comment,” you muse, and to your surprise, you earn a chuckle from the man.
“You would be the first to ever ask the question you did, so no. I would have had no other reason to.” Another pause occurs between you before Vergo gestures past the kitchen. “If you’d like to freshen up, the restroom is there.”
Even though I also showered again before coming here… “S-Sure. Thank you.”
“When you’re ready, I’ll… be waiting.”
You excuse yourself, stumbling a little on your way past the door frame. You slide the door shut and look at yourself in the long, wall-encompassing mirror.
You’re shaking. Unsure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, you decide to cool yourself down with a cold cloth to your forehead. Freshen up? What more could you do to prepare yourself for what you agreed to do? A verbal contract to achieve fame and even more, receive a good fuck. How is this going to work? Are you supposed to become signed to his agency? You’d been a freelancer for so many years. How often are you supposed to have sex with Vergo? The image of you as a purse puppy suddenly appears behind your eyes and you have to stop yourself from laughing at it; this is serious. And you seriously wonder if Vergo really has no other agenda or intentions behind this agreement.
You drop the cloth onto the counter and sigh heavily, at the same time the bathroom door slides open again. Spinning on your bare heel, you flinch at Vergo and his long, quick strides over to you.
“I-I thought--!””I apologize,” he interrupts, stopping just before you. He crouches at his knees, his eager hands disappearing under you to scoop you into the air a moment later. You flail, a noise of surprise slipping past gritted teeth when he sets you down on the counter’s edge. “I’m afraid that this is where our agreement begins.”
His movements are hurried, his touch; heavy, but not harmful. You brace yourself while he helps to strip you down; a hand pressed against his chest with the other propping you up from the counter, he works around your lack of balance and lifts both your sweater vest and the blouse over your head, not bothering to unbutton it. Mouthing at your bare neck, he unclasps your white lace bra and tosses it behind him. His lips are quick to travel, to your jaw, to the sweet corners of your lips, parted enough for him, quite alike your thighs, to slot himself between; his lips, his thighs-- he pulls you to the edge of the counter to press one of them into your clothed cunt.
You gasp, the material of your trousers coarse enough and his movements exact enough that it makes you keen forward for more. Vergo's hands, big like the rest of him, smooths along your thighs and up to your hips, his thick fingers dipping with urgency beneath the waistband.
“Lift,” he commands, and you raise your ass from the countertop. Lowering yourself back down has you hissing from the cool chill of the marble, but the look on Vergo’s face has you quickly warming up again. Once more, he drags you to the counter’s edge before dropping onto his knees between yours.
“V-Vergo?” you ask, already breathless. He doesn’t speak again, busying himself with tugging your slacks and panties down past your hips and nipping down along your exposed flesh.
His shoulders are too broad for you to even consider trying to shut your legs; his grip, too firm to be able to free your hands from being pinned down against the counter. If a single swipe of his tongue has you reeling (with nowhere to go but backward, your bare back pressed against the cold mirror to contrast the rest of your body and its burgeon), then the fervent suckling at your throbbing clit would have you utterly convulsing beneath him. Your cries, desperate and passing through clenched teeth, go ignored, save for the occasional glance your way; proving himself an attentive partner hadn’t been something you necessarily expected out of him, but it provided you with just another reason to remain infatuated with him.
Your feet kick out, looking for a surface to catch on and press against, but they, too, had been trapped under him--
“-- Vergo, I-I’m--!”
-- until they weren’t. His release of you is abrupt, as is his ascent to stand as tall as the bathroom itself. You wheeze, not realizing you’d been holding your breath until now.
“Why…”
“Don’t start thinking the night will be cut short,” he says, unzipping his jacket and untying the knot of his sweats. “I’m not a one-round sort of man.” They fall into a heap on the floor beneath him, joining you in the nude. Glancing down where you feel his erection pressing against you is a challenge, especially when you eventually learn that it’s only touching you halfway.
“Oh my god…”
“Come.” He extends a hand to you that you hesitantly take. “You’ll be much more comfortable elsewhere.”
Expecting to slide off the counter and onto your wobbling, fawn-like legs, had been incorrect. The large hand wrapped around yours had only been for your own leverage when he lifts you into his other arm, five feet off the ground, with little effort. You squirm in his hold, made anxious by the extra height, until you feel his fingers prodding at your cunt. You can feel, you can hear, just how wet he’d made it by the merit of his tongue alone as he stirs them along your opening.
“Relax,” he tells you. “You’ll want this done properly before we really begin.”
You make to speak, what likely would’ve been a choked noise coming from you, but instead you squeak, suddenly impaled on two of his fingers.
“Put your arms around my neck.” To the best of your ability, you do, trembling flesh and bones curling carefully around corded muscle. “And put your legs around me.” This, you find, is much harder, and so with his help, your legs curl around his waist.
“Lift,” he says again, and you lean back to glance at him. “I said, lift.”
… you do, a gasp immediately escaping you when you end up falling back onto his fingers. You scramble, weak limbs attempting to free you from their range, only to slide right back down.
“Vergo,” you whine
“Hold on tight.” You do. With every ounce of whatever strength you could muster, you do. The penthouse is a completely private suite, and in a building taller than all the rest around it, you have complete privacy, and yet, being paraded through such an open, exposed space, on your way up to the room’s second floor, you find yourself trying to hide what you can of yourself; a redundant, unfruitful effort.
Having removed his fingers, he has you unlace your limbs from around him to fall onto his bed.
“Under normal circumstances, I’d certainly be taking my time.” You glance down, and find Vergo stroking himself to an even greater length than you’d first seen him. It’s not natural, you begin to panic. He’s huge, a-and his thing’s even bigger, I-- i-it’ll never fit, there’s no way-- “I’d have you coming on my hands and into my mouth three times each before we even got up the stairs.”
Your cheeks burn; your attempt to hide your expression behind your arm fails when he takes both of your wrists in a single hand and pins them above your head. With his other, he grabs himself at his base, and lines him up with your arousal.
“Remember to breathe.”
Instinctively, you do the exact opposite.
Being impaled on his fingers hadn’t even been comparable. Even prior to him undressing, you knew he wouldn’t be small by any means; your mind might’ve still been in a state of shock, even before he thrust into you. “Remember to breathe”? You can barely string a thought together. And whatever breaths make it out of you are punched from your lungs each time the head of his cock meets the depths of your cunt.
Vergo leans down over you, curling his free arm around your waist from behind, and presses his lips into your ear.
“Breathe,” he repeats on the backing of a grunt, his voice a deep, muted whisper that has you clenching even harder down on him. “You’ll -- ngh -- pass out if you don’t.”
Your nails pierce your palms. I’d like… to see you try and breathe… with this shit inside of you!!
“Damn, you’re so tight.” Vergo rocks his hips forward, his own lips parted and letting his own pants escape right next to your ear. “Thought I prepared you enough f’me.”
He no longer eases himself into you, instead snapping his pelvis into yours with little restraint. Hands still wrapped around your wrists, he pulls you up onto your knees, rising behind you and holding your back to his chest; the reprieve of being weighed down by him is short-lived as he impales you once more upon him-- his fingers couldn’t even compare to the fullness plaguing you. You choke on the small doses of oxygen you’re able to take in, and with your free hands, you scramble to find a stance that relieves the pressure; not even standing with the tips of your toes pressed into the mattress spares you.
Instead, you bring a shaking hand down to smack across the forearm locking you against him. “I-I-- haa -- I’m g… onna break… p… lease…! Ver… go…!”
Vergo groans into the crook of your neck, and presses a hand over your abdomen. Your breath hitches; aside from the spasming of your limbs, you still from shock, forced to accept the orgasm he and his cock had bullied you into.
“Then… become broken by me.”
A large hand sweeps forward to turn your head toward him. You can’t stop him, not that you’d try in such a state, when he presses his tongue against your lips to pry them apart. Whines and moans alike, he swallows them all, leaves you breathless and weakly swatting at him to release you. Instead, he releases into you, and you wince at the heat of his spend filling your womb.
Before you’re even out of his arms and laying in the plush sheets below, you find yourself too dizzied to remain upright, and faint against him.
A woman’s laugh drags you back into consciousness.
Eyelids heavy, you blink the bedroom into focus, squinting when your gaze lands on the warmth of the lamp on the bedside table. Body and skin tender, you gingerly roll onto your other side, wincing at the small ache felt across your pelvis.
You’d expected to wake still covered in sweat and spend; a happy surprise it ended up being for you to learn that you’d been taken care of, as the drops of cum you knew flicked up to hit your cheeks were wiped away.
There, Vergo sits, phone in hand and thumb-scrolling down a white-glowing screen.
“W… Was someone just in here,” you mumble, raising the back of your hand to rub blurred exhaustion from your vision. Vergo shakes his head.
“I’m going through available scripts I think might suit your skill set.” He swipes in the opposite direction, “And ones that might pressure you to work a little more,” to show you that he’d been watching an acting reel your manager had uploaded to the web of you. A flush of embarrassment rolls through you, as if you’d just performed for him, not in bed, but on a set. “After all, I need to keep up my end of our bargain, no?”
He's not the kind of man who would woo you with his words, but would do things for you instead.
He's very protective and would have no problem bloodying his hands for your sake.
He's a Donquixote pirate, after all, and absolute faithfulness would be non-negotiable. Any kind of betrayal would be unforgivable.
He's strong, sharp, and decisive. He feels like someone who could handle anything.
There are two ways for you two to meet: Either you meet him while he was an undercover spy in the Marines, or you would have to be some kind of criminal to cross paths with his Boss.
He's the type of man who believes actions speak louder than words, and rarely explains himself.
He naturally assumes authority and can get condescending with the way he talks to you sometimes.
His marine persona is an amiable, personable, and approachable person, so when you actually see how ruthless, patronizing, and shrewd he can actually get, it would give you whiplash.
He would not lay a hand on you, but with the way he towers over you and how strong he his (he even knows Rokushiki!), there's no mistaking what would happen if you two actually fought.
As a Marine, he tries to look kind, caring, compassionate, and understanding, a man you would be happy to associate with, but once you know his true identity, he would get more comfortable and open to show his more...unsevory parts of himself.
His cruel side often comes out while he fights. He loves to beat his opponent until they are close to death, you know? Can you be okay with that?
Despite being so silent, he would actually love to get praises and compliments from you. He rarely gets that, since what he does it what's expected, and anything less would be a disappointment, so it would surprise him too how much he actually likes to hear it.
He is also very smart, but also very forgetful. Sometimes he forgets even his own birthday! (It's July 5th)
He was the head of G-5 and a high-ranking Marine Officer. He did this for 15 years! This means he's really good at lying, actually.
He doesn't like to talk about his past, especially anything before he met Pica, Trebol, and Diamante (and later, Doflamingo).
He likes to stick to a routine and trains regularly.
Fun Fact: His code name was supposed to be "Sir Dean"!
He loves to eat fast food. Especially hamburger, fries and strawberry milkshake. This means most of the time he suggests taking you out to a restaurant for a date if you let him. He loves his meal combo so much that, in fact, if you don't stop him, he would actually eat it every day for breakfast!
He would do most things you ask of him, he doesn't exactly have a moral code he follows after all, as long as it doesn't compromise his work for Doflamingo.
The only person he loves more than you is him. It's actually more like worship than love, actually. He would kill for this man, die for this man. He follows Doflamingo like a devotee and his God. It's an obsession, really. Don't try to question it or try to talk him out, because he will take you out instead.
If forced to choose between you and Doflamingo, he would choose him. Sorry. The best you can hope for is that he hesitates a bit and shows remorse. And maybe a quick blow so it is painless.
