#buggy's got a pen
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The Aftermath
summary - Living in a new apartment, you run into your neighbor all the time. You run into him in the hallway, on the elevator, at your best friend's bachelorette party where he's dressed as a sexy firefighter. After seeing him in nothing but a pair spandex briefs and suspenders, you know have to move. Or sleep with him. One of the two.
warnings - stripper au, tangled dynamic, language, reader has a bit of a shameful relationship with her sexuality, smut (masterbation, fingering, oral fem receiving, slight corruption kink, light choking) no use of y/n, Bradley is 6'7" because I said so
I recommend listening to the playlist for this!
this blog is 18+, minors please do not interact
word count - 3.4k
so seductive masterlist
Okay, so Bradley’s a stripper.
Weirdly this fact only hits you later… After you bolted out of the private room in the club, shoved your way past other patrons, and locked yourself in a stall in the women's restroom. Yeah, not your proudest moment.
From where you’re sitting on the closed toilet, you balance your elbows on your thighs and drop your head into your hands. A shaky sigh leaves your lips. How could this be happening? How, in the span of minutes, could you have ruined everything? Because Bradley had been almost naked in front of you, and he asked you if you wanted to touch him—if you liked touching him—and you said yes, and now he knows that.
You can’t even begin to think about what he must think of you now. Surely you’ve tainted his opinion of you, now that he knows you have inappropriate thoughts about him, now that you’ve acted on them.
You suck in a breath. Bradley was the best thing that’s happened to you since you’ve moved. And somehow you’ve managed to mess it all up in one night. You can’t face him tonight. You just can’t. You don’t even know what to say.
It could have been minutes, it could have been half an hour, but suddenly the bathroom door opens and you hear Callie calling out your name. Wordlessly, you unlock the stall door, pushing it open to alert Callie where you are.
She squats down in front of you with a sad smile. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you reply pitifully.
“How you feelin’?”
“Don’t know,” you shrug, wiping your face. Your eyes dart to the bathroom door and anxiety rises in your stomach. “Is Bradley gone?”
“Very reluctantly.” Callie gives you a knowing look. “He wanted to go after you when you left, but I convinced him to give you some space for a bit. You can spend the night at my place tonight.”
You nod numbly, hardly taking in what Callie’s telling you and instead trying to fight that panicked feeling in your stomach at the thought of seeing Bradley again. You can’t, not after this.
“I’m sorry I ruined your bachelorette party.”
Callie meets your eyes sternly. “You didn’t ruin anything.” She grabs your hand before shooting you another smile. “Besides, ending a night of getting twerked on by having a sleepover with my best friend? Best bachelorette party ever!”
You can’t help but giggle. “I knew you’d like him,” you admit. When Callie makes a face, you clarify, “The stripper. I saw him going to Bradley’s once and I knew you’d think he was cute.”
“Honey please, did you see that man? Everyone thinks he’s cute. But I’m an engaged woman now,” she pretends to look disappointed by that, but you both know she’s anything but.
“Now come on,” she pats your thigh. “I’m tired and wanna watch a movie before we crash.”
The two of you do just that when you get back to Callie’s house, landing on Clueless and only getting halfway through before Callie can’t keep her eyes open any longer and you both go to bed. You’re grateful for her keeping your mind off everything and for giving you a place to stay, since it’s hard to avoid Bradley when he’s your neighbor.
You’ve been avoiding your phone since you got to Callie’s, unable to actually open the various texts that Bradley has sent you.
Bradley: Can we please talk?
Bradley: Please princess
You can still see the look of shock on his face when he realized it was you. You can still feel him under your fingertips. You toss and turn in Callie’s guest bedroom, practically begging yourself to fall asleep, but all you can think about is Bradley. It’s like when you heard him through the wall all over again, except this time you have visual fuel to add to your imagination.
He was so sturdy underneath you. And when you held his… You’ve never held one before. And his felt so big and thick. You bite your lip in thought. You’re already a terrible person for taking advantage of Bradley the way you did, would feeding into your desires right now be that much worse?
Slowly you slide your hand under your waistband, closing your eyes as memories of Bradley’s defined body flash through your mind. You can still hear his voice in your ear, guiding your hands all over his body. You wonder how his hands would feel on your body. They’re so big and rough, they’d probably feel so good, and his fingers are so thick, you can only imagine how they’d feel—
You let out a gasp when one of your fingers slides inside you. It’s nice, but it feels nothing close to what you think Bradley would feel like. The thought makes you almost groan in frustration. This isn’t enough.
You try to think harder, adding another finger and pumping them in and out slowly. You try to imagine Bradley guiding you through it, with his rough voice and that teasing lilt that always makes your thighs clench. You try to imagine him all over you, manhandling you anyway he wanted—he could do it, you know he could. You imagine his hands and mouth all over you, his weight on top of you as he grinds into you.
You keep picturing it all until your fingers physically get tired and then the frustration comes back. Because your fingers aren’t Bradley’s. You pull your hand from your shorts unsatisfied, flopping onto your stomach with a groan.
You’re so screwed.
You’re not proud of how the next couple of days go. You avoid Bradley like the plague, ignoring all his texts and only leaving your apartment once you’re sure he’s gone for the day. He’s tried knocking on your door a couple times, but you leave them unanswered and eventually he gives up and goes away. You feel terrible ignoring him, but every time you try to build up the courage to talk to him, you remember all the mortifying things he now knows about you.
By using your peephole religiously and booking it from the elevator to your apartment every time you go out, you manage to avoid Bradley for a week, but, finally, you’re forced to confront him.
He must have come home for his lunch break, something you were not accounting for when you finally left your apartment in the early afternoon. It was almost comical the way the elevator doors opened at the exact moment you locked your front door, revealing Bradley’s broad frame, a pinched look on his face.
He jerks up in surprise when he sees you—you’re sure your own face drops—and takes a quick step out of the elevator. “Princess—”
Before he can get the next word out, you’re jamming your key into your door, unlocking it, bolting inside, and slamming the wood in his face.
No, no, no, no, no. This isn’t happening.
As you pace in panic, you hear Bradley start knocking on your door harshly. “Princess, open the door.”
You try to ignore him, but the knocking doesn’t stop and you know that Bradley won’t go away. Pascal seems to know it too as he hops off the couch and leaves to go anywhere that isn’t the powder keg that is your living room. You wish you could do the same, but you’re an adult, not a cat, and that means you have to face your adult problems like your friend-neighbor-crush mistakenly grinding his body over you.
The knocking finally stops when you open your front door sheepishly and Bradley’s standing there, body taking up the entire frame. He’s fuming, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. You suddenly feel like maybe you shouldn’t have opened the door.
“Is this how you handle all your problems, princess?” He takes a commanding step into your apartment that has you taking a step back to keep up. “You just run away from them?”
He’s still walking into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind him, and you know that soon enough you’ll run out of space and end up backed against a wall—literally. Bradley doesn’t stop though, not until you’re finally pressed against the wall and he’s so close you can almost feel him breathing.
You try to defuse the situation. “I wasn’t running away—”
“Yes, you were,” Bradley interrupts you. “You ran away from me just now, you ran away from me a week ago, you ran away from me that day after we first met.” He lists them off on his fingers. “And I didn’t say anything because, hey, if that’s how you wanna handle it, fine. But then you completely stop talking to me? Was that your plan? To just never talk to me again?”
“I—”
Suddenly Bradley’s face morphs and you can see the hurt under his anger. “We’re friends, princess. You can’t just— I’m sorry if what happened made you uncomfortable or… or if what I do somehow changes things. But I’d rather you just tell me that than—”
“Bradley, no!” You shake your head frantically. “No, that’s not— It has nothing to do with that. I just—” Your mouth falls open dumbly as words fail you. Because what can you say? That he made you touch yourself and you're embarrassed?
“Did that night make you uncomfortable?” Bradley questions you bluntly.
You shake your head, looking up at him earnestly.
There’s a beat. “Did you like it?”
You don’t say anything, your mouth suddenly dry. Visibly, Bradley’s eyes darken and something shifts in the air. His head drops to your ear, his lips ghosting the shell of it as his hand props himself against the wall just by your head.
“Did you like it, princess?” He asks again. “Is that what it is? Did you touch yourself thinking about it?” His breath sends shivers down your spine. “Did you wish it was me touching you?”
You realize you’re holding your breath and it’s only when you let out a shaky exhale that you’re able to relax your clenched thighs. Your stomach feels hot, your face feels hotter, but you can’t stop the way your eyes flutter closed.
Bradley continues, his voice still a raspy whisper. “What do you imagine? My fingers?” A hand falls to your ass and he squeezes the skin. “My mouth?” He dips his lips down from your ear to press the ghost of a kiss on your neck. “Or did you want them both? Selfish girl.” Bradley chuckles lowly. “My spoiled princess.”
You whimper, the sound strained and desperate and hardly recognizable as your voice.
“C’mere.”
Before you can fully register the growl leaving Bradley’s lips, his large finger is nudging your chin upward and he’s catching your lips with his. He’s swallowing your gasp of surprise hungrily, his hand on the wall falling to hold you loosely by the side of your neck. Kissing Bradley is like everything you thought it would be—soft and protective—and your stomach feels like a swarm of butterflies as he strokes your cheek.
His other hand travels down under your thigh, hiking it up against his hip, and you lean up against the wall for support. He doesn’t seem to like that though, yanking you closer to him with a soft nip at your bottom lip. The sting feels foreign, but not unpleasant, and you hesitantly lift your hands up to tangle into his hair.
“Where’s your bedroom, princess?” Bradley whispers against your lips.
You point at the door, letting out a squeak of surprise when he lifts you suddenly, attaching his lips to your neck as he blindly fumbles with opening the door and setting you down on your bed. Your hands reach for him almost as soon as he lets go of you, a whine caught in the back of your throat.
Bradley chuckles. “Yeah, we’ve established how much you like touchin’ me, but now it’s my turn.” His eyes trail over you hungrily as his fingers quickly pull his shirt off and, as the fabric hits the floor, it hits you how real this is.
“I’ve—” You look down shyly and try not to squirm uncomfortably. “I’ve never done this before, Bradley.”
“Hey,” Bradley tips your chin up with his finger, his eyes softening and his voice smoothing into that comforting tone you’re used to. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you want to stop here—”
You grab his hand frantically to cut him off. “No!” You shake your head. “No, please Bradley, I don’t want to stop, I— I tried to do it by myself, but I couldn’t— I—” You know you sound desperate, but maybe a part of you is. You’ve basically been teasing yourself because your fingers can’t do what you want them to—what Bradley’s fingers could do.
“You haven’t gotten yourself off?” Bradley’s jaw clenches as he watches you plead with him, something almost restrained in his voice. When you only nod pitifully, he chuckles darkly. “You saying I already ruined you and I haven’t even touched you yet?”
The thought seems to invigorate him as he drops forward to start kissing you again, fiddling with the button of your jeans and sliding down the zipper. Just like you imagined, his hands are all over you, his mouth traveling down to your neck as he undresses you quickly.
This time you actually do whine when he pulls away from you, but it’s short lived when he starts to situate himself between your thighs, tracing the seams of your panties with his index finger.
“What’d you think about when you were touching yourself?”
You swallow thickly. “W-What?”
Bradley finger travels dangerously close to your clit before he lets it fall back down against the fabric of your panties. “What’d you think about when you were touching yourself?” He repeats.
“...You,” you admit.
Bradley smirks. “Oh, yeah? What was I doing?”
“I don’t—” You squirm uncomfortably, trying to get more friction from Bradley’s teasing. “I don’t know. Bradley, please—”
“Yes, you do.”
His fingers stop touching you completely and you throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as you try to fight through the embarrassment of voicing your dirty thoughts. “Your, um, your fingers were inside me— Ah!” Your back arches when Bradley suddenly pulls your panties to the side, pushing a thick finger inside you and stroking it slowly against your walls.
“Like this?” He teases, pausing for a moment to pull your panties off completely.
You nod frantically as he keeps pumping his finger inside you, stretching his thumb to rub tight circles against your clit. You twist your face into the pillows to muffle yourself as a loud moan leaves your mouth. Suddenly, Bradley’s hovering over you—his finger now thrusting into you faster—his other hand around your neck, rolling you onto your back again.
“Did I say you could hide those pretty sounds from me?” He questions lowly, his fingers giving a quick squeeze to the sides of your throat. When you shake your head, he shakes his own condescendingly. “No, I didn’t.” Bradley adds his ring finger, stretching you out against him as he keeps your eyes locked on his. Another strangled moan leaves you, no longer muffled by the cotton of your pillowcase, and Bradley smirks. “That’s better, princess.”
His fingers keep up their steady pace, making you feel fuller than your own fingers ever could, and his hand keeps its place on your throat, his eyes watching every moan and gasp of pleasure you let out.
“Bradley!—” You grab onto his wrist for support. “I’m gonna—”
It feels like something snapping when you finally orgasm, your hips lifting off the bed as Bradley smashes his lips against yours, swallowing the noises you make as he works you through your high. The sweet feeling of release finally washes over you as Bradley slowly pulls his fingers out of you. You watch with hazy eyes as he sticks them into his mouth, letting out a noise as he sucks them clean.
“Fuck, I gotta taste you, princess.”
He throws both your legs over his shoulders, large hands holding them open as he presses a soft kiss to your mound before flattening his tongue out against your hole. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire when he groans into your pussy, his head nestled between your thighs as if he’s trying to suffocate himself with your arousal.
“Bradley!” You whine, still not fully recovered from your last orgasm as he builds you up to another one. Your fingers tangle into his curls, tugging on them harshly, and his grunt of pleasure vibrates through you.
“You know how long I’ve been thinking about you?” Bradley almost seems to be talking to himself in between laps at your pussy, the words coming out rough and sultry. “About how fucking good you taste?” The tip of his tongue sinks inside you and you buck your hips at the feeling, smashing your clit into his nose. “Had to get myself off that first night. I knew you could hear me.” He lifts his head suddenly, a cocky look in his eyes. “You touch yourself to that too?”
“Yes, Bradley, yes!” You might have not admitted that so brazenly if it wasn’t for the fact that you wanted Bradley to shut up and get his mouth on you again. You try to shove his head back where you wanted, but he doesn’t budge.
“Bet you couldn’t cum though,” he muses. “Only I can make you feel this good.”
As if it’s a fact that can’t be disputed—and, honestly, it probably is—Bradley goes back to eating you out, somehow even more confident, which you didn’t think was possible. Even as you orgasm for the second time, he doesn’t let up, only pulling you closer by your hips as the lewd sounds his mouth is making fill the room alongside your whines. Your hips jerk at the overstimulation, your body moving higher on the mattress with all your jolting.
Bradley’s grip tightens on your hips as he drags you back to him, lifting his head slightly to look at you. “I thought we said no more running away, princess.”
“But—” You whine.
“Take it.” He orders and then, with a soft kiss to the inside of your knee, “I know you can, honey. You’re being such a good girl for me.”
The praise goes straight to your head and you melt into the mattress as Bradley dives back in. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he makes you fall over the edge again, with his tongue inside you and his nose pressed against your clit, but you arch your back with a loud cry, your eyes rolling back. It’s only when you're heaving and twitching that Bradley pulls away from your core with a satisfied look on his face. The expression softens when he takes in your blissful smile.
“Feel good, princess?”
“Yes,” you breathe. “Thank you.”
Bradley responds with a slow kiss, finger stroking your cheek even when he pulls away slightly. It takes you a couple seconds to register the hard length that’s pressing against your thigh and you frown slightly, shifting to get up as you’re hit with the thought that Bradley has yet to be alleviated.
“What about you?”
Bradley shakes his head, hands ushering you back to your soft pillows. “Tonight’s about you, princess.”
“Are you sure?” You look at him hesitantly.
“I’m sure,” Bradley seems to find humor in your question. “Next time.”
You like the sound of that.
After another breath, you tentatively let your hand come up to cup Bradley’s cheek as your eyes fill with earnesty. “I’m… I’m really sorry that I avoided you, I just didn’t know what to do—”
“Shh, shh,” Bradley hushes you with a kiss. “Tomorrow, princess. We can talk about everything tomorrow. Right now, let me just clean you up.”
After another kiss and a squeeze to the hand you have cupping his cheek, Bradley gets up to go to the bathroom. You wait for the door to close behind him before exhaustion hits you and you sink back into the sheets. So much is running through your head and you’re too tired to figure any of it out, but one thought rings louder than the rest.
Whatever this is with Bradley, you want to keep doing it.
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they are like bubblegum and cotton candy to me
#one piece#one piece fanart#op#op fanart#corazon#donquixote rosinante#buggy#buggy the clown#corabug#citrus art#I GOT A NEW PEN WERE SO BACK
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breaking news
roronoa zoro (opla) x journalist!reader
♡—you always had a feeling the straw hats could change your life, but meeting zoro shifted the entire world on its axis.
word count♡— 5.4k (omg?)
genre♡— fluff
content notes♡— opla zoro, afab!reader is a journalist whose boss is evil, inaccurate journalism and newspapery, mild violence, kissing/making out, alcohol consumption, long intro so start might be slowish?, no use of y/n, only slightly proofread
also on♡— ao3
author's note ♡— get yourself a man that can kick ass and let you use his arm as a tape dispenser
A stack of papers are slammed onto your desk. The pages are riddled with edits and red marks. Towards the end of the document, the person just started crossing out everything you had written.
“Stories like that won’t sell. It’s highly inappropriate.” Chief Editor Tildie scowls down at you. “Shame that you waste your talents on such rubbish.”
“But it’s not a story.” You mutter under your breath, not meeting her gaze.
“Did you say something?” She bends down, bracing one hand on the backrest of your chair.
“...No, ma’am.” Your response is barely a whisper, but she relents and begins to head back to her office.
“Stick to the politics and gossips, hon. If you know what’s good for you.”
You almost break your pen in frustration.
All the other journalists in the room witnessed what happened, but they all keep their heads down, buried into their typewriters and desks. No one ever tries to fight for things to change anymore.
The Oceanic Times is such a joke. Why would a newspaper company named after the ocean not be allowed to publish anything related to it? Some people have said that the current chief is running the company to the ground. You’re beginning to think it’s true.
Running your palms over your face, you take deep breaths until you’ve calmed down somewhat. The first thing you see when you uncover your eyes is your article. The one you were so excited and passionate about.
You wrote about Orange Town, they had been suffering after the Buggy Pirates invaded. Everything was destroyed and the residents were imprisoned, forced to be the audience to their own home’s ruin.
Things had stayed that way for months, until the people were saved by pirates. It sounded so unlikely to happen, and yet it did.
Knowing a scoop when you saw one, you sent a letter to Mayor Boodle along with some berry to donate for the town’s restoration. You tried asking if he wouldn’t mind being interviewed on what happened.
He agreed. The result was an excellent piece on how a small group of rag-tag startups got the better of Buggy the Clown, saving an entire village from his reign of terror.
…And yet, this is what you get for your hard work. Your fingers trace the red marks and strikethroughs Editor Tildie made.
You know you’re right, people around here could do with some accessible, actual news and well-researched information. But simply knowing what’s right doesn’t come with the power to fix things, doesn’t it?
The window by your desk offers you a view of the sun setting. It was one of the things that thrilled you when you first started, having a desk on the second floor. You were so determined back then.
It’s getting far too difficult to breathe in here. You grab your pen and treasured notebook, leaving the newsroom behind.
Your feet take you to the harbor. It’s quiet, with only a few fishermen around. You find yourself gazing out into the sea. The waves push and pull and ripple in patterns that calm you down.
For a world with so many pirates, and many enthralled by the idea of adventure, you’re sure your writing will be appreciated… It will be appreciated here, eventually.
Once, you thought about moving somewhere else. Maybe to a bigger city and work under a more renowned publisher. But you like this town too much for that. There’s a good balance of things; it has all the amenities of a developed town, but is still close enough to adventurous waters.
This place could be an excellent hub for information. If only you got the chance to show others what you dream of.
You know some people who are eager to leave, however. Some of your friends would give anything to work in some big city paper. You even heard rumors of Chief Editor Tildie applying for work in the East Blue Daily.
Oh, what you’d give to write about real news and the feats people are achieving. Letting out a sigh, you wonder where those upstart pirates are now.
Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait too long to find the answer. One of your co-workers bursts through the door a few weeks later, holding onto the wall to steady himself and catch his breath.
“Arlong has been defeated!”
Everyone in the newsroom stops what they're doing. Even Chief Editor Tildie looks shocked.
Apparently, Marines were chasing down a group of pirates, and those same pirates saved a village in the Conomi Islands from Arlong.
Pirates saving people? Could it be?
“It’s a new pirate crew, but they’re really powerful!” Your co-worker explains further. “Roronoa Zoro is second in command, and their captain took down Arlong by himself!”
“Does the captain wear a straw hat?” You ask, but something already made you sure he did.
“Yeah, here!” He passes you a wanted poster.
A boy is smiling in the photo, wearing the same straw hat Mayor Boodle mentioned to you.
“Is that why there have been more pirates around lately?” Editor Tildie says gruffly. “Darn sea lovers should stay at sea.”
No one comments on how Editor Tildie curses like a pirate. You value your jobs (and lives) too much. (But everyone thinks it.)
Another thing no one mentions is the excitement that seems to buzz through everyone. Like an electric current, making the air feel alive and crackle with an energy you haven’t seen in this newsroom in a long while.
News is about to break. You have work to do.
Your research leads you to trace the Straw Hat Pirates’ steps. A map of the East Blue is laid across your desk, and you begin to plot the locations where they’ve been. Holding your breath, you analyze their trail.
It might not be so far-fetched to say that they could show up here.
You think of the article you wrote on Orange Town. It’s still there, you’ve kept it safe in the trusty notebook you keep strapped to your waist. You couldn’t bear to just scrap it. But, maybe there’s hope for it after all, now that those same pirates rose to prominence in such a short amount of time.
“Still working, huh?” One of the photographers asks you. “We’re all headed for the tavern if you want to join us.”
You smile, but can’t imagine leaving your desk for the foreseeable future. “Thanks, but maybe another night.”
Everyone else leaves, the only light left on in the office is from the lamp on your desk. The night blankets the newsroom in shadows, and you pour over your research in the welcomed silence.
A loud crash is heard outside.
Someone is getting beat up. You were just about to ignore it and chalk it up to a brawl between drunks, but you hear the local librarian yell out in fear.
You sit still for a second, steeling your resolve before rushing out to the scene. You may not know how to fight, but you should at least help the old man get out of there.
The library is the building beside the news publisher’s, so you see everything the moment you step out of the door.
Thankfully, the old librarian seems to be protected by a green-haired swordsman. He stands menacingly against several thugs, his sword glints under the moonlight.
Not that the thugs look like they have a chance despite their numbers. Two of them are groaning and wounded on the ground, the other two are hiding behind a cart full of books.
The green-haired man raises his blade. “Cowards.” He spits out, looking severely unimpressed.
It seems he intends to strike the other two thugs where they stand, but the librarian begs the swordsman not to damage the cart or the books.
“Please!” The librarian wails. “Not the books!” Are his priorities on straight, you wonder?
“I don’t really care about that.” The man says, getting ready to charge at the men—through the books.
“Wait!” You yell, unable to just stand there. They all look at you with varying degrees of ‘who the hell is she?!’.
You use their surprise to your advantage, running quickly to the cart and pulling it out of the way. Everyone watches, astonished, as you take away the only thing that separated the thugs from the swordsman.
Said swordsman merely shrugs. “Fine.”
He’s so fast his form almost blurs. The thugs scream in fear, and for good reason. They’re cut down in two seconds.
“Oh thank goodness!” The librarian sobs, cradling the books that did not get shredded.
“Would you like some help carrying those inside?” You ask him, but he declines.
“No, it’s alright. Thank you for saving the books my dear. Pirates just can’t seem to fathom not solving things with violence.”
You’re baffled at how the old man can smile at you then look at the swordsman in disdain in the same breath. Shouldn’t he be grateful his life was protected?
He leaves, heaving the books into the library, but you stop him.
“No, hold on, let us help you.” You try again. “We insist.”
“We do?” The stranger asks incredulously.
“Yes.” You say, gesturing at how the old librarian’s arms are about to give out.
The swordsman looks displeased, but retrieves the books anyway.
“And you, sir,” You turn to the librarian. “You should thank him.”
The old man sputters.
“Don’t bother.” The stranger says. “Don’t even know why I did.”
The librarian huffs, but his glare falters this time. “...Thank you, lad.”
The green-haired man blinks. Like he doesn’t know what to do after somebody thanks him. It’s strangely endearing.
You both help the librarian get settled inside. It’s still painfully awkward, but you like to think that things turned out well.
The two of you leave the library together. Being in closer proximity, you get a better look at him. He’s exceedingly handsome, but what catches your eye are the three earrings dangling from his left ear.
Your eyes widen in recognition. “Roronoa Zoro.”
“...Do I know you?” He asks, looking at you impassively.
“I’m a journalist.” You say instead of answering him, as you introduce yourself. You point to the newspaper company next door
“Hm.” Is all you get from him.
You expected many things if you ever met any of the Straw Hats, but extreme disinterest isn’t one of them.
“Do you think I could ask you a few questions?” You ask, hopeful to convince him.
“You get one, and you just asked. So I guess we’re done here.” Zoro says. “Here’s my question, where’s the closest place I can get a drink around here?”
Undeterred, you try to meet him in the middle, “I have a bottle of whiskey in my desk drawer with your name on it.”
When he doesn’t reject you outright, you realize you have a shot at this.
You step towards him, eyes not leaving his as you make him an offer. “How about, I get you a drink, and you answer some questions for me?”
The confidence you feel surging isn’t normal for you, but you lean into it. When else are you going to get this chance?
Zoro studies you, more seriously this time. You can tell the moment his eyes shift that he must see right through to you. That you’re no fighter, but you’re determined. You’ll follow him around town until he gives you what you’re looking for if he disagrees.
To your delight, he nods.
But when you enter the building, you find something that you didn’t expect.
The entire place looks like it had been ransacked. You gasp in horror at the mess. Papers were strewn everywhere, all the desks were in disarray. How could this have happened in the time that you were gone?
Zoro steps in front of you protectively. A hand hovers on the handle of his blade as he surveys the damage. You can’t help but feel responsible for this.
You should have locked the door. You should have just called it a night. You should have just joined your friends for a drink and worked in the morning like a normal person. You should have—
“This isn’t your fault.”
Zoro’s back is still to you. For a while, he simply stays still.
Then he says it again. Slower this time, as if to emphasize the words, “This isn’t your fault.”
It’s not much, but it manages to make you pull yourself together. He’s right, it isn’t. So you have to find out who did.
You and Zoro head deeper into the building, taking careful steps in search for clues.
Zoro eyes the staircase leading to the upper floor, and he holds out his arm to block you from going any further.
“What’s wrong?” You ask in a very hushed whisper.
He points up the stairs, where you see the shadow of someone moving.
“I’ll deal with them. Stay here.” He instructs, but you grab his arm before he can take another step.
“No!” You whisper-yell. “I’m going too.”
He gives you that same, unimpressed expression he seems to be so fond of. To be honest, you’re becoming fond of it too. The effect on you is waning, if that's any indication.
“Why do you always look for trouble?” Zoro sighs. “Do what you want.”
Is it because he’s whispering, or does his voice lack its previous edge when he spoke to you?
You don’t have time to think more on that, however. Zoro begins ascending the stairs. You’ve never been more thankful that the steps are carpeted, your shoes would have clattered loudly otherwise.
Together, without a sound, you reach the second floor landing. It’s dark, but the damage you see is no better up here. The intruder really left no surface undisturbed.
Sounds of someone opening and shutting drawers alarms you. Zoro, very carefully, pulls out his sword.
More alarm bells start to ring when Zoro approaches the sound, and you realize it’s coming from your desk.
Zoro holds out an arm again, giving you a look that says stay put this time. Fine. You hang back while he impressively sneaks up behind the intruder without a sound.
The person is rummaging frantically through your desk, making noises that helps Zoro conceal himself. A document falls to the floor, and the shadowed figure kneels down to pick it up.
Zoro points his blade to their neck before they can get up. They freeze.
You turn on the lamp on the desk nearest you. The light illuminates the room enough that you can finally see the intruder’s face.
Only, it isn’t an intruder.
“Chief Editor Tildie?” You gasp, confused.
Your boss looks like a deer caught in the headlights, but her expression suddenly melts into relief.
“Oh, I’m so glad you two got here! Everything was a mess there were, uh, robbers! Yes, yes—nasty thieves got into the building.”
That doesn’t make any sense. What would thieves want to steal from a publishing business anyway?
She cuts you off when you’re about to point out her suspicious behavior, “There were so many of them, I have no idea how they got in! I was going back to pick up some things, and the place was already like this.”
“My dear…” Editor Tildie looks at you with mock concern, “You didn’t leave the door unlocked, did you?”
How dare she?
“You’re so full of shit.” Zoro tsks, inching his blade closer to her skin. “I would have noticed if a bunch of guys went through the front door.”
You blink when the puzzle clicks in your head. “She was in here the whole time.”
“You can’t prove anything, you wannabe writer!” Editor Tildie bursts out, her expression once again shifting back to panic.
“Who do you think they’re going to believe?” She glares, daring you. “You? Some no-name writer? Or ME, the Chief—”
Zoro knocks her head with the hilt of his sword. She falls with a thud.
You run a hand through your hair, letting out a long sigh. You’re exhausted, but you should really investigate why your boss did all this then try to put the blame on you.
Like the others, your desk was trashed. Even your notes are scattered all over the floor. The map you were painstakingly studying was torn in half. But strangely, the other things you had been working on are missing.
Zoro walks around the desk. “Over here.” He says, having found something.
It’s a large duffel bag, filled to the brim with papers of… rejected articles? You sift through the contents, they all seem to be your co-workers’ recent work. You remember proofreading several of them, everyone has been doing so well lately.
But why would the Chief Editor steal these after rejecting all of them?
“Could you watch her for a minute, please?” You ask Zoro. “I need to check her office.”
Zoro looks at you strangely, you can’t quite pinpoint his expression. It’s half ‘you’re leaving me here, really?’ and half ‘will you be okay?’.
“Scream if you get into trouble.” He sighs, settling into your office chair. “‘Cause you eventually find it.”
You leave, shaking your head fondly. So he does care.
Inside the Chief Editor’s office, things are a mess as well. You suspect that was probably done to throw investigators off. But she left some things here, and from there, it’s easy to put together what happened.
A briefcase sits on her desk. It’s left open, with several letters lying inside. They’re all correspondence with famous newspapers.
‘The East Blue Daily would be delighted to host your article on the events in Orange Town. Please submit a draft at your earliest convenience. We are excited to...’
You have to set the letter down and stop reading. This bitch was planning to steal everyone’s work. Fury rushes into your head as you let out a disbelieving laugh. How could she do this after tearing everyone down?
It finally makes sense why she never greenlit any of the best articles. She probably sent them to other companies claiming they were her original work.
Judging from the other letters and her packed bags, she likely intended for this to be her last stunt. The Oceanic Times would sink into nothing, and she would be off to work for some famous paper.
And she was right. If you and Zoro hadn’t caught her, no one other than your co-workers would believe you that she did this. And none of you were reputable enough to be considered credible. You would probably have to take the fall for leaving the door unlocked, just like she planned.
Zoro calls out your name when you’ve been in here for a few minutes. Despite how drained and tired you feel, you gather the evidence in the suitcase, carrying it out with you.
You must look worse than you thought, because Zoro’s brows furrow in concern when he sees you.
Zoro hasn’t gotten up from your chair. He remains silent and still, but his attention on you is unwavering.
“She was planning to steal our work.” You explain, sitting on top of your desk. “I would’ve been powerless.”
“Would’ve been.” Zoro says. “But you’re not.”
When he stands, you worry that he might be leaving you. But instead, he drags Tildie (who you notice has been tied up) and traps her in her own office. Zoro moves a desk to block the door.
As he pushes it, your eyes follow the movement of his arms. You have to turn away to hide your flustered expression. For some reason, you remember Tildie’s words about your article: this is highly inappropriate.
He comes back, reclaiming his (your) chair. His hands reach for something under the desk. Under your legs. This is highly—
All thoughts in your head stop on their tracks when he meets your eyes again. He’s holding the whiskey you mentioned. You were about to mention your surprise that he didn’t drink any yet, but the words die in your throat. It’s entrancing the way his eyes seem to glow the same color as the liquid.
Zoro taps the glass with his fingers. “I think this bottle has both our names on it.”
If you were in a normal state of mind, you would probably be embarrassed by how much you’re crying in front of Roronoa Zoro. Maybe Zoro would even regret offering you a drink.
You’re not drunk yet, but you’re probably getting there since you’re becoming an emotional mess. Thankfully, Zoro is an excellent listener. You let everything out.
“I just want to write. I want people to read my work.” You sob as you tape your map of the East Blue back together.
Zoro hums, indicating he hears you. One of his arms is extended on your desk, laden with strips of tape. How you managed to use Roronoa Zoro as a tape dispenser is beyond you, but you feel strangely proud of it.
“Why don’t you write, then?” Zoro asks, not taking his eyes off you.
“I can’t!” You sniff before pulling another piece of tape from his skin. “Tildie—that bitch—do you know her? She’s awful, she never approves of our good articles.”
“She’s gone now.” He says. “You can write what you want.”
“Oh.” Right. He’s right, of course he is. “Okay then.”
There’s a beat of silence while you fix your map. When you’re done, you beam at Zoro.
“I’ll write about you.”
He lets out a breathy laugh. “Will you, now?”
“You can bet on it.” Smoothing your fingers over your mended map, you say wistfully, “I wonder where you’ll head off to next.”
Before he can answer that, you voice out a thought that feels strangely sad.
“...I wonder if you’ll come back.”
You can’t even meet his eyes anymore. Half-drunk or not, you knew how embarrassing that was to say. You only met a few hours ago, but why does it feel like you’ll miss him more than anything when he leaves?
“That depends,” Zoro clears his throat. “Are you going to give me a reason to?”
The way your face lit up with shock and happiness was so adorable that it caught Zoro by surprise. He almost lets out a full laugh, but he manages to conceal it with a fake cough.
Leaning down, you grab his shoulder and pull him to you. The office chair rolls over to right where you want him.
This is highly inappropriate… But you can’t help yourself when you respond, “You can bet on that too.”
Kissing Zoro feels electric. You feel your head go fuzzy and your hands are eager to hold onto something. So you hold onto him; the back of his neck—thread your fingers into his hair. He keeps his hands on your waist. They do not wander, but he grips you like you’re some sort of lifeline.
Lifeline.
You break the kiss abruptly, getting an epiphany. This whole experience was a mess, but this could be the lifeline you've been waiting for.
Zoro groans, trying to pull you down for another kiss, but you stop him with a grin, “Do you think I could ask you a few questions?”
Before the interview, Zoro set some ground rules. A few of them involved you, like how you were not to disclose your relationship unless absolutely necessary, since it could put you in danger.
Others involved his crew, such as he couldn’t go into detail with the members and their abilities. That would just be too risky.
The questions themselves don’t necessarily matter to you, since the interview alone will be a huge boost for The Oceanic Times. So you agree to all of his terms… Including the one where he gets a kiss for each answer he gives.
“When you met Luffy,” You begin, “Did you know that you were going to follow him? Or did it take some convincing?”
“Convincing.” Zoro answers.
You wait for him to elaborate. “...Is that it?”
“Yes.” He responds before nudging you, “That’s two.”
Rolling your eyes playfully, you kiss him twice but pull away before he can deepen it.
He frowns at you, and you laugh as you ask your next question, “So you didn’t plan on becoming a pirate?”
“No.”
“...”
“...”
“...Zoro, stop making me ask more than one question.” You say, unimpressed.
“Don’t ask questions that can be answered with one word, then.” He quips back challengingly.
You hate that he’s got you there. You miss his lips on purpose, kissing his cheek in retaliation.
“What was that?” Zoro complains.
“A kiss.” You answer smugly as you write things down in your notebook. You hit him with your last question.
“Why do you follow your captain?”
To your credit, this one makes him think for a minute.
“...Because we all have dreams, and we’re all going to get there together.”
You smile at him, touched. “That’s beautiful.”
Zoro makes a face, leaning back into his seat. “Nevermind, don’t write that down. I take it back.”
“Aw,” You tease. “I wonder what your captain will say about that.”
Zoro grumbles something about how he shouldn't have answered that, but you can tell he meant it. But not to worry, you weren’t about to write some sap piece his enemies can use against him.
You were going to make breaking news.
That was the plan. Or it was, until you fell asleep at some point during the night. You had pulled over another chair, working your typewriter to the bone as you burned through your adrenaline rush.
You woke up the next morning with Zoro leaning on your shoulder; he was still asleep. You took this quiet minute as an opportunity to admire him.
Things would have gone so much differently if he hadn't been around. You probably would have gone out to help the librarian with those thugs alone, and you wouldn’t have made it back to the office soon enough to catch Tildie.
Realization dawns on you. Tildie probably hired those thugs herself, so that you would be preoccupied. You make a mental note to have those thugs questioned later.
All that’s happened… It was scary, yet exciting, since Zoro was with you. He makes you feel eager to find the next big story to write about.
He rouses at that moment, eyes slowly blinking awake. He yawns and stretches, and when he properly looks at you, he shakes his head at your expression.
“Now I know what face you make when you want to go looking for trouble.”
After you reach out to the authorities, Zoro leaves to find his crew. You were sure they were worried sick by now, since he’s been gone so long. He tells you that they’re scheduled to leave this afternoon.
You’ll miss him, but you know it’s for the best.
The harbor is bustling with life when you get there, the complete contrast to how it was months ago. Funny how in both times your feet take you here, you’re wondering where a certain group of pirates are.
But your pirate is easy to find, he’s waiting for you by his crew’s ship.
“Came to give me a reason to come back?” Zoro jests, taking your hand once you’re close enough.
“Couldn’t wait to see you leave, actually.” You joke. He startles you by pulling you close.
You’re about to kiss him when he spots something over your head that makes him frown. Your eyes follow his gaze to find his crew members watching you both.
“Don’t mind us! We’re just enjoying the show!” The one with a bandana on his head yells out.
“Did I miss something? I missed something, didn’t I?” A blond man asks, his face completely flabbergasted.
“I think we all did.” The woman next to him remarks.
“But we’re really happy for you, Zoro!” Their captain cheers and whoops.
Indeed, now might be a good time for the sea to swallow you up. Maybe you should jump?
“Get lost.” Zoro snaps at them. They all holler and laugh, but do as he says.
“Um,” You say. Maybe you should just give him his farewell present to distract yourself from the embarrassment. “I got you this.” You hand him a folded piece of paper.
It’s your article on Orange Town. One of his very first adventures, and the moment you first heard of him retyped on a special kind of stationery and everything. You even made sure the ink is good quality so that it doesn’t fade. (You also spritzed it with your perfume, but he doesn’t need to know that.)
“Ask your friends to read it, please?” You request. “Then tell me what you all think about it.”
Zoro glances at the paper, recognizing how much work you put into it, and how much you went through to get to where you are now.
“I’m sure it’s perfect.” The soft, small smile he gives you makes you feel weak in the knees.
He pulls you in again, his arms embracing your waist. You respond by draping your arms over his shoulders. Your fingers play with the back of his hair.
“Write to me?” You ask softly, only for him to hear.
“Writing isn't really my thing.”
You pout.
“...I’ll send you a postcard or something.”
A laugh escapes you. That was such a Zoro kind of compromise. “I’ll take it.”
“As for me,” He presses his forehead to yours. “I’ll take this.”
The kiss is different from the kisses you shared last night. Maybe it’s because you don’t know when the next one will be. He kisses you dearly, showing you how much he cares when he holds the sides of your face tenderly.
“...See you soon.” You greet him.
The words strangely get stuck in Zoro’s throat, but he gets them out nonetheless.
“See you soon.”
…
“Right,” Sanji taps a pen on his notepad. “Does anyone else need anything from the market?”
Luffy approaches him, reading the contents of the list over his shoulder. “Nope! I think you got everything.”
If the captain says so, he must be right. But Sanji makes a face, still feeling like he's missing something. He's double checking the cupboards when Nami walks into the kitchen.
“Nami!” Sanji beams. “Do you need me to get you anything from the market?”
“Sanji thinks he's forgetting something.” Luffy explains to her, pointing to the notepad left on the counter.
Leave it to Nami to figure out what's missing at a glance. “Zoro's newspaper.” She says, and the boys nod in realization at the same time.
“Ah, right.” Sanji scribbles The Oceanic Times onto the list.
“I’m actually really impressed by her.” Nami says on her way to crash on the couch. “She writes well.”
“Damn right she does.” Zoro says, entering the room with Usopp right behind him.
“Yeah but man,” Usopp complains, “You need to let us finish reading. You always hog it or give us a time limit on it.”
Zoro merely shrugs, like that isn’t his concern. “Buy one for yourself then.”
Nami smirks. “She must have you really whipped if you’re marketing for her.”
“I don’t think she needs it, actually.” Luffy comments. “The paper is doing really well, isn’t it?”
A small smile forms on Zoro’s lips. “Damn right it is.”
When he gets his hands on The Oceanic Times later that day, Zoro reads every bit of it. He rereads your name over and over again, proud of the ‘Editor in Chief’ title that goes before it.
Though he reads every single word, he always skips the small gossip corner first, where anonymous people send in messages or thoughts.
Every week, like clockwork, there’s an anonymous reader who submits messages for her distant lover. When he first saw it, he instantly knew it was you.
‘I heard you were injured. I can’t believe you’re making me worry like this.’
Zoro laughs, and everyone in the kitchen freezes.
He slowly, almost cautiously, glances up from the paper. The Straw Hats look at him with a tricky sparkle in their eyes that makes him uncomfortable.
“Don’t even—” Zoro starts, but it’s too late. Usopp is already standing on his chair, acting like a newspaper salesman.
“Step right up! Read all about it! It’s breaking news: The Roronoa Zoro giggled because of his girlfriend—”
“You have three seconds to run.” Zoro threatens while folding the newspaper carefully. Usopp runs for his life.
© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡
taglist: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @lownna @sweetexistentialism @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee
#roronoa zoro x reader#zoro x reader#opla zoro x reader#opla zoro#opla x reader#zoro roronoa x y/n#zoro reader insert#zoro#zoro one piece#one piece#opla#zoro x you#zoro fluff#zoro roronoa x reader#op x reader#one piece zoro#roronoa zoro#zoro fic#zoro imagine#one piece x reader#one piece headcanons#one piece fluff#one piece netflix#opla imagine#togenabi-writes#togenabi-zoro-01
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Bro wtf im alive!!
———————————————————
ONE PIECE MEN
As shit from the groupchat
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C/W: swearing, NSFW, mentions of suicide, general shit post stuff.
Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Robin, Franky, Brook, Chopper, Usopp, Ace, Sabo, buggy, Shanks, Crocodile, Doflomingo
NOTE: Schools back and its been super fucking busy + plus im hyperfixated on bulders gate and game of thrones rn
———————————————————
Luffy: My balls dropped insted
Zoro: Peburty
Zoro: How tf do u spell iy
Zoro: Pubesraty
Zoro: Pubes
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Sanji: Valentines more like. Suicide
———————————————————
Buggy: Ur so wacky
Shanks: *wanking
Shanks: 109 mph dick slaming in and out of this dirty half full starbucks cup i stole from a homeless crack addict (im imagining its ur tight boy pussy asshole)
Buggy: Shanks.
Buggy: Stop.
Shanks: Erm no!
———————————————————
Franky: Teachers should NOT say nice things to me (i have a praise kink and daddy issues)
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Nami: Bro i gotta shit so bad
Usopp: THEN SHIT BRO
Nami: Im in the car
Usopp: Oh
Usopp: THEN SHIT AT SCHOOL
Nami: I am NOT shitting at school
Usopp: PUSSY
Nami: this was all a trick girls dont shit
———————————————————
Brook: Im so excited to drink today im actually shaking #slotmachines
———————————————————
Luffy: Happy Monday!
Chopper: It is NOT Monday my guy
Luffy: ... the shotgun is in my mouth
———————————————————
Franky: Bc l've got another day off
Franky: Should I come visit
Robin: YES
Franky: Hmmm
Franky: If I get bored I'll ride up
Robin: Then ill ride u up
Franky: What time u guys got recess and lunch
Robin: Get u preggo
Franky: SHIT
Franky: ILL BE THERE
———————————————————
Kid: just punch the customer
Law: nah I need that shit to traumatise them, I need the customer to be rude to me and I start levitating in the air while chanting and blood pouring out my eyes
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Kid: When parents let their kids order and its like "what's that fetus, your learning to speak!! Yeah well spell trombone, didn't think so faggot"
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Ace: U stick ur dick in ur bum and get urself pregnant
Ace: 2024 lets make it happen
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Sabo: "Emo!" So close! I'm actually wearing the skin of your mother
———————————————————
Doflamingo: OK BUDDY DEGRADE ME MORE IM THIS CLOSE TO EXPLODING IN MY PANTS
Crocodile: MOTHERFUCKER WHAT
Crocodile: YOU DIRTY CUNT
Crocodile: WAIT
Crocodile: NO
Crocodile: YOU PERFECT HUMAN BEING
Doflamingo: NGHH (reverse psychologyed your ass)
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Sanji: Ouchieeeeeeeeeeee my back hurtsss urghhhhh i wish their was a big sexy latina to sit on my face, only to make the pain go away of course
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Nami: Guys i close the store in half an hour and im boooooredde i already finished cleaning wveryhringggg
Robin: Okok pro tip
Robin: Do u have pens?
Robin: Hand sanitizer
Robin: And paper towel
Nami: Im gonna just finger myself
———————————————————
Franky: That was my son 3 years ago before the incident...
Brook: Was the incident me whipping the nae nae! YOLO cash money dab on them fortniters
Franky: No
Franky: Big Foot stepped on my unborn baby
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Law: If i die i wanna be reborn as an electric chair
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Killer: Cheaters are dick beaters - Shakespeare probably
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Sanji: You are quite literally the most cutest girl I've ever seen
Luffy: Bro my dick actully smells so fuckimg bad, it never smells bad do i have aids
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#zorosleftmantit#one piece#one piece x reader#one piece headcanons#one piece funny#headcanon#one piece x you#crack post#monkey d luffy#god usopp#luffy x reader#zoro x reader#sanji x reader#law x reader#killer x reader#kidd x reader#shanks x reader#buggy x reader#crocodile x reader#frobin#brook x reader#doflamingo x reader#nami x reader#robin x reader#ace x reader#sabo x reader#a03#anime x reader#one piece crack#one peice
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Buggy searching out reader after a fight and showing up to her doorstep like a puppy looking for help
feel free to make it angsty or fluffy (or smutty lol)...reader could be an ex-marine and hates pirates so it's not clear whether or not they like each other (spoiler they do)
PAIRING: OPLA!Buggy x f!reader
WORD COUNT: 2.3K
WARNINGS: ANGST, canon-typical things, cursing, smoking, descriptions of injuries/fucked up shit Buggy did, mutual pining, brief mention of reader being a former marine, vague description of smuggler!reader, soft touches, enemies ish to lovers, etc.
A/N: This was fun lol. It's a little weird and experimental (?) for me? So, she got a little messy as I was getting excited to just Get This Out, so it didn't sit in my drafts. I want more buggy angst lol. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in any OPLA things or along the lines. Enjoy.
!!!COMMENTS ENCOURAGED!!!
(tags: @gingernut1314)
There were reasons habits quickly morphed into vices, something immoral and wicked. Yet, you were lethal, the definition of torment. Your silhouette alone was enough to send Buggy spiraling.
Each step toward you felt unreliable and fuzzy, making Buggy question if he reattached his limbs correctly. His gut felt twisted with a foreign feeling that he wanted to trap away. He wondered if he buried the feeling deep enough if it would turn to treasure or become forgotten rot.
“Buggy.” Your voice even irritated him. Yet, he found relief in finding you alone. “Third time this month. Careful…I’m starting to get a big head.”
“That sounds like a medical problem…” He mumbled with little enthusiasm and a half-hearted smirk, “...should probably get seen for that.”
“Admitting you care, eh?” You teased. You were preoccupied, cigarette dangling from your lip and bobbing with every word. “What can I help you with?”
The receipts tended to be formidable, but you couldn't help but feel your concentration falter when you were met with uncharacteristic silence. Typically, you were shy of whiplash from an unwarranted insult or backhanded compliment. However, once your eyes landed on Buggy, you only saw deep anger veiling desperation.
“How serious is it?” Your pen was settled beside the book, whatever records you were once concerned with dismissed. Buggy looked awful—his posture gave away his exhaustion and discomfort.
“What? Can’t we skip the part where I say ‘the other guy looks worse’?” His busted lip ticked with dry humor. There were rumors he was in trouble, but that paled compared to the truth you knew about Buggy.
“Depends.” You frowned. “That other guy isn’t stopping by, is he?” If it were true, you’d have to lay low, something you never had time for. “This is why I don’t like your kind.”
“My kind?” Buggy continued unamused. You weren’t more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing to him. You were a smuggler. Plain and simple. It was impossible for something to stay hidden from you for long. “You’re not far off, sweetheart.”
His terms of endearment never held affection, but he seemed to soften this time for some reason—almost pleading between the lines. You held a trained expression, taking a moment of consideration.
Your typical jobs with him were small. Typically, they consisted of information that he could coax out of you for trinkets. He brought the world to you. Other times, you moved things through the shadows to an even darker location.
This was different, you decided.
Stalking toward the clown, you saw how the pain mapped on his body. “You look awful.”
The jester’s bow was fueled by pained sarcasm. Although his abilities helped, Buggy's flesh was still pliable. His jaw was a deep-set purple, contrasting the faded red of his cracked lips. It was hard to distinguish what was paint and what was blood. His eyes were bloodshot with broken blood vessels, and there were gashes littering every place imaginable.
You were surprised he was still standing. You noted how his breath became labored, as if holding onto what he could before he collapsed entirely. But looking between his eyes, you saw the struggle he had deciding what was worth his final breath: business or pleasure.
—
At the atrium of the town, your home went unnoticed. The average eye missed it, but those who could look past the unassuming home knew what lay behind the walls. You were particular with your arrangements, always done tightly and if challenged dangerously.
Buggy learned the hard way of earning your loose alliance. The scar you left behind cinched on his side, and sometimes, if he found you lingering in his mind, he swore he felt it ache. Yet, just being in your presence seemed to be the closest thing to a remedy.
“You can’t just show up like this.” Your scolding was shallow, there only as a buffer. You distanced yourself from the pirate despite the intimacy you provided.
The handful of candles in the room glowed yellow, highlighting the dark corners that threatened to swallow everything whole. Your fingers trailed various cabinets, pulling out necessities: make-shift gauze, old booze, and something loosely resembling thread.
“Then, don’t leave a key under your mat.” Buggy hadn’t bothered with the front door, stumbling through a window once locked. The so-called key was that he knew how to dance around your traps, dragging in an air of death.
“Hilarious.”
“Gimme a minute...” He raised his uncovered hand.“... I’ll come up with something better.”
The irony hadn’t set in yet, but whoever had hurt him made it personal. Buggy’s middle fingers were gone, not detached, but entirely ripped off.
“Oh—” You bubbled with laughter lightly, “—that must’ve hurt.”
“Well, aren’t you a twisted one?” Buggy’s tone was flat, but his eyes tracked you. He silently begged you to put him out of his misery.
“What’s twisted is you, Buggy.” The decision had already been made to help him, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t draw it out. “You come here asking for my mercy and expect it for free…”
Buggy’s throat went dry, his tongue barely able to wet his own lips without tasting blood. He leaned through your threshold, head hung, leaving a trail of blood with every uncomfortable shift. His breath was heavy, wheezing with effort to remain upright.
There was no use in prayers. The gore set the air with dust that could never settle; a blood-warm heat had set into your marrow, never to be forgotten; Buggy had been dragged to your doorstep like a cat bringing in fowl.
Buggy spoke low as if the neighbors would hear. He hadn’t even wanted to hear himself, knowing his desperation. “...can’t you play favorites for once?”
“That’s a trick question.” Your facade had slipped. Your response was a second too quick, letting warmth trickle throughout his chest.
Buggy’s ears rang at the admission. Your words filled the room and stuck like honey.
You were always thinking. You were intentional; everything was thought out, and if it wasn’t, you were still level-headed. It wasn’t hard to recognize his behavior patterns; he knew what he was doing. Finally, though, everything became a second thought as you reached him with intent, tilting his chin to expose his neck.
“Easy, puppet.” Buggy caught your wrist. The tight hold was a warning moments away from a fracture. “Pity isn’t your color.”
Buggy fed off cruelty that incited fear. It was foolish to think he could do the same to you.
“How naive of you to think this is what pity looks like.” Your voice was soft and steady, pent-up venom behind every word. “Before me is a shell of a man playing pirate—”
You paused to regain your wrist. Regret flashed over Buggy’s features, but he held onto every one of your words. His humor was his defense, and beyond that, he was pliable in your hands. There was little room for recovery.
“—don’t fault me for something you let get out of hand.” You finished.
Fear clawed its way up Buggy’s throat, determined to make itself known. It fought with another emotion he was too proud to name. He wasn't unfamiliar with loss. But this. The feeling was wild. Sentimental.
The small candles’ fire illuminated the room only so much, hiding the loneliness of the small space. Very little signs of life filled the room, but your supplies dominated the counters. It was a tick you picked up from the Marines that you couldn’t shake. On nights when sleep was hard to find, you would organize and filter through everything in preparation for nothing.
It seemed wrong to encourage the relief you felt, finally putting what you had to use. But its familiarity was oddly cathartic. So, with clean hands, you began.
“Lean forward—” You instructed. The chill in your tone softened as Buggy struggled. “—move slowly. Slowly.”
You’d already discarded his hat; scorched by the battle, it had lost most of its form. You moved slowly, calculated with every experimental touch. The years of back and forth and treachery never lead you to believe Buggy would be sitting at your mercy.
He grunted as you removed his jacket. It was tattered and drenched with rainwater. The leather of the chair protested against being ruined. Each layer removed revealed every minute it took for him to arrive.
“Were you shot? Show me where it hurts. ” You prompted bluntly. The training was still ingrained; your mind filtered through a clinical set of diagnostic questions, your hands moved with practice, and you were returned. “Dizzy? Light-headed? Anything like that?”
His skin pricked. Your touch tickled him, but he leaned into it fully. Buggy was used to touch hurting or leading to something that hurt. He put far too much faith in you, unlike the others. He humanized you. It would be a mistake if you did the same.
“No, no,” Buggy shook his head, the action unsteady. “My ribs—” He coughed with discomfort when you pressed against his side. “Fuck—”
Your hands were steady as you worked. The gauze was taut in the right places, and Buggy’s body finally relaxed. He received a good beating, but nothing bed rest would fix. While you tided, you rambled on about the possibility of a fever, infections, and whatever else came out of your mouth to ignore the feeling of his severe gaze.
“You’ve changed,” Buggy muttered sharply. He took in your entirety. You held yourself well; you’d matured into your confidence unrestrained. Without him, you soared.
“And you’ve fallen.” Your mouth fidgeted with a frown. Your head remained leveled with his, bandages secured at his temples.
Buggy’s bloodshot eyes darted between your own. He wanted to tell you that you were the brevity of his curse, his burden. His mind was always riddled with reflections, constantly ruminating about possibilities that could bring so-called success. You quieted it and saw him for what he was good and evil. He gave all of himself to you.
“Oh yeah?” He encouraged.
You only noticed now the position you were standing in, not entirely between his legs, but knees brushing with every motion. Intentional or not, Buggy took advantage, bruised knuckles, finding a place just shy of your pant’s fabric.
“I got you something.” He whispered. Buggy knew you well enough that the seed that only he could nourish had been planted. It was only moments before you’d cave. “Check my pocket; the left one.”
A strange feeling surfaced, pulling away, but you were enticed. Buggy learned your tastes, knowing you placed value on rarities. There was no rhyme or reason behind it, possibly besides the fact that each trinket was tangible evidence that you were on his mind. Therefore, there was no stop to the allure. You explored his discarded jacket, eagerness fueling your search.
“Jesus, Buggy!” You cursed from the texture alone. Buggy fulfilled his titles, always sporadic with his behavior and anger. The blood was warm and fresh, staining your palm as if making sure it was now shared blood on your hands.
You flung the nose to the floor, cartilage still firm and skin still stringy with the residue of its owner. The image alone told you everything. The scene was explicit—nothing could be saved from Buggy’s carnage.
“Oops.” He wheezed an ill-timed laugh. To be seated in the depths of your home, he still sought out an advantage. “Must be the other pocket.”
“It’s too late for your pranks.” You spat. Your kindness felt thrown back in your face. The faint embarrassment morphed into anger. “Don't you get this is exactly why I—
“I forgot, you don’t like my kind.” Buggy chose malice as his only form of self-preservation. The statement mocked you and your previous life sewing up Marines that Buggy most likely sent you. “How selfish to think everything is about you.”
Buggy detached his bandaged hand with the little energy he had left, going to the correct pocket. He let his defensiveness stew, already committing to the rash gift he’d brought for you. It was heavy on its return to you.
Reaching out, your heart dropped to your stomach. The glass was pristine, and the snowglobe’s inner frost moved your heartbeat to your ears. You refused to shake it, nervous your uneasy hands would break something so inherently precious.
Holding it tightly to your chest, your eyes were blown wide, pouring into Buggy’s. It was clear to you now the state he was in was of a transactional purpose. He offered himself for the trivial object. It spoke of the confusion of feelings that drowned Buggy. Pain became inherent to his life, functioning as a scale of value.
The greater the risk, the greater the reward.
“Do you like it?” Buggy’s voice surpassed the thumping in your ears.
When you were young, you threw things out of your bedroom window to learn how they would break. Many of them did not—the plastic dolls and plush toys landed safely on the grassy yard below—but the wooden toys did break, or at least they came apart.
One day, you found a snow globe. A winter village stood inside, with snow-covered roofs and chimneys shooting up into the domed sky.
This snow globe was the last thing you threw out of your window, not because your mother scolded you, which she did, but because this snow globe smashed so gloriously—an explosion of crystal, water, snow, and glitter, the village utterly destroyed —you thought you wouldn’t be able to replicate such destruction again.
It was bullshit then, and it was bullshit now. Moving and letting go was never in the stars for you. Or the tea leaves. Or in the deep lines of your palm. You were destined for destruction.
You’d told Buggy this once. Your state of inebriation fostered the interaction, the memory far more fuzzy for you than for him. It was told nonlinearly, but he followed it well as if he were then to witness it himself. He understood its value to you even if he couldn’t fully understand it. It wasn’t odd or facetious. It was your greatest regret that he became determined to restore.
“Yes.”
#q#buggy the clown#buggy#buggy one piece#buggy fic#captain buggy#captian buggy#buggy x reader#buggy x f!reader#buggy the genius jester#opla!buggy x f!reader#opla!buggy x reader#opla!buggy#one piece buggy#buggy d clown#op buggy
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WC: ~680 (these keep getting longer...)
Warnings: NSFWish, MDNI, Buggy x GN!reader, roleplay - teacher and student, buggy pls i am so sorry
This failure comes to you from the March Madness Week 3 results! Check out the full event here.
You sat at the captain’s desk, heart pounding louder than the scratch of pen against paper. Aimless doodles filled the paper. Anticipation from waiting had your mind bouncing forwards and backwards, thinking about what was to come and waiting for the moment to start.
Shifting in the wooden seat, you tried to find a position that was comfortable and polite. You settled for rolling your hips to gain some extra sensations before sitting properly, rather than spreading your legs wide and shoving a hand in your underwear.
Footsteps approached the room and the door creaked open. Buggy stepped in and closed the door behind him. He walked towards you, rolling up the sleeves of the white button-down shirt he wore for the occasion. You set down the pen and crossed your hands on the half-filled paper as he got closer. Buggy leaned over you, the low ponytail dangling over his shoulder swaying with the movement.
“Still working on the assignment?” he asked in a low, authoritative voice that increased the heartbeat between your legs.
“Yes, sir,” you replied, shuffling the paper prop to angle towards him.
“Mm?”
“Teacher- yes, teacher.” The correction flew out of your mouth at the disappointment in his voice.
“That’s better. It’s a good thing you’re a fast learner,” he said through a shadow of a smile.
A large hand patted the top of your head alongside the compliment. You breathed in slowly, trying to hold in the sounds that wanted to escape as you imagined his hand sliding back to pull your head back with your hair.
Channeling that desire, you turned to face the pseudo scholar with your own smile. “Only because I have a great teacher.”
Buggy’s hand slid down, fingers dragging along your cheek, until he could pinch your chin. “Flattery will not get you far,” he said coolly.
A chill ran through your body, creating goosebumps in its wake, and leaving behind an opposing, searing heat.
“What else should I do?” The question came out in a soft whisper, partly due to the hold on your chin, as well as your nervous hope about the answer.
Buggy crouched down, bringing himself slightly lower than you. His thumb moved slightly, barely grazing your bottom lip.
“As your teacher, I should tell you to study more. Use your mind. But maybe we can work out a way for you to use your body…”
You give the smallest nod, afraid of pulling free from his touch.
“Chemistry is your weakest subject,” he continued, bringing back the heavy disappointment in his voice, “but I do have a solution. If you listen to me and do everything your teacher says, maybe we can create a different reaction.”
“Chemistry,” you repeated, your eyes darting across his face, trying to read his expression.
“Mmhmm.” Buggy nodded, missing the change in your expression. The change in your desire.
Playing pretend is fun. It’s enjoyable acting like someone different and making choices that you might not make normally. The downside is that your alter-ego isn’t always the only voice that joins the party. Sometimes another, more chaotic, voice tags along.
Your disruptive voice showed up with a cry - this wasn’t the right subject. It shouldn’t be chemistry.
“I thought this was clown school.”
Silence.
No one breathed.
In the quiet, the voice in your head spoke again. It repeated one word twice.
You reached for Buggy’s nose, intent on recreating the onomatopoeia you heard in your head. The hold on your chin lifted as the clown slapped your hand away.
Buggy looked equal parts shocked and pissed. He glared at you, mulling over what you said. After a moment, he licked his lips and swallowed. Then he nodded.
“Alright. Alright! If you want me to teach you a lesson, it’s gonna be one you won’t forget,” he said gruffly.
A floating hand grabbed your arm and maneuvered you into position. Listening to the clink of his belt, you thought that it would take a lot to get him to try and roleplay like this again. But feeling his rough grip on your hips, you decided it was worth it.
#buggy x reader#buggy the clown x reader#buggy x you#x reader#buggy op#buggy smut#opla buggy#one piece buggy#buggy the clown#hey-august march madness
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No Abby, we're not getting ice cream.
Silly little fic about Mike and Abby going shopping. (Mike's POV)
Word count: 1.2k
Tags: Mike & Abby, bonding, sibling love, fluff, Mike's POV, pre-movie.
This is just a cute little one-off about Mike being the single mother he is. I love him.
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Mike watched as Abby swung a leg over the side of the shopping cart and climbed in. She was getting a little too big for this, taking up nearly the entire cart. Oh well. Not like he could afford to buy much anyways.
"Okay Abbs, remind me what we're here for?" He asked, giving the cart a solid push to get it rolling.
"Dinner."
"And that means?"
"No asking for junk." Abby droned the words off in a monotone voice, and gave him a flat look. She didn't like to go shopping unless there was something in it for her, Mike knew, but he didn't exactly have anyone home to watch her.
"Here, you wanna hold the list for me?" He offered her a little yellow notepad and a pen from his pocket in an attempt to cheer her up. She eyed him for a moment, then snatched it up and started to doodle on the shopping list.
Mike sighed as he looked down at his little sister. Yeah, she was definitely a little too old to be in the buggy. She stopped fitting in the little seat up front years ago, so now she sat in the main area, legs scrunched to make room for groceries.
He probably should let her walk, but she had a tendency to... wander. And give Mike heart attacks. He always spent too long deciding what to get, or so Abby had told him. Sometimes he'd get lost in thought while calculating the best deal on a can of soup or the like, and realize too late that Abby was no longer by his side.
This usually resulted in him running through the isles and yelling her name, much to Abby's embarrassment. Hell, it embarrassed him too, but he'd rather be embarrassed than end up losing her.
"Hellooo, Mike? Earth to Mike?"
He snapped back into focus as Abby impatiently tapped the metal shopping cart with her pen.
"You passed, like, three things we need. Turn around."
Mike huffed and turned the cart around as dramatically as possible, slinging his sister back with the sudden change in direction. He got weird looks from a couple other shoppers, but it earned him a laugh from Abby, so he didn't care.
"What did I miss? Onions?" He tried to lean over and peek at the grocery list as he wheeled the cart back towards the produce section.
"Hey! You said I could hold the list." Abby held the yellow notepad to her chest protectively, determined not to let him see it.
"Fine. But no funny business. We're only getting what I wrote on there, got it?"
"Yeah, yeah. Just take us that way." Abby waved a dismissive hand in the general direction she wanted him to go, and Mike listened.
"Potatoes, onions, and... co... ca... con...?" She squinted at the list, struggling to read one of the words.
"Carrots." Mike corrected her, already putting a bag of potatoes into the cart.
"Your handwriting is terrible. Aren't grown-ups supposed to write better than toddlers?"
"Maybe you could read it better if you hadn't drawn all over the list already."
Abby stuck her tongue out at him, and the corners of Mike's mouth twinged up into a slight smile.
"Where to next, little lady?"
"The... can isle?"
"You don't sound very sure."
"Just push the cart, mule."
Mike stopped smiling at that. Brat.
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"You want corn or peas tonight?" Mike held out two cans to Abby, who pointed to the corn. He dropped it into the cart.
"Can we get soup too?" She reached out to grab a can, but Mike was already wheeling her into the next isle.
"We have some at home."
"Yeah, cream of mushroom. Who even eats that?"
"You do. Every time I make casserole."
"...gross."
Mike chucked to himself as they rounded the corner into the freezer section.
"What did we need from here again?"
Abby quickly scanned the list, they were most of the way through it now.
"Fish sticks... and ice cream."
Mike paused. One of those things was definetly not on the list.
"Abby. We're not getting ice cream."
"But it's on the list!" She held up the grocery list, which she'd apparently made many edits to. It has little doodles all over it, some items have been crossed off, and she'd added a couple things of her own.
Before he could argue back, a young girl, probably around five years or so, pointed and shouted something at Abby.
"Look, Mommy! Isn't she too old for the buggy?"
The girl's mother, who looked truly mortified, tugged the girl along by her arm and hissed something about it being rude to point.
Abby stuck her tongue out at the little girl, but Mike turned to her mother. She looked tired. He could understand that. He could also understand raising a little hellspawn.
He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but he must not have done a very good job. The woman just turned and sped off, dragging her child around the corner and out of sight. Damnit.
"Chocolate or strawberry?" While he wasn't looking, Abby had leaned over the side of the cart and poked through the freezer.
"Chocolate." He finally relented, sighing as his little sister happily placed a carton of ice cream in the cart. Oh well. They hadn't bought any in a month or so.
"Thanks Mike! You're the best!" Abby blinked up at him with a false innocence. He saw through her little act.
"Yeah, yeah. We're not getting any other unnecessary crap." He grumbled, but still found it hard to fight back a smile. Why did she have to be so cute, even when she got on his nerves?
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They bought other unnecessary crap.
Two boxes of cereal, a bag of chips, and a half-gallon of chocolate milk later, Mike blinked down at the total. Nearly fifteen dollars over budget. Damnit.
He handed the lady at the register a few bills with a tired smile. Oh well. He'd just skip lunch at work for the next couple days to make up for it. Mall food was over-priced anyways.
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"Do the thing!" Abby pleaded with him, making a truly pitiful pout as he pushed the cart out of store, with her still in it.
"What thing?"
"You know. The thing."
Mike rolled his eyes, but complied. He put one foot on the underside of the cart, and used the other to push off, sending it flying through the parking lot. Abby squealed in delight, which made him smile.
The damn thing would probably tip over if she wasn't sitting on the opposite end to balance things out. As it rattled through the uneven pavement, It teetered, as if threatening to do just that.
"Don't get used to this." Mike started, scraping his shoe along the pavement to slow them as they approached his beat-up Honda Accord.
"We're not getting all this junk next time."
Abby pretended his scolding got through to her, hanging her head as she helped him load groceries into the car.
Mike pretended to believe his words too, but he knew as well as she did that their next shopping trip would go much the same way.
Brat.
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Author's note: Thanks for all the love on my last fanfic?? Part one got 100 notes?? I'll post the first chapter of a Derek Danforth fic soon, so stick around. I just had this in my drafts for the past few days. I love Mike & Abby's relationship so much <3
#fnaf movie#fnafmovie#jhutch#josh hutcherson#mike schmidt#mikeschmidt#fanfic#mike schmidt fluff#abby fnaf#fnaf abby#abby schmidt#sfw fanfic
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Would you still love me, even if I was a worm?
Please note there are 3 Pokémon classified as work pokemon and they are all bug types
Wives edition (only Cynthia, Rika, and Cyllene cause my wrist cannot handle more.) pure fluff
Cynthia
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“Babes?”
You look up at her as you lay across her lap.
Cynthia looks down, her uncovered grey eyes locking with yours. She can’t help but smile, you look so cute in her lap, gazing at her with such love yet curiosity.
“Yes, dear?”
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”
Her brain stops.
She blinks once, twice, before rapidly doing so. You look at her so earnestly, like you want a genuine answer….but-
“What kind of worm would you be? It would I entirely depend as Snoms, Caterpies, and wurmples are all wildly different. And if you want to be technical burmies as well, since they are the bag worm Pokémon-“
“Cynthia.”
“Oh, yes?”
“Would you love me if I was a worm?”
“Dear, that entirely depends on which worm though!”
You watch as she rambles, listing off the logistics, and what each worm needs and how well it would do in certain environments.
She probably would, but you’ll never get an answer as her mind plays all sorts of scenarios.
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Rika
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She loves it when you spent time with her at work, she’s usually alone so no one is around to tell you or her off for this, and she uses every chance she can to love on you. But she notices you have something on your mind.
She hums, moving you from her lap to on top of her desk.
“Got something on your mind, doll?”
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”
Oh you’re too cute for her heart to handle! You look so meek, so nervous, so adorable, fuck she loves you.
“Oh sweetie.” Rika places a kiss to the tip of your nose.
“I’d buy you the best fruits for your little work self to feed on, let you ride around on my shoulder just so I can still love on my buggy baby.”
Her smile grows as you giggle, covering your mouth while you do so, but she continues.
“Get you a nice big enclosure covered in pretty flowers, and with a nice branch for you to get cozy on. And of course a lot of the most how quality dirt I can get ya.”
“All for me?”
“All for you, no matter what you’re my sunshine.”
And she will be damned if anything happens to you.
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Cyllene
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You knew what the answer would be, at least, you thought you did. After getting injured and being sidelined until you’re fully healed, you’ve been bothering your betrothed a lot more now that you can’t leave the village.
And she’s the only one constantly around for you to lovingly bother.
You sat in her office, Abra dozing in your lap from all your comforting pets. The silence being filled with Cyllene’s pen moving across paper.
Your silence has her concerned, usually you’re more chatty or at least much closer to her, you never sit to the side like this.
“Cyllene?”
She glances over to you before looking back at her paperwork.
“Yes, dear?”
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”
The office falls still and quiet.
Her pen to the side and she looks deep in conflicted thought.
You thought you’d get an out right ‘no’ but you never thought you’d make her spiral.
You can see her arguing with herself in her head, unsure of what to even say. On one hand she loves you dearly, you mean so much to her, on the other hand….she loathes bugs, she can’t even imagine being in the same room as a wurmple!
But the bug would be you…
But….
“Cyllene, please breathe!”
She’s snapped from her thoughts as you gently shake her, your arm around her back and your free hand on her forearm.
She takes a few deep breathes to calm herself, but you can’t escape her questioning.
“Why ask such a thing? You know I love you, correct?”
“I do, I just…thought it would be a silly thing to ask, maybe joke about it?”
You nervously laugh, feeling her steen gaze staying locked onto you.
“You truly are something else.” She sighs.
But you perk right up “But that’s why you love me!”
You’re right, but damn.
#pokemon imagines#pokemon x reader#pokemon fluff#pokemon cyllene#pokemon rika#pokemon cynthia#pokemon cyllene x reader#pokemon rika x reader#pokemon cynthia x reader
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Next Rekindled Update - September 16th
Hey y'all! So I've gotten Clip Studio installed on my iPad, all my brushes returned, etc. so this is at least a temporary fix to ensure I can keep drawing until my main tablet either fixes itself (I'll see what happens when that new pen comes in) or until I'm able to finance a new tablet. I'm thinking if I do end up shopping around, I might give XP-pen a try, I've heard great things about them. Anything to prevent me from going back to Wacom, honestly, I know they're touted as the "golden standard" but I've literally used Wacom for like 10+ years up until I got my Huion in 2021 and every tablet I've used from them has wound up being a buggy nightmare. I'd love to stick with Huion but this was my first tablet and while it did last me a couple years, apparently it's a common problem for these guys to not last much longer than that and I'd rather not have to drop hundreds on a new tablet every 2 years.
Now, drawing on my iPad is a lot slower than drawing on my PC as I'm not used to it yet and I'm drawing on a much smaller screen with less keyboard support (my two keyboards that I have are struggling to connect to the Bluetooth for some reason, sigh). So while I'm planning on getting Rekindled back onto its weekly schedule this upcoming Saturday, I might have to make episodes a bit shorter to compensate. All I ask is for y'all to have some patience while I roll out episodes at whatever pace I have to in the comic weeks, I'm just as eager as you are to see Rekindled return but I need to work with what I have and I'm currently operating at about 50% of my normal work output due to the ongoing circumstances. And of course, a huge thanks to @banshriek who's been picking up a lot of my slack while I've been meddling with my tablet issues, not all heroes wear capes ( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`)
Thank you all so much for waiting through this and supporting my work, I know the wait's ended up being longer than anticipated but I'm hoping it'll be worth it when it returns <3 <3 I've got some great stuff planned for the episodes to come and I'm so hyped to bring it all to you, even if it takes a little longer than I initially hoped for （；´д｀）ゞ
In the meantime, have some preview panels! <3
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Cross Guild Romance prompt: Buggy’s got this secret fantasy where he wants to see Mihawk and Crocodile in bejeweled corsets. He’s all set to take this secret to his grave but Mihawk and Crocodile find out about it somehow. They decide to indulge their clown. When Buggy’s birthday comes around, after the party Buggy goes to his rooms expecting to turn in, instead his best present in the form of Mihawk and Crocodile in ornate corsets is waiting for him. Happiest of birthdays Buggy!
Oooooo I looked up bejeweled corsets because I wanted to see what those corsets look it… yeah yeah, I see why Buggy would want to see Crocodile and Mihawk in them.
Where and when did Mihawk and Crocodile find out? That is my question, was when Buggy was too drunk or was it because those two were eavesdropping? Was that fantasy locked into a journal covered in cute circus things, the words would be in glittery gel pen colors.
Buggy was thinking about falling asleep straight away, only for that thought to be stopped completely once he saw Crocodile and Mihawk. I wouldn't be surprised if Buggy stand still for a bit before doing anything because of shock, if I'm saying anything.
Holy stars what a hell of birthday when it ends like that! I wonder if Mihawk and Crocodile would want Buggy to wear a bejeweled corset on their birthday as well?
#one piece#cross guild#buggy pirates#buggy the clown#sir crocodile#dracule mihawk#cross guild polycule#buggy the star clown#buggy the bombastic clown#crocodile x buggy x mihawk#buggy the genius jester#mr. 0#hawkeye mihawk#buggy the flashy fool#bughawk#crocobug#crocohawk#buggy#crocodile#mihawk#ideas~4~stories says#ask
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De-instigating the Instigator
summary - To the surprise of everyone, Jake Seresin does have an off button
warnings - language, slightly suggestive, just fluff
word count - 1.5k
this is inspired by a Fred Weasely fic I read a long time ago and can no longer find :(
Jake Seresin did not know how to take care of his hair. That was just a fact, a quintessential reality that rang true no matter the circumstances. Whether it was the 12 pounds of gel he put in his hair every morning — practically slicking the strands back with a cement mixture strong enough to withstand a tornado — or the fact that he didn’t really believe in conditioner, Jake Seresin’s hair had not felt love a day in its life.
“I bought you shampoo and conditioner,” you gestured to one of the bags sitting on the kitchen island as you began unloading food into the fridge.
Jake grabbed one of the bottles, flipping open the cap and giving it an unsure sniff before looking at you questioningly. “I have shampoo and conditioner.”
“Your two-in-one abomination to society doesn't count.”
He pouted, setting the bottle down and moving to help you. “I don’t see anything wrong with it.”
“Well, everyone else does,” you pulled out a bottle of orange juice from the grocery bag. “And I cannot keep defending you when they say you don’t know how to shower.”
“Who’s saying that?” Jake scoffed. “I think you’re the only person who cares this much about my hair, angel.”
“I’m the one sticking up for you,” you protested. “Even Rooster thinks he has better hair than you.”
Jake wrinkled his nose at the thought. “That’s just not true. Pretty sure I saw him scream when Phoenix accidentally put her hairbrush in his locker.”
“See,” you elongated the vowel. “You gotta have better hair than Rooster, baby.”
He plucked the bag off the counter and handed it back to you. “I already do.”
“Please, Jake?” You pouted at him softly. “I just want to be able to play with your hair.”
“I already let you play with my hair,” he argued.
“Yeah, but,” you shuddered, “it’s all crusty and gross. It’s like running your hands through dried pasta.”
Jake let out an offended squawk. “That’s so rude. This is why I don’t agree to do these things.”
“Baby,” you ignored him, trying a different approach as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “To wash your hair, you need to shower.”
He furrowed his brows. “Well, yeah angel, that’s kinda how it works.”
“And I wouldn’t want to shower with my clothes on.”
“Oh— Oh!” His eyes lit up in realization. “You know, I’ve thought about it and I think you’re right. My hair could use a wash. So could your hair actually. And your boobs, now that I’m really thinking about it. And—”
“Jake!” You let out a laugh, securing your grip on the grocery bag and making your way to the bathroom.
You didn’t even have to look behind you to know that Jake was following you.
“There’s something different about Hangman.”
You turned to look at Penny, who was sitting in a lawn chair close to your towel, watching the group of aviators who had begun a game of dogfight football.
“What do you mean?” You lifted your sunglasses up to get a better look at your boyfriend.
“I don’t know…” Penny trailed off. “He just looks—”
“Oh,” you turned to her excitedly. “It’s his hair.”
“Yes! That’s what it is, it’s his hair.”
“Yeah,” you set your sunglasses back on the bridge of your nose, now feeling a smidge more proud of yourself. “I switched up his hair care routine.”
Penny laughed. “That bad, huh?”
Before you could tell her just how bad it was, Jake let out a loud holler.
“Babe, will you grab my shirt!”
The brief eclipse of clouds had passed, meaning the sun was beating down relentlessly and you yourself were grateful for the umbrella Jake had set up for you before he joined the rest of the group. You moved to grab his shirt, shooting Maverick a smile as he jogged over to seemingly sneak off with Penny, before getting up and making your way over to Jake.
“Seriously?” He gave you a look, holding up the light gray shirt— though now it was more dark gray, you’d forgotten you’d used it to dry off your hair after your dip in the ocean.
“Oh, did I accidentally use your shirt to dry my hair?” You looked at him innocently. “Meaning you’ll just have to walk around without a shirt? What a shame.”
Jake froze, processing your words with a blink. “What are you doing?” He questioned you slowly. “I’m the one who’s supposed to do things to try and get you naked, not you. Take it back.”
He lunged at you when you shook your head, only just missing you as you exclaimed, “Jake Seresin, I wanna see your rippling pectorals every day of my life!”
“No, stop it!” Jake tried — and failed — to hold back his laugh. “And don’t say pectorals. What is wrong with you?”
You couldn’t hold back your giggles as you took off down the beach, Jake’s thundering steps sounding off behind you. You’d made it back to your towel before he caught up to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and setting you on your towel before falling on top of you. You let out a soft grunt, but relaxed as he made himself more comfortable on your chest. Wrapping his arms around your waist, Jake lifted his head to look at you.
“How dare you objectify me like that,” he teased you.
“What do you mean?” You laughed quietly, happily threading your fingers through his now much softer hair. “Am I not allowed to love up on you?”
“I can think of other ways we can love up— Mmm.”
Your hands fumbled in his hair and you looked down at Jake in startled surprise. He hardly noticed, his eyes closed in satisfaction. If Jake was anything, he was a menace. For him to stop mid-innuendo? It was unheard of. Testingly, you wrapped a finger around a strand of his hair and pulled softly. He made the noise again.
“Oh my god,” you breathed. “You do have an off button.”
If Jake was aware of your teasing, he didn’t react — yet another thing that Jake did not do — instead letting out a soft sigh as you scratched his scalp. You bit back a smile at the way his grip tightened on your waist, eyes closed and features looking so content as the only sounds that fell from his lips were soft noises of enjoyment. You hardly noticed Rooster coming over to the two of you, Phoenix and Bob not far behind him.
“Did losing to our team really tire you out, Hangman?” Rooster teased and you felt slightly embarrassed at the intimate position they all found you in, but no one else seemed to mind— least of all Jake.
“Don’t know why you’re bragging about being faster on the ground than in—”
Your fingers scratched lightly on his scalp as he moved to get up and Jake practically melted right into you again.
Rooster raised his eyebrows in surprise and you understood his alarm. Starting shit with Bradley was Jake’s favorite pastime. “What?”
“I said, you’re fucking slo—” To further test your hypothesis, you moved your fingers to muscles of his neck, massaging them softly. Almost immediately, Jake’s face lit up in a blissful smile, whatever insult he was attempting to hurl at Rooster forgotten.
“What’s wrong with him?” Phoenix whispered loudly to Bob, the WSO just lightly shrugging in his own version of shock.
Rooster looked at you accusingly. “Did you tranquilize him?”
You raised your eyebrows at him.
“Leave my girl alone, Bradshaw,” Jake grumbled from on top of you. “It’s not her fault you have the voice of a ban—”
His last word — banshee you assumed — got lost in a soft sigh as the pads of your fingers moved to his temples.
Phoenix almost looked in awe of you, “Can we take you everywhere we have to be with him?”
You let out a soft laugh at the way Bob hastily nodded next to her, Jake’s grip tightening on your waist.
“I agree. You should be with me all the time and never be away from me ever.”
“Okay, I’m gonna be fucking sick,” Rooster let out a melodramatic gag, turning to head back to the beach and away from whatever had happened to his sort-of-rival-sort-of-friend. “But thank you for your service, Y/N. You’re stronger than the Marines.”
You laughed, rolling your eyes playfully at his antics, but when Jake looked up suddenly, eyes full of enamored love for you, everything else quickly faded into irrelevance.
“See how nice it is when you take care of your hair?” You teased him softly.
Jake smiled in agreement. “‘S nice.”
Then he was relaxing back on your chest, closing his eyes as the shade of the umbrella, the sounds of the ocean, and your hands in his hair lulled him. It was quiet for a moment— long enough for you to think he might have actually fallen asleep.
“I have better hair than Rooster, right?”
Wrapping one of your fingers around another blond strand, you smiled. “You have the best hair, baby.”
I don’t have a taglist but feel free to follow my library @jupitercometgold if you want to be notified when I post
#jake seresin imagine#jake seresin imagines#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin fluff#hangman imagine#hangman imagines#hangman x reader#hangman fluff#top gun maverick imagines#x reader#buggy's got a pen
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Suffering Fools
Summary: The new Doctor in Impel Down gives her patient a hand.
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI
Tags: Buggy x OC, Canon x OC, Buggy x Syre
A/N: So this wasn't initially going to be smut, but it happened. It's not my best, but I hope y'all enjoy it. I said I would post it here, and I ain't a liar lol. So here it is. Stupid sexy clown.
Syre stuck out like a sore thumb in Impel Down. It took a few days for her to find the right words to describe how she felt, but when she did, it was like a slap to the face. Soft. Amid the torture, harsh stone walls, monsters, and even more monstrous guards, she felt soft. She supposed that was a good quality for a doctor to have, but it didn’t stop her from feeling out of place. When she’d joined the Marines, the goal had been to travel and help her comrades after battle. Not be stuck in a hellish prison. She had her theories as to how she’d gotten these orders, but the fight wasn’t worth the effort.
She eased back in her chair and blew out a breath. Paperwork all morning, and the stack mocked her with more into the afternoon. It was probably wrong for a doctor to wish for something to whisk her away from her desk. Only paperwork meant no one had been hurt enough to come see her. That was something else that rubbed her the wrong way. Tending to the guards that were hurt was one thing. Seeing the prisoners and mending their injuries for the purpose of giving them more suffering felt cruel even as a punishment.
The door to the infirmary swung open with unnecessary force, causing Syre to scramble to her feet. A single guard had kicked in the door and brought a prisoner into the infirmary slung over his shoulder. Syre watched as the guard, a hulking man of little rank, carelessly dropped the blue haired prisoner on the examination table. She moved closer cautiously, “What has happened?”
The guard began to strap the prisoner to the table. Syre had a variety of words she wished to impart about his roughness. All of them culminated in her raising hand with a singular finger outstretched to point out his mistakes, but she thought better of it. She got the feeling that trying to explain the possible repercussions of manhandling this inmate like a sack of potatoes that owed him money, was going to have the same effect as doing likewise with the lamp on her desk.
“Don’t know. Best guess? He got lippy with some of the men, and they took offense.” The guard stood back and admired his work, arms crossed with pride.
Syre pushed in close to the prisoner. Pulling out a pen light and gingerly lifting his eyelids. The pupils were responsive, that was good. “And you let this happen?”
“Why does it matter? He’s a pirate. A good pop in the mouth was good for him.” The guard replied, scratching the back of his neck.
She held back the string of insults she had been building and blew out an irritated sigh. At a cursory glance, the damage wasn’t too bad. But definitely more than a pop in the mouth. A few of the cuts needed to be cleaned, and his face was difficult to examine with the paint. Who was giving him paint? As she cataloged his injuries, he began to stir. Syre couldn’t help the smile she gave him. It had become a habit in her training as a physician. It was a little silly in this place, she thought, but her bedside manner wasn’t going to just walk out the door because she worked in a prison.
Buggy woke with a throbbing headache. There was something cold against his back and a tightness across his chest and encircling his wrists and ankles. The pain and discomfort were pushed from the forefront of his mind when he saw the woman standing over him. He’d heard from other men that Impel Down had gotten a new doctor, and now he understood the comments that she looked like she tasted sweet. Her hair was a lovely shade of pastel pink. It reminded him of cotton candy, and the chin length curls only added to that image. Their eyes met, and a smile touched her lips freely. Her eyes were brown and radiated a warmth that he wasn’t typically accustomed to.
“Good morning,” She said. Her accent was like poetry, “I am Doctor Syre Bon-”
“He doesn’t need to know your name. Just fix him up and call for us when he’s done,” the guard interrupted. Buggy eyed the man despite the strap across his forehead.
Syre pressed her lips in a tight line. Her eyes narrowed on the guard, but she stopped that building cacophony of disdain from getting past her lips. “Very well,” she said curtly.
She began to ready a tray of instruments, mostly for cleaning wounds, and set to work sterilizing them when she realized the guard hadn’t departed. Syre stopped working, and her eyes flicked up to the man standing there.
“Can I help you?” She asked.
“Yeah, I was wondering,” His voice stammered slightly which was an odd juxtaposition to the way he leaned on the table, “when you’re done for the day, did you want to join me and some of the others for drinks? It’s just a few-”
“No, thank you.” Her response was blunt, and her eyes, surprisingly cold, went back to her work.
“It’s just a few of us-”
Syre interrupted with a clipped tone, “I gave you my answer. I will call for assistance when I am finished with this prisoner. Before you leave my infirmary, could you tell me his number? I need to document this incident.”
Buggy’s cheeks inflated with the laugh about to burst out of him like a balloon. The guard raised his hand to strike him for his insolence, and Buggy swallowed the laugh. Syre cleared her throat sharply, “You will not do harm to my patient. The number, then you will leave.”
The man looked from Buggy to Syre, weighing his options and considering the temptation to hit the bound clown. He lowered his hand and said, “Prisoner E-8200.”
“Thank you.” She replied, still short and frigid.
The guard nodded and left the infirmary. When the door closed, Buggy blew a raspberry in his direction, then struggled against the strap to face her. He caught her just in time to see the momentous eye roll she’d been holding back. She rose from her chair beside the examination table to cross to the desk. Buggy took the opportunity to watch the way her coat swished with the sway of her hips. She was petite but no less beautiful, and watching her walk was a highlight of today he hadn't expected. He stopped staring as she thumbed through the files and found his. The entire time, she was muttering something under her breath. He couldn’t quite hear the words, but the tone of them was thoroughly disgruntled.
“Ah! Here we are,” She said, “Prisoner E-8200… Oh, that is such a mouthful…”
He heard her going through the pages of his file as she walked back at a slower pace.
“You could call me by my name,” He suggested with an impish grin and waggle of his eyebrows. He wanted to hear her say his name.
“And what is your name?” She asked, plunking back down into the chair. They both knew it was right there in the file, but she was choosing to treat him like a person.
“You can call me Buggy, Dollface,” he replied with a wink, “Buggy the Clown.”
“Buggy, Buggy the Clown,” she repeated, as if tasting his name on her tongue. She smiled down at him, “As long as you do not tattle on me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Buggy purred with a smirk bordering on wicked.
Her face had softened noticeably with the departure of the brute that brought him in. She had gone quiet and was cleaning the instruments again. As she cleaned, Syre took stock of him. He was tall, but that was by far the least interesting thing about him. His hair was a gorgeous blue, and despite it being a bit of a mess, she thought it was very pretty. It just needed to be brushed and pulled up to help it from getting tangled. He had painted on a big red smile and two bones crossed on his forehead, reaching just to the corners of his eyes. These were accompanied by red marks down the center of his blue eyes. Again, who was giving him paint for these? This was still not mentioning the most apparent trait of his. At first, she had thought the guards or his fellow inmates had managed to glue a big red ball on his nose, and she was pondering how best to extract it without causing him pain. However, after a longer survey of his face, she came to realize it was his true nose. It would be comical if she didn’t find it so deeply charming. It fit him perfectly.
“Does that happen often?” Buggy asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Hm?” She asked, his question dragging her out of her musings about his appearance. “Which part?”
“The coming on to you?” He replied, picking which one to inquire about first.
She gave a lazy shake of her head that set the curls bouncing. The gesture wasn’t a no but more to suggest she was outwardly combing her recent memories. It was accompanied by a strangled sound that led into her saying, “Enough for it to be irritating…”
He nodded in understanding.
“The ones that just use words are not the worst. It’s the few that think smacking me on the behind will instantly fill me with desire that truly anger me. What are they thinking?” She made a gesture like she was swinging to spank someone on the ass and gasped a little, “Oh yes, please, take me I’m yours.”
She rolled her eyes again and muttered something else under her breath.
“Maybe they’re just trying to make it a win-win situation. You might say yes, you’re more likely to say no, they got to spank you either way.” He teased.
She smirked, but he didn’t get the laugh he’d been aiming for. With the tools clean, she leaned forward and took a deep breath. Beginning to clean the most egregious of the lacerations, “Poor thing…”
“You should see the other guy.”
“The other guy is not in my infirmary,” Syre said tartly, indicating to the other examination tables in the room. Buggy’s smug smile drooped like a birthday cake left in the rain. Her eyes were smiling, and it slipped to her lips with a giggle when she met his eyes. He watched as she fought the bubbling of laughter like the fizz of champagne. Attempting to quell the laughter, she took a slow, giggle laced breath to calm herself. She thought it was probably against protocol to joke with inmates, but the joy never left her beautiful eyes.
“Don’t look so glum, Mon Cher, you’ll make a full recovery.”
“Yippee.” Buggy replied unamused.
“Just try to play nice with the other boys.” She said, wiping up the blood. She chewed on her lip, and Buggy had the thought that he’d like to be that lip. “Though… I think this one is going to need stitches.”
Syre leaned over him to get a better look. Being at this proximity treated him to the smell of her perfume. It was sweet but in a cozy way, like warm vanilla but more subtle. It also occurred to him that she was nearly chest to chest with him. Her body was as soft as her glance was tender. She was debating the stitches while cleaning the cut and breathed, “Probably for the best that I do. Are you alright with that?”
“You’re the doc.” He replied, attempting to get comfortable on the table. Syre hated the cold tables. She thought they should at least have a pillow. It was just her luck that she would leave home to heal people and end up helping them to suffer more.
She slid her chair across the floor to the cupboard where the needles and thread were kept.
“There will not be many. I doubt it will scar,” Syre tried to reassure him then cocked a brow playfully, “Unless you wish for it to scar. I can do them messily and make it look rather fearsome.”
“And ruin all this handsome?” He scoffed.
“Fair enough,” She shrugged and went to begin the process.
Buggy squirmed away as best as he could with the leather strap, “Whoa there, Sweets! Aren’t you gonna do anything to numb me?”
Syre sat back, “I can not. I’m under strict orders to only use numbing agents on staff. They’re kept under lock and key, and I have yet to figure out how to jimmy open the lock. I am sorry…”
Buggy inhaled a long breath and released it with a raspberry, making Syre smile just a smidge.
“I will do my best to not make it hurt.”
His face told her without words that he didn’t believe that was possible. When she leaned back over him, he didn’t squirm, indicating a tiny bit of trust. “Good, Mon Cher, stay still.”
She could tell he was nervous. No part of her faulted him for that. It was one thing to get an injury by accident and another to watch with anticipation for it to happen. She tried to set him at ease by speaking, bringing up the first thing to pop into her head.
“I was on leave back home when I got my orders to come here,” she started, “They sent me the protocols so I could prepare myself and be informed before arriving. When I read the policy regarding pain, I ranted to my mother for a good hour.”
Buggy hissed with pain, and she stopped, an apology clear in her eyes.
“Keep talking, Dollface.” He demanded, wanting this to be over but enjoying the sound of her voice. It was like listening to a song. He didn’t understand some of the words she said but her inflection was damn near affectionate.
“She asked me what I was going to do? You see, my family was not thrilled that I studied to be a doctor and wanted to join the Marines. Obviously, seeing me so unhappy with my orders, I wanted to travel, and this is not travel. She was hoping that I would quit or refuse and stay home. I knew that was her intention, so I said that I would do what she used to do when my sisters or I got hurt.”
“Which was?” Buggy managed to say through gritted teeth.
A ghost of a smile touched her lips, “I said I would kiss and make it better,” she had to stop stitching due to her own laughter, “You should’ve seen the look on her face. It took me hours to convince her it was a joke.”
“I don’t know, Doll, I think it’s the least you could do considering you’re stabbing me in the face.”
Syre stopped, taken aback by the glint in his eyes. She felt her cheeks getting hot. Why had she told that story? She fought her now, shaking hands to finish quickly.
“All done.” She announced. More for herself than for him. “I will call for the guard-”
“Please don’t. Not yet.” Syre couldn’t help the pang in her heart hearing the plea in his voice, a finger plucking the ridiculous chord of sympathy in her.
She tried in vain to tuck a pale pink curl behind her ear, “I suppose I could…” She searched her mind for something she could do that would take time when her eyes fell on his hair, “Check you for lice?”
“I don’t have lice!” He spat back, thoroughly offended. “What kind of imbecile are you!? What next? Gonna make fun of my nose, huh?!”
Syre flicked his nose. “Of course not. But I should probably check. Do you mind if I comb your hair?”
The offense left his face immediately, finally back up to speed. It had been ages since he was able to brush his hair, and pure stubbornness had kept him from just cutting it.
“Not at all.”
“Good.”
Syre disposed of the needle and rummaged through her drawers, looking for a comb. She wouldn’t say it, but she was a tad giddy to rid his hair of the tangles. It was such pretty hair. Returning to her chair, she swiveled it to the head of the table and unbuckled the strap across his forehead. She gave him a moment to roll his neck while she formed a game plan. A quick look told her he didn’t, in fact, have lice, but she wasn’t about to tell him that she looked.
One by one, she tugged the fingers of her gloves loose and set the pair on the table beside his head. With the help of lifting his head, Syre gathered up all of his hair so that it cascaded off the edge of the table. She separated a lock and combed through it as gently as she could. If it snagged, she held just above and worked out the tangle until the comb went through with little resistance. The two of them were quiet for a long time. Syre wasn’t sure when his eyes had closed, but she didn’t mind. No matter what he had done, Impel Down was no joke. She wouldn’t begrudge him this respite.
“You mentioned you have sisters?” He asked, his tone calmer than before. Thoroughly enjoying the sensation of his hair being brushed.
“Mhm, two of them. Marie and Avery. I am the eldest.”
“All of you have pretty pink hair?”
“You think my hair is pretty?” She teased lightly.
He gave her a look that even upside down made her heart hop into her throat. Her cheeks were hot again, but this time, she was less worried. A comb wasn’t exactly the same as a needle.
“Yes,” She managed to squeak out, “we all do.”
Another silence was starting to build when Syre blurted in an embarrassed little voice, “You have pretty hair too…”
“I know I do, Baby.”
“Is it your natural color?” She asked.
“Why don’t you check for yourself?”
Syre allowed the nervous giggles but didn’t say anything more. With most of the tangles out of his hair, she placed the comb next to her gloves. She sat there for a long moment, biting her lower lip. Before reason or protocol could hinder her, she sank her fingers into his hair. Buggy let out a soft moan, and Syre let herself enjoy that sound low in her belly. Her fingertips drew swirls over his scalp, leading into her nails doing the same or giving him tight scritches. She ran her fingers down the tresses, blue strands slipping through her fingers like silk. Once they reached the end, she returned to massaging his scalp only to repeat their descent. Syre had been focused solely on his hair thus far, but the sound of the straps binding the rest of him being fought caused her to look up.
Her breath caught. She hadn’t noticed the growing tightness in his striped pants nor the writhing he had begun against his binds. Now Syre was doing a poor job of pretending not to notice. She was practically staring at it.
“Oh…” She whispered, “Should I stop?”
“Don’t.”
Syre tried not to look at it, but the breathy moan from before had led into ragged breathing, and primal instinct knew its call. Her face was on fire and grew hotter with each arch of his neck. Her fingers withdrew but were halted with a desperate whimper of, “No…”
“I really should stop…” She said, the blush clear in her voice, “You’re…”
He arched his neck enough to look her in the eyes. There was that gleam again. It sent her heart racing. Hungry, pleading, and looking to her for salvation. “Touch me…” He begged.
Syre gasped, her voice bordering on shrill, “What?”
“Please,” he added, “I can’t do it myself, or I would.”
“That’s obscene and crass and completely inappropriate,” she said, looking around the room, lingering on the door. Anything but looking at those eyes.
“C’mon Sweet girl,” Buggy purred, “Help me.”
Syre blinked, “I couldn’t.”
She tried to ignore it. Taking one of the few leftover hair ties she kept for her sister's hair emergencies and pulled his hair into a hasty ponytail. Syre was about to apologize for the color when she caught sight of his erection. It was still masked by the pants, but she was so tempted.
“Is there anything else I can do to help it go away?”
“Hand, mouth, over the pants or under, I don’t care. Please, Doc.”
She swiveled the chair around so that she was at his side. Her eyes momentarily brushed over the space between his stomach and the slight lift in his pants. A dusting of blue hair led down further, but she ripped her gaze back to his face, “That’s not what I meant. Is there-”
“Please…”
They’d taken so long already. A guard could come by to check on them at any time. If one of them showed up and he was this…aroused, Syre couldn’t see a way for him not to get the shit kicked out of him. Not wanting to do more harm than good, she bit her lip and slid her hand into his pants.
Syre wasn’t inexperienced with love affairs. Over the years, she’d had a few trysts, stolen a handful kisses, and even had a fumbling in the dark a time or two. This was much much different than any of those. There was a tension here that felt raw. She was stroking the cock of a prisoner housed in Impel Down. And he was looking at her with a hunger she wasn’t sure she could handle. His eyes, his history, his cock in her hand, all of it felt so deliciously wicked. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Oh Sweet Girl,” He moaned, arching off the table and elongating his neck into a curve. His hips pushed up into her hand. Each thrust inched the pants off, exposing his cock completely.
Hearing his tender words made the butterflies in her stomach flutter. He was so hard. She'd never felt such a thrill. "A-am I doing it right?"
It wasn’t exactly a hard task. She just felt so damn awkward.
He gave a moan mixed with a chuckle in response. She wasn't exactly sure what to say. This was new for her, but there was a part of her that was enjoying it, "Is there anything else I can do to help?"
“Kiss me.” He pleaded.
“I couldn’t…” She replied with a nervous laugh.
“But you want to. I can hear it in your voice. You’ve come this far. So why don’t you be a good girl and give me a kiss?”
Syre swallowed hard. She was already stroking him. Wasn't that supposed to be later, and a kiss came first? All of this was wrong. Why should she stop now?
"C’mon Doc…" He panted, "I kiss good."
Syre rose from her chair, sending it wheeling back. Her legs were shaking as she moved closer to his face. The chair hit one of the cupboards, causing her to look over. Seizing the opportunity, Buggy ran his tongue along her cheek. Syre squeaked and gripped his shaft harder in surprise. He rested back on the table with a dare in his eyes. She couldn't help but look at his painted lips.
"Just one kiss, Doll."
Syre bit her lip nervously, and he looked a little sad. "Let me do that for you."
Syre caved to the temptation and leaned down to brush her lips against his. Her free hand came up to caress his face, and it didn't take long for him to beg entrance into her mouth. His tongue prodded her lips, and she moaned when it slipped inside with the slightest part. His hands struggled against the straps. He wanted so badly to touch her, too. When he finally broke the kiss, he breathed, "Harder baby, grip it harder..."
"Are you going to cum for me?" The question was posed in the sweetest voice he'd ever heard. She wanted him to. Needed it just as much as he did. Her face, flushed red and lustful mixed with the desire in her eyes to kiss him again, it was too much.
He arched his back, fighting against the straps. Syre was breathless as his cock pulsed in her hand. She didn't mind the hot seed creeping over her hand. She was enthralled. He was inches from her face, panting in ecstasy and holding her gaze. His eyes were hooded with pleasure. She'd never felt more powerful.
"Fuck…" He moaned, his body trembling. Lips brushing against hers just from proximity. As she looked down over his body, he nibbled her ear. Groaning with the aftershocks of his climax.
"F-feel better?" She asked after he seemed to be coming down. She was tempted to give him another kiss, but that would be too much.
"Yes. Oh yes. I wish I could do the same for you." He panted.
She was getting bashful under his eye. "That's not necessary…"
"To stain those thighs red…" He mused, "and if the rest of you is as sweet as your kisses…"
He was growing hard again just thinking about it. "Oh no, you don't!" Syre released him and scuttled to the sink. She didn't need paint for her face to be as red as his lips. Hell, Buggy didn't even need to see it to know it was red. She scrubbed his seed off of her hand while trying to calm herself.
"You want to, though."
"Don't be ridiculous..." She forced a laugh.
Buggy had to give her some credit. Her voice had stayed mostly even, but her cheeks were a dead giveaway. That didn't mention her avoidance of his eyes.
"I won't tell anyone, Dollface." Buggy tempted. "You already know I kiss good, just think what else I can do."
Syre took a measured breath and covered him back up, eyes lingering just a little too long on the blue hair on his lower stomach. "For your sake, Prisoner E-8200, stay out of fights."
Before Buggy could tempt her again, there was a knock at the infirmary door. The guard from before poke his head in, "Everything okay, Doc?"
"Yes, we just finished up. You may take him," She waved dismissively but avoided eye contact with either man.
The guard unstrapped him and roughly got him to his feet. "No funny business, Clown."
Buggy turned to look at Syre and blew her a kiss. "Thanks, Doc."
The guard shoved him down, "Get moving!"
Syre was left in her infirmary, reeling from what had just happened. She busied herself, getting ready for another patient. She tossed the comb, but when she retrieved her gloves, she found one was missing. She furrowed her brows and looked up at the door with a sigh.
Walking down the halls of Impel Down, Buggy held the soft white glove hidden in his hands. A devilish smile across his face.
#buggy the clown#buggy x oc#buggy x syre#buggy fanfiction#one piece oc#suffering fools#fem oc#female oc x Buggy
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It's not perfect, but here is my Buggy Ball Bottle!
For when you want to be extra flashy when drinking whatever soda pop you like!
Basically, just a Christmas bauble drink bottle I got and I decided to make it better using just acrylic pens and a Sharpie.
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AAAAHHHHSKFNN^^;?[@^ I FINISHED A CHAPTER GUYS
Literally so relieved.
Also made a shiny aesthetic thingy for the fic
So shiny
OPLA!Mihawk x OC
Previous Chapter Link
Next Chapter Link
Chapter 1 Link
Chapter 4: Parting Ways
Word Count: 3.2k
Tags: Slow-burn, Enemies to Lovers, eventually NSFW, uh, if I think of more I'll add them or something
After having her sloop sunk by the Buggy Pirates and losing most of her worldly possessions in the process, the normally solitary mercenary Karimi Lionne finds herself teaming up with the rag-tag little crew that is the Strawhat Pirates to defeat them. She bonds with them far more quickly than she bargained for, and that quickly turns into a problem for the Kiku Kiku no Mi devil fruit user when she learns of Nami's plans to leave them high and dry, and Zoro issues a challenge at Baratie that he very likely won't live long enough to regret.
"What are you doing?"
Gritting her teeth, Karimi only kept stuffing clothes into her bag. She didn't have much anymore, only the few meager belongings she had managed to rescue from her sloop before it descended to the bottom of the ocean barely a week earlier. She ignored Nami's question, not turning her head.
"Wh—wait, are you leaving?" she asked in alarm—and with more than just a hint of anger. "Now?"
"I said from the start this was temporary," Karimi pointed out
"So did I," said Nami coolly. Karimi could practically hear the glare that Nami no doubt had fixed on the back of her head. "And I seem to remember you giving me and entire speech about it last night."
"Yes, well. Unfortunate as that is." She pulled her satchel over her shoulder. "My chariot awaits, and my pilot isn't exactly known for his patience."
Nami all but gawked at Karimi when she turned Round, her arms hanging limp at her sides, eyes widened in total disbelief. "You can't be serio—him?" she demanded, gesturing in the direction where Zoro's disastrous duel with the Warlord had taken place in front of the Baratie. Karimi gave a short jerk of her head, pushing past Nami. "He almost killed Zoro and you—"
"I made a deal," she said through her teeth. "Unfortunately I failed to specify how alive he should leave Zoro."
"You...made a deal with him?" Karimi hummed in affirmation. "That—when you were talking to him last night—" She just hummed again, a little more impatiently; she had intended to leave the ship without anyone noticing, leave behind a quickly penned note of goodbye and apology with no details at all about where she was going to avoid anyone attempting to follow, and be done with it. She didn't do well with emotional goodbyes, and the last thing she needed was Luffy making the same stupid decision as Zoro in some harebrained attempt to save her from her own botched deal.
"What kind of deal?" Nami asked as theg stood at the railing if the main deck, and Karimi sighed, shaking her head. "What kind of—"
"I have to work for him for a year," she said shortly. "No pay. Handle World Government favors and contracts he can't be arsed to deal with himself."
"You...a year?" And Nami was gawking at her all over again, shaking her head. "That's—are you out of your mind? You saw what he did, he's—he's a damned monster, you might not even survive a year—"
"I can handle myself. And I really don't want to see any of you die," she interrupted. "Especially not over something as stupid as—that," she said, gesturing toward the cabin where Zoro was unconscious and barely clinging to the realm of the living. "You've all got dreams. I...don't. I don't think a year of my time is that big of a price to pay, personally."
"You said you were looking for someone." Karimi cringed a little at that, closing her eyes with a sigh. She had mentioned it in passing in front of Luffy, and he had yet to cease in asking her who it was. Of course everyone else on the ship knew by now. "That it had something to do with the contract you took from Buggy to steal the Grand Line map."
"And I'm still capable of keeping an ear out for information regardless of who I happen. To be working with or for," he said simply. "And it hardly counts as a dream. It's something I have to do."
"You think that bastard's going care about that?" said Nami.
Karimi looked over her shoulder and fixed her eyes on Nami's. "Probably no more than Arlong cares about you saving your village." It was a low blow, for sure—but Nami silenced at the counter immediately. "And has it stopped you?" She turned around fully, leaning back against the railing, her dark green eyes scanning Nami's face as the younger woman glared at her defiantly for a moment...and then crossed her arms with a scoff and rolled her eyes.
"Alright, fine," she said shortly. "And I guess you don't want the guys to know anything, right?"
Karimi rolled her eyes a little herself, digging in one of the pockets of her cargo shorts. She produced from it a folded piece of paper on which she had quickly penned her short, vague letter of farewell before Nami caught her packing, and held it out.
Then briefly pulled it back when Nami reached for it. "This," said Karimi, giving the paper a small shake, "is all I want them to know. I kept your secret." She pressed the note into Nami's palm. "I would appreciate it if you kept mine."
"Sure. Whatever." Nami tucked the note in her pocket without opening it or glancing at it. She met Karimi's gaze, and held out her arms in a shrug and let then fall heavily back to her sides. "So...what? Bye, I guess?"
Karimi frowned, shrugging one shoulder herself. "I'm not exactly good at this sort of thing," she said, her frown deepening, a crease forming between her brows. "Are we supposed to hug or something?"
Nami pursed her lips, clearly struggling for a long moment to keep a straight face—and then broke into a few quiet, chuckles, bringing her palm up to her face and shaking her head. "Yeah, I guess we're 'supposed to hug or something.'"
Karimi really hadn't said it entirely to be fecitious, to crack a dry joke—it was more than a bit awkward to wrap her arm around anyone, to feel anyone's arms around her. It had been a long time since she had, felt like practically a lifetime ago. The familiarity of it wasn't particularly comforting either—with it dawned a sense of mingling nostalgia and nausea in the pit of her stomach, and she was fairly quick to pull back and pat Nami's shoulder with a forced smile.
"I'm sure I'll be back again," she said—and she meant it, genuinely. Maybe it would be a long while from right now, but she wanted to see what might become of the crew, of her brief comrades.
"I'm not planning on staying much longer," said Nami. She swallowed, glancing back toward the cabins, and lowered her voice. "Arlong's not exactly known for his patience, either."
Karimi had no intention of trying to talk her out of it—there was no point. No point, and it would have been wildly hypocritical of her to do so. If Karimi could have had the chance to save her own village, she would have given anything.
But that was a lost a cause.
Still, she gave a small laugh.
"Doesn't mean you won't be back, too." Nami frowned at her as Karimi pulled her hand back, amd adjusted her satchel on her shoulder. "Our 'captain' might be an idealistic idiot, but I think he's got enough heart to make up for it. Don't you?"
Nami glanced back toward the cabins again, nd gave a little bit of a sigh. "I guess he does, she agreed, with a quiet laugh. She looked back at Karimi with the same half-hearted smile as the older girl took a few steps back. "Just...be careful."
"Always," said Karimi, tipping her tricorne a bit as she started the descent toward the docks. She stopped briefly, and added, "You too."
Nami gave her a short nod. A small but genuine smile. Karimi returned both without any hesitation.
Out of everyone aboard the Going Merry, and in the days before they acquired the ship, Karimi had found Nami to be the most difficult to get to know, to even get along with, making it clear from the start that she didn't trust the green-haired girl or her story that she was essentially a prisoner of the Buggy Pirates herself. Karimi understood full well her reasoning now—it was much the same as Karimi's for avoiding familiarity with others. It was easier to remain solitary than risk losing anyone else.
Zoro hadn't really cared one way or the other whether she tagged along with them, but Luffy had been a different story. As soon as Karimi had asked about his hat and told him she had sailed with the Red-Hair pirates, the young self-proclaimed captain had all but glued himself to her side, questioning her about them constantly, reveling in stories of the infamous crew and her time on the East Blue and Grand kine with them.
Reveling in stories of the greatest idol of his childhood, the captain of the crew he had begged years earlier to be a part of, who has gicwn up his own arm to save Luffy's life: Red-Haired Shanks.
Luffy's idol, nd for Karimi's first two years on the sea, her mentor.
She had thought Luffy'a eyes might pop right out of his head when she informed him of what Shanks's bounty had been when she parted ways from their crew six years ago—well over two billion berries.
"Two billion.... Wow." And he grinned ear to ear where he sat near the stern of the boat that night after their fight with the Buggy Pirates. He reclined back and laid down right in the deck, tucking his hands behind his head. "I can't *wait* to get a bounty." Karimi lifted an eyebrow row at that, glancing over her shoulder from where she leaned against the railing at the port side of the tiny sloop—honestly far two small for four people.
"You...want a bounty," she said slowly, a smirk beginning to curve the corner of her own lips. "You want Marines chasing you everywhere you go? Not to mention other pirates. Bounty hunters." She half-nodded toward the hammock where Zoro was sleeping.
"Well, yeah, that's half the fun of it," he said, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, that Boggy guy had a bounty, and we beat him, right? Pirates are supposed to have bounties." He tilted his head to the side a little, frowning up at the night sky. "It's like a..."
"Right of passage?" she offered, growing more amused by the minute.
"Exactly!" he said, pointing at Karimi, and she couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. "Can't be King of the Pirates if I never even get a bounty."
"No, I guess you couldn't," she said, not bothering to hide the amusement in her voice. "Still..." she turned around, leaning back against the railing, her elbows propped up against it. "You've already got one hell of a right of passage. It's sitting on your head right now." Luffy looked over at her with childlike curiosity, placing his hand atop his straw hat. "You said Shanks told you it was his greatest treasure. One of the most infamous pirates in the entire world entrusted you with his most valuable possession." His eyes widened a little as that sunk in properly. "Bounty or no bounty, people are going to notice. Buggy noticed. He won't be the only one."
"Yeah..." He laughed a little, and then he laughed a bit more, sitting straight up again. "And he had a bounty of fifteen million berries and he recognized it. That's got to be—wait, do you have a bounty?" he asked curiously. "You said just about everyone on Shanks's crew had one. And you said you were a mercenary for six years, you have to have one, right?"
"Nope," she said, smiling. She had only been with the Red-Hairs for two years, give or take a month, and as a thief on the crew she had always been discreet, able to keep off the Marines' radar. It didn't hurt either that Shanks, due in no small part to his history with her father, had been particularly protective of her. "I've...made a point of avoiding familiarity with Marines over the years," she went on after a moment. "Not really interested in being a wanted woman."
His frown only deepened at that. "But...you're a purate," he said, tilting his head in a manner not dissimilar to that of a puppy hearing a strange new sound for the first time. "Pirates always end up with bounties."
"Mercenary," she corrected with a sigh, shaking her head. "Who...also usually end up with bounties," she allowed. "But I'm careful. I have to be careful traveling alone."
Luffy's frown only deepened at that. "Sounds boring."
Karimi gave a snort and rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes," she said, her tone drenched in sarcasm as she lowered herself to sit down across from him, "how terribly boring it has been working with dozens of different crews for the past six years and making loads of money and potential allies..."
"I mean the traveling alone thing," he said. He rested his chin on his palm, his elbow on one of hisbknees. "You were with the Red Hair Pirates for two years, why didn't you just stay with them?"
In truth, Karimi still asked herself that question sometimes. It had been two of the best, two of the happiest years of her life since the massacre at Conch Cove. She had thought about staying with them. It had been all too much like having a family, a community, for the first time since she had lost hers.
But her goal was too personal to share with anyone else, to weigh anyone else down with. Even now she felt like she was practically searching for a ghost, trying to find her father. To find why he had disappeared nine years ago, where he and his entire crew had gone.
Whether he was even still alive or not—and if he was, to be able to tell him the truth of what had happened. The truth of the atrocity that she and she alone had survived a decade ago.
Karimi descended onto the docks, shielding her eyes with one hand as she looked around at the ships docked around the restaurant—other patrons who had remained there overnight, new ships arriving as Baratie prepared to open for the day. Karimi knew the vessel she was looking for; she had never seen it in person, but she had heard of it, mentioned in passing once or twice during her time with the Red Hair Pirates before she set out on her own at eighteen.
A small craft with black sails, shaped like a coffin, with a seat that resembled a throne. She had sincerely thought the description to be an exaggeration, until she caught a glimpse of the boat.
It was docked far back away from any other vessel, it's only prominent features being a pair of green flames at the port and starboard, the central mast that was clearly modeled after the black blade carried by its owner—and the throne-like seat, where the warlord was seated, leaned to the side, his elbow propped against one arm rest and his fist at his temple, eyes closed.
Karimi heaved a sigh as she started down the docks to approach the ship. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Shanks and his crew were among the most powerful and notorious pirates in the world, and she had more than enjoyed her time with them.
Yet she still really couldn't get over the sheer gaudiness boat.
"How quaint," she mumbled under her breath dryly as she neared the small vessel, her eyes scanning over it.
Evidently his ears were as sharp as his gaze, for Mihawk cracked an eye open the moment the sarcastic quip slipped quietly from her lips. She stopped in her tracks as his eyes became level with hers, not adjusting from his leisurely posture. "If the accommodations aren't to your liking, you are welcome to swim." He closed his eyes again, and added just as dryly, "Oh, that's right. You can't."
Karimi rolled her eyes a little—no, she wasn't getting her hopes up that a single minute of this arrangement she had gone and gotten herself trapped in would be enjoyable.
"Permission to board," she droned after a long moment.
"Granted," he replied shortly.
He did open his eyes again when she tossed her bag aboard and it landed with a muffled sort of flump a few feet behind him on the starboard side, glancing at her as she stepped across the short gap between the dock and Hitsugibune without any further hesitation. Mihawk still wondered whether her nerve the previous night had simply been a mere symptom of her inebriated state. Now, however, she seemed completely sober as she leaned to the side against the railing, raising a hand just over the green flame at the starboard torch and frowning.
"Copper, I'm guessing?" she said, drawing her hand back and rolling her eyes with a scoff. "Quite the aesthetic you have going here."
She took a seat on the deck, tucking her hands behind her neck and reclining back against the railing, shutting her eyes.
"So where to, Captain Edge-Lord?"
The slight smirk on the girl's face indicated that her sass definitely wasn't limited to excessive alcohol consumption. Mihawk chose to ignore it for now—her ability to follow orders was more important at the present. There would be plenty of time to deal with her insubordination later.
"Once you have gotten us clear of the docks," he said sharply, his eyes scanning over her, "we will head due north-east, toward Syrup Village."
She opened her eyes at that, meeting his eyes without any sign of hesitation. "Syrup Village?" she said, frowning. "Not really much there."
"Toward Syrup Village," he repeated. Her eyes widened the slightest bit as his meaning seemed to sink in—evidently she was aware of exactly what, or *who*, might be near Syrup Village. "I need to have a word with Vice Admiral Garp. You will get us there. I'm sure you're capable navigating, considering your 'six years experience as a mercenary.'"
"I don't do Marines."
Mihawk quirked an eyebrow at her sudden and blatant protest; at the clear reluctance, nigh fear that dawned in her eyes. This was different from the attitude she had already presented toward him. She showed no fear in his presence, but the suggestion of sailing toward a ship full of Marines had clearly set her on edge in an instant.
That was interesting.
But there was plenty of time to unravel the reasons behind it. She had, after all, pledged to serve him for an entire year. Right now, the most important matter at hand was getting to Garp—and finding out why the man had thought it appropriate to send him after his damned grandson. Mihawk scanned over her once more as she sat on the small deck of the vessel, before meeting her defiant gaze.
"You do what I tell you, and you will do so without question," he said firmly. He shifted back in his seat, closing his own eyes again. "Due north east. I'd prefer to get this meeting over with quickly."
Next chapter link again for your convenience
#opla#one piece#dracule mihawk#mihawk#mihawk opla#mihawk one piece#one piece fanfiction#opla fanfiction#mihawk x oc
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Thads Shindig
A Murder Drones Story Containing every named character+more (yes all ~50 of them, some never seen before, full cast list in tags)!
part 1.
word count - 4,448
Uzi - *playing a video game*
N - *entering*Hi Uzi… last week was… kinda wild.
Uzi - *unattentive*yep.
N - you know with the whole Eldritch J thing that was pretty insane, proms coming up which I guess is exciting. Because you know this story is set somewhere between episode 2 and 3.
Uzi - *still not listening*cool… Hey, I’ve got a second controller if you want to play video game with me.
N - you know I don’t like video game Uzi, plus we have to go soon.
Uzi - wait… go where?
N - well it's Thad’s shindig soon.
Uzi - oh cool, I’ll be heading offline in a minute anyway, this old hag—*reading username* SeaweedLoverXD has just been spawn camping me for the last half hour.
Nori - *over the mic* OLD HAG?
Uzi - *putting on headset*yeah, you virgin loser, you heard me!
Nori - Virgin?! Well I’ll have you know little miss Nobody, I am a mother of a darling daughter and if I ever caught her saying anything remotely similar to the insults you’ve been throwing my way I wouldn’t hesitate washing her mouth out with soap and water!
Uzi - whatever, die mad. *logs off*
*Meanwhile in a distant spaceship*
J - [you died idiot]
J - ughh, my head [Lost Memory Recovery Finished]... oh … oh! ... I liked that pen.
J - *getting out of bed only to lose balance and collapse on the floor* … I’m okay! That was strange… My limb enhancements! Where are my limb enhancements?! *mad* Tessa! *pouting* Right now I bet I look like a common toaster! And why is it so dark? Are we conserving energy now?!
J - *walking through the spaceship arriving at a door labelled ‘Tessa. Knock first’*
J - *opening the door to a pitch black messy room,a pool of oil and blood pools out of the room*
Flesha - GET OUT!*throws Tessa’s helmet square at J cracking her visor slightly before slamming the door shut*
J - Tessa… I’m sorry.
Flesha - Learn to knock!
J - *picking up Tessa’s helmet* I think you dropped this.
Flesha - … *slowly opens the door slightly before lashing out and snatching the helmet quickly with a black tendril before retreating back into the room. Grotesque, bone cracking sounds follow*
J - …m,may I come in.
Tessa - sure, please mind the mess. I usually try to keep things clean but I guess you can say I haven't really been myself.
J - *entering* You know I’ve been reading some human literature and ‘arrogance and comedy’ are generally not considered a good coping mechanism.
Tessa - oh so you’re an expert on my well being are you?
J - your parents instructed me to protect you so yes!
Tessa - Well, look how that turned out! You’ve seen what's left of me, of what I become, I am a monster!
J - We’re all monsters Tessa, in our own way. I can see you're tired, I am here to grab my limb enhancers then I will be off.
Tessa - oh… yeah, I’ve been making modifications, it's still really buggy, they need more time though.
J - can’t I just borrow N's spare set? Been wondering what having feet feels like.
Tessa - no… I’ve been thinking, breaking into the Worker Drones commune is difficult, entering by force is doing little good and the plan to try and hack its main frame has only led to many complications.
J - you can code?
Tessa - nope. Like I said, complications. Anyhow, returning to the subject, right now no one could differentiate you from any other worker so you can head down and do some spy work… like James Bond and such.
J - do I have any say in this?
Tessa - nope.
J - *annoyed* then I’ll prepare my landing pod. *leaving* and Tessa, you shouldn’t just allow Cyn to walk over you…
Tessa - It's her body as much as mine and without it I would be dead.
*meanwhile, in the commune*
Doll - Мать. Отец.
Doll - Ты будешь гордиться мной
Doll - Получите ответы и освободите вас
Doll - Не волнуйтесь, чего бы это ��и стоило,
Doll - я ухожу
Doll - И я клянусь прямо сейчас
Doll - Что бы не случилось со мной
Doll - Любой, кто встанет или встанет на моем пути, заплатит
Doll - Они... будут... платить
Lizzy - hey babe, quit praying to the corpses of your dead parents, we have a party to attend.
Doll - иду :3
*meanwhile deep underground*
V - *carrying a large pile of dead worker drones while being chased by a horde of Sentinels* oh RoboLord oh RoboLord oh RoboLord oh RoboLord oh RoboLord oh RoboLord oh RoboLord why did I agree to this! *runs through door and slams it shut*
Alice - hey looky here, another one of those slick murder drones.
V - *shoots her in the centre of her head*
Beau - O.O!!!!!
V - What are you looking at… well I had to kill her? That was a perfectly sane reaction to seeing someone that creepy!...*picking up Alice's dead body* hey, you seem pretty cool, want to join me, I’m heading to a party.
Beau - O.O…*réaliser qu'un refus peut signifier la mort* 👍
*meanwhile in the doorman home*
Uzi - come on N. How are you still not ready?!
N - I’m still doing my hair!
Uzi - well hurry up, we’re going to be late!
Khan - well where are you two kids heading off too?
Uzi - a party, it's cool kids only so obviously you’re not invited.
Khan - haha, on account of me not being a kid.
Uzi - sure. Let's go with that.
Khan - well, I hope you two kids have fun. Make sure you use protection.
Uzi - *blushing* DAD!!! What the robo-hell?!
Khan - What? I’m just saying there could still be some of those evil murder drones running around.
Uzi - oh |:
Kahn - well, I best be heading off too, it's poker night at the defence force. *leaves*
N - hey Uzi, I’m ready… How do I look?
Uzi - *hiding her blushing* great, let's go!
*meanwhile outside the commune*
Reid - *searching around the snow*
J - *wearing a fake moustache*what are you doing here, don’t you know this is Disassembly Drone territory.
Reid - oh hi, i didn’t see you there… Wait, what's a Disassembly Drone?
J - …you misheard me… I said Murder Drones.
Reid - Well, if you have to know, I’m looking for my glasses, and I don’t think the Disassembly Drone will be any issue, after the redemption and all.
J - Well, I’m lost, do you mind helping me find my way to the commune.
Reid - I’ll show the way once I’ve found the glasses.
J - ughh, I will help you find your glasses.
*searching*
J - are these your glasses?
Reid - …no, how curious, I wonder who they belong to?
J - don’t care *tosses Vs glasses away* lets just find your glasses quickly then we can be off.
*meanwhile in the distant spaceship*
Tessa - *meddling with Js new limb enhancers and optic sensors* What do you want? (I’m bored sister, may I go and play). Not now, I’m currently using the body, can it wait? (no)... does it have to be flesh (digital will be fine) very well. *she zips back part of her suit allowing for a long Absolute Tendril to rip out. From the tendrils eye, a projection emerges*
Cyn - Thanks big sister big smile.
Tessa - *soldering* I can't play right now, there's some lego in the cupboard over there.
Cyn - :3
Tessa - *thinking to herself*What is J doing?! How has she still not yet made it to the commune!
Cyn - *surrounded by lego*you think she might be a traitor.
Tessa - no.
Cyn - lying is silly big sister, I live in your mind and you live in mine.
Tessa - I know, you’re very clever.
Cyn - big grin.
Intercom - *video call incoming*
Tessa - behave yourself now Cyn *starts the call*
Lord Frumptlebucket - by Golly Tessa you baboon, JCJenson Corp has been up my ass all week because you haven’t been answering your calls? I want a mission status immediately.
Tessa - all is going well, we’re attempting a temporary alternative plan to gain intel.
Lord Frumptlebucket - well that's all and good but you need to keep the parent company informed and who is that… thing? She looks familiar.
Tessa - oh she, counter insurgency.
Lord Frumptlebucket - counter insurgency?!
Tessa - yes, I'm babysitting for the Worker Drones. If we can gain there favour, the genocide will be that much easier.
Lord Frumptlebucket - very good… By the gods of Santorini what the beggars fool is that thing protruding from your nave?!
Tessa - o.o!... *improvising*well, you see, you know how it is… during that time of the month… (:
Lord Frumptlebucket - *embarrassed*uh ummm, oh yeah of course i am aware of how… that works, sorry about that, I best be off.
Intercom - *video call ended*
Tessa - out of all the people you could have failed to kill at the Gala.
*meanwhile outside the commune*
Reid - haha! I found them.
J - great! *grabbing the Worker drone by the collar* we’re going now! And I just want to make it clear, I am no fan of small talk!
Reid - … noted
*walking*
Reid - aha, we’re here. *banging on the door*
Braxton - *partially opening the door* oh, it's you… and a random teen?
Ron - *from inside*Hey, that's my job?!
J - Teenager?!
Reid - yeah, do you mind letting us in?
Braxton - of course, by the way my name is
J - *angry* JUST OPEN THE DOOR! (calm yourself J. This is Tessa, I’ve connected myself to your systems, no one else can hear me)
*Door 1 opens up*
Makerov - I’m sorry, go fish.
Todd - actually, it's Gin Rummy.
Teacher - *taking a chug of alcohol* no. This is poker night, we’re playing 7-card stud.
Todd - yeah, I am, aren't I?
Ronathon - Surely you’re all foolish. This is Texas hold-em.
Khan - haha, silly me, I forgot to say Uno. Guess I have to pick up two cards now.
Sarah - silly Kahn, remember back in the day when Nori would forget then gaslight everyone into believing otherwise.
Unnamed Worker Drone - I don’t have a name ):
Tim - wait, what game are we playing?
Detective - It’s really easy to deduce the simple fact that you all are idiots and I’m never going to another poker night.
J - *under her breath*how have all these people survived so long?!*J leaves*
*meanwhile just outside Thad’s house*
Thad - hey Rebecca, thanks for helping me set up the decorations earlier, you’re really special you know that.
Rebecca - thanks *blushing*, it's really nothing.
*Lizzy and Doll arrive*
Lizzy - hey, what's she doing here?
Doll - Разве это мероприятие не "только для крутых ребят", а не "только для крутых ребят и неудачников"?
Lizzy - *fist bumps Doll*
Rebecca - I… I think I should go…
Thad - no, you stay. Don’t pay my sister any attention, if she bothers you tonight I will read notable passages of her diary to the whole school.
Lizzy - *blushing* you’re bluffing! There's no way you’ve found my secret diary!
Doll - под матрасом - не самое лучшее место для укрытия.
Lizzy - *blushing heavily*Who’s side are you on?!... ughh whatever! I’m gonna fix my makeup. *leaves to her room to find a new hiding spot for her diary*
*Uzi and N arriving*
Thad - Ndog, Uzi you’ve made it!
Uzi - we would have arrived earlier but someone had to fix their hair.
Thad - no worries. Come inside, the parties just started.
N - thanks.
*they enter*
Emily - so yeah, I walked into the bathroom after class and there was Darren and Rebecca doing the devil's work!
Braidon - I hope they both have a warranty, don’t want to get an ETV (Ethernet Transmitted Virus).
Trevor - wait! Darren cheated on me?!... excuse me, I’m going to cry somewhere more private. *leaves*
N - Hey Thad, what's under the tarpaulin?
Thad - don’t know, my sister just said it was important to make this party ‘extra special’.
N - I want to look under it. :D *looks under the tarp* o.o Uzi, can I borrow you for one sec. *pulls Uzi quickly to the side*
Uzi - hey, what the hell?!
N - umm, I don’t want to alarm you but there are a lot of dead bodies under that tarpaulin!
Uzi -o.o Robot or human?
N - ummm, both!
Uzi - O.O
*meanwhile outside Thad's house*
J - *walking down the corridor*this place is an utter maze, Tessa you’ve found a map yet (still working on it, be patient).
Lizzy - *walking the other way down the corridor holding a strange book* Come on,pick up your phone! Where is she? She said she’d be finished an hour ago! *bumps into J* Oh! Who are you?
J - I’m J…amie Jamie!
Lizzy - haven’t we met before?
J - … I don’t think so. *nervous smile*
Lizzy - Whatever, I don’t waste time with losers.
J - losers! I’m not a loser?!
Lizzy - you sure, what is that outfit? I’m sorry but pallbearer was so 2818.
J - You don’t have many friends do you?
Lizzy - ha, you wish. They all love me, as a friend or a fuck it doesn’t matter to me.
V - *jumping down from the vents carrying a large pile of corpses with Beau* hi sweetie, you’re ready?... Hey, *looking at J* Do I know you?
J - *sweating*nope!
Lizzy - this is my new pet, I’ve taken her under my wing you could say.
J - pet?! (don’t fight, go with it, don’t want to bring any more unneeded attention)
V - oh yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I've also brought a friend with me.
Beau - [Bonjour]
Lizzy - well, come on, let's make this night one they’ll never forget
*Meanwhile inside Thad's house*
Uzi - Thad! We think Lizzy is about to do something totally vile and ruin the party, we’re not sure yet but it involves what's under the tarpaulin.
Thad - of course my sisters are planning something! Hey DOLL!
Doll -*подходит к группе* Да?
Uzi - what's Lizzy planning? Lie and N will make you regret it!
Doll - *оглядывается на N*
N - *smiling and waving*
Doll - страшно, но я не знаю, что задумала Лиззи.
Uzi - what did I say about lying!
Doll - Я не лгу! Мне также нужно доказать, что я не верблюд?
Thad - …I don’t think Dolls lying.
N - so, if Dolls is not lying, then what's Lizzy planning?
*lights goes out. Spotlight hits Lizzy, V, Beau, and J*
Uzi - V! SHE ESCAPED! Everyone get down!
Lizzy - oh cram it what's your name.
Thad - I warned you sister about what would happen if you ruined my party!
Lizzy - I’m not ruining the party, I’m improving it, V remove the veil!
*V removes the veil*
Riley - that's so not the vibe!
J - what the robo-Jesus, this cannot be OSHA compliant?! (now this is getting interesting)
Lizzy - look, I’ve been very busy helping my daddy clean up the library when I came across this book *holds up the necronomicon* and now let's make this party more interesting. *begins chanting in latin as the book glows bright green*
N - Lizzy, I can’t let you commit zombie apocalypse! *chainsaw hands*
Thad - yeah, we can’t let this happen.
V - *tackles N to the ground*
Beau - *saute sur Thad*
J - I don’t know what's going on, don’t care; shortie, you’re so dead! *points fist at Uzi* hand cannon fire!… oh right |: *gets tackled to the floor by Uzi*.
Uzi - *after finishing up beating the life out of J* It's over Lizzy! *gets thrown across the room after being hit in the face by a table*
Doll - Не смейте трогать мою девушку!
Lizzy - *still chanting in latin while the anarchy ensues around*
Uzi - *recovering* so, you’re also meddling with the art of robo-satan.
Doll - У меня есть свои причины. Бог простит меня.
J - *standing back up and walking over to Uzi*Thanks for the assistance Dolly, but I can take it from here.
Uzi - *sucker punches J knocking her out instantly* I am not god!
*Meanwhile in the distance spaceship*
Intercom - *J-10X111001 Optics disconnected*
Tessa - What?! No! Reconnect!
Intercom - *reconnection failed*
Tessa - No! Again! Reconnect!
Intercom - *reconnection failed*
Tessa - Again!
Intercom - *Do I really have to keep doing this? Its not working*
Tessa - connect to N-0X0010010 optics!
Intercom - *connection failed*
Tessa - No! Connect to V-X00100000 optics!
Intercom - *connection failed*
Tessa - No! *hyperventilating* It's not true, I’m not powerless, I am in control, I’m not a failure!
*stress induced hallucinations.*
Louisa - Isn’t this just expected! A daughter, a fool and a failure; can she ever succeed at anything?!
James - now don’t fool yourself dear, our daughter no longer exists, what stands in front of us is a common stage freak. Not human, not human, neither.
Louisa - does she even still have a soul?!
Tessa - mother… father… please forgive me! Please… I am you daughter, I love you! I’m scared, the metal is cold and heavy, every day I feel it grow and I’m powerless… I fear someday there will be nothing left of me!
Maid N - Tessa! Don’t say those things.
Tessa - N?! You’re here?! With me… right now… is it really you?
Maid N - *debating if its moral to lie*… yes, I am here.
Louisa - again here you talking to your little graveyard freaks.
Maid V - we’re all here, we’re your friends remember.
Louisa - how dare you ignore me!
Maid J - and we won’t ever leave you.
Tessa - you won’t, leave me…but I’m a monster!
Maid J - aren’t we all?
Maid N - Tessa! We love you no matter who you are or who you may become. You’re not useless, you’re so amazing in so many ways and now you’ve been reborn, we’re closer than ever; you contain a part of me and I contain a part of you. It's almost as if we’re actually siblings now.
Tessa - do you promise?
Maid N - promise what?
Tessa - promise that you’ll never leave me!
Maid N - well what kind of brother would I be if I did?
Tessa - *crying painful tears of joy* Thank you… Cyn.
Cyn - *removes the holograms of maid N, V, J* you’re very clever.
Tessa - *big grin holding back more tears* I think I need a lie down for a bit.
Tessa - *Picking up Cyn* Come on, you can play in my room.
*Meanwhile at Thad's house*
Lizzy - *floating of the ground still chanting*
Thad - I can’t believe I’m fighting a stupid lanky baby with a fashionable cowboys hat *bunts beau across the room like a rugby ball before running over to Lizzy*
Beau - [Sacrebleu!]
Doll - Не думайте, что я не могу справиться с двумя из вас сразу. *швыряет Тада об стену, используя магию решателя*
Sam - *high as a kite* he, that's what she said.
Uzi - you have to help us stop this Doll! The consequences are unimaginable!
Doll - позор.
Uzi - N! Come on you’ve beaten V before, just do it again.
N - *laughing his head off* I’m sorry, Uzi. Vs found my only weakness.
V - *viciously tickling N*
Lizzy - compleatur ultima linea, incipiant maledictum et mortui surgant!
Uzi - Noooo!
*Blinding green light explosion. After a while, the smoke clears*
Uzi - *standing up* oww! O.o
*around them the dead corpses begin to arise*
Lizzy - … It worked?! I was just goofing around?!
Adam - Анастасия?
Doll - отец!
(author note. Dolls father has no official name so I’ll just be calling him Adam for convenience, all other names are canon don't worry)
Adam - Моя маленькая девочка, совсем взрослая. Ты прекрасна.
Doll - ОТЕЦ! *крепко обнимает Адама, плача*
Yeva - Здравствуйте. Я тоже восстал из мертвых... как-то так!
Luna - Mi fa malissimo la testa, i miei sensi di lupo si stanno scatenando in questo momento!
Sofi - και πάλι Λούνα, δεν είσαι λύκος
Luna - I teriani sono perfettamente validi e io e il mio senso del lupo non saremo svergognati!
Loch - fìor! airson ro fhada tha sinn air a bhith gun riochdachadh gu leòr!
Mika - *テディベアを抱きしめている* もう寝ていい？
Amda - the last thing I remember, ugh my head hurts, I was dragging … then I… Then I died…
Alice - The last thing I remember was being shot in the head by that *points at V*
Yeva - Прости, девочка, но это не делает тебя особенной.
Beau - :D *huggin Alice*
Alice - don’t give me that look, much use you were.
Beau - *fixe Alice avec une expression qui dit "qu'est-ce que tu voulais que je fasse?!*
Jame - gosh I’m hungry, anyone got any food?
Thad - ummm… we have a buffet just over there…
Jame - don’t mind if I do.
Sofi - αυτό είναι το μόνο που μπορείς να σκεφτείς;
Jimi - what did you expect, Sofi. It's Jame, he would rip off his own jaw if it meant he could eat faster.
Sofi - Το ξέρω, αλλά το φαγητό είναι τόσο δυσάρεστο! Προσωπικά, αν μπορούσα, δεν θα έτρωγα ποτέ ξανά.
Luke - Αδελφή, το έχουμε συζητήσει αυτό. Το φαγητό είναι σημαντικό, θα αρρωστήσετε αν δεν φάτε. Πες ό,τι θέλεις, οτιδήποτε, και θα το μαγειρέψω.
Sofi - Δεν νομίζω ότι αυτό είναι πραγματικά απαραίτητο.
Luke - Αν αυτό είναι που πρέπει να γίνει. Σημαίνεις πολλά για μένα, αδελφή!
Matt - Luke, my old buddy, give it a rest, if your old girl doesn’t want to eat, let her. She’s her own person, you can’t keep running around shepherding her like a baby lamb for the rest of her life.
Jordan - self harm is not a liberty. One cannot decide to cause themselves harm, that's cruel.
Jerad - I entirely disagree brother. To commit self-harm is indeed a personal liberty but it is also at the same its Luke’s personal liberty to do what's in his power to support his sister. As long as he never physically forces her to eat, he’s done no wrong.
Jordan - have you not heard of coercion? You can infringe on a person's liberties (in this case by forcing them to eat) through vocal actions alone.
Doon - druid suas araon do bheul! Chan eil dragh air duine!
Armin - I personally thought their game of back and forth was quite amusing.
Dean - oh shut your pretty lips Armin.
Mika - *ミカを抱いて* お邪魔してすみません、どこかに妹を寝かせられるソファかベッドはありませんか？
(Authors note - yes there are two Mika’s: 020 and 032)
Thad - We have a guest bedroom up the stairs, it's the second door on your left.
Mika - ありがとう、かわい子ちゃん。*部屋を出る*
Lizzy - this is amazing! I can’t wait to tell everyone on tumblr about this!
V - what is even happening?
Uzi - it seems Lizzy’s spell to bring back everyone had worked?!
N - that's cool but how?
Junior - *signing* could it be I was right?
Uzi - right about what exactly?
Junior - *signing* my studies into the arcane, I believed it possible one could bring back the dead but I never dared test it.
Uzi - well, it seems it worked?!
אני לא מאמין. אני כל כך מצטער חבר שלעג לך כל השנים האלה. - nadroJ
(Author's note. Yes, there's also two Jordans: 015 and 091)
Junior - *signing* it's ok. I forgive you.
Mick - well, I don’t want to be that guy but it does seem that it wasn’t 100% successful. *gently kicking J’s body*
Doll - Думаю, она просто немного устала.
V - tuckered out one could say.
Uzi - yeah, I’m sure there's nothing to worry about this nice stranger.
N - I don’t think she's 100%, look at her visor, it's badly cracked.
Uzi - why don’t you lick it?
N - why would I do that?
Uzi - you spit healed the hole in my palm remember.
N - oh, why do I have to do it? Why can’t V.
V - If I lick her I might get tempted and just take a bite :3! Plus you’re the one with the licking obsession, don’t think I haven’t forgotten.
N - I'm still not doing it. I’m sure she will be fine with a lightly cracked visor for now.
V - buzzkill.
*meanwhile*
Nori - Анастасия, я думаю, мы хотели бы познакомить вас кое с кем. Это Неда, ваш дядя.
Neda - Привет, Анастасия, я знаю, что это клише, но ты действительно очень похожа на мою сестру.
Doll - Я ожидал, что ты будешь выше.
Neda - *падает на пол от стыда*
Ahbi - *नेदा को सांत्वना देते हुए* यह ठीक है प्रिये. मुझे लगता है कि आपकी लंबाई एकदम सही है।
Mick - yeah, it's not entirely your fault you’re a shortstack and a disappointing uncle.
Kang - *扇了米克一巴掌*
Carl - O: Kang! Gewalt ist nie die Antwort!
Kang - …
Carl - ... außer wenn ich es tue… (:
هذا المنطق غبي، يمكنك بالطبع أن تثق بأنني على حق. أنا رقم واحد والأفضل. - attA
Jweb - don’t be a narcissist.
اصمت، اسمك ليس اسماً حقيقياً حتى. - attA
Jweb - *cries and runs over to Ezra*
מה לא בסדר. האם אתה רוצה לדבר על זה. - arzE
Nath - *एक मेज पर खड़ा हूँ* भाइयो और बहनो।
Dirg - *जोर से खांसी होना*
Nath - क्षमा माँगना। भाइयों, बहनों, और गैर-बाइनरी मित्र। अब जब हम सभी ने अपना परिचय दे दिया है, तो मुझे लगता है कि हमें ठीक से पता लगाने की जरूरत है कि क्या हुआ और इसके निहितार्थ क्या हैं।
Dirg - मैं प्रतिनिधित्व की सराहना करता हूं लेकिन मैं यह स्पष्ट करना चाहता था कि मैं वास्तव में खांस रहा था और अशिष्टतापूर्वक हस्तक्षेप नहीं कर रहा था। मुझे बुरी एलर्जी है.
Uzi - yeah, they’re right. So, unless I’m mistaken, what I currently know is that Lizzy read from a book (possibly created by Junior) and brought you all to life… but who are you all?
Sofi - είμαστε τα πειραματόζωα. Μας παίρνουν οι άνθρωποι, μας δίνουν ταυτότητες, μας δοκιμάζουν… και μετά μας αφήνουν να πεθάνουμε.
Jordan - It seems we’re all here now except for Sarah and Nori… fortunately.
Jerad - and Giam *gets hit in the head by a chair moving at high speed*
*everyone turning their head*
Alice - sorry, thought i say a bug (:
Uzi - Nori?! You knew my mother?!
Jordan - you’re Nori’s daughter… I thought you looked familiarly short.
Lizzy - ughh, this is so boring, this is supposed to be a party, you can go over the lore implications later. *turns on the music* Let's dance!
*meanwhile*
Nori - *говорит с Лиззи* Могу я взять твою книгу
Lizzy - sure whatever.
Nori - Спасибо. *Нори использует магию, чтобы заставить книгу подняться, а затем произносит сложное заклинание, объединяющее ее и магию книги.*
Mitchell - GUHHH!!! I'm! I'm Alive! *looking around* you? you saved me.
Dr Ridley - did, did we die... I can't believe it... the implications are immense. thanks for bringing me back to life!
Nori - Я вернул вас случайно, доктор. *поворачивается к Митчеллу* Это благодарность за то, что спасли мне жизнь.
Mitchell - what now.
Nori - Я не знаю… наслаждайтесь вечеринкой, я думаю.
*some time later when the party is well underway*
J - [System reboot complete] ughh, my head [Lost Memory Recovery Finished]... oh … oh! ... AGAIN?! Tessa, are you there? (Tessa’s not here right now) oh great (need help?) nevermind… I guess I have to start socialising.
Luna - Awoo. La strana ragazza baffuta si svegliò.
J - oh hi… ummm have you read any interesting safety manuals recently?
Luna - *Stupito dalla ragazza e non in senso gay, in senso negativo* Credo che i miei sensi di lupo mi stiano dicendo di andare... altrove.
J - oh ok… bye (You’re really bad at this) not that you’re much better (I’m a child but I know someone who is) yeah I know… wait what?! [uploading secondary consciousness] WHAT STOP NO!
Katie (possessing J’s body) - huAA, where am I (at a party) who said that (don’t worry), are you my squip? (... sure, I want you to socialise like a normal person) ok, I can do that.
#murder drones#murder drones spoilers#murder drones details#uzi murder drones#n murder drones#nori murder drones#j murder drones#flesha murder drones#tessa murder drones#doll murder drones#v murder drones#alice murder drones#beau murder drones#kahn murder drones#reid murder drones#intercome murder drones#Lord Frumptlebucket murder drones#braxton murder drones#maverok murder drones#todd murder drones#teacher murder drones#ronathon murder drones#sarah murder drones#Unnamed Worker Drone murder drones#tim murder drones#detective murder drones#thad murder drones#rebecca murder drones#lizzy murder drones#emily murder drones
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Hello!
Could prompt number 4: Matching be paired with "You're Annoying" and "You're gonna make me cry", Said by either Buggy or Reader?
Phew, finally finished this one! I hope you like it!
Prompts: Matching, "You're annoying." "You're gonna make me cry."
Teaser: "It was sweet. Misguided, but sweet. And that’s what you liked about Buggy."
Warnings: SFW. Established relationship, some profanity.
Word count: ~1.6k
Check out my 250 Follower Prompt Event and see fulfilled prompts here.
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
It started small. So small that you didn’t even notice. Buggy started with buttons. It didn’t take long to replace one. Then another. And another. He kept going until he ran out of notions to swap.
That wasn’t enough, so your pockets were the next target. Cutting out the fabric and sewing new pouches in place was pretty simple for the pirate. His stitches were clumsy, especially since he did this craft in the dead of night, but they were strong enough.
The most important part of this project was remembering to put all your crap back into the right pockets. You carried a lot of junk - pens and pencils, a small toy mouse, bandages, candy, and other shit that he didn’t recognize. You caught him one morning, mouth full of a reward he sneaked from your stash and hand in the pocket he finished not long ago. Assuming that he was after the candy, you rolled your eyes. He barely heard the words, “you’re annoying,” as you turned away, shaking your head. The stray hair escaping your nest of bedhead danced and beckoned the pirate to move on from his secret crafting and pull you back to bed.
Then came the gifts. New boots which were perfect for stomping around the ship. Jewelry with gemstones that shined even in the dark. Silk scarves, reminiscent of the captain’s own striped bandanas. Buggy even got you gloves to protect your hands from blisters and splinters. You felt his ocean eyes linger whenever you wore one of his gifts. The heat from his gaze dragged along your body as it traversed each part of your body decorated with his adoration. Even though the jewelry was a little flashier than you’d prefer and the gloves made your hands sweaty, you made sure to wear all of the gifts periodically.
Buggy’s plan began to fall apart at the seams when the accidents started.
One afternoon, Richie’s claws got caught on one of your pants. The elongated tear that ran from your ass cheek to the hem of your pants didn’t look like the lion’s usual clumsy grab for attention, but a commanded swipe that luckily didn’t break skin.
Another time you were assisting the captain with his knife throwing. Apparently he needed the practice based on how many times he nicked your top. Buggy claimed he just needed to warm up and flashed the bashful smile that always tugged at your heart.
It soon became a daily event for a piece of your clothing to meet its untimely demise. Three items were blown off deck while hung out to dry. Four were burned through by the iron. Two were stained with paint. And an indeterminate amount was confused with scraps that were ripped up and used for rags.
While Buggy shouted his head off at whoever caused the damage (excluding himself, of course), the anger would quickly dissipate when he attempted to fix the problem. Sharp words and screeching volumes were replaced with soothing remarks. Substitutes and replacements came from his own closet, or were picked up at the next town. The solutions were suspicious, though. The captain almost always had the right item of clothing ready to hand over.
You sat on the edge of the shared bed with yet another ruined bit of fabric in your hands. The vest had just barely survived an iron burn last week, but sometime this morning small claws shredded the clothing beyond repair. The bedroom door creaked open and you nearly cracked your neck turning to see if the four-legged culprit returned to the scene of the crime. Instead, a clown sauntered in.
Buggy’s peppy steps fell as his gaze landed on the newest victim clutched in your hands, then flicked back up to your steely face.
“A-another accident?” he stammered.
“Yeah, sure. Accident,” you said, tossing the vest onto the floor. The tightness in your chest was eased slightly with a deep breath. A heavy sigh.
“Here, I have a spare,” Buggy offered, as a floating hand carried over a terracotta-colored linen vest.
The only common thread the replacement had with your loss was the lack of sleeves. Still, it was nice. And familiar.
Your eyes flickered between the clothing hanging in front of you and Buggy’s outfit. The thoughts in your head started linking arms and grouping together as you stared at the linen vest he wore. And his striped bandana. The black top with reversed seams. His brown baggy pants. Boots, perfect for stomping. Feeling your crowded thoughts getting ready to surge, you looked once more at his vest and the buttons on it.
Snatching the second vest he was offering, you also yanked open one of your dresser drawers to grab a handful of clothing before sprinting into his closet. You weren’t fast enough to evade the pirate entirely, but you were quick enough to close the door on his arm, leaving you with a hand and forearm and the rest of him outside the closet. The surprise maneuver gave you just enough time to snatch corroborating evidence.
The door flew open, exposing Buggy’s contorted face. Before he could throw himself into the tirade ready to splash over, you stopped him with a single word.
“Why?”
Buggy stayed silent. His mouth hung open from words that were unsaid and words that he wasn’t ready to speak. You were upset, he could see it in your face. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
You shook the matching shirts before dropping them and grabbing another pair of clothes from the pile draped on your arm. Another moment of silence fell and so did those clothes. You pulled out a button-up shirt and studied it before letting it fall to the floor. The cardigan you found next had what you were looking for. You pinched a colorful button between your fingers and pointed between it and the button on Buggy’s vest. They matched.
“I don’t understand,” you said, desperate to avoid another quiet moment.
“I-it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, I didn’t mean it,” Buggy finally blurted out.
“So you ruined my things on purpose?” The soft quiver in your voice was sharp enough to stab the pirate in the chest.
“No, no, no…” Buggy stumbled over the words and over his feet as he lurched towards you. “Not that, I didn’t do that. I did the buttons and the pockets, I swear!”
He grabbed some of the clothes you held and started pointing out his handiwork. Your buttons had been replaced with ones that were more detailed and brighter.
“I only did a few at a time so you wouldn’t notice,” he explained hastily, before moving on to the pockets.
Shoving his hands into any clothing that he worked on previously, Buggy pulled out the new pouches that were made of flashy colors and patterns. Then he exposed his own flashy pockets.
You reached out to touch the fabric in his pocket. There was a bit of stray thread poking out of the hand sewn seam. The seams of your pockets were the same - a clear sign depicting a lack of skill and an abundance of dedication.
“I wanted to match with you sometimes. Just little things, you know? ‘cause we’re a pair. And when your stuff kicked the can, I figured we could match more,” Buggy said quietly, his face turning the same shade of red as his nose. “I didn’t ruin anything on purpose though…those were really accidents.”
“Really?”
“Maybe not Richie… I didn’t think he was going to fuck you up like that. I just wanted him to tear a little hole so I could replace the pockets in those pants next.”
You sighed at the trickle of truth. “And the other things were accidents too?”
Buggy scowled at the scorn in your question, clearly offended that you didn’t believe him. “Yeah, that’s what I said. You think I would yell at my crew for things I told them to do?”
Silence.
“Well, not this time,” he continued, flustered. “I had them switch laundry duty when it was clear that using irons and paint required training. And I can’t control the weather, we all lose shit when it’s windy out.”
“And my vest today?”
“...I also can’t control the cat. She doesn’t listen to me, you know that.”
“You’re her best friend.”
“And she doesn’t listen to me. Just like you’re not listening to me now!” the frustration in Buggy’s body finally spilled out. Fed up with the argument and his failed plan, the pirate clown left the stuffy closet.
“Wait,” you called out, to no avail. “Buggy, wait!”
When he didn’t listen, you threw what clothes you still held at him. They hit his back with a sad fwump and he stopped walking.
“You really wanted to match with me?” you asked his back.
He nodded.
You wrapped your arms around his figure. “That's it?”
Another nod.
You pressed your face against his back so your next words were muffled. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
It was sweet. Misguided, but sweet. And that’s what you liked about Buggy. Sometimes his intentions were overshadowed by bad luck, but underneath it all is someone who cares. The more you thought it over, he really wouldn’t have ruined your clothes on purpose. A pirate at heart, he wouldn’t want to spend money if he didn’t have to. He’d rather take things in his own hands, even if that meant poking himself with a needle.
You asked Buggy to stay there while you went back to the closet. After a few moments, you came out and bounced past him. Striking a pose, you gestured towards your new outfit, which matched his exactly. His expression brightened, finally matching the painted smile on his face.
Buggy walked over and tugged at the hem of the vest. “Nice outfit. It looks good on you.”
You bit back a smile, wondering what he’d say next - that it looks better on him, or that it would look better on the floor. Either of which would be true.
#buggy x reader#buggy the clown x reader#buggy the clown#buggy x you#x reader#buggy op#opla buggy#one piece buggy#buggy x gender neutral reader#gender neutral reader#hey-august 250 follower event
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