archive-of-alexandria - Tumblr blog

archive-of-alexandria · 7 months

Text

Weak Ankles (Zoro x Reader)

A/N: One big helping of Zoro x Reader fluff, full of pining with a healthy dose of yearning. Somewhat inspired by that scene in Hercules, because it just felt too perfect for Zoro <3 xx

Zoro has never encountered a fight he can't muscle his way out of.

Having recessed into the corner booth of some podunk tavern while armed with nothing but a dangerously low bottle of sake and a healthy dose of self-imposed misery, however, he feels his chances of winning this particular battle dwindle by the minute.

As his swig bleeds the bottle dry, Zoro groans and drags his hand over his face. He succumbs to his desire to wallow.

Hell or high water, right?

Zoro has never encountered a fight he can't muscle his way out of, but the swordsman has never charged head-first into mushy feelings either.

Perhaps that's why he's seeking refuge back on the Going Merry as the sounds of the party rattle on the breeze behind him, trailing him, like a specter.

Zoro grimaces.

Kunia had once explained sword fighting as a language, and the idea has stuck with Zoro ever since. Sparring matches had turned into spelling bees, each hit earning a vowel or letter.

The first one with enough hits to spell out f-u-c-k-y-o-u was always the winner.

Zoro knows the language of fighting well.

There is no training to be had for situations like these...situations that call for finesse with words that can't be spoken with the hilt of a blade.

The ocean is deep and dark with evening and yet Zoro's eyes are glued to the depths, willing divine intervention to give him a direction.

He gives the railing a small shake, mock-pretending the water is like one of those fortune-teller spheres. No reply but his own reflection.

Outcome is unlikely.

A stirring on the deck catches his attention, hand moving to his hilt as he stiffens.

A soft voice breaks through the night.

"Hello."

...

"Hey."

Zoro's eyes zoned in on a figure through the sake's warped glass, the sight impossible to miss even from his hiding place. Zoro's lip had quirked up, though he'll never admit it - another small defeat at the hands of his unsuspecting foe.

Who could ever miss a sight such as you?

No, there was absolutely no way a soul in the taverna could miss the sight of you - your feet planted firmly on a tabletop with your head thrown back in glee. You're a whirlwind of whipping hair and skirts as a maritime shanty pours from your throat. Grog splashes from the stien in your grip, ale sloshing and spraying like the ocean you merrily sing of. The whole of the island seems to be singing with you, the tavern bursting with music and laughter as patrons slur out the words to the refrain.

When Luffy argued that pirating wouldn't be complete without a bard to chronicle the legendary adventures of the Going Merry, Zoro had staunchly opposed the idea. What good would a bard be in battle? What navigation skills, if anything?

Someone can't sing their way to victory.

As Zoro sat mesmerized, he began to think he was very, very wrong.

This is true power, Zoro mused from his place of solitude, Swaying complete strangers with nothing but the sound of your voice.

When he realized he'd been grinning like a fool, Zoro swallowed.

He was desperately losing this uphill battle.

The deck of the ship suddenly seems miles long.

Zoro can make out your reddened cheeks in the darkness, alight with the warm glow of youth as a sweet smile settles on your lips.

"You left."

Zoro's heart clenches at the simplicity of your words. He doesn't move.

"Yeah, I did."

Undeterred, you begin to move towards him. It's stumbly, though the sound of your soft chuckle lets him know you're aware of how foolish you seem. He watches as you make your way towards him, your eyes never leaving his face.

A homing beacon.

"I was wondering where you'd gone,"

"Hm?"

"I was saving a dance for you, Zo."

Your voice is quiet. Zoro's blood runs cold.

You had sought him out - he imagines your eyes twinkling, hair wild and free falling all around you like a halo as you reached for him from your makeshift stage only to find him gone.

To punctuate your confession, your feet seem to shuffle in a dance much too elegant for having been stomping on tables and slamming down ale, and yet here you are - light as a feather in the midsummer breeze.

The bouncing of your body keeps in rhythmic time with the gentle crash of the waves, and realization crosses the swordsman's face.

You're not dancing. You're moving through the seogi he has taught you during training.

Zoro's heart swells, a breath of a laugh passing through his lips.

"That's some fancy footwork, twinkle toes."

As if his words jinxed you, your foot catches hold of a divot in the planks. Zoro's reflexes are quick, securing you to his chest as you squeak out a yelp - an arm around your waist and the other on your forearm without so much as a thought.

A bashful smile blooms on your blushing face, cheeks dusted pink from the alcohol and the proximity of your bodies. You try to stand, pressing your forehead to his.

"Hmm..." You chuckle, closing your eyes tight. You bunch up Zoro's tunic in your fingers.

He wonders if you can feel his skin on fire beneath the flimsy fabric.

He holds his breath.

"Weak ankles."

The thick summer air is sucked from Zoro's lungs. You're near catlike in the way you seem to curl into him, nestling closer and closer...

Before the moment settles too deep, you're speaking again.

"Oh! That reminds me of a story...!"

"Haven't you told enough stories tonight?"

Although he teases, Zoro doesn't mean it. No. Not when the sky is clear and bright and your body is pressed so tightly to his and your eyes seem to glitter as they peer into his own.

As you playfully swat his chest and snort out a laugh, Zoro silently vows to spend a lifetime listening to your tales.

"N-No! No," You insist, "This is my last one - promise! Telling stories is my job anyway~!"

No one is around to hear the giggles from the two of you or to see the way Zoro's smile hangs lopsided, or to catch the slight flex of his fingers as he pulls you even closer.

"Well then," He gently butts your forehead with his,

"Go on."

You begin to weave a tale of a brave young soldier, born with great skill and undefeated in battle. You tell Zoro the hero reminds you of him. He stumbles out a "thank you".

You say that the "great soldier" had lived in disguise as a young woman, sparking a short, teasing aside about how he would make a lovely woman (which Zoro vehemently denied).

You speak of a great battle and your gaze is far away, your fingers tracing patterns along Zoro's chest, every tug and pull of the fabric between your fingers tightening the hold on his heartstrings.

You explain how the soldier's mother had dipped him in a river but forgot the heel, and in his final battle was struck down in the very same spot. You make a quip about everyone having their very own "heel" in life before proclaiming that the tale is very romantic and sad.

Your arms slide up and around his neck, fingers finding their way into his hair.

Zoro's jaw clenches. Your eyes fall to his lips.

There is no wind, no waves. The entire world seems to have stopped breathing in anticipation.

Zoro's mind desperately searches for anything from his training to tether himself to at this moment, foggy from the way your breath tickles his face and the blood pounds in his ears.

In an instant, he makes a move.

"Your...your ankle."

He drops to his knee, breaking all contact.

Your breathing shutters, arms wrapping around yourself in comfort.

Zoro is glad it is dark.

He takes in the delicate slope of your ankle in his hand, pulling the bandana from his head to prep a makeshift brace for your sprain.

You sit in silence as he works, though his mind is far from quiet.

Zoro cannot afford to have soft spots like weak ankles. All of his training will be wasted.

No.

Zoro cannot afford to admit that he's in love with you. Not to you, not even to himself.

Your hand gently raking through his hair pulls Zoro from his stupor, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

"My hero," You hum, "Zoro..."

He can see himself reflected in your irises.

Your hand moves to caress his face.

It never happens.

Zoro grabs your wrist before you can even blink, gaze downcast, and grip uncomfortably tight.

"We should get you to bed."

Zoro hasn't slept in three days.

You've been avoiding him for three days.

Zoro doesn't blame you, though - he knows that he embarrassed you a few nights ago. Nami makes sure he knows just how badly he fucked up as well, throwing glares in his direction and spitting venom his way...

How could you do that to her?

Don't you realize how much she cares for you?

Have you transported all of your brains into your muscles, asshole?!

The Going Merry was certainly a far cry from merry.

Luffy was the only crewmate who entertained the idea of sparring with Zoro without an alternative motivation to beat the shit out of him for what he's done.

As Zoro countered Luffy's hook, the sound of your laughter floated through the air.

In a moment of weakness, he allowed himself to look.

You were seated as Chopper entertained you with his dance moves, clapping encouragement and cooing praises. The smile on your face made Zoro's chest grow tight.

Luffy had taken the opportunity to pounce in Zoro's distraction, sweeping the swordsman's leg clean out from underneath him.

"Ha HA! Gotcha! Victory!"

Nami whoops from down below, and Zoro mutters a curse.

"What happened there, Zoro?"

Luffy's voice is far away as Zoro thinks back to fighting lessons with you. He had taken Kunia's advice, using his sword to speak the words he could not. Every tap, every jab, each little correction of your form follows the sparring language he had made up as a child.

Every time, he finds ways to spell out i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u.

Zoro had promised to teach you how to fight for selfish reasons. He can't afford to let his weaknesses show, but helping you grow strong enough to protect yourself...that will have to be enough. Even if you can't see it that way.

Zoro sucks his teeth, giving his head a shake as he accepts Luffy's help up.

"Tch - weak ankles..."

#zoro x reader #zoro imagine #one piece #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #opla #opla imagine #zoro fluff #i love zoro so much he is so baby #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro imagine #roronoa zoro fluff #straw hat crew

430 notes · View notes

archive-of-alexandria · 7 months

Text

late start to inktober this year because i couldn’t find a good prompt list so i made my own LMFOAAOAO

296 notes · View notes

archive-of-alexandria · 7 months

Text

Mind Your Manners (Sanji X Reader)

A/N: ITS KINKTOBER! I have it in my head that head-over-heels, perverted Sanji would absolutely give the Reader snacks or food that are just a little bit too messy as an excuse to watch them clean up after themself and I just had to write it out. Kinda feels yandere? Smutty Food Play, because I haven't seen enough kinky Sanji action on here. xx

Sanji knows better than to play with his food. However, the way you're sitting at the dining table - pretty legs tucked up underneath you and breasts pressed together as you lean on your elbows - makes him think that he may have to make an exception.

Sanji's rule about manners doesn't extend to you, however.

No.

Sanji goes out of his way to ensure that you'll make a mess in his kitchen.

Back during the summer months, the Going Merry had made a pitstop at an island known for their enormous strawberries. Sanji had been eager to try his hand at pastries for a change - tarts, pies, the works - and the gargantuan summertime fruits seemed the perfect challenge.

A challenge the cook didn't anticipate, however, was finding you elbow-deep in the barrel of harvested berries that same evening, caught literally red-handed from the saccharine juices that dripped from your fingertips to the floor with a heavy tap tap tap.

The sight was enough to make his heart nearly stop.

Your eyes had been wide and your flushed cheeks were even wider, stuffed with sweet fruit as juice covered your face and hands...and every bit of you was dripping. Sanji had been unsure of where to look and his eyes darted between your slick fingers, your shy expression, and your perfectly tinted, glossy lips. He had never seen a more heavenly sight.

In his mind, nothing could ever compare...until your tongue ran along the back of your hand in a feeble attempt to clean yourself.

In the darkness of his room, Sanji thought about that tease of a tongue for weeks afterward.

Ever since then, he has taken extra care to make sure that you're given the messiest meals he can make. They're not gross, of course - Sanji is a chef first and a lover second. No, they're not gross. They are delectable. Every hum of enjoyment, every slurp, every squish...Sanji would lie awake in bed and dream of the different foods he wished to cover you in, if only just to watch you lick it up.

You had offered to help him make cinnamon buns one morning - though not without taking a generous helping of frosting on your finger and sucking it clean. "Labor tax", you joked with a wink. The image of your tongue licking the sinful-looking sweetness from your finger, mingled with your contented sigh, was seared into Sanji's brain from that moment forward.

Sanji became obsessed with watching you eat.

Food has always been an extension of Sanji's love for his crew and an expression of devotion. The act of cooking is artistic, and the act of eating is intimate. Hell, the kitchen itself is a lesson in foreplay: the preparation, the getting hands dirty, the building heat, the waiting game...all leading to a very satisfying end.

If only Sanji's cooking prowess had an excuse to leave the kitchen and move into the bedroom.

Sanji has yet to make his cake and eat it too in the ways of romance, though it would seem that you have recently taken a keen interest in his particular set of skills. The cook has noticed an increasing frequency of your kitchen visits, observing the way your eyes seem to latch to his hands and arms as he works. You've grown bolder, assisting him in his preparations and letting your elbows brush up against one another.

Sanji relishes the days you ask for his help and he nestles you between his body and the table, guiding your hands in his much larger ones.

The cook has grown bolder too, sometimes pressing too tightly against your back to allow his front to press up against your firm bottom as he huskily mumbles praises in your ear. He swears, sometimes, he can feel you lean into him.

The kitchen is the way to Sanji's heart, and he hopes that it may be the way into your bed.

And here you were, seated at his table awaiting the meal he had promised to cook for you once the Going Merry restocked at port.

As Sanji wipes down his cooking station, he lets his eyes drink you in without shame. Your breasts are practically falling from your tattered blouse, soft pillows highlighted by the dim candlelight of the galley. You're playing with your fingers, unaware of Sanji's gaze. He smirks.

"Sanji," You sigh, flushing pink as you look up to meet his gaze already set upon you,

"Is it almost ready?"

He chuckles, crossing his arms.

"My sweet girl is hungry, hm?" He muses, tossing his dishrag over his shoulder,

"Just a few more minutes, love."

"Wha-? But-!"

"You can't rush perfection now, can you?"

"Sanji," You whine, wiggling in your seat. His eyes once again meet your chest.

"If I had known it was going to take this long I would have taken up Zoro's offer to go to the pub."

Sanji stiffens.

The chef stands to his full height, a cigarette appearing between his tight-pressed lips as he turns from you to check on the pot simmering on the stove.

You, however, hold your ground.

It's silent.

"I didn't know you and mosshead had plans."

Sanji's voice is low. Much too low, and empty. It unsettles you.

"San-"

"-It's ready."

In a manner much too abrupt for the usually smitten Sanji, a steaming bowl is placed before you with an alarming thud. The spoon rattles in reaction to his aggressive delivery.

The enticing smell of the ramen can't mask the uneasy way Sanji stands perfectly still in front of you, face shrouded in shadow except for the blazing butt of his cigarette.

You're unsure of where to look, splitting your attention between the meal before you and the man hovering above the table. Sanji makes the decision for you.

"You were so hungry just a moment ago," he quips,

"So eat up."

You swallow, heat pooling in your cheeks and between your legs. This was nothing but the "Zoro effect" on Sanji, as you and Nami call it. Gingerly, you take hold of the spoon. Peering into the bowl, the meal looks heavenly - though you're soon aware of the way your hair keeps falling into your eyes, threatening to become part of the soup.

Your hair had grown long during the months at sea, and you had unwillingly lent Usopp your last bauble for slingshot practice. Your frustration doesn't go unnoticed.

“Here, my darling,” Sanji hummed, circling the table until he was behind you, “Let me help.”

At this moment, Sanji feels dangerous.

Your body erupts with heat as the cook looms behind you, your eyes glued to the steaming bowl of soup displayed before you. The galley feels all too warm, and the meal before you begins to feel more like a test - a challenge - rather than a token of whatever unspoken feelings float between you and Sanji.

Without another word, Sanji’s cold fingers glide along your feverish neck, scooping up your hair in their wake. He gives his wrist a well-practiced twist, eliciting a gasp from your lips at the feeling of your hair pulled taught in his grasp. Sanji feels his ego swell, giving your hair a sharp tug. Your head is thrown back as he lowers himself to your ear.

"Go on," His scruff grazes you, and your skin is suddenly on fire.

"Eat."

Heat floods through Sanji as he watches the way your neck moves as you swallow, nodding at his command. He eases up on his grip and observes the timid way you scoop the broth into your mouth.

He catches the way your eyelids flutter closed at the taste of his meal. You liked it. You always liked his food.

Tonight, simply liking wasn't enough.

"Eating so silently? Don't you know it's rude to the chef?"

Sanji's eyes darken as your fingers twitch on the tabletop. So, he muses to himself, you think you would get away that easily?

"Don't you like it?"

"S-Sanji-"

"Don't use your words, pet. Just enjoy."

From above, he watches as the plush peaks of your breasts begin to heave quicker. You allow yourself to fully dive into the meal, this time taking noodles and broth quickly between your lips. For a moment, you seem to forget that Sanji is there. You hum, in something akin to ecstasy - Sanji had made this meal just for you, just the way you liked it.

The obscenely wet squelches of your lips slurping up his creation elicit a deep groan from the chef, fingers tightening their grip on your hair. He can't help but chuckle at the idea of Zoro sitting alone in some corner booth and nursing a drink, all while you're here sucking up and savoring Sanji's affection.

You lift your head, lips puffy from the spice and heat of the meal. Sanji presses himself into your back, as his free thumb comes around and wipes your bottom lip. Your gazes meet, and Sanji brings his thumb to his mouth - tasting remnants of your meal.

A low chuckle escapes his lips.

"What, my love? Finished already?"

You understand his insinuation, whipping your head back to your meal and bringing the ladle back to your mouth.

Eat it all up, love. Made just for you.

In a moment of weakness, Sanji gently pushes your head down.

You gag on the spoon.

Sanji moans.

His hips buck forward, desperate for friction, meeting the soft dip of your arched back. His throbbing cock digs into your back, your buttocks...Unable to compose himself, Sanji begins to rut himself against you – and you don’t protest.

Sanji knows how fowl this display looks, and yet he can’t help himself. He has wanted you - really wanted you - for so long...the idea that Zoro could possibly take you away from him was enough to drive him over the edge.

When Sanji hears your voice rumble from your chest - "nnnugh-! Sanji...!" - he swears by the heavens that he'll do anything to make you his.

His hand moves from your hair and wraps around your throat, slick with the broth that dribbles from your lips. He wishes to lick every part of your sticky, salty skin, gently squeezing your throat as you gasp out his name.

Your head lolls onto his shoulder, hand gripping the table as it shakes under the weight of Sanji's wild bucking.

Sanji is everywhere, mumbling streams of thought between hot kisses along your forehead:

"I fucking love you, you know that? Would Zoro treat you so well?"

"That pretty mouth, always teasing me - you think that's fair?"

"Just wanna fill you up with all of me, darling...Want those gorgeous lips around my cock..."

For all his talk, he fumbles and lurches forward. His hand unceremoniously lands in the bowl, soaking him up to the cuff in warm broth. You're both breathing heavily, the high beginning to wind down. However, you see your moment to gain leverage.

You grab hold of his wrist before he can think, turning your face ever so slightly to meet his.

With a twinkle in your eye, you guide his hand to your lips. Sanji's mind is a fluffy haze, unable to anticipate your next move.

"We don't waste food, right?" You purr.

You take Sanji's fingers into your velvety mouth and he practically sees stars. He has been dreaming of this exact pleasure for months, straining to keep from collapsing on top of you as your tongue swirls between his fingers.

As your cheeks hollow out around his digits, your hooded gaze keeps his in a near mocking way.

So, you had known his game all along.

Sanji's chest heaves against your back, his hot breath fanning across your face with a stutter. His inexperience shows in this moment, numb and capable of doing nothing but watching the expert way your mouth moves around his fingers.

A faint pop of your cheeks accompanies the release, a ghostly string of spit connecting his fingers to your lips. The faint moonlight catches hold of his soaked digits. Sanji inhales sharply.

His hand, frozen in your hold, is easily guided down...

down...

"I've already had my meal," you murmur.

A shiver.

His eager fingers meet your soaking, pulsing warmth.

"It's time you eat yours."

#sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #one piece sanji #opla sanji #YES CHEF #Sanji is something so personal #absolute brainrot #sanji imagine #yandere sanji #this is GROSS ahaha #kinktober #kinktober 2023

694 notes · View notes

archive-of-alexandria · 7 months

Text

Grease Paint (Buggy x Reader)

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing on Tumblr in over 10 years, but I am so down bad for this man that I can't help myself. I'm working on drafting my Moulin Rouge! x Buggy long-form fic, and this was just something I scribbled out in the meantime. This is pure Buggy x Reader fluff, so I hope you enjoy!

***

For once in his life, the ever-flashy clown pirate has nothing funny to say.

Your thumb gently ran along Buggy’s cheek to correct your lines, and the genius jester felt the greasepaint being very obviously replaced by his own maddening blush. Your tongue pokes out in concentration, and he fights the urge to grab it between his fingers – haHA! Cat got your tongue! – and spoil the mood with a poorly concocted joke.

Buggy blinks.

….Mood? Who said anything about a mood?

A blush begins to bloom under his collar. Buggy had, in fact, been planning a way to weasel his way into your heart for months - and it seems as if you'd fallen right into his brilliantly scripted scene....so how come he can't remember any of his lines?

You continue working, and Buggy’s usually frantic mind suddenly falls deafeningly silent. Instead, the captain seems to fall into a sort of trance – focusing the entirety of his attention on memorizing your face. He observes every freckle and crease, wishing to commit it to memory. This was the first time -the only time - he’d ever been this close to someone in this…domestic…way, holding his breath out of fear that the illusion of contented bliss would shatter.

Buggy swallows.

He had planned for this, written out every charming and witty line he could think of.

Your eyes catch hold of his through the fan of your eyelashes. Now it was time for your ears to turn pink.

“You’re staring,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and Buggy practically melts as your eyes soften, “Something on my face?” As if on cue, a strand of hair falls in front of your eyes.

God.

He clears his throat, a soft chuckle rippling off his lips, “Well, now there is,” he muses, “Talk about a paid actor.”

You reach to push the hair from your eyes at the same time as he does, fingers awkwardly colliding as soft chuckles and mumbled apologies spill from both of your lips. Still, your eyes hold one another.

You give way to allow Buggy to proceed, whose deft fingers trace along your forehead and behind your ear. Buggy feels electricity shoot through his hands at the feeling of his touch against you, swallowing as he allows his knuckle to caress your cheek. When you seem to lean into his touch, however, he panics.

It would seem he failed to write that into the script.

Buggy barks out a laugh, gently nudging your face and making a pop! noise with his lips to try and swim back to shore before he’s too far gone. You grab hold of Buggy’s lipstick, the last bit of his flashy facepaint to be applied.

"And, for the finishing touch," You hum, taking his chin in your hands as you lean forward with his lipstick in hand.

Buggy's heart hammers against his chest as he feels your breath against his lips, the blood rushing to his ears in the same fashion as one hanging from a highwire.

At this moment, he indeed feels as if he is on the trapeze - delicately balancing with the hopes of making it through without a fumble.

“Doh–!” A chuckle passes through your lips, closing your eyes tight at the sight of Buggy’s comically crimson mouth. In the months that you’ve been a part of Buggy’s crew, you've never seen his makeup so fresh…and the sight was actually rather startling. It was as if the captain was in bad 3D, sponsored by technicolor, painted in by the most potent Crayola markers known to man. Buggy’s whole face looks crimson, but perhaps it's just a reflection of the brutal lipstick…

Buggy’s lips, like two bright cherries, suddenly form a pout at the sound of your laughter. His heart sinks, mind immediately skipping to the worst possible conclusion: You agreed to do his makeup not because you might care for him, but rather this was your chance to humiliate him. Buggy could feel his heart clench in his chest, and his delicate balancing act was about to turn into a dive routine.

“What?” He manages to quirk his lips into a strained smile, “You didn’t make me look like a clown, did ya-? Hrumph-!” His attempt at salvaging his pride is derailed by your thumbs pressing to his lips, your giggles giving way to a radiant smile. Little did he know that your fingers against his lips were just as much an attempt to quiet him as they were an excuse to touch Buggy.

“This color is so much more red than usual,” You say, your face growing warm, “What did I do wrong?”

A blink. Moments pass as Buggy stares at you with saucer eyes before his hands fasten themselves to your wrists with a gentle tug. Had you realized that your fingers were still attached to his lips?

“If you must know,” he gulped, “I have a top secret makeup technique.”

“Oh?” You feign surprise, leaning closer to your captain. A smirk twists into your lips. “Top secret, eh? Even from me?”

You bat your eyelashes, emboldened by your captain’s sheepish expression, and Buggy mutters a curse under his breath.

Oh, fucking fucking fucker fuck.

Buggy’s voice lowers and his grip on your wrists tighten, the creak of the supple leather breaking the silence. “Especially from you.” A blink passes with the realization that Buggy wasn’t cracking a joke or being wise. He genuinely seemed…embarrassed. You’re not deterred yet, and instead, he finds you leaning in closer as your legs involuntarily squeeze together – Just imagine what those gloves would feel like in your –

You’re nearly nose to nose with the dread pirate as the air settles thick. For months you and Buggy have fallen into the old routine of cat and mouse, always teetering on the precipice of…something. The way Buggy allows his eyes to follow you during your routine without shame and latches on to your figure like a predator observing his prey is undeniable. He relishes in watching your body twist and writhe on the acrobat hoop, and you'll admit that all of your special tricks are, indeed, for him. You live for the moments he would stalk up behind you after a performance during the roaring applause when no one would be able to hear his voice - low and thick - praise you with lips ghosting your ear: “What a good girl you are, hm? Making your captain proud.”

Your eyes fall to Buggy’s lips.

“Show me,” you swallow thickly, brushing your nose against his, “Show me your special technique.”

Buggy’s eyes flicker elsewhere – anywhere – from your gaze before deciding upon your own lips. His grip falters, his body erupting into flame as his eyelids flutter.

This was it: the climax of the show he has been planning and rewriting in his dreamworld for months. Buggy's flashy showmanship, however, deflates. Your hands are suddenly dropped from Buggy’s grip as he pulls back, redirecting his gaze to his now unoccupied hands. As he begins to peel off his gloves, the silence shifts into something unsettled. The fizzing tension between the two of you seems to thicken.

Meanwhile, Buggy is desperately trying to suppress an impending, raging hard-on. He already feels humiliated enough at the fact that you're laughing in his face, and now...

Cabaji had made fun of Buggy for weeks after discovering the wanted poster smeared in crimson red grease paint in Buggy’s quarters, your face barely visible beneath layers and layers of kiss marks. Buggy initially tried to cover it up, claiming it wasn’t intentional and he just needed something to “blot and perfect” his signature look with at call time. However, the sheer amount of kisses scattered across the page betrays him. There is no denying that Buggy was completely smitten with you. And here you are, practically begging him to kiss you. The set-up, the lead-in, the wind-up to the punchline…It is the perfect joke, all at his expense.

At least Cabaji hadn’t found the other copy of your wanted poster, crinkled and smeared thick with Buggy’s–

“Bugs?” Your hand on his thigh pulls the captain out of his thoughts, eyes darting up to meet yours with an unmistakable look of guilt as he tries to wipe away the memories of his moans and your wanted poster slick with his– “Are you okay?”

The clown clears his throat, finding the willpower to bring his fist before his face with a flourish as his humorless eyes settle on yours in an attempt to save face.

“For your viewing pleasure,” he forces a smile, “The technique!”

Without another word, Buggy begins to rub his lips back and forth vigorously against the top of his hand in order to remove the excess pigment.

Fuckingfuckinghellthisissostupidthey’regoingtofuckinghatemewhatamIevendoing–

His brilliant demonstration is put on pause as you take hold of his wrist, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. A sheepish grin attempts to cross his lips, but it falters. His eyes fall to the floor.

He looks ashamed.

“For once,” Buggy’s voice is hoarse as he huffs out a laugh, “I don’t have anything funny to say.”

A beat.

The intimacy of the moment is almost too much to bear, and your skin pricks with nerves.

“Buggy…” you breathe.

Your fingers find his face once again, tenderly wrapping around his chin. Buggy squeezes his eyes shut as you guide his face up to you. He refuses to see the expression in your eyes as you stomp on his glass heart. Suddenly you're cradling his head in both of your hands, “Buggy,” you mused, “I have a better technique to share with you.”

Your noses bump against one another.

A choking noise passes through Buggy’s lips, and in a moment of sheer desperation for tenderness he whispers, “Please.”

Your lips finally meet Buggy’s, and the awkward feeling of your body being too far away is overcorrected by the desperate captain. Buggy follows your lips with his body like a man possessed, knees knocking with yours as his arms swallow you whole. His hands find purchase wherever they can, trying to quickly grasp any and all of you as if you'd disappear. It's awkward, teeth knocking against teeth with the expertise of someone never before kissed, and you can't help the smile that comes to your lips.

You break away and Buggy’s breathing hitches, eyes still closed and hands gripping you so tightly you know you’ll have bruises.

You don’t mind, though. Quite the opposite.

You can always cover them up with a little bit of grease paint.

#buggy x reader #buggy fluff #buggy the clown #buggy imagine #opla buggy #i am so down bad #go burpy!#one piece #one piece imagine

685 notes · View notes