#i enjoy your clowns sir | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dexlexia · 5 months

Text

how to deal with 3 warlords (while pregnant) - cross guild x reader

pairing: dracule mihawk x buggy the clown x reader x crocdile rating: 18+ summary: Three warlords, three of the most vicious men in all of the world. And somehow, someway they are at your beck and call. What started out as an arrangement with Sir Crocodile turned into a liaison with Mihawk and somewhere along the way you ended up in bed with the clown. tags: long fic (over 5k), polyam!cross guild, smut, pwp, table sex, couch sex, lingerie, slight possessive behaviour, good ol' time, fingering, outdoor sex, clothed sex, cowgirl position.

join me on discord! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Three warlords, three of the most vicious men in all of the world. And somehow,someway they are at your beck and call. What started out as an arrangement with Sir Crocodile turned into a liaison with Mihawk and somewhere along the way you ended up in bed with the clown.

Now you were living quite well in a large manor on some island in the southeast. You spent most of your days reading, you had even taken up a little gardening. Anything you wanted the Cross Guild got for you. Not many people were living like you on the Grand Line.

Then it happened. You ended up pregnant by one of the idiots. One of the three men was the father of your child. You expected to be on the next boat off the island, but none of the men were willing to send you off. They wanted to make sure their little lady was taken care of. While they bicker over who the father was, they each made sure you were taken care of.

”Can't you hurt now.“ Crocodile told you as he brushed his fingers through your hair, ”If it isn't my brat this time, it will be next time.“ And he almost smiled around the cigar in his mouth.

So that was how you became the lovely wife to three of the most dangerous men on the high seas. And sometimes you wished their boat would sink.

At six months pregnant it wasn't easy to get around, you spent most days rubbing the sore spot in your back and hobbling around the manor. Most of the time the men kept to themselves and allowed you freedom to roam around the place.

There was something about the manor you quite enjoyed, even if the men barely got along they still cared deeply for you. You had the pleasure of being called more beautiful than any treasure. But it was Buggy who told you that and then he promptly passed out from too much liquor. So the compliment only went so far.

It was a home, even with three fearsome men, you still were happy. You thought of it as a way to keep the men in check. You were like the glue that held them together or prevented them from killing one another. It wasn't easy work but it was your work.

You rubbed your achy lower back and huffed, ”You better come out easy, or we're going to have a problem.“ You then poked your swollen middle. Your current wardrobe was clothing that belonged to the men. You hadn't had much time to find cuter clothes so you often were dressed like a mob boss or a gothic swordsman or a fucking clown. But none of them men minded, to be fair they'd preferred if you were naked. You however refused to give them the satisfaction.

You weren't a toy to be ogled at, and if any of them treated you like an object they'd be out on the yard before they could finish their sentence. You refused to raise a child to believe that a woman would be under a man. Even if their father was a warlord you'd teach them compassion and kindness in an unforgiving world.

It was the least you could do. So even with the aches and pains you were happy to carry such a precious gift. You gave your belly and soft pat, ”I'm not mad at you“ You said, ”I just want everything to go smoothly, I'm excited to meet you. And the boys will love you too. They might be a bit much but you'll always have a home.“

”Talking to the baby again, I see.“ You heard.

”Crocodile.“ You responded as you looked up from your swollen middle. Hand on your lower back once more, ”I thought you were busy, Mihawk told me that.“

You'd say out of the three of them, Crocodile was the most ”attentive“, there was a charm to him that you couldn't deny. You understood why he was able to charm his way through Alabasta. But anything you needed he got for you without question. He often enjoyed your pregnant state, the idea that he bred you so well left him excited. Such a good girl carrying his spawn, and if it happened that the baby belonged to the swordsman or the clown, he'd make sure that next time he finished the job.

”I'm never too busy for you. Where are you going anyway?“ He asked,“If you need something, I will get it fo you.” He approached you and leaned down to caress your bump, “You will need for nothing. You should be resting.“

”I have to move sometimes, Crocodile. Even with the pains in my lower back.“ You huffed as you rubbed the sore spot, ”Can't be bed bound forever.“

He chuckled and kissed the top of your head, ”If you wanted a back rub you should've come to my office. Mihawk is too rough with you and the clown is an idiot. So why don't we get what you need and head to the bedroom.“ He leaned further down and kissed you on the lips.

You cupped his face and looked at him, ”If you can get me the ice pop from the freezer in the kitchen I'll happily accept your offer.“ And gave him the biggest puppy dog eyes you could muster.

He chuckled, ”You always know how to get your way.“ Then took you by the hand, ”Why don't get go before the clown takes all of them.“ Then he started to slowly walk to the kitchen on the lower level.

The warlord had a soft spot for you, he was enamoured by you. You were so small compared to him yet you held your own. The kind of woman who would bear his young.

Soon you were seated at the massive dinner table happily enjoying the blue ice pop that was in the freezer with your back turned to Crocodile. His hand was on your back slowly massaging the aches and pains on your lower back. You could tell he was getting aroused by the closeness to you. You smiled to yourself as he rubbed at your back.

”How's the child doing?” He asked as the hooked hand reached around you and carefully rubbed your bump, “Is he behaving?”

You chuckled, “We don't know the gender of the baby.” And took another bite of the cold treat, “You better not be disappointed if they're a girl."

He chuckled and pressed at a sore spot on your back, ”I could never, not with you.“ Then pulled away, "You're still a marvellous sight, even this far in. You're a beauty to behold, little one.“ Then leaned in to get a good feeling on the tenseness of your lower back, ”You're a good girl, right?“

You turned your head to look at him, ”You're not just being nice for sex are you?“ You reached over and stroked his face, ”Right?“

He moved back a little, “No, of course, I'd only have sex with you, with you permission.” He swallowed. Only the warlord would get nervous around you.

You chuckled and patted him on the cheek, “Why don't you finish this up for me.” You placed the ice pop in his mouth and moved off the chair. You hiked up the shirt that looked like a dress as you hoisted yourself onto the lavish dining table with a huff. It's hard to be sexy when you're so pregnant.

“Oh?” He said, “And here I thought you wanted a massage. But if there's something you desire, I'm happy to provide.” He smirked at you as he got up from the other chair. He stood in front of you and admired you, such a beautiful woman in his eyes.

Crocodile was such a fearsome man but here he was in front of you, with a glint in his eye as he watched you unbutton the shirt you wore and soon revealed your almost naked form. He had noticed that your breasts had gotten a bit bigger during the time you were pregnant so far, and that only made the man smirk.

“Let's get you out of those." He remarked as he helped you out of your underwear, you held onto his broad shoulders as he slipped them off of you. He placed your bum back down on the table and carefully spread your legs. His hook grazed at the soft flesh of your inner thigh and he carefully licked his hip lip.

”Don't stare at me like I'm meat, Crocodile.“ You remarked as you held onto the front of his shirt, all three of the men admired you but you had to warn them sometimes not to view you like a slab of meat for sale. They were yours as much as you were theirs, there would be a level of respect you demanded.

You didn't think it was too much to ask considering you were carrying one of their children, you weren't a broodmare goddamnit!

He reached over and patted you on the head, his face got closer to yours as he smiled at you, ”Don't you worry, baby. I would never. You're less like meat and more like the finest gold in all of the blue.“ His broad hand reached to your cheek and rubbed it, ”The others should be lucky I even let you in the same room as them.“ Then kissed you on the forehead. He carefully held your legs open for him, he exhaled deeply as he admired your sweet sex, ”Now let's get the show on the road before the others find us.“ Then with a little help from you, he slid his cock into you.

Taking him was like a punch in the gut sometimes, even when he was being slow. He was just so BIG. It was hard to take him all at once. But he took his time, he didn't want to leave you too sore. His hand was on your waist as he started to thrust into you. The hook on his other hand held onto the side of the table for support. He leaned down and kissed at your neck, ”That's it.“ He said almost breathless against your neck, ”There we go. Such a good girl.“

The table made small noises as it was pushed ever so slightly across the carpeted floor. But you didn't pay much mind to it, you were too concerned with the feeling of euphoria that came over you. It was a great feeling, even with the minor stretch you were in good hands with the warlord.

”Crocodile.“ You said softly, ”Fuck.“

He chuckled, his warm skin was pressed up against you, ”I know, you like when we have sex. I wouldn't have it with anyone else, those other idiots should be lucky that they get to have a taste of you.“ His voice was low, there was a possessive edge to it that sent a shiver up your spine. While the agreement worked you knew that Crocodile would rather have you all to yourself.

The sex was quiet and secretive. Hot breathing and soft moans filled the air of the lavish dining room. Crocodile's larger body stayed around you as he thrusted up into you. But even the warlord couldn't keep his composure for long.

”I want you to finish at the same time as me, baby.“ He said hotly into your ear, ”I want to feel you get very tight around me when you finish. Can you do that for me?“ His breathing was rapid and his shirt was sticking to his muscular back as he thrusted up into you.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment as you felt the wave of pleasure over your body, ”I can do that.“ You panted. Your body jolted with the thrusts, your pregnant belly and heavy breasts moved with each thrust of his hips.

He pulled you into a deep kiss, he even explored your mouth with his tongue while the intense feeling of climax took hold. It wasn't long before you were clinging onto him for dear life, you belly pressed against him. Then with one last thrust of his cock, you moaned into his mouth and climaxed at the same time as him. You let out a sharp squeak before a primal groan as you felt the wash of pleasure through your system. It made you go lightheaded.

Soon Crocodile pulled away and patted you on the cheek. He looked over at the half melted popsicle beside you. Between his breaths he said, “Let me get you another one.” then leaned in for one last kiss. The thrill of pleasure still coursed through his body. He cleared his throat and asked, “Blue, right?”

You giggled, your head still a haze and replied, “Or we could go again?” And spread your legs a little further. And what kind of husband would Crocodile be if he didn't give in to his wife's request?

It had been about a week since your encounter with Crocodile. And while you were achy for days later, it wouldn't be the last time you'd have sex. Mihawk had just come back from a trip abroad and while he brought nothing for the other men, he was more than happy to show you what he got you.

You were now almost seven months and the baby in you was feeling a lot more active, which made you out of breath a lot of the time. But you were determined to see what the swordsman got you. One of the gifts was a lovely dress made for someone as far along as you and while it was a little tight around the belly, you were happy Mihawk even thought of you.

But there was still more he wanted to show you. The other men were out of the manor, so you went looking for Mihawk. You were occupied all morning with prepping for dinner, between the three warlords not a single one of them knew how to properly cook. They were as clueless in the kitchen as they were competent in combat. So it was just easier for you to cook, there was less of a chance that a fire would break out.

“Mihawk!” You called out as you climbed the long staircase upstairs. You peeked into the rooms until you found the man in his study. You let yourself in.

“You know you can't just- oh, I didn't hear you, my love.” He got up from his chair at the desk, “You shouldn't be putting so much strain on yourself. Come.” He guided you to the old style leather couch at the other end of the room, “You should be resting.”

“Well I heard that someone bought me presents while away, and I want my presents.” You smiled at him as you tried to get comfortable on the chair, “Can you blame me?”

“I'm sorry, I should've found you sooner.” he replied, “Let me get them for you.“ He quickly left the room only to swiftly return with delicately wrapped gifts in hand. He put them on the table in front of you then sat beside you. He watched you with careful eyes as you grabbed the first one. His lips were close to your ear as he said, “Open it.”

It was a floral patterned wrapping paper and underneath was a black box with a white ribbon tied around it, there was a note attached to it that read, ”Forever yours, Mihawk.“ You turned to look at him and he softly kissed you. You then went back to opening the box. It wasn't long until you discovered the contents of the gift. Inside in a bed of tissue paper was burgundy lingerie.

You turned to look at Mihawk who had his eyes on you. You said to him, ”You shouldn't have.“

He tilted his head to the side, ”What I paid for is nothing compared to how much you're worth. It should fit you.“ His hand played with your hair gently, ”Will you try it on for me?“ And smiled when you slowly stood up, he even carefully supported you while you moved.

You responded, “Of course.” With gentle hands you pulled the bra and matching panties out. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw how little fabric there was. You guessed he was right, it would fit if there was nothing to put on. You felt his eyes on you as he got up and started to undress you.

His hands found your swollen middle and he sighed contently, “You've been taking care of him while I've been gone. Good girl.”

You turned around to him and started to take the dress off, “You men are so possessive. I'm your wife, not a broodmare.” You reminded him.

He leaned in for a kiss and before he did it, he replied, “Of course, I could never remember you as anything but my wife. I am just glad that the others weren't too rough with you. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“Nothing will ever happen to me, I have the best protection on the planet.” You said as you stepped out of your dress. Soon your undergarments came off and he slowly put the pieces on you.

You noticed right away that in the crotch area, there was an opening. You looked at him with a bit and shock and he got even closer to you. His bare chest was pushed against you and his hand dipped down between your legs.

“It's your gift. But under my conditions.” He remarked before he pushed two fingers inside of you. His skillful digits massaged the inside of your pussy and felt just right that you went on your tippy toes and clutched onto him.

Your nipples grew hard from the sensation and them being practically exposed. Your cheeks grew warm and he went in for another kiss. You held onto him tightly as the pleasure raced through you. This felt amazing.

Mihawk's favourite position was when he had you so close to his bigger form and fingered you. He prioritised your pleasure first, he wanted to see every expression you made when he pleasured you. He wanted to see and hear how good it was for you. And he was one to never disappoint. Those sharp gold eyes trained on you as he brought you into his lap with your legs open and facing the door. He kissed your neck while you panted and moaned.

His other hand wandered your bump, “I want it to be mine, I want you to bear me a child who'll truly be the greatest. I have high hopes that it'll be mine.” Then left a deep bruise on your neck.

Your moans often got stuck in your throat from the immense pleasure that Mihawk was giving you. You hooked your hands under your knees to give him a better angle, with your back pressed against his chest.

The thrusts of his fingers were powerful and left your head spinning. This was euphoric. Soon his hand was on your breast and he skilfully fondled it as he continued to finger you at a punishing pace.

Your moans rung clear in the office while he pleasures you on the couch. At least your wetness can easily be cleaned off the leather. Your eyes rolled back as you gripped your thighs in a heightened pleasure.

“So good for me.” He praised, “A beautiful woman I am able to give pleasure to, it's an honour.” He knew your heart was racing, he could probably feel it. He continued to kiss at your neck as his pace quickened even more.

Your toes curled in the intense feeling and you moaned loudly as you rolled your hips in time with his movement which caused your breasts and belly to bounce. The knowledge of that made Mihawk's cock twitch in his pants. You really were a remarkable woman.

He pinched at your nipple and your moans got louder. You pussy clenched around his fingers and he groaned into your flushed skin, ”So perfect.“ he thumb gazed at your clit and you practically jumped but you didn't get too far. He pulled you back in and you got louder as he pleasured you further.

You felt a grip around you as hot pleasure raced through your body. Your core felt on fire from the sensation. And Mihawk thought it was divine. You looked angelic, especially when he hit just the right spot and you climaxed.

He groaned into your skin as you tightened around his fingers. You tensed for a moment before you relaxed against him and tried to catch your breath. Yor head was spinning but you felt safe in Mihawk's arms.

”How was that?“ He asked, ”You looked divine when I was pleasuring you. Do you want more?“

You exhaled deeply and slowly got up. You stood in front of him, ”Well.“ You said, ”Let's see how resilient this lace is?“ Then slowly he brought you back to the couch with the full intention of seeing what 'damage' he could do before the other men came home.

Buggy was home the most, while the other two had matters to attend to off the island, Buggy was well Buggy. He was a fearsome clown but you spent the most time with him. You enjoyed his company, even when it was something as simple as watching over you while you gardened.

It was the middle of summer and everyone was in their own little corner of the house. You were out in the garden behind the manor waddling around with a watering can in hand. You were tending to the roses portion of the garden before you moved on to the strawberries nearby.

You didn't mind the alone time, it gave you time to think. You tried not to get too anxious about how your life is going to change once the baby is born. It felt so far away yet so close. Before the first autumn leaves you were going to be a mother! And at times it left you rather anxious.

You shook off the thoughts while you poured the water over the roses. You heard the back door open and close. You turned to look over and saw Buggy. And when your eyes met, he broke out into a grin.

”Well there you are, my peanut!“ Then made strides to get closer to you. You quickly noticed in his hand was your large sun hat. He approached and placed it on your head, ”I don't think now is the best time to get a sunburn. You know Crocodile will kill you.“ Then leaned in for a kiss.

While the other two were mysterious, Buggy seemed normal in comparison. Well, for a clown pirate anyway. He had a very sweet spot for you and while you hadn't seen much of his feared nature, you enjoyed your time with him. He was an open book to you.

”You know one of us can do that, like you don't have to keep coming out here. Especially alone, what if you slip on some mud or like... A bird drops a rock on your head!"

You laughed, ”Buggy, I think I have bigger things to worry about than a bird."

He shrugged before he took the watering can from you, “I'd hate to see anything happen to ya, so let's go. It's time for a break!” Then placed it down before he guided you away from the garden and towards the shade under the largest tree on the property.

He helped you down onto the grass and he went in for another kiss. He moaned against your lips as gloved hands cupped your face. It was almost romantic if not for the heat between your kisses. Your heart jumped.

“You shouldn't be out here all alone, angel. What if someone hurt you? What if someone took you from me?“ He stared down at you.

You smiled back at him and reached out for him. You placed a hand on his cheek and assured him, ”No one would ever dare.“ Then went in for another kiss.You felt excitement race though you as he laid down in the grass with you on top of him.

”Good, because you're mine, peanut. Just like that kid in your belly.“ He grinned at you and nodded. Soon with the help of his powers one of his hands reached down, detached from his body and lifted up your dress. He slipped his hand under and found the less than stylish maternity underwear you wore.

”What do you think you're doing, clown?“ You asked, as you held his face, ”Did you come to check on me so you could fuck me?“

He laughed, ”Of course not, having sex with you is just a bonus!“ Then with another hand, pull down the underwear to the middle of your thigh, ”C'mon, then afterwards I'll even help ya water the garden. Seeing you all domestic has really turned me on.” Then he grabbed your ass.

You moaned and he pulled you in for a searing kiss. He continued to gab at your ass as the kiss deepened. He pulled you dress up further to expose your bare ass to the afternoon air.

“You drive me crazy.“ He remarked before he created a bit of room between you two to get his cock out of his pants, ”So why don't you be a good girl and get me off.“ He beamed at you.

You squeezed his nose between your thumb and pointer finger, ”And what do we say with that, Buggy?“

He frowned suddenly, ”Please. Please angel, sugar, honey, peanut, please, please!“ His cock was out of his pants and pressed into your swollen middle, ”I'd love to see that belly bounce while ya ride me.“ Then he attached both hands to his wrists and held onto your waist. ”I want you.“

You chuckled and held onto the bottom of your dress so a bit of your belly was exposed as you eated yourself onto him. You held his hand for support as you slowly seated yourself onto him. You exhaled deeply, “Yeah.“

”Doing alright there, peanut?“ He asked as he rubbed your hip with his free hand, ”That's it, good girl.“

You moaned as you started to roll your hips. You held onto his hand and the bottom of your dress while you rolled your hips. You felt his cock nudge against the most sensitive spots. For a clown he was a good fuck.

Your eyes closed and your mouth slightly opened as you moved faster. Buggy groaned and soon both hands were on your hips as he tried to meet your pace. “Shit.” You moaned as you felt pleasure spread through your body like warm butter on hot toast. Your cheeks were flushed as you continued to move your body.

The two of you went at it, you kept the pace steady. It was getting quicker but the depths that he pushed against made you see stars behind your eyelids. Your heart raced as you moved against him. The feeling of overwhelming moments. Sex with Buggy left you breathless as it did with the other men. You were glad that your pussy could take a beating. The thought made you smirk for a second before you felt his thumb rub up against your clit.

You jolted up but he used his other hand to keep you back down on his cock. He chuckled, “You're not getting away that easily, angel. I know I make you feel good, that's why the brat in ya is mine. His hand moved to your belly to feel around it while he played with your clit.

You felt moans bubble up in your throat as you rode him. You picked up the pace as the swirl of pleasure moved in the pit of your stomach. Your breathing was rapid as your belly moved with your movements. A sight the clown would never get out of his mind. His girl pregnant with his brat riding him on a sunny afternoon, he couldn't luck out more than this!

Soon the pleasure became an overwhelming feeling for both of you. He handed onto your belly with both hands as he pushed up deeper into you. Your coe felt soaked from the stimulation of his cock as you thrust your hips. Soon your hands were over his on your bump as you moved as fast as your pregnant body would allow.

Buggy's eyes rolled back as he gripped onto your belly, your dress fell back down over the bump as you two met each other's pace. Pleasure coursed through you and you tilted your head back in an attempt to catch your breath as you moved.

You felt your dress cling to your sweaty back as the two of you made love under the sun. The feeling was euphoric. You reached down and grabbed him by the font of his shirt as you felt on the very tip of orgasm.

The moa got caught in your throat as you climaxed. You tightened around him and he soo finished off too inside of you. He painted your inside white as he let out a loud groan and went limp on the ground.

You slid off of him, cum stained your inner thigh. You wiped the sweat from your forehead and said, ”C'mon now, Buggy. You have to help me water strawberries.“ But his hands, that were detached from his wrists, pulled your dress up once more.

Soon he was on top of you, squishing your belly as he said between ragged breaths, ”Not until I make you scream, peanut.“ With a wild grin on his face.

#dexlexia writes #reader insert #anime x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece smut #the cross guild #cross guild #one piece mihawk #one piece buggy #one piece crocodile #sir crocodile #crocodile x reader #buggy #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader

1K notes · View notes

chokchokk · 9 months

Text

𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 | park seonghwa x fem!reader x choi san

part one of gangster!mafia!series "𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞-𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞"

“Brother, can’t you see I’m doing this for you? Enjoy yourself.”

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : Picking your own poison, if poison was given to you in form of bankrolls by venomous men with high demands.

In which Park Seonghwa had a plan and Choi San has ideas.

“Sounds like you’re enjoying her more than anything."

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : noir, smut, angst | korean mafia/geondal!au | ceo/jaebeol!au

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 18.2k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : entitled rich people, workplace harassment, alcoholism, softdom ceo!seonghwa (headman park), half-drunk satoori-using dom mafiaboss!san (mr. choi), both are called by their names at some point, sub-leaning bratty switch servant!femreader, use of (pet-)names (missy, baby, princess), groping, thigh-riding, light choking, light hair-pulling, non-penetrative sex, voyeur!seonghwa, sex in the elevator, counts as mirror sex right, biting kink, manhandling!san, edging, breeding, cum-eating (m), cunnilingus; reader hates the rich except for when they are sexy, implied but not severe age gap, writer does not have daddy kink but mafiaboss!san does, gunshots and death, use of korean proverbs

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : this with the next part will be the origin story for reader, specifically the series synopsis’ first half :) originally, this has been a request, so please read this, if you desire to have a bit more insight to what the series actually is + translations of certain terms (mostly character dynamics) in this chapter !!

tl;dr: since it's all based around korean mafia/gangster/etc, there will be korean culture scattered between the lines. it is all translated, hopefully in an understandable way!!! (please hmu if there are difficulties) i let out honorifics/romanisation, except for "chaebol" since it's an actual word :) that being said, reader's ethnicity is not specified and won't be relevant to the series in any way !!

smut comes after the second border, and uh,,, i had to shorten that shit (pls dont ask me where) but uh. you’re getting 8k words of smut so buckle up LMAO !!! i hope you enjoy as much as i did writing it !!! thank you for likes, reblogs and feedback xoxo (also this is NOT beta-read so pls dont hesitate to tell me about... like.... errors, tags and shit)

[ now playing : money ▸ pink floyd | listen to the playlist ]

It's getting repetitive. They are drinking their ninth bottle of expensive whiskey, smoking their third or fourth disgustingly pricey cigar— what the fuck, is this seriously what the upper men of your nation are doing at some stupid chairman’s dinner party?

“Missy!”

“Me, sir?”

No wonder the economy's fucking shit.

“Yeah, you, missy, give that gent over there one of our divine Denmarks!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Give him a kiss too, while you’re at it! What do you think? He’s still got it, no?”

Said ‘gent’, some old, scummy clown— winks at you, his gray eyelashes fluttering towards your direction.

“Yes, sir."

God, how bad you wish you had snuck your phone in to take a picture of these red, drunken, senseless faces, but you're a dutiful servant, abiding by the rules at all times, however difficult it may be. You’re holding in your puke professionally, not even doing something as to grit your teeth, just softly letting your jaw play along to your friendly smile.

“Does your willy even still work that way, old friend?", a cranky, yet humorous voice pitches in.

Agreeing to your supervisor’s offer to earn “big money” may have been a bad idea, but a good choice. Jongho said he’d seen you at your work, took special note of you— even though you weren’t sure where exactly he had observed you, since it’s only been a month of actually working as a servant in the lower tiers of the building— and wanted to give you a chance to swim with the big sharks. “I think you’re best suited for the job,” is what he said to make you giggle and think about your initial rejection of his proposition, “you have a talent for serving.”

Something you didn’t know you had, something you didn’t know someone would see in you ever in your life, “talent.” Sure, maybe you let yourself be persuaded a bit too fast, but it felt very touching that somebody saw you and saw potential, for whatever occasion it may be for. You don’t necessarily want to screw the rules of the hierarchical pyramid or what it was that kept you from being in the proximity of the chairman, but you really need the extra cash right now.

"What does a girl from the mountains look for in being a servant in the city?", had been the question you were asked by Lady Kim who gave you the leftovers of her restaurant at the end of the day, when you had just started with the training– poor, barely standing on your own feet.

You remember how you explained to her that the buddhist monks who raised and send you here surrounded themselves with wells to remind everyone that water always returned, and you assumed it would work the same with wealth. You also remember how hard she tried to stay kind to you, showing you her sincerest sympathy by telling you that "the chaebol are no joke!" (at least not a joke, an innocent girl like you could laugh about, she later explained) and giving you an extra portion of her home-made dumplings to suit you up.

Her sharp, yet compassionate voice rings in your ears, as you reapply your red lipstick on the way to your target guest. Oh, Lady Kim, what a graceful woman– she put her all into her work for her restaurant to succeed, but had always made a place to share what she had for those who needed it. Such a lovable woman, she must have been well-liked by all around her.

You get it now, the way you had been so naive back then. Floating on the philosophical happy-go-lucky psyche of the city’s promise of prosperity, trying to live the Korean dream strangely enough as someone who was so sarcastically out of touch with it. If you had been in her position, you wouldn’t have been able to be as nice, no, would have warned yourself with a finger pointed upwards as if you were teaching a little kid about strangers, or how your monks said, ‘tigers in the woods’.

“After that cigar, his dick will turn to dust!”

Maybe things would have looked different, if you hadn’t taken that fund from the school’s superintendent, who slid you that card on your table with a smirk on his face. Oh dear, do you remember how excited you had been? You ran through the streets in your worn-out shoes with that plastic sheet in your hand, on your way to tell that the money on it was such a ridiculously high number that you could split— but Lady Kim had got to know it first, the ridiculousness of the rich, with the demolition of her restaurant-building.

“He’s got no cum in his nutsacks ‘no more anyway!”

No warning, no compensation, just everything crushed to pieces to make place for the big corporations; the fancy neon-signs she'd invested in, the ambition of her enthusiastic dreams, your only source of tender charity, shattered to a wreck. You have never seen her since, and can only laugh about how the fancy food of the chaebol—and you definitely know who they are now, those tasteless men gawking at you in the moment—doesn’t even look half as good as her low-cost black bean noodles you could more than afford now.

The present day-you is less dreamy, but just as lost, forced to work off a debt you hadn’t been informed about when you lived off the favorable “fund”-money. No, Lady Kim, this is all a joke, you would tell her today. A really fucking bad one.

So, making room for another ha-ha in your life, you pulled your eyes up innocently, returning Jongho’s specious smiles. “Is it illegal to collect pocket-money from the rich?” It’s not like you had any doubts at that point, but 'they'll buy you out of prison if you’re good enough' was all you needed anyway to put your uniform on tightly at home.

"Can't even shoot his cum in missy to save his blood!"

Your more experienced co-workers are watching you work with a condescending frown, feeling both jealous you're getting all the men's attention, but also maliciously delighted you're being challenged as the new-coming servant who's obviously of erotic interest to these richlings. They want you to get a "taste of life" for you may be the most goody-goody fawning bitch they have ever seen; just a young birdbrain who has nothing to bring to the table except her body. Young thing won’t hold up, doesn't know who she's working with— though they are quite right about that part, you must admit, you frankly didn’t look up whose money you’re taking right now— she doesn’t know who the fuck she is.

"What? Did his son leave the company, too?"

It’s flattering to know that the other pretty servants look at you and only see some candy-coated muppet, but fairly, your ever-frozen smile on your face doesn’t give them much to work with. You’re simply an annoyance to their routine, and if you could, you would like to comfort them by saying none of the money you’re getting will stay in your hands– they’d be so happy to hear that you’re really worth nothing– but you must stay focused.

“Idiot, he’s only got a daughter!”

So yes, that being said, you’re glad nobody ever asks you about you. Everyone just assumes, judges from what they see, and if what they see is an opportunistic bimbo-girl chasing money, then so be it, right?

"You know, the one he married off to the governor?”

Right. Because you too have not a single second to think nor talk about your past. The present is scarce and the future is fragile, you know it the best. And you owe it to your old men to make the best out of their efforts, don't you? The air in this room may not be the one you inhaled in the mountains, but you still have to use it, breathe, be alive, despite how moldy and spoiled it simmers in your throat.

"Real mad! Anything to avoid that fee, huh, missy? Got no semen and no glory! You really want to give him that cigar?”

So, that taste of life? Fucking bitter, just like how that name 'missy' seeps and sweats on your tongue. You can’t loathe your co-workers for this reason, they're basically in the same wooden, shaky boat as you, but these asswipes here are floating on a fucking yacht. Of course they don't follow some type of code of human decency for you, they don't give two shits about the lowlifes, the poor. They watch them like a spectacle, and because they don't regard you as a human-being but rather a toy, they play with you on strings that are, on the other hand, binding together a big, fat bankroll.

Ka-Ching.

Eyes on the price, Y/N, eyes on the price. You may not own a lot, that's been more than established, but if there is something you have, it's dutifulness, commitment, and proficiency. It will remain difficult to keep inner peace and honor with a job of which "duty" it is to be a deferential, subservient doll, but at least you're alive and well, soon to leave this floor with more money to your name that these fuckers don't know anyway, right? Never let that smile drop, smart girl. You have a talent, just like your supervisor said. Just keep on serving.

“No children-makin' is better for the cheatin'— ha!”, the barren, that fruitless man who’s been made fun of whoops in to stand up for himself, and awaits his tobacco that's being driven to him by your cart.

You open up the wooden chest in which the cheroots, so unnecessarily gold-plated, sit and ridicule you with their rare existence. There are just thousands of dollars sitting in your hand right now, and as you fetch the thick roll with wary fingers, you think, fucking hell, this could feed so many people, and they're just smoking it away like it's nothing, assholes.

The other servants frown at you spitefully during the time you bow down. You're sensually placing the brown cylindrical object into his mouth, a match lighting held to his face to light it up. In addition to the experience, you hold one long stare with his washy eyes, because you assume it will ignite him.

And, oh, how excited he gets.

"Thank you, sir," you chuckle and flutter with your eyelashes, pursing up your lips like you’re an innocent little girl getting a piece of candy behind her parents’ back.

“Just mad! Missy's young enough to be your grandchild, fella!”

You’re aware of exactly what your dear co-workers are thinking, but being ordered to light their cigs and then ogled at is not "baby-treatment” or whatever they’re muttering under their breath, it's your subtle strategy to have that bankroll be slid between your thighs.

"Hey now, I still can get it on! Don't you think so too, missy?"

Dumb Y/N, only has money on her mind. Allows herself to be called "missy", like a dumb fucking slut.

Hm, kind of has a ring to it, don't you think?

"Yes, sir."

Let them all think you're a dummy. Let them believe, believe each other's words in whatever they fucking want. You're almost too certain it's the secret reason Jongho offered you a place here anyway; "suited for the job", because he deems you dense enough to not understand any of the nonsense these twelve men are babbling, "big money", because he knows you will do anything for it.

You’ll still take the talent, but if he really thinks the rest, then oh, sucks to be him.

Yes, you haven’t looked up the names of who the men here are for the same reasons they're not using yours, but the second you’re out of this whiny, weak testosterone-drowned room, you're going to write the most thorough blackmail, because you can not listen to their cheating, money-laundering, corrupted bullshit anymore. Getting involved with the handshakers is the last thing you should do if you want to live a silent, carefree life, and you know this too well, but they're not going to believe it was you anyway. They wouldn’t dream of their missy to do such a competent, smart thing. You even know what you're going to write under the letter so they have something to think about in their cells: 'birds listen to the words of day, mice to the words at night'— walls have ears, too.

Ah, the soft, sometimes very cryptic voice of your favorite old monk. Always there to teach you new things, remind you of how to live your life cheerfully. You still believe he would have rather kept you in the mountains and not drop you on a wild voyage into the unknown urban life, but your old man had his reincarnation coming. You should visit his grave again, it's been a while, hasn't it? Wouldn't he be so proud to see you? To see how much his little Y/N has grown and learnt, using his proverbs to restore justice? Well, for what you still can collect of your late mentor, he would probably make big eyes and use his whole body to keep your monetary gift away from him. "Teacher," you would ask, "don't you at least want to save?", and his answer would remain the same;

"Peace comes free."

You feel warm at the distant memory of the bald-headed man warming himself in his orange gown, teaching you about love, harmony and kindness, but that sweet veil of untainted innocence has long dropped from your eyes.

In front of you, you see tycoons continuing having a blast being their shitty selves, and as golden teeth blend your sight, they are entertaining each other by staring at your legs that are covered by your sheer black stockings, whispering their insight of how you'd look like under it, but the mini-skirt only leaves so much for imagination.

"Sweet missy!"

How could you not want to spit into their face? They have bought the war. They have bought the chaos. And why? Just because they can. It doesn't cost you anything to restore some peace, maybe that’s the thing your old man got right.

"Yes, sir?”

“Do you have any Cubans left, sweet missy?”

“A Cuban, coming right up, sir.”

“Hopefully someone’s gonna come after the party tonight!”

Are you humiliated? As someone who lived among the wisest, clearest heads, and was considered just as smart by them to be wished a ‘more fortunate life’ — No.

You couldn’t care less about their perversions. Especially now, when they seemingly don’t care enough to know your name you've introduced yourself with. You are here for one reason, and it's not to prove your worth to the world, it's to secure your place in it, get that parasitic debt off your shoulders.

And if anything, as long you are staying truthful to yourself, there’s nothing that could take away your spirit. That’s what you want to believe, at least. When you’re out of debt and continue with this job, you could spend every day downtown like the other servants, but for you, it's all going to the savings for the family you're going to feed with not one worry in life on the clear land in the mountains, not under a sky that's polluted by light even when the sun has set.

The clock has announced night long time ago. Outside the windows, there shines and roams a loud, restless city under a starless, foggy black blanket, inhabited by people like you who live day by day to make their living, like small flies forgathered in a hive of exhausting labor, buzzing their life away.

It’s what you think every time you peek down the glass room: Seoul has never looked so small. Across and around the ever-flowing Han-River, the metropole is the home of millions who are looking up with their heads far back their necks to the point right here, where you stand, at the center or peak of all the wealth gathered together, inside the highest building standing tall amidst of the tumult, on the 114th floor, towering over the world in a luxurious dining room decorated by exotic animals, marbled statues and most importantly the filthy glimmer of something they call ‘class’.

“Missy,” the chairman calls out for you, raising his hand, right after he’s made another infidelity joke and showed his luxurious wedding ring to the audience.

“Yes, sir?”, you call out, wearing your pristine servant-smile with your hands folded nicely in front of your stomach, voice not tainted by your disgust as to even one note, despite the other servants looking at you with hateful expressions. They wish you the worst; the worst treatment, the worst performance, anything to get you out of this place.

Maybe they're driven by the same instincts and avarice that makes you hate the rich, with them just thinking you're taking away their money, but it's free territory here with these predators; you just make for great prey.

It’s a challenge to all of the people involved and the contestants can only win. Will it be another pick-up line? You're going to pick on that with ease. Another joke about your age? That one is never going to get old. There, bring it on, you think, and feel proud of your confident spirit, ready to run with whatever they throw and stash it into your wallet.

“You see those youngsters back there? Get 'em some more ice."

“Yes, sir.”

“Chaps don't know how to drink the good stuff yet, what a waste! Next time, buy 'em the cheap soju from the mart! The ones for 5,000 Won, missy, you know those?”

“Yes, sir.” Your whole face flashes a smile, bowing to accept the task of refilling some ice, dragging your cart across the room, as male laughter rings in your ears. It's as if they don't realize they also drink cheap liquor, but you suppose that's forgettable when they are flushing the fanciest of meats down with it.

"Be careful, missy!"

Are you being too mild by saying you want to ram the green glass-bottles into their heads?

"They bite!”

Maybe choke them with their own money bills?

Yes, “Yes, sir.”

It's a fun exercise to fantasize about how to hurt them, so you thought you would be busy enough to ignore the chairman's warning, but as you are on your long way to the end of the even longer glass table to push your cart towards the men he is referring to, there's a growing feeling inside your guts that oh, the chairman may be ...

Huh, right for the first time. The quizzical lump expands warmly as much as it is cold, with goosebumps running down your spine, your hands feeling hotter than ever over the metal cart. Your whole body is trying to signal you that something is off on the other side of the table, but you don’t know whether to ignore it or run.

The annoying, empty-minded, impertinent elders, who have been belly-laughing at the chairman's joke a second ago stop with their chatting and only exhale huffs, and prolong them nervously, that’s off. The servants gulping, loosening their crossed arms– that’s off, too.

“So, uhh… Where was the, uh– food from?”

“Oh, lad, good topic, yes– the delicious food…”

It seems that everyone in the room is trying to fill in the silence with the fakest of laughter, so the chairman can move on from the topic, but you're well over your way there, uninformed to what you're going to be hit with once you halt.

Tycoons like them usually don't need back-checking. You know how to deal with ill-willed imbeciles that only use their estate as a weapon. Their bodies and brains have passed prime an eternity ago. Left behind are only their numbed minds that seek shelter in lust, ecstasy and aphrodisia because nothing else excites them anymore. They’re what you probably would have been if you hadn’t spent your teens brewing tea and listening to the leaves rustle, not experiencing all euphoria and more at a too early age– they’re washed out, just swimming in money they haven't worked a day for, are lazy, weary sloths.

However, opposed to the cloudiness in their class that's only getting more foggier through the many years of monopoly, these two men that are waiting in front of you, and you understand why your lungs are pinging now, they are potent.

Money is power, but twist it around and there is them, with that; a certain force that the rich ooze out by just acting and looking a certain way, and oh, Y/N, how they are, how they are looking at you right now, best believe you have to hold onto your strength like it's a small purse.

'Youngsters', he said— 'they bite', he said.

They have been rarely reacting to the chairman’s words, notwithstanding being the ones to be the most respectful in this meeting for their young age, just looking at each other with unamused eyes. Even the director who is older than the chairman lets out his best holler every time, but these two have not laughed once at his jokes, not the slightest chuckle has left their mouths to flatter or satisfy the chairman.

Interesting.

Both black-haired, the one you get to first has his mane gelled back, a cigarette hanging out his scarred mouth, as you approach his seat with your cart walking carefully practiced steps. His white shirt is opened up to where chains, most importantly a silver cross, hang from his collarbones to his chest that’s covered with scars and scratches you can’t quite identify how they got there. This man looks gigantic, muscular, dangerous. Shoulders terrifyingly broad popping out his black vest, he sits on his seat with widened legs, thighs flattened in his also black pants, fastened by a leather belt, and with his white sleeves pulled back to his elbows, his slightly tanned forearms only appear more huge after the rather average-looking wristwatch catches your eye, just when you stop with your cart in front of him.

“That old geezer just can’t keep his mouth shut, can he?”, he chuckles, the Gyeongsang-provincial dialect rolling so naturally off his tongue. Everyone else in the room has been faking their speech to cosplay a charm they didn’t possess, but even the slight lisp and lull from the drunkenness are not hiding how deeply masculine and sincere this man’s voice sounds. It’s a mixture of the sarcasm you've gotten used to by now, but also a brashness that the older men lack, and you’re a bit embarrassed to say it’s working you up a bit. "Empty carts rattle loudest, I say."

A wintry breeze goes through your breast and you feel your eyebrows flinch. You haven't heard that grandmotherly expression in so long, that it does feel somehow refreshing to reconcile with it, but maybe the whisk you sense shouldn’t feel as comforting given the way the man is looking up to you brazenly with a bit of atrocity in his appearance. He is far away from the serene sketch you drew to save the vision as you left the village, he is what you felt when you took your first train, asphyxiated by the big masses of people who you would never see again— an unhomely, yet intimate feeling of... adventure.

He glances through you smoking his cigarette with no hands attached, and it moves at the corner of his lip as he talks. Wait, cigarette? Missy, did you forget to bring him a cigar?

"Let's see when he runs out of words."

“It’s alright, sir,” you answer, suppressing a slight chuckle because yes, you too have been wishing the chairman would finally shut the fuck up, but haven't expected anyone to say it out loud that boldly. You watch the male in front of you take out the slim roll from his mouth with his thick fingers that are covered with silver rings that all look different and not matching each other, blowing out the smoke whilst maintaining eye contact with you. “If you require, I can bring you a cigar, sir," you say, but he waves his hand to brush off your offer.

“Ah, they give me bad breath.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please," the man progresses instantaneously, scratching over the vertical scar at his lip-corner with his thumb, his ciggy continues to burn, "Do be so kind and give brother his ice," then smiles, "he needs to preserve his cold head.”

“You are one to talk about keeping mouths shut,” the ‘brother’ answers, voice velvety and adequate despite dissing the man that’s sunken unmannerly into his seat, while he, on the other hand, is sitting up straight, his black suit buttoned up, tie set cleanly under his ironed pearl-white collars, elegantly decorated by a golden pin. A Greek "π" is chiseled into it, and you recognize it so well for you’ve seen it written all over the tall buildings you drove by on your way here. His hair is combed evenly to the sides and the more you look at him, he’s just— wow, flawless, prestigious, expensive. Everything about him is crystal clear; his rich voice, his unblemished skin, his eyes, oh god, you just noticed those eyes, how does such a shameful man have such pure eyes?

Orbs— and they're not innocent as much as you can't say they're not guilty— are looking at you with a defiance that is suffocating, as if you ought to do everything perfectly, not miss a single twitch of his eyebrows to understand whether he's enjoying or disapproving of the situation.

Well, is he enjoying you or disapproving of the way you're listening to his partner's order to refill his ice?

Huh. No fucking idea. He probably doesn't, but you must do it still— must still serve.

It feels irrationally sheep-headed, but hey, being a sheep is your job, is it not? Being in this herd is keeping you alive, and even in this situation, where you are following the orders of the blackest of sheep, no, wolves that can't be covered by any fluffy wool— you must mow your best.

"Ohh, brother, it's been a while since I heard you talk! Feels lonely droppin' all the good sayings by myself."

You’re serving Choi San and CEO of PARA-conglomerate, headman Park Seonghwa.

Sat right across the chairman, the percentage this couple holds of his company-share is more than most of the attending seniors combined, which makes them stand at the top of the guest-list. You couldn’t have missed their names, even if you’ve made the attempt to, and the other information you’re getting is just your co-workers whispering hurried words to each other, and it seems to you that you may be more in need of them than ever.

You already eavesdropped on them a little, and to be honest, you didn’t need any real confirmation that everyone in this room was unlawful and corrupt, but it is good to know you really don’t have to feel guilty stashing those bankrolls into your purse.

The man that is licking the tail of his scar at his lip, rolling his neck, clicking with his mouth and tapping his fingers onto the table, he is rumored to be the boss of the Choi-Clan, the infamous ‘Mad Dog of Namhae’, whose face had been unknown. The chairman has made a drunken joke about allegedly trying to sell him off to the government— “everybody act like you don’t know, okay?”— and nobody had taken him seriously, but once the supposed mafiaboss had entered the room, an hour later than everyone else, and sat down comfortably like nothing was strange about his heavy breath and slightly purple knuckles, nobody dared to say something else.

If you’d heard beforehand that you would be meeting a CEO and a mafiaboss today, you don’t know if you would have acted any differently. Thinking, here comes the chairman, his jesters, the mafia-guy, the chaebol; ah, all the motherfuckers aligned, let’s get to work, shall we?

But this does challenge you a bit, indeed. If they just weren’t so young and intimidatingly good-looking, fuck, you could have treated them in the same cookie-cutter way you’d been at perfectly.

Maybe a bit of change-up won’t hurt, you were starting to get a bit too irritated anyway.

"Control yourself."

“You wanna see him dead too, brother,” the smoking male sneers— you’ll call him ‘Mr. Choi’ for now— pointing at his companion to accuse him of being a yawner, his cigarette stuck between his fingers.

Headman Park smirks with a short twitch of his lips that makes you think you just imagined it, but none of his extremities has moved since you came here: Every single action he takes seems so... calculated, thought through, measured, planned out. He is the only one to have brought a briefcase to the dinner, and looks a little bit out of place with his sober expressions which seem to you as if he was observing the whole room in its possible entirety, not leaving out a corner in his sight uncovered.

"Want," he parrots, face dropped to a neutral visage, highlighting the only word that seems to be bothering the CEO regarding his vis-à-vis' statement, eyes darting down to Mr. Choi having his fingertips pointed towards him.

"Don't you become pushy with the words now, brother," the mafiaboss teases him, and tugs his sleeves up to his elbows again, eyeing you up and down while you're passing him with your cart. You discern his interest in the pockets of your skirt, or what is there underneath, instantly, but before you can think that the man may be just the same as the others, he cracks his knuckles. “Old geezer might die on his own at this point, look at how he's smoking his raisin-lungs away."

"Poetic."

So much for hearing government and company secrets, here are these two joking about the chairman’s death. You need the chairman a little bit longer if you want to earn money, but the idea of him dying soon isn’t too bothersome.

"You gotta get used to my Korean way of speaking, brother! Then we can communicate correctly!”

With your ears sharpened, but your face presenting unconcerned, you devote yourself to headman Park to refill his bucket, ice cubes jangling down the iron jar, whilst Mr. Choi stretches his arms behind his head, raising an eyebrow towards his elder who isn't hearing him out.

“Thank you,” headman Park says, very briefly and precisely. The tong you put in the bucket for him to use almost tips, and you don’t know whether he does it on purpose for he’s been frozen still all during the dinner, but with his reflexes, he prevents it from falling before you can, but if that wasn't surprising enough, he grazes your skin while returning.

Soft, uncalloused; not a single ounce of labor roughed up these hands, it seems. They tickled you featherly, and right now, you are looking for some type of confirmation in those black spheres of his to know that you're allowed to exhale and react to his touch, because you gasped slightly and have held your breath ever since.

Nothing. You are the first one to look— no, shy away from his stare, getting your hands in front of your abdomen again, your fingers searching for each other, fiddling around by themselves without your knowledge.

Mr. Choi lets his wrist-watched hand fall between his lap, neck tilted slightly to the back, licking over his canine tooth with a grin, and it appears to you that he's either noticed his associate's small gesture or how headman Park is still staring at you. “You wanna do something, don’t you, brother?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

Mr. Choi shakes his head to irritate headman Park and make him explain himself.

“This is not business.”

Headman Park glances down his whiskey, droplets of water have formed around the brim of the cold glass. It is untouched.

"I see you aren’t enjoying the whiskey, would you like something else to drink, sir?", you ask, trying to finish your job and get away from here before you get ideas that don’t include money between your thighs.

"The Fillico, please," the male answers, not having glanced away from your eyes once to inspect your cart, where the black, long bottle, donning a crown and wings adorned with Swarovski-crystals, awaits you to be grabbed.

"A glass of cold Fillico Black King!", you exclaim, your surprise of the particularity that anyone would drink water at the chairman's dinner can’t be hidden, and then hum, "Coming right up, sir."

“You’re really something, brother,” Mr. Choi wheezes, taking the last pull of his cigarette, watching you fill up a new glass for his unrelated brother with the finest mineral that can be bought to-date, pricing around 6 Billion Won, or 4500 US Dollars per bottle. “Wouldn’t you say it’s difficult to not be smokin’ or drinkin’ in this business, Y/N?”

Sure, whatever ‘business’ a man like him is talking about. “Yes, sir." Wait, hold on, did Mr. Choi just say your name?

“You don’t look too impressed,” the male grins, seeing how you’ve narrowed your eyes in confusion.

"Pardon me, I was just– how do you know my name, sir?”

Mr. Choi shrugs as if to say ‘I dunno’ and presses his cigarette out on the table. It sizzles out, like your head is also slowly deteriorating. He throws the bud into the CEO's ice-bucket— headman Park is not even minorly irritated by it— and then, with his ringed fingers, goes through his hair, setting it loose behind his head. He’s picking on you, and you surely feel picked out, that's all you can think. It's so unusual to be hearing your name, not because it hasn't been said during the dinner, but because—

"Y/N Y/L/N, a pretty name for a pretty servant like you, huh?"

Your heart somehow flutters. A stalwart man like him taking your name into his mouth is nothing you hear on the daily. Deep, manly. It's not flattering, no, it sounds wrong, feels so dangerous for a guy like him to be taking something so personal and turning it into his possession, like you're slowly going to lose yourself in the words he speaks in a lax manner. Your name is precious to you, and it just drops off his tongue like it's candy. Where on earth does a man like him get your full name from?

"Sir," you insist, dipping your fingertip under your fingernail, fidgeting.

“Oh, don’t tell me ya prefer that stupid name ‘missy’,” Mr. Choi chuckles and fetches headman Park’s full glass of whiskey, his dialect draping out his mouth.

“Or do you secretly enjoy it," he grins, and with his eyebrows raised, Mr. Choi drinks up his acquaintance's booze in one big gulp, letting the glass fall down on the table with a thump, breathing out, "missy?”

People drink whiskey neatly, you know that. The guests have been doing it all evening, but that's for two ounces. Headman Park had a glass full of the oak-colored sherry liquid with an uncommonly high alcohol percentage placed in front of him. A taunt from the chairman maybe, to subtly scorn them about their apparent boyhoodish inexperience, but Mr. Choi makes it look so adept: The strong alcohol flows down his throat smooth and speedy, even though he did misplace the rim by an inch.

There's whiskey dripping down his chin as he glances over to his side, smirking at his neighbor who's blinking frozen, as well as the other guests, who are seemingly just as irritated that the mafiaboss got you as flustered as you look like.

You’re left with your mouth slightly open, shotting down a glass of whiskey shouldn't have looked as barbarous as Mr. Choi made it appear. Like a striking attack, baring his claws, he growls out the herby aftertaste. "'Scuse me, 'got really thirsty there."

The mafiaboss goes over his lips with his tongue, watching your hand play with the seam of your skirt, where he knows a handkerchief is buried in your pocket.

“Aw, shit, I got wet,” he wails over-dramatically, looking down on himself and then again locking his eyes into yours.

“Wanna clean me up, baby?”

“Pardon?”

Much to your continued bafflement, Mr. Choi smiles, and as he sees you taking a second to confirm what he said, he continues talking to you like you’re a hooker.

“Don't like that one, Y/N?” Again, with the name! Where does he get the name?!

“Sir, how—“

“You have introduced yourself to us,” headman Park finally reveals in the high Seoul tongue, perchance by pity, and you inhale, a bit embarrassed that you didn’t come to think of it earlier. What is happening to you? Is it because you’re finally away from those sleazes, that you’re being so light-headed? Lack of training? Sexual attraction? God, that’s a rookie’s mistake, Y/N, think about them as targets, not objectives. The objective is to not end up in a bed with them, remember? That’s like, rule number one. Even though nobody told you about the Mafia while you were at training, that’s a valid argument.

Don't let your guard down, you’re in a room with the men of men, no maybe the men. The most influential men you could be meeting in Seoul right now, aside from how little is known about them.

Whether he's a real chaebol or not, PARA-CEO Park Seonghwa is definitely the nephew of good ol’ chairman over there, just leeching off his money even if today is the first time the man is visiting his distant uncle who is definitely a bit sour about the fact he took so long to connect with him. Money has its sources and sometimes, most of the time, it’s nepotism. There you go, the explanation of his wealth and why the male is so well-mannered sitting on his seat. He’s woven into the conglomerate-family, been made CEO to keep him that way and all in all, you could care less about him, if he just wasn’t the only person that was kind of nice to you. Just thinking about his eyes makes you a bit dizzy, but you can get that fixed by turning your eyes to the mafiaboss.

Mafia and chaebol don't usually associate, for reasons that are rather obvious. Mafia’s rule the underworld with the overworld’s laws, and the chaebol rule over what laws the overworld decides on, digging their hands into the government like it’s soot, planting and pulling crops wherever they can profit from it. Money.

It’s sickening every time you think about it. How many people in this room could pay for your whole life? No, how many can’t pay for your whole life and beyond? You can count them with one hand and they’re all wearing the same clothes as you.

Money knows where it belongs; that’s a phrase you made up the day you were told about the crippling debt by the letter and the bank declining your card. It sounds similar to your monks' sayings of water's ever-flowing life, but if water returns, money drifts. It wanders across the citizens, but follows a direction it's always bound to end up. Just like today, with you getting bankrolls to graze the inner space of your legs, only to know it’s going to end up in the same fingers that gave it to you.

So, where do headman Park and Mr. Choi get a say in this? Do they get a say in this?

“I did introduce myself, how could I forget? I’m sorry, sir,” you admit and let out a laugh that is half intended to sound as nervous as it did, and half regrettably filled with authentic uneasiness.

Old chairman, what does he know? Have those teeth really ever sunk into flesh? You can’t play with your fate here, but by hook or crook they intrigue you so much. You haven’t expected guests that aren't ass-kissers of the chairman, and apparently your talent only goes so far. You have no idea what to do with them to satisfy them except letting out your real thoughts and you can’t do that, definitely not in front of the man.

But you feel so connected to them. The caution everyone has, it confuses you just as much you're amazed by it, and you want that, you want that kind of safety. Every guest here has money, but not every guest has their authority.

“It’s alright, everybody makes mistakes, baby,” Mr. Choi smirks and musters you again, rubbing the liquid away from the corner of his lip with his thumb and kissing the remaining alcohol away, savoring every droplet of whiskey, but also savoring you by keeping his thumb leaned into his opened mouth, eyes looking sultrily at you, you might as well just—

“Mistakes, San. Beware of them,” headman Park falls in and his companion finally sways his eyes away from you, hand backing down. “Talkative drunkard.“

“Brother,” Mr. Choi sighs and grabs the glass from his neighbor that's filled with ice cubes to murmur, “I’m not that drunk," swinging it around with concise flicks of his wrist to enunciate his words.

With the couple bantering, you think you can calm down. Maybe you were overreacting. Bootlicking some birdbrains is a way easier life than to follow these two.

"Hey, baby?”, but there's another call of the bird of prey.

“Yes, sir?”, you answer, fingers letting go of your skirt that has thrashed your skin by how you abused it. You don’t even know when you started to react to the name 'baby', but truth be told it’s better than ‘missy’ by miles. Being over here is better than being over there by miles, that is unchangeable.

“Could you get me clean? This is kinda sticky."

With two fingers, he grabs the collar of his shirt and flails it softly, ice clinking in his glass, as he shows you his indeed quite syrupy breast.

"Yes, sir."

You nod towards the crevice that is the space where his muscles meet, and before your eyes can get lost in the plump thews, you collect yourself so you can do what you were asked for; getting your hands on his body.

“Please.”

“Ahh, I liked you more when you were quiet, brother! I don’t wanna call you a party-pooper, but c'mon! It’s your plan, and I’m just— doin’ my part.”

Mr. Choi twists his upper body a bit so he’s still able to hold the empty glass behind your back, though it feels more caging in than it should, when you lean forwards to softly tap his skin with your handkerchief. His arm hovers next to your hip and his upper body is extended wide around you.

“What do you say, baby?”, the male asks, and you harrumph to take your mind elsewhere from how rock-hard the mafiaboss feels under your hand, how his cologne smells so rich and inviting, and how— “Wanna be bitten?”

“Pardon?”, you ask, not understanding the context of Mr. Choi’s question, but without fail grasping the intentions of it.

The male grins, and you’re unsure as to how he got his hand on the bottle of whiskey from your tray as quickly as he did, but it’s there, in the hand that’s across your hip, and from then on, everything you do seems risky. His bicep is curled around your thigh so he can fill himself another glass, and if you take a step back, your ass will be pushed against his arm, but if you step forward, you’ll land on top of him; a straining dilemma that only inflames your guts the more you think about it.

“San,” headman Park grumbles quietly, seeing you struggle to stand on your feet.

“Agh, come on, brother, 's all going well! Live a little for me, will ya? Watch me and follow,” Mr. Choi nags with a juvenile pout and takes a disgruntled sip from his drink, making your imaginations reality by pushing you with his forearm with no forewarning. You trip closer to him and his arms raise, as you have to find safety on his shoulders to not fall into his crotch.

“Oops, ‘scuse me, baby,” he grins, feline eyes glancing up to you, your bust in his view. The other men are grumbling, fussy, yammering— if they knew, they would have done that with you a long time ago!— and in your head, you don't know whether you should be doing this at the chairman's dinner and not somewhere in a stripclub or just, god, anywhere else.

“It’s okay, sir,” is what you answer, and the short silence would be the perfect opportunity to scuffle back to your original stance, but you saw his ever-growing, throbbing bulge in his black suit-pants and it is staring you down.

Everything about him is so big…

“Really, baby?”, Mr. Choi asks, eyebrows pushed together, lips formed into a pout, feigning an expression of worry.

“Yes, sir,” you say, the big question of 'what is the goal here?' unnerving you, but with the quick, harsh movement of his leg against the back of your knee, you're—

“Sir!”

Sat on his thigh, your butt is bouncing on the hard flesh, fingers dug into his shoulders deeper due to the shock, ribcage moving up and down as you’re breathing fast and anxiously. At this point, you’ve gathered the attention of many who are seemingly more excited about the situation than you are, silencing all around, while the chairman continues to crack drunk jokes on the other side.

Mr. Choi chuckles at your nervousness and puts his glass down. “Aww, look at you, baby,” he coos, his rough, calloused fingers trailing between the inner space of your thighs that’s pushed into his leg. “Need a little break?”

As you sit there— securing yourself on the table, feeling his hand sit between your legs, you become lighter with each passing second, tingles being sent down your abdomen. Could Mr. Choi please stop smirking like that? It’s going to make you lose your mind, lose every thought of what you were trying to achieve at this table tonight.

“The chairman doesn’t allow breaks, sir,” you murmur, trying to cling onto the last sense of service you have, “I have to stay here.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper for the CEO in front of you to become curious, but loud enough for the mafiaboss to scoff and massage his hand deeper into your flesh.

“Sir, I really—“, you try to protest, but Mr. Choi uses his other finger to signal you to come closer to his face. You do as you’re told, his warm breath hitting your ear after you lean backwards.

“Baby,” he cackles, and his lips touch your earlobe, the smell of the smoke fading out his mouth.

“I practically own that wimp,” and Mr. Choi lets out a chuckle before his voice lowers an octave, “Let me own you, too.”

His tongue grazes over your sensitive skin as if he was a snake trying to convince you of eating the strange fruit, and you shudder forwards in surprise, his growl still vibrating in your ears.

You should get yourself together— yeah, that sounds like a good idea, if it just wasn't for the fact that this is exactly how you've been presenting yourself the whole evening. You're cornered, and not only by him, but your actions and it's, oh, old man, it's something. It's something that broadens the playground that was set out in front of you, something that gives you more to play, no, more to be played with.

The other guests are gawking already, forgetting about their prejudices when it comes to the 'youngsters', just happy to be seeing their missy in action.

The mafiaboss sighs, breaking his whispering and speaking louder than before. “But if you cherish so much about that old geezer, he’ll be taken care of, no? Maybe even better than before, or am I wrong here, brother?”

He clicks with his mouth— is it a habit?— and looks at headman Park, who rolls his eyes, as if they’re sharing some secret you’re not a part of. But before you can fall into further confusion, your legs tighten around Mr. Choi’s wristwatch, as his thumb strokes the surface under your skirt one time, right across your cunt which has been heating up since the first time you saw the reflection of yourself in his silver cross. A pant leaves your mouth and you have to grind your ass over so you can somehow clench your legs together.

“You like that?”, Mr. Choi sneers, chuckling into your ear, as he continues to move his thick finger against your clit. "Of course you do. Let me hear more of those cute sounds, baby.”

You grab his bicep, heat crawling up your abdomen against his forearm, your crotch feeling more and more buzzed as the male works his fingertip into you. Nobody says anything, just murmuring insignificant sentences to keep up the chatty mood.

Headman Park in the meanwhile, crosses his arms, catching the attention of the mafiaboss.

“Brother, can’t you see I’m doing this for you? Enjoy yourself.”

Mr. Choi flashes an eye-smile and keeps groping your cunt, you melting more and more into his lap and under the heated gazes of the crowd. Your servant-colleagues don’t know what to do, or no, maybe they knew exactly that this would happen and think you deserve all of this shame, just in general not helping you escape the touch of the mafiaboss.

“Sounds like you’re enjoying her more than anything,” headman Park says, looking indifferent, but his words don’t cross out the possibility that inside his pants, his cock isn’t growing too, how his arms are crossed, clenched around each other.

“Come on, baby,” Mr. Choi growls into your ear, “give that fucking bore a show, won’t you?”

You’re split open. He’s strong, oh gosh, so strong, taking not more than one push to grab you by your thigh and spread your legs, make you slip on his crotch, as he closes his knees together to support you from down under.

“San,” headman Park warns, but his mouth stays slightly open, tongue pressed against the surface of his upper teeth, suppressing a grin.

You flatten your back against Mr. Choi’s torso as an attempt to hide your face behind his neck, and breathe heavily against his freckled skin, the cold exterior of his pearly accessory grazes your chin.

“What?”, the male asks, taking his glass, his arm slithering under your armpit and his chin resting on your shoulder as he sips from it, not to forget the hand that is still pushed into the now moist fabric between your legs, moving in circular motion.

Headman Park doesn’t answer and folds his hands together, placing his elbows on the table, fingers touching his lower lip.

“Geez, brother, you should feel this cunt right now,” the mafiaboss wheezes, almost hiccuping from his excitement, “so fucking hot, you won’t believe.”

“Make her louder.”

Even Mr. Choi was surprised to hear that come out of the reserved CEO's mouth, and as he chuckles and takes the last sip from his whiskey, he puts down his glass once in for all to accept headman Park’s order.

With a slight lean forward, his free hand wraps around your neck and you gasp for air. Mr. Choi’s legs are spread so when you have to tuck in your pelvis, you can feel his bulge under your cunt. At this point, you don’t care for the piercing gazes anymore, and the chairman might as well give you a nice tip for the sight of you grinding your wet pussy into his biggest investor’s clothed cock. You’re such a master profiteer, Y/N, Jongho was right.

“Fuck, missy,” Mr. Choi grunts and he’s so frustrated he can’t take off more of your clothes, but it doesn’t prevent him from following the order when headman Park mutters, “grab her breasts.”

It is one shameless show.

You becoming needy and whiny on Choi San’s lap, the mafiaboss grinning, as CEO Park Seonghwa’s eyes are unmoving from your sullen, aroused expressions— it has persuaded the audience to want their own slice of fun, but even with hands wrapped around their no-use cocks, everybody in the room has their eyes sealed on the young servant whose only job was to refill some ice.

Mr. Choi can feel it; what a slut you are on top of him, how eagerly you’re grinding your cunt over his bulge, and how jealous the others are watching— and this includes all the blokes that are watching with cigars in their mouths, but also the servants that would have gladly taken your seat and not rub their hands over old, moist, wrinkly skin.

“Sir,” you whimper, as Mr. Choi knobs your breasts, his tough hands cupping each tit, just like headman Park commanded him.

Fuck, how he wishes to be able to see your face as well as well as headman Park does, but the sobby whines might as well do.

“So noisy on my cock,” Mr. Choi snarls, “you’re practically begging for attention, missy.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you hiss and the mafiaboss inhales sharply, gasping, his cock jumping, very turned on by your sudden spunky tone. Bingo.

“Did you hear that, brother?”, he whales, tempting the headman to interact with him more as the main viewer of his performance, but the man to his friend is only raising an eyebrow. “Baby's got some zest in her. You like that, don’t you?”

Mr. Choi continues to coo headman Park into defeat, “You like ‘em feisty, brother. I know you, chief execution officer, sir. You wanna ram your cock into this little missy's pretty mouth, just admit it.”

Little missy's pretty mouth. "Say that again, shitbag," you hiss, but Mr. Choi grins and pries into your bust, working folds into your freshly-ironed shirt. "Listen, brother," he breathes, "It gets your cock fucking going, doesn't it?"

The mafiaboss chuckles and adds, so only you can hear it, "Definitely gets my cock going, baby."

Headman Park scans the room, and you can see how he shakes his head, and looks at Mr. Choi with a slight distaste. “You may leave soon.”

“Really?”, Mr. Choi grins, beaming, grabbing your hips forcefully in the joy of it, and while the CEO’s words leave you misled, you sigh into the pressure of being pressed down deep into his muscled thigh, your cunt pulsating through his flesh.

“Change of plans.”

“Alright," he murmurs, just as offended as you are by his lack of reactions, but quickly catching up on his lust to hear, see, feel you more. "But not before I make this baby come."

“Punster,” headman Park jeers and it does occur to you that you’re hearing more of his soft voice than before, but when he looks at his wristwatch, you suppose you’re not doing well enough for him. Look at me, you rich-ass prude, you think and whine, being moved across Mr. Choi’s thigh by his own hands. Your clit feels hot, like it is seriously going to burn and fall off, but you, fuck, feel so good; the sounds just keep leaving your mouth, your high approaching very soon.

“How long were you thinking, brother?”, Mr. Choi asks and is nibbling at your neck, as he rams you over his thigh, fighting with the pace you're breathing wispy and digging your nails more and more into the glass-table until your fingertips turn white.

"Five.”

“Five? Make it ten.”

“You only last ten?”

“You can be such a bully, brother,” Mr. Choi fleers, and you have no fucking idea what they’re talking about, since you are feeling your orgasm coming in less than a minute, stars appearing in front of your eyes. “Make it ten.”

The male takes note of how you're bucking in your pelvis and uses his canine teeth to make your neck flame on, his hand placed roughly around your throat, as you become more sensitive to every move. "Sir," you whisper, a knot forming in your stomach.

Your clit is begging you for mercy at this point, demanding you to get the clothes off your legs so your slick has some way to escape, but you're drenching Mr. Choi's suit-pants in your wetness with stuttered heaving, ready to moan loudly in any second now if you could just find that one fucking spot—

"Are you gonna cum, baby? Right in front of everyone?", he murmurs against your neck and you nod repeatedly, raving your clothed clit on his thick, pillowy muscle, desperately chasing your high. "Come on," he snickers, "Show them what kind of slut missy is, huh? Such a good fucking slut for us, aren't you?"

"Yesyesyes," you whine, not caring for anything than your release, and Mr. Choi is being so kind as to continue breathing heavily into your ear to make you melt into bliss, but nothing gets you on more than the gentle smile that headman Park is sending your way, head slightly tilted to the back— is he nodding? Is he finally approving? Oh, fuck, you think, and you're doing the best job darting your hips non-stop to continue feeling your cunt be stroked by Mr. Choi's flesh, pursuing the CEO's praising acknowledgment. "Good fucking slut on my lap," the mafiaboss cackles, "come for daddy."

"You fucking weirdo," you falter, not wanting to call him "I'm never gonna call you—

Mmmuh!" Mr. Choi grabs you by your hair and tugs it harshly, making your back arch and your head rotate to his side. In the open mouth, his tongue plunges into your throat, the taste of woody herbs and bitter alcohol are flooding your tastebuds. Smearing all of your lipstick, his mouth is pressed against yours like he's sealing yours shut. You convulse your lower body in surprise of the sudden act and holy shit, get that one spot over your clit that's also stroking your gaping entrance, your body releasing all of its heat into one blaring, roaring zap, with your eyes rolling back your head, your stirred voice screaming, "FUCK!"

There is a gasp heard through the dining hall and you're not sure whether it was the chairman, a servant, or headman Park in front of you, but as you are spasming on Mr. Choi's thigh and your back arches to his chest, you feel like the world is expanding on you, peeping, intrusive onlookers cramming out their money to thank you for the show they got, white trickling through the linen of their underwear.

Coming down from your high, weakened and all the while more aroused by the mafiaboss whispering the words "good girl" into your ear, you try to open your eyelids to catch headman Park putting on some black leather-gloves he got from his briefcase, muttering something under his breath to the mafiaboss.

“Go."

What the fuck?

Mr. Choi hooks his arm under your legs while he re-applies his lips to yours, and lifts you up like the pretty princess you are to most of the gawkers that don't stop watching, when he stands up.

Everybody has their eyes on the kiss the mafiaboss and servant missy are sharing, but headman Park doesn’t even look at you, when his partner starts carrying you to the elevator that's waiting for you at the wall about in the middle of the dining table, and just retrieves his open briefcase from the floor. Has he had enough of you already?

“Where are we—“, you breathe, but Mr. Choi kisses you silent, tongue forcing its entry, preventing you from figuring out what's happening, after the mafiaboss puts you down in front of the door and pushes you against the frame roughly. Cheering and hooting encourages him to continue rubbing his thumb over your skin as the other ringed fingers are holding your thigh, and you're pressed against his leg, virtually fenced in by Mr. Choi while he pushes the button for the lift to come.

His eyes are squinting to the side while he works his lips against you, in a way confirming that all of the guests (except the CEO) are begrudgingly anticipating the next actions of the mafiaboss, not caring how the headman is slowly pushing his seat away from the table to get more leg-space, which you seem to be the only person noticing it.

The golden door opens with a bell dinging the elevator’s arrival, and Mr. Choi grabs you by your ass, leading the way inside it. You can't see it correctly with your eyes closed, can only feel his big arms push into your frame, but he even makes for a show-like exit, burlesquely saluting the audience with two fingers, clicking with his mouth. It must really be a habit, you think, and giggle into the kiss.

The men attempt to throw bankrolls into your space and some succeed, some don't, but while you're glad your plan worked out, you aren't too sure what you've just done with, or for the mafiaboss.

Your heated kiss continues and because you want to feel him, you unbutton his shirt that doesn’t need that much working, three buttons being pushed open by your jellylike hands. Before you can unclothe him though, Mr. Choi pushes his arm against the mirror next to your head, stopping you to take a look at his wristwatch. He strokes his hair to the back with the other hand, revealing some of his meaty abs, and once he’s reached the backside of his head, he slides his fingers down his neck and around his Adam's apple to scratch it, announcing, “Ten minutes on the clock. Shit, brother's dick must be fucking exploding in his pants right now."

“Sir?”, you ask, overwhelmed by the words that are not making sense in your head, but also distracted by his hand that’s around your tie.

“Given he really could've finished in five but,” he yanks you towards his face. “I wanted to have you a bit more for myself, missy.”

He smiles, very arrogantly like the patronizing fuck he is, like he knows how strong he is, what a dominating aura he possesses, but at this point, in between the mirrors and on this black, marbled floor, you are not at the chairman’s dinner anymore, aren’t a servant anymore– you aren’t bound to any authority, are you?

“If you fucking call me ‘missy’ again, I’ll bite your fucking dick off.”

Except for the moment that you’re talking to him, a mafiaboss, whose breast is marked by— and you can see it very clearly now for it fits perfectly into yours— hands that have shared the same, if not a similar experience with you.

“How’d you know I was into biting, baby?”

And holy fuck, his back looks even crazier.

“God, sir,” you breathe out in awe and a little bit of fear. You can count the lines of red scratches on his back and as you finally let his shirt fall from his shoulders, the reflection of his muscles, how they relax under your touch. You become starstruck. Everything about him is so scarring, but fuck, how it attracts you, the wildness, the savagery— there’s something so free about him.

"What, baby? You like what you're seeing? How naughty..."

Ten minutes aren’t a lot, but Mr. Choi makes his best attempt to hurry over the trivial parts of fucking you. He steps closer, your ass hitting the handrail, legs crossing together, and your buttons pop in one rip, as his two hands rupture your blouse open. He lets his shirt drop to the floor, all the while his lips clash against the nook of your neck, making you sigh under the luminous lights of the elevator and grab his neck. You’re getting hazy, horny; damn, it’s been so long you’ve had a good fuck. Satisfactory sex is another luxury you were postponing for later.

With his lips sewn on your shoulder, kissing and forcing his tongue against a spot he deems especially tasty, the half-naked male unzips your skirt to finally reveal the black pantyhose that looks soaked in your slick. After he chuckles at the sight of it, Mr. Choi licks over his lips and cups your jaw with his hand, drawing a trail of insatiable kisses across your skin.

“Still wanna bite my dick off?”, he asks with a sly smirk, breathy, having caught your aroused look locked on his silver chains, his jacked upper body inviting you to get your mouth in there until it’s molded around your teeth.

“Come on, baby,” the male provokes you, “You think I’m gonna fuck you just like this? Think I’m gonna ram myself inside your cute fucking cunt ‘cause I’m such a big scary fucking man?”

You inhale sharply. “N- no, I…”, you breathe out, letting your tongue run over your teeth.

“Aw, baby, am I making you shy?”, Mr. Choi hoots, “I didn’t think you were a shy one. You were pretty noisy on my thigh for your cunt, weren’t you? Getting all the sounds out for brother to hear them… You really served a show there, baby.”

Your mouth only lets out stammered gibberish– you have never learnt how to talk dirty, but Mr. Choi uses your opened lips to ram his tongue into it again anyway, and you're almost proud to say you've gotten used to it.

He breathes rashly through his nose, and he tastes less of bourbon but more of dulcet desire, mixed in with the red of your lipstick sitting on his lip. Your knee strokes his erection while he gets his hands behind your back to get your bra off, lips clashing and raving against each other. “Letting your body talk for you?”, Mr. Choi husks, panting at having his overstrained cock touched. He relieves you from the pressure around the bust and continues to ramble. "I knew I could have a lot of fun with you the second I laid my eyes on you.” You pant and reunite your lips with his. "Little missy, such a whore for the rich."

He’s overconfident he’s seeing right through you, it infuriates you. Mr. Choi massages his hands into your breasts, the cold rings grazing sharply into your warm flesh, and as your knee is still between his crotch, you huff. You can be a whore for the rich when you’re earning money, but right now, you’re doing things for your own pleasure.

“Are you going to have a lot of fun with me?”, you sing-song in a high-pitched female voice to the mafiaboss that’s immediately taken aback, and you know the word 'missy' is on top of his tongue again, when you interrupt him with a quick jab of your knee into his groin. "Shit-eating fat-cat."

Mr. Choi grunts, head tilting down. His feline eyes meet your foxy ones, and while you weren't preparing for a staredown, the mafiaboss smirks and bites his lip.

He has a lot to say, you can see it. There’s something glimmering under the lust-drunken layer behind his eyes, and it’s deep, goes deeper, but for some reason, the mafiaboss, who just so despicably couldn’t hold his mouth, doesn’t let out the words that’s crossing his mind.

“Sir–”

Wrong deduction.

Mr. Choi scowls in laughter, and you guess he meant to joke with you, but he means to play with you much more, when he, once again, lifts you up, by your waist this time, and balances you on the handrail.

Resting his forearm on your thighs to stabilize you, Mr. Choi digs in his pocket to fetch his cigarette box, looking at himself through the mirror and shaking some strands out of his face. "Shit-eating fat-cat," he repeats with a lisp, pulling out one of the slim rolls with the corner of his mouth, and he continues to chuckle, as he glances at you through his eyelashes, "you should've said that to the old geezer when you had the chance to, baby."

"The chairman?"

No answer. Mr. Choi lights his cigarette with a zippo, and keeps it lit in his mouth, as he, with no forewarning, tears open your pantyhose from your crotch with both of his hands, spreading your legs wide. You have to get your hands around his head to be able to keep yourself on the handrail.

“Why do you look so scared? Think I’m gonna fuck you?”, he lisps. “I’m just taking a good look, baby. What a pretty cunt you got there, baby.”

You gulp. Mr. Choi slides his index finger across your heated folds through the fabric and your cunt clenches together, wanting to be filled up. “Sir,” you sigh, and the mafiaboss pulls in smoke from his cig, raising an eyebrow.

“What, baby? ‘You need something?”, he asks, “You’re not a fucking servant anymore, or do you need to be ordered around, missy?”

You try to look angry, but Mr. Choi only pouts and presses his finger through your panties, soaking them in your slick that’s gathered at your entrance. “Desperate to please the money-man? So wet for him…”

“Fuck you,” you mewl, but Mr. Choi knows what he’s doing when he thumbs your clit and exhales smoke into your face, hiding his face for a short second which gives you confidence. “I need you… to fuck me.”

“What did you say, baby? I couldn’t hear.”

“Please, sir, just… fuck me, please…”

“Louder.”

“God! Just fuck me! Didn’t you say we have ten minutes? Make them fucking count!”

“There we go, baby. My slutty little missy. Oh, baby, you’re growing on me, brother’s gonna hate that.”

You huff and Mr. Choi slides your panties off your legs, taking a short glimpse at his wristwatch. “Damn, ten’s really a short time.”

How many minutes have passed? Ten already? You know you said it, but you mentioned it only because it made sense, if you’re honest, you have no clue what the time is worth for. Aren't these the men who have time for gold?

The biting smell of tobacco enters your nose, making you cough out loud. Is smoking even allowed in the elevator? Wait, wait, wait, no, maybe you should worry about other things, for example what you're going to do when those ten minutes are over, when all of this is over. They clearly have some type of plan and thing they are carrying out right now, but you don’t know how much you’re invited in there.

Mr. Choi finishes his quick break, inhaling one last puff and keeping his cig between his lips again, and his hands unbuckle his belt in silence, while you contemplate.

Clanking, ruttling, and steps begin to thump behind the door— have any of you two even pressed a button? The mafiaboss looks concentrated, fixed on your cunt, taking out his throbbing, panging cock out his underwear, stroking it a few times to god, fuck, finally get to touch it after having been dry-humped hot.

Squelching, huffing, and voices echo through the floor— is that the chairman you hear? You can only yelp, when Mr. Choi drags off your panties and slathering his thick fingers across your folds in one, then penetrating with another forceful movement.

"Fuck!", you hiss out, grabbing the handrail next to your hips, trying to balance yourself on it still. The mafiaboss snickers into your ear, and tours through your cunt, all the while it appears that all hell is breaking loose outside.

BANG!

"Sir, what—!"

"Shhh, baby," Mr. Choi hushes you, and takes out his cig with the fingers that are now glistening with your wetness, placing it on top of his lips vertically to the scar that is accompanying his smug smirk.

BANG!

"You got nothin' to worry 'bout, baby," he lulls, "we're just eatin' the pheasant and the egg here," and exhales smoke into your face out his mouth-hole, which distracts you from the third, fourth—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Another proverb, pheasant and the egg— 'two birds with one stone'. Mr. Choi unfolds his hand as if he was counting the minutes, or the shots— wait, yes, shots! Fuck, those are gun-shots, right? You've never heard something so loud ever in your life, where does someone get guns from in South Korea? What even would they need guns for? Why would they use them? What the fuck is happening outside?!

"Oh, fuck!", you moan out, before fear and realization can crawl up your scalp and take away your lusting for the male, Mr. Choi has jerked his hip up, his cock gliding into you smoothly as if your cunt was made for him, the length and girth perfectly curling inside. Your back arches, at least as far as you can arch it, and he grins bemusedly at your jolted reaction.

BANG!

With every blast that follows, Mr. Choi is thrusting into you, first slowly, but then adding more speed and vigor as he goes, or as the blasting goes, making you shakily watch yourself be wrecked by the broad man through the reflection on the other side, your legs dangling with his rough movement.

You don't know how he's fucking you through your tightness, because with each ducking of his hips it feels like your inner walls are expanding more and ungodly more, as if he was piercing you in half.

Small puffs of smoke leave Mr. Choi's mouth each time he pants out raspy "oh baby"s and loud claps of him slapping your ass overtone the screaming, scrambling noises outside, as you two work your lower bodies against and into each other, growing more passionate, throbbing feverishly.

"Fuck, baby," Mr. Choi hisses, cigarette tilting in his mouth, as his face frowns together. "So fucking good for daddy, aren't you? So fucking tight and wet, such a good fucking girl—"

The screams outside are dying down, but the mafiaboss and you are getting louder, breathier, lustier; with your head falling backwards, hitting the mirror, the twisting feeling of fear and the ecstasy to be bouncing on Mr. Choi's big cock mix up like one hellish drink, boiling and churning inside of you.

Smashing both his hands on each of you ass-cheeks to dig his fingers into them and get more stability to ram into you so fast, and oh boy, it's so fucking fast, you're going to spiral— Mr. Choi sputters, "Are you gonna come? Are you going to come for daddy, baby? Greedy baby gonna take daddy's huge fucking load?"

The male is unraveling, his once low, stable voice turning into a whiny, hoarse, cracked mess just like you, practically urging, begging you to finally take the name ‘daddy’ into your mouth.

"Come on baby, say it for me, huh? Feels good to be my slut?", he disentangles, "Be a good slut for daddy, baby."

"I'm not gonna call you— that, fuckhead!", you moan, though your insides are curdling together to finally be released, the knot tightening with each drop of sweat that is forming on your boiling face.

"Really? Think you can afford to misbehave, baby?", Mr. Choi snickers and spits his cig on the floor, your ass being handled at an insane speed, his cock slipping in and out of you with rough ease. He takes it upon himself to dig his teeth into the nook of your neck, biting you heftily, your pulse knocking against your throat, as you feel his cock run in and out of your cunt. Your head goes light and dazed, but before you can gasp out your high from being fucked, bitten, sent to bliss, the male sinks you deep into his cock fully, it does not give you the last thrust you would need to—

"Fuckfuckfuck, I'm gonna cum," you whimper, needing to tremble, but unable to move because his hands are restricting you from any movement, and you continue to bring out a string of weak "pleasepleaseplease" that bounces back from the mafiaboss, who is raising an eyebrow, waiting for the magic word to be spoken out of your wet lips. Tears have formed at the corner of your eye and he thumbs it away, grinning coyly.

"Fuck you, I'mnotgonna fucking, ugh—!", you sob, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

"Aww, you wanna hate daddy so bad, don’t you?”

“Fuuuck you!” Whines leave your mouth, wanting to cum, wanting to move, wanting for Mr. Choi to continue fucking into you and not wipe away your tears.

“Just say you love me, baby,” he heaves and returns his hand to your hip.

Thrusting into you once with a clap against your groin, to make your cunt clench around him, and then twice with the last blood-curdling BANG! from outside, his cock is deep inside you. He feels you tighten, pulsate, craving to be released, but Mr. Choi will not move again to your liking until you finally let go of yourself, which riles you up with no hope.

"F— Fuuuck, okay!", you scream out, annoyed, angry, wanting to fucking cum; "Daddy!", you sob and Mr. Choi smirks, instantly getting to work to toast the adieu of your pride. Thumb on your clit, he circles around your sensitive bud to double the tension you feel through all of your body, while you gutter, "fuck me, daddy, please, make me cum, please, daddy, please—"

He laughs, no, howls— elated, animated, drunk, and then, with his strong, buff fucking arms, pounds you into his cock like a punching bag, your ass hitting his pelvis so many times until you have to use his gelled hair as a last resort to hold yourself up and not push yourself from the handrail with your head against the mirror, but he holds you, holds you steadily in his grip.

"Good god, good fucking missy, such a good fucking slut for me, cum all over my cock– all over my fucking cock, baby," Mr. Choi grunts, and the string that was keeping you balanced snaps, your orgasm hitting you like that makes your insides tighten around the mafiaboss and his throbbing girth, your whole body being flushed by an overwhelming wave of pleasure which you drink up whole. His cockhead rubs against your sweetspot, you riding out the high while seeing nothing but bliss.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, and your fingers grip into the thick skin of his back, and with Mr. Choi's hips not stopping to hit your pelvis, there are additional, injuring, deep red marks on there with every thrust. You’re scratching him like a beast wanting to tear up its prey, but the beast is fucking into you like there’s no tomorrow. His cock does not stop grazing against your deepest spot, tears rolling down your heated cheek, and your mouth is unable to get out the words you want it to when you get the feeling that he's going to cum soon.

"O- out," you warn him, but the mafiaboss makes a disappointed face, “I– I really can’t afford a child, p-please pull out–!”

He draws his eyebrows in, scoffs and looks you deep in the eyes, his muscular body tucked in, murmuring, rambling out his whiskey-painted throat, “Is that really your only problem, baby? That you don’t have enough money?” His forehead leans against yours and your eyelids flutter open– you are being a mitt around his dick– and he pouts in pity, his iron cross hanging from his chest, as he talks to you.

Mr. Choi gets his hand flat on your lower belly and presses down on it, feeling himself bulge inside you. He moves his hips slowly, his cockhead dragging across your sweetspot, while he gutters, “you’d look so sexy as a mother, don’t you think, baby? With the tummy and all.”

“S- sir, please I–”

"Come on, do you think I don’t have enough money to pay for a fucking kid? God, how fucking annoying– I’m not that kind of man, baby,” Mr Choi growls, his voice vibrating against your cheek, as he charges his forehead deeper against yours, “I still got some honor.”

You shake your head, unsure whether there are pills for after in the pharmacies, or whether the mafiaboss will really be there to be with you as he promises, but Mr. Choi continues to beg in his low breathy, guttery voice. “Baby,” he rumbles, pressing even harder on your abdomen, your ass being pushed into the handrail that you’re sure it’s going to leave one red straight mark, and his cock is almost exploding from the edge, “Let me, no, let daddy cum into your tight cunt, baby, please.”

God, he wants you. He wants you so bad, doesn’t he?

"Y- you should see yourself," you chuckle, stroking over Mr. Choi's gelled hair, and his head tilts up a little bit as your fingers get tangled in his black locks, the white of his eyes making him look like a wild dog waiting for its treat. "F-fucking do it, you fucking slut."

"Fuck, baby," he laughs, out of breath, "You’re really a price."

Mr. Choi hammers his hips into you, until the stars in front of you all look like wishes falling from the sky. Both of you feel it, how his cock just feels so right, fits in like your cunt is a fucking glove which is full and getting even fuller.

"God, fuck," Mr. Choi grunts from the bottom of his throat, his hot cum lading into you, and it's like your lower body is melting with it, becoming heavier with every drop he's unloading inside.

"Take all of my fucking cum," he husks and your faces clash together for one finishing wild kiss. Mr. Choi sucks on your lower lip, as he fucks his ejaculation deeper and deeper into your hole with slow thrusts, until he bucks up his pelvis the last time and moans out a raspy, “perfect fucking missy with a perfect fucking cunt..."

Ding!

For a man that uses his mouth so sparingly, his tongue surely works wonders.

"Sir, are you—"

Headman Park has entered the elevator without a word, pulling off his leather gloves, and with Mr. Choi stepping away, he has all the place he requires to get on his knees and throw your leg over his shoulder, his wet and warm muscle delving into your throbbing cunt. You've been bereaved of the time to inspect what was behind or around him when the door closed, but maybe that's irrelevant anyways. What is relevant, is how impatient, but also how careful the CEO remains, and how he still tries his best to slowly sift his tongue into your folds, feeling every inch of your wetness. He’s been dying to do this.

"Fuck, sir!"

"Please," the CEO chuckles, hastily pulling the black leathery from his hands to put it back in his briefcase that he's been carrying, but he doesn't miss your cunt once, purling over your clit and glancing at you. "Call me Seonghwa, princess."

You could cum right here and there, just at the sight of this pretty man looking up to you, who has laid out his first name and put it into yours, scream it out loud until everyone hears what a princess you've been made of.

Princess. You knew his eyes were different, but you didn’t know they saw the world differently too. Oh, how you wish you could see more of his world.

"Aww, what? That's why you're still a foreigner in our country, brother! 'Can't be dropping our titles," Mr. Choi huffs and lights himself a second cigarette, filling the elevator with smoke and tobacco. How his breath really doesn't smell is questionable to you.

Just like you, the CEO, or how you're allowed to call him now— Seonghwa, ignores his partner's words, laps over your clit with his tongue, gently easing into your cunt with his clean fingers, and your soft sighs are like a reward for him, for whatever he's done outside.

"Respect, brother, 's all about respect..."

You tighten your thighs around Seonghwa's neck. The charcoal-haired has closed his eyes, sighing into the taste of you, and you are flawlessly overlooking the loud mafiaboss, just completely concentrating on the commitment the CEO is eating you out with. His head fits magically between your legs, he works his fingers so flawlessly into you, this must be fate— and if it's not, you're going to make it your future in any which way possible. You're falling. No, flying; never coming down.

"Seonghwa," you whine, and your hand glides over the hooked male's forehead, his hair feeling smooth under your touch as he presses his tongue slowly— in circular motion— against your clit to keep you on the high, but not in a way that would make you trip over.

"Mmf," the mafiaboss in front of you huffs, clearly attracted, enticed by the way you've exhaled the other male’s first name, scratching his temple with the fingers that are holding his cigarette.

"Whether you wanna call me San or 'daddy', baby," the scarred male, no, San, the fucker grins, "I'm gonna be hearing both either way."

"Fuck—", you moan out, having to take a breath because of how Seonghwa has curled his fingers into you with his tongue ready to shovel anything into his mouth that comes out, "you, fuckhead!"

The CEO is giggling a bit, finding your tone very amusing— and he tries to tell you this by looking up and slanting his eyes a friendly way, no, a way that you've never even conjured up the fantasy to perceive him, the cold-faced Park Seonghwa who hasn't drunk a drop of alcohol tonight. What pureness in a man...

"I liked 'fat-cat' better,” San snickers and goes through his hair that definitely needs combing, turning around and looking at himself through the mirror, though his eyes squint towards Seonghwa's reflection on the other side, now again lost in your cunt, taking off his jacket and folding it in half behind his back.

"Brother, you're eating my cum, by the way," the mafiaboss jabs, puffing out smoke while he's decidedly getting hard again in his trousers. San really can't hide his emotions on his face, can he? His lips are pursed, eyebrows slightly pulled in— how obvious. The man is jealous and doesn't want to admit it, you're sure of it.

"Shut up," you hiss, having become a bit comfortable with teasing the frustrated, outwitted mafiaboss. Ten minutes were definitely too little for him, but you've already rid his thigh, let him cum inside, and Seonghwa is simply too good with his tongue right now.

"Fuuuck," you whisper, and feel every drowsy twirl of his finger inside you, but it's slow, so slow, Seonghwa is swerving around every sponginess inside you, savoring the contraction of your inner space, and how your muscles tighten, when he licks over your clit, he enjoys this; enjoys you.

And so it continues, Park Seonghwa exploring every detail of your cunt as if he's a sommelier tasting the rarest of fluids, appreciating every drop that lands on his tongue, his fingers making sure that they don't go to waste.

"Shit," San comments, "I should've eaten her out, too."

The CEO is not cocky about it, about the way you are grabbing into his hair and squirming, how he has to slightly lift you up so you don't fall from your position. And then, when Seonghwa thinks your taste has perfectly coated his palate, speeds up.

"Fuck, sir," and the title slips out of you, like a habit you can't change for good when you feel so small. The CEO between your legs doesn't mind it though, at least doesn't say anything on it and just lets his fingers hit your sweet spot until there is a distinctive "Seonghwa" leaving sighed out your lips.

"I'm going to—", you announce, but the male has been long aware of it, preparing himself more access by bending his upper body to angle himself across your cunt, giving his partner a better view on how you glisten in arousal.

San in front of you is standing frozen, with his cigarette slowly burning out in his mouth, and you recompense the lack of his cock in your cunt by moaning louder, so your voice can vibrate around his erection. He grins and gets a tongue to his canine tooth, naked upper body still glowing in sweat, muscles shining, cock twitching every time he hears you breathe, and breathe more intensely, "make me cum, Seonghwa, please!"

"I knew you would taste delicious," Seonghwa murmurs, silently, rather for himself, and this must be how he sounds when he's drunk, because he is so high on your taste, "but this is ambrosial, princess."

You curl up your pelvis, and Seonghwa holds you by your hips, as his tongue picks up in speed, drawing out every word he hasn't spoken tonight on your labia, stamping them into your clit, all the while his fingers row in more and every last drop.

"C- coming~", you purr, and your eyes close down, your hands deep in Seonghwa's scalp, exhaling the weight of your worries, that flushes down into the man who seems to have none in his life, and he breathes into your hot cunt through his nose, not letting go of it until he's made sure that your hips tremble around his head. "P- please, f- fuck, fuck, feels so good—"

Pumping the remaining come into you, Seonghwa licks up your cunt and kisses your clit until you go completely flaccid, your arms giving in, but Seonghwa catches you by your hand, kissing your thigh with his swollen pink lips.

With your body relaxed, your ass feels a bite sore, having been prodded into the iron rail for so long. You grab into Seonghwa's hand and try to push yourself up, but ultimately fail at getting yourself into a more comfortable position.

"San, hold her."

"Huh?", he asks, "'Need something more snuggly, baby? Or what did you call her again, brother?"

"Princess," the CEO answers immediately and you have to suppress a girly giggle, as Seonghwa turns his head around, lips still pressed against your thigh. He presumably sends San an admonitory look to hurry up, and gets up from his knees.

The mafiaboss shrugs, not offended by being ordered around. He puts out the cigarette against the mirror and cracks his neck by rolling his head around, his thick neck dousing into your sight as he does so. He's so intimidating, you think, but he's on his way to coast those monster-arms behind your back, hands down to each of your hamstrings to, "up you go," pick you up like real royalty. The giggle escapes your mouth but you don't feel the slightest embarrassed nor do you have a reason to be. You are sunken deep into San’s cushiony arms— his muscles make for a great seat, and hovering, air hitting your hot cunt, as your legs spread for the CEO in front of you when you fall into the elbows. You yelp, but the giggles just keep coming, making San in the mirror in front of you wink at you, cackling, "you like that, princess?"

Seonghwa smiles, satisfied by your enjoyment of this position and approaches you once more. "I have yet to kiss you, Y/N," he says with his sweet voice, and his gentle hands find your chin and waist, your eyes blossoming open for him to stare into.

Even San shuts up now, and you suppose he is too taking part in the beauty that is the embrace of you and Seonghwa; two sets of lips, crazing each other, meeting for one flowery affair, breathing out small vapors of life. You can taste yourself, which means that Seonghwa is fully consumed by your aroma.

God, you think again, your cunt tingling at how Seonghwa tugs at his tie, pulling it side to side as he kisses you— the golden 'π'-pin clanks shrill to the floor— everything about Seonghwa is so...

Clean?

You are inhaling the mellow smell of his satiny skin, and the CEO unbuttons his shirt with proficient, skilfull flicks of his fingers. He is so handsome, handsomely pretty, and even when it’s drenched in your fluids, his skin shines on its own, like Seonghwa has a light shining within. Once you can see his bare chest and get lost on the smooth surface, your eyes dive down, admiring his slim, yet very muscular physique.

Seonghwa gets his tie and drags off his shirt by tugging at one sleeve with his hand, the white fabric revealing the rest of body with one clean pull that matches one of the curtains.

"W-", and you have to jump back with your head to get the full spectacle that's presented in front of you, exhaling in awe— "Wow.."

"Not so blank, our brother, is he?", San chuckles from behind of you and lowers his head to press his chin against your temple, surveying the same sight.

Two colossal, monstrous dragons, red and black, are colliding, looped, entangled all around Seonghwa's right arm, fighting for dominance on his skin. The raven hydra has its jaw wide open where Seonghwa looks to his shoulder with a rather shy smile once he sees your reaction, baring its teeth towards his heart, while the crimson dragon ends at the CEO's wrist, sitting on top of his pulse.

"Would you believe me it was brother's idea, baby?"

"As if," Seonghwa murmurs, folding his shirt into a square.

San chuckles again, re-shuffling himself and pressing your back close to his stomach, granting the back of your head to rest at his collarbone. "I asked her if she would believe, brother."

You watch the delicate lines, the elegant strokes of tint meeting on his skin, but while your first impression made you believe they carried a certain viciousness with their svelte bodies, the second sight presents you a different image of two forces maneuvering into each other as a reminder that they both co-exist as supreme. It's not one another they're reviling against, it's the bearer of the both who is threatened by their fangs. Their existence is a warning reminder, but also a sign of pride.

"I believe it's... beautiful."

“Aw, you’re so sweet, baby.”

You haven't seen many tattoos in your life, none in the mountains, and even in the city the only observable tattoos were those of the sleazy guys in alleys that wait when you're done with your job to gape at your uniform. They got tigers and other animals roaring on their bodies to hide the fact they don't have the fighting skills to keep up, but for Seonghwa, a CEO, to have this amount of ink under his skin is a commitment and to imagine he’s hiding that under his ironed shirt and black jacket, no, that you are seeing it right now, it’s… You’re overwrought, steamed up, aflame.

"Wanna touch it, baby?", San asks, and you nod eagerly. Seonghwa chuckles, “Go for it.”

You let your fingertip ghost over the dragons' scales, tailing their curvature. Goosebumps form on Seonghwa's arm and his hand finds its way to your head, stroking your cheek, as you meet the red beast's eyes.

The mafiaboss whispers, almost sentimentally, "No blood or tears."

Another expression, which proves to you that the tattoo was undoubtedly his idea, but you see it, the romance that is spoken from the male's skin, regardless of the little insight you have on both of them. Loyalty, reverence, creed, a belief and a duty, and before you know it, you want Seonghwa to enwrap you with his arms and never let you go, which he does.

His slender hand cloaks the left side of your head, and he pulls himself into a kiss, while he unbuckles his belt with his other hand.

You don't know how much you understand of this situation, no, you don't know how much you want to understand of this situation.

You've been on your own. That's all you ever had after you left home: Your body and soul, the windstorms of the mountains pushing you from the back to keep going, and you've lived your best life living for yourself that way, in bliss, in ignorance— in peace, but what is peace in a place where you can't move by yourself? In a world that’s maimed by the rich, and sure, it may be that you’ve chosen your path, but you were never walking a road that was yours, always trailing behind something.

Nameless, that’s what you thought you would need to be.

Your monks wanted to be called their title like everyone else, it would have been disrespectful to ask Lady Kim for hers which you now regret, and not even as a secret did your old man tell you his name, but you— you, Y/N, you have a name and you want to scream it, live it as loud as you can, hear it echo back with a volume that feels stronger when it rings back.

You could have settled on being acknowledged by your supervisor to earn some good money, but this is what you’re here for, aren’t you? Why you trusted your gut to stick to the scary men? Why you walked to them with confident steps, even when a nervous knot was forming together inside you? Did you go as what, an act of defiance? One of independence? To prove yourself that you were still standing on your own feet?

"Speaking of, brother..."

Yes, with no shame.

"You really enjoyed yourself back there, didn’t you?”, San asks. “Didn’t expect that from you.”

Seonghwa is kissing you down your breast, observing closely how you breathlessly react to his tongue twirling around your nipple.

"You left me no other chance," the older male hums, coating your circular buds with his saliva, bringing out your heavenly sighs every chance he gets, stroking himself to the sounds of your pleasure.

"Well, I would have made sure you still fucked her, brother."

“Sure,” Seonghwa lisps and positions his cockhead at your entrance.

You try to grab San's shoulder behind you, as the male pushes himself inside, and your torso rotates to the side with your eyebrows pulling together, your cunt being spread apart. “F-fuck,” you exhale, and Seonghwa kisses the corner of your lip to soothe you. Your cunt squelches around his cock and your hips roll by themselves, wanting to take more of his length.

"Shit, look at her go," the mafiaboss woos, "Fuck yourself out, brother."

"Think you’ll miss this?", Seonghwa snickers and it must be the first question he has asked today. “Y- yeah, you will!”, you snap, feeling eager to be acknowledged for how good your cunt wraps around his throbbing heat.

“Oh, princess,” the CEO laughs, and your stomach drops because of how pretty his laughter sounds, and he caresses your cheek, only making your confusion and desire to finally uncover what the two men have obviously been keeping from you grow bigger. You don’t want to say it abruptly, but you three are naked, in a confined space, skins pressed against each other, so you believe you’re worth some type of explanation– or are you not?

“C- can you tell me what’s going to happen?”, you whine, and Seonghwa moves his hips, grabbing you by your waist to get his whole length. “Are you, fuck, going to leave me?”

“I dunno, brother, you call it,” San mutters. “It was your plan.”

“D- don’t!”

“It’s barely my plan anymore,” Seonghwa breathes, bucking his pelvis in, his cockhead being sucked in by your sensitive cunt.

“Don’t leave me!”

“You needed a distraction, brother, I got you one.”

“No,” Seonghwa chuckles, but in his heat, he kisses you and glances up at San while his tongue brushes against your lip. “But I’ll admit she saved us some jail-time, San.”

They continue talking over your pleas, and though you would have loved to ask a second time how the night was going to end, your brain has started to give into the pleasure once San folds your legs together, holding you by your hamstrings, giving Seonghwa an easier angle to fuck you senseless.

“F- fu-huuck,” you breathe out, and your eyes are disappearing behind your molten, droopy eyelids, with Seonghwa cumming for the second time on your abdomen and cleaning it up with his handkerchief, and you don’t even know when it was, that San crammed out his cock again, but you can definitely feel the difference of his girth, when he re-enters your used cunt, your legs shakily landing on the floor. They feel wobbly, your thighs having gone loose, and the mafiaboss has to hold you by your arms behind your back to support you.

“Can’t take it anymore, baby?”, San whispers into your ear, and his voice is low, very low, you don’t know how much time has passed since you could make out any of his words, but it feels like you’re back here, in the elevator, and Seonghwa is putting on his belt again.

“I c- can!”, you manage to whine out, not wanting the night to end, not wanting to return to your small apartment, not wanting these two to be gone from your life. “I can!”, you repeat yourself, when San lets out a mockful cackle. “You’re not going to fucking leave me here, San!”

“Who said anything about leaving you here, baby?”, he asks you, and he does mean his confusion, but the sarcastic undertone makes you desperate grow desperate. San frowns. “What did I tell you, baby?”

“You aren’t telling me shit, San!”, you sob, and his cock running through you prevents you from finding a braver voice, his two hands find your wrists to bind them together in his grip. “Aren’t you such a smartie,” he growls into your ear, hot air hitting your dissolving ear.

“Brother,” San calls out, and the addressed man is busy opening up his briefcase, getting on his knee. “I’m still waiting on you, y’know.”

“If you had stuck to the plan, th–” Seonghwa murmurs, but the mafiaboss falls into his word. “Then we would have fuckin’ send the bitch to prison and someone else would have him killed him, but there! You know I didn’t come with the fucking patience for that, brother! Geezer was getting on my fucking nerves.”

Killed?

“And don’t you talk back now,” San warns, “It was you who killed all of ‘em, so you figure out how you’re going to carry that one out.”

Killed?

“You already know how I’m going to carry this out.” Seonghwa smirks. “But you’re stopping me, San.”

“Augh, brother, you’re too sober for your own sake!” San’s cock is too deep in your cunt and your body is too much in his control for you to stop moaning like a bitch, but in your head, you’re puzzling together tonight’s happenings.

Expensive whiskey. Ice cubes. Ten minutes, gunshots, black leather gloves– “killed.”

Oh, Y/N.

“What did you do with the chairman, Seonghwa?”, you moan out, feeling how the mafiaboss is ramming himself into you at a sloppy, greedy pace, prolonging how much he can be inside you before he comes again, and you don’t know whether his heavy breathing can cover up the silence that it takes for the CEO to react to your question.

Seonghwa is still kneeled on the floor, when he rotates his head, smiling, his eyebrows pushed up. “What do you think I did?” His second question of the day.

“I- I,” you stutter, but San shakes his head, and interrupts you with his voice still loose from the alcohol, “you really don’t know how to keep up a good mood, brother!”, grabbing you by your chin and yanking your head up. “Lemme make my baby cum first!”

You can’t see Seonghwa anymore. You can barely see anything anymore, you’re counting your fifth or sixth orgasm of the night, cunt growing hotter with each time San thrusts into it, and with your breath being cut off, you slowly feel your arms lose their responsibility, tingling up from where your wrists are crossed behind your back. His cockhead is flaying against your g-spot and your thighs tremble at how used you’re being, eyes falling in, throat feeling tied up.

“S- San,” you manage to cough out, back arching for your final cry of pleasure, and San grins, letting go of your wrists, which makes you immediately fall to the front, finding safety against the mirror with both of your hands. He smacks his hands against your ass and lunges into you until your whole breast is pushed against the cold wall.

“Come on, baby, come for me,” San roars, and you wail, tired, exhausted, feeling the orgasm drown you like another wave in the ocean of bliss you’ve been swimming in, whining out, “coming, coming for you, San!”

The mafiaboss presses himself against your back, his silver cross being imprinted into your neck, as he unloads himself, his last drops of hot cum overflowing out of you. “Fucking slut… So fucking good…”

He kisses your jaw repeatedly and looks at how tiredly closed your eyes are in the mirror, cooing “aww, baby.” San strokes away a strand of hair and gets himself off your body, pulling out. “You look like you need some sleep, baby.”

You are trying to catch your breath, grabbing the handrail to hold yourself up, as it sounds like San is putting on his shirt again. They’re gonna fucking leave you here, aren’t they? Leave you here in the elevator with the– with the fucking bankrolls on the floor of the fucking men you fucking– Oh god… Keep breathing, Y/N. Keep on breathing.

“I mean all I’m saying… you know… lobsters and crabs are friends, pal.”

What the fuck is he on again…

“You’re making this hard on yourself.”

“I’m not doing anything, just sayin’ that she just grew on me, that’s all.”

Your legs tremble, as you try straightening them to stand up and see what the two are scheming again, but as you turn your body around, ass against the handrail again, you hear a very unfamiliar clicking in front of your forehead area which is not coming out of San’s mouth.

“You’ve grown soft. That’s what you did.”

“Ahhh, fuck you, brother.”

“Pathetic.”

You see a hole, and it also doesn’t take you long to see Seonghwa ready to pull the trigger, the mafiaboss leaning into the corner of the elevator, arms crossed, looking at you with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, pressing the button that leads to the lobby.

The night is over.

“A- are you going to– oh my g-god, are you going to kill me…?”

“Yes, princess.”

Your heart is going to burst, you could puke out so many words right now, but you don’t know what to do. You don’t want to die, not when you felt so fucking alive– you– fuck, you should feel sorry that your coworkers that they didn’t deserve to go the same way as the asswipes did, because you’ve long realised that the bangs were their skulls being crushed by the bullets, but at the same time you couldn’t care any fucking less about them right now. You just have to survive, that was the only thing that mattered since the very beginning. This is about your life. Your precious fucking life.

“Ah…”

Your body is too weak to hyperventilate, but your brain is working overtime. Do you run? Attack them? No…

Seonghwa hasn’t moved an inch away from your face, and you take it upon yourself to raise your hand and slowly push the cold, black gun to the side, so you can look him in his eyes, but he forces it back there.

“Please don’t kill me… I can do so much for you! I– I,” you stutter, trying to gather all the knowledge your monks have taught you. “I– I’ll do anything! You– you saw me, didn’t you? I have– I’ve been told I have a talent for serving! I– I can do anything, please, I beg you, just…”

You fall to your knees, and they burn on the glassy floor, your hands folded in front of your abdomen.

“Just please, let me live…”

You’re not greedy. You’ve only taken what you were given, and tonight, you’ve been given so much. Too much? No, it couldn’t be…

“Brother.”

There are tears flowing down your eyes, and you feel so sorry for yourself. You miss your old monk, and hope that you may be reincarnated to a butterfly that he can admire, just so that he can look at you with his adoring eyes again. So someone can want the best for you once in your life–

“Brother?”

So anyone can finally love you for once in your life.

next part coming soon... series masterlist | main masterlist

#cromernet #choi san x reader #choi san smut #choi san scenarios #choi san x you #choi san x y/n #park seonghwa x y/n #park seonghwa scenarios #park seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa smut #ateez scenario #ateez smut #ateez x reader #chokkiwa #chokko #drivebyme

602 notes · View notes

tofuxtea · 7 months

Text

𝐁𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐍 | 𝙘𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 + 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — buggy the clown x fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — nsfw, cockwarming, authority kink, ‘sir/captain’ kink, bondage, riding, lap-sitting, slight dumbification, dacryphilia, buggy is a sadist, teasing, praise, creampie, use of “sweet pea” and “sweetheart”

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 — 1k words. i remember the vile thoughts i thunk when i saw live action buggy in that goddamn chair and one of them was how badly i wanted to be sitting in his open ass lap. so yeah this is based off of that, y’all can thank my brain for this one![kinktober m.list]

“did i tell you you could move?”

his voice was mocking and stern, cutting through the quiet like a dagger. it forced your spine impossibly straighter where you sat in buggy’s lap, drawing a strained whine from your throat.

though you weren’t even looking at him — your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to still your aching, trembling thighs, you could see the shit-eating grin he wore as he laughed at you.

“i asked you a question, sweet pea.” buggy’s gloved hand flew up and caught your jaw in a tight hold, eliciting a garbled cry from you. he forced your gaze down into his, his pupils dilating at the sight of tears gathering in your eyes. he cooed gently, granting you a sliver of hope that he would actually take pity on you.

after all, he’d been so cruel to you for the past hour. you deserved it, right? keeping yourself so still in his lap with your hands tied behind your back while you kept his cock nice and warm inside of your pretty pussy. you were working so hard to please your captain, yet he still scrutinized even the slightest give of your thighs and taunted you like this.

his eyebrows raised, slightly creasing his face paint, and he shook his head with obvious expectation. when no response looked to be forming on your pouted lips, his jaw tightened. his hand, detached from his wrist, circled around behind you and grasped your overlapping wrists, lifting your arms back up to your shoulder blades.

you cried out as your chest puffed out, a fat tear rolling down your cheek and soaking into his glove. “n-no, you didn’t tell me i could move.” your voice cracked relentlessly while you pleaded with buggy. it seemed to ease his outburst and he slowly lowered your hands back against your tailbone while his satisfied grin grew wider. “i’m sorry.”

his brows suddenly furrowed back together and his piercing blue eyes met yours again. “what was that, sweetie?” he whispered scornfully. you whined softly, fried brain scrambling to figure out why your apology wasn’t enough for him.

buggy’s eyes raked down your pitifully clueless face and he scoffed, releasing your jaw to reach down and grasp your hips, keeping them firmly in place as he harshly thrust his up into yours. his cock dragged deliciously against your walls and filled you to the brim, granting you the friction you’d been craving for so long.

“captain! i’m sorry, captain.” the name tumbled from your lips behind a loud moan, and buggy hummed lowly in response.

“atta girl. that wasn’t so hard, now was it, sweet pea?” his gloved hand now gently cupped the side of your face, smiling when you instinctively nuzzled into his warm palm. you shook your head with a gentle hum. “you’re bein’ s’good for your captain, hm?” you responded with a nod this time, eyes widening with silent pleas.

“can i cum, captain? please, ’t hurts s’bad.” you whined pathetically, waiting for buggy’s okay to start moving. even in such a desperate state, you still managed to listen to him. he watched several more tears race down your cheeks with excitement in his eyes, and your pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears for a while. god, how hopeless he was.

he enjoyed this. he enjoyed bending you beyond your limits until you broke over and over. until you were begging him with all of the air in your lungs to let you cum, completely deaf to everything and everyone around you with your only focus being him. his instruction, his touch, his cock.

he could feel the tremble in your thighs growing stronger against his hips, and he could see the rise and fall of your chest pick up in pace as your sobs became uncontrollable. your lips quivered with each beg, though he couldn’t tell anymore if it was because of your overwhelmingly visceral need to cum or because the pain of your arms squeezing together behind your back was finally catching up to you.

either way, he didn’t care. he wanted to drag it out for as long as he could before you wound up passed out on top of him or something, so he nuzzled his cheek into his closed fist and watched you some more, much to your dismay.

“please, can’t keep myself up much longer. i need to feel you, sir.” you babbled on mindlessly, praying that buggy would finally cave.

he did. his eyes fluttered shut the moment he heard a new term fall from your lips and he sighed. it was as if it was the answer he’d been waiting for.

“since you asked so nicely. go on n’ make yourself cum, sweet pea.” his little nickname for you made you whine as you sunk down onto his cock. he groaned at the feeling of your pussy spasming around him, and his hand reached out to gently stroke your sore thigh. “fuck, you take me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.”

you whimpered at the praise and you immediately craved more of it, momentarily pushing the pulsing pain in your legs aside to bounce yourself on his cock. he filled you so perfectly, his tip kissing your sweet spot with each long, slow thrust.

both of your moans grew louder, buggy’s lips parting as his head fell back against his chair. his fingers curled around your hips, surely to leave bruises the next day, while he bucked up into you.

“that’s it, just like that — fuck,” he hissed against gritted teeth when your cunt squeezed around him.

your hips rocked into his a few more times before your legs finally gave up, your body rendered numb as a blinding orgasm hit you. your head lulled back and your body arched into buggy’s chest as you weakly rode it out.

buggy’s hands gripped your hips as his own orgasm crashed into him, thick ropes of cum filling you up inside. you whined at the sudden warmth of it, instinctively grinding your hips down into him. he chuckled breathlessly.

“lookit you, takin’ all of your captain’s cum so fuckin’ well. you did so good f’me, sweet pea.” buggy gently wiped whatever tears still stained your face with his thumb, his other hand hovering behind you to untie the rope that bound your arms all the way up to your elbows.

you were sure you wouldn’t be able to move — let alone walk after this, but you didn’t mind. so long as your captain was satisfied.

tbh this one changed my views on this clown. like i pictured him as lowkey submissive before this but now im just.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #one piece kinktober #one piece #one piece smut #one piece buggy #buggy the clown #buggy smut #buggy the clown smut #one piece buggy smut #op buggy #buggy x reader #captain buggy #buggy one piece #buggy opla #opla buggy #opla #opla smut

1K notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 3 months

Text

Sapsorrow Chapter 6

Masterlist here, Series Masterlist here

Word Count: 7,353

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

(Image Source)

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 Thank you to @i-am-vita for her banner!

Song Accompaniments: Crumbling Dreams - Milo the Otter!, Moon Dance - Danny Elfman

Reopening the large double doors to the large ballroom, Mihawk ushered you through the threshold with his guiding hand placed on the small of your back. He allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes and taking a moment to compose himself as your perfume danced past him upon entering the room. Stepping behind you and reopening his eyes, his yellow hue was met with the intense purple gaze of the giant, reptilian man darkening your radiancy with his intimidating aura.

“My lady,” Sir Crocodile addressed you at his side, “If I may be granted the luxury of taking your arm a moment. I have decided to rescind my invitation for your beau to view the creation I have crafted and allow it to be a moment for you to take with your eyes only.” You cocked your head to the side, turning your chin towards the lord of Kuraigana at your side, but continuing to hold firm your gaze onto the large man in front of you.

“I hope you are not suggesting I am to enter a room alone with you, unchaperoned, Sir Crocodile?” you quipped, your left brow arching and lips pursing at the suggestion. Sir Crocodile allowed the rumble of his chest to exhale his sour cigar through huffs of laughter.

“Of course not, my lady,” he uttered once his laughter stifled. Mihawk bore his golden gaze into the smirking face of the dangerous reptilian man, baring his own intimidation onto his towering body, “There will be three others with me, one of whom I likely deem the most competent out of the bunch. I take it you know the Red-Hair Pirates a little more than you do the blue-haired clown?”

You sighed, nodding your head in confirmation before turning back around to face your intended. He was less than impressed at the notion you were to be spirited away by the three men he tasked with aiding him with his impossible tasks, with the potential notion of viewing you in a variety of states of undress. It was written all over his face: jaw clenched, eyes narrowed and brow angled down to depict his displeasure at the suggestion. As he was about to speak up, another presence with a familiar scent of dried tobacco leaves and gunpowder arrived at his side.

“Don’t you worry yourself, Hawk-Eyes,” Beckman hushed his rumbled drawl against his shoulder, “If anything goes awry: I’ll shoot first, and apologize later for ruinin’ your marble walls.” Mihawk snapped his gaze over to the silver-haired first-mate of the red-hair pirates, continuing to hold firm his scowl and hissing in a firm breath through his nose as he eyed him.

“I take it you’re the competent member of this coup to pry my bride from my arms and away from our engagement soiree,” Mihawk snarled, his brow deeply furrowing in the center of his forehead. Beckman smirked, his lips ticking up at the corner of his mouth.

“Would you prefer to place the safety of your bride in the rat, the reptile, or the idiot?” Beckman shrugged his shoulders up in question. A crackly, sharp “Hey!” growled from behind the crocodilian man, followed by the chuckle of the red-headed captain you have come to enjoy. Mihawk tilted his neck sharply to the side, a short ‘click’ elicited from his spine as he processed the words.

Mihawk unwove his arm from your back before claiming your right hand within his left, turning you to face him in an intricate and elaborate twirl. Stepping sidewards, he withdrew you from the towering and unwanted company without excusing himself and halted your movements. Gazing deeply and lovingly into your eyes, he drew your right hand up and placed a kiss atop the back of your knuckles. Your breath hitched in your throat, floating your gaze between focusing on each of his eyes as he broke the deep kiss against your hand.

A thousand questions flew between the two of you internally. From you, mainly, was how long had he felt this way for you. Surely not for only the month you had stayed at castle Kuraigana, but a lord should not be turning his head to a governess at decorative galas. For Mihawk, he was questioning how deeply he trusted the four to be alone with someone so dear to his heart… Or how much trust you placed in Beckman in your interactions prior.

Through the unspoken discussion, you fought an unwinnable battle internally. You chose to disregard your formal training and allow a moment of softness to overtake your stoic form. Reaching upwards, you placed your left hand on Mihawk’s cheek and shepherded him into yourself, placing your lips gently against his left cheek as you cradled him against your palm. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and froze his shoulders in place.

His eyes snapped up, meeting first with the brown hue of Red-Haired Shanks’ eyes, who shot him a playful wink as soon as he witnessed the small gift of affection.

“I will not be away from your side if you are uncomfortable with this, beloved,” Mihawk uttered in a voice little above a whisper. You smiled against his cheek, withdrawing your lips from him and looking up at him through your eyelashes. He quickly drew his honeyed eyes back to meet with yours, softening as soon as he met your affectionate gaze.

“These are the gentlemen you trusted enough to complete this task,” you whispered under your breath, a smile dancing at the corners of your mouth, “And I trust Beckman to handle it should it become too much for me.”

“As do I,” Mihawk confirmed, leaning down towards you. He drew his hand up to your face, hovering it over your hair with a small apprehensive quake to his movements; invisible should one be not looking for it, “I would not see a single hair atop your head harmed.” He brushed your cheek with his fingertips gently as his hand found itself cupping your shoulder.

“There was a time I did not see eye to eye with these men,” he uttered his warning sternly, ensuring you held firm to each word he relayed to you. Allowing a small giggle to fall from your parted lips, eyes upturning in a taunting glee, you allowed your eyes to fall to rest on his mustache-topped lip.

“My lord,” you uttered darkly, drawing your eyes up to meet slowly with his once more, “You are behaving as if you forget the true reason you invited me here in the first place.” Stepping your body closer to his had him drop his hand and draw themselves to your hips once more, head head angling down to meet with your approaching lips to whisper in his ear.

“I handle the most undisciplined of pupils,” you sighed against his ear, Mihawk closing his eyes to resist the shudder of joy at your breath dancing against his lobe, “Getting them to behave,” you watched his shoulders finally give into the shudder, prompting your lips to curl up into a sly grin, “Is one of my strengths.”

You withdrew from his proximity, allowing your half-hooded eyes to meet his through your eyelashes. Mihawk was holding his composure to his regular stoic rigidity, but his slightly blown pupils held a different prose. He lightly ticked his lip up to the side, allowing a softness to rise within his eyes as he gazed at you. Although neither of you confessed to harboring deep affection on the balcony moments prior, you could tangibly feel how far Mihawk truly held fondness for you.

“Perhaps we should draw this evening to a close,” Mihawk suggested, glancing past you and around the room, “It would seem the preferable option, considering it could look to others that you are abandoning me to flee into the night with four men you met moments prior.” Both Mihawk and you allowed a small laugh to fall between you at the notion. He retracted his hands from your waist and elevated his right hand in a gesture to the orchestral arrangement to halt their performance.

“Honored guests,” Mihawk spoke up, his voice alerting the surrounding participants to halt their conversations and turn to face him, “My bride and I have been delighted at your attendance here this night.” Mihawk turned, interlacing your right arm within his left and presented you both to the crowd gathering.

“I trust you can all find your own way from the halls to take your leave,” Mihawk nodded to the great doors, aligned with rows of candelabras dancing and illuminating the castle’s exit’s. He smirked at the corner of his lips before adding, “Should you desire aid in your exit, I would sooner ask Perona to navigate you than Zoro. He has a knack for getting lost within the walls.” A small grumbled groan was almost audible to the side of the room, no doubt in your mind it was thrust from the lips of your green-haired gentleman in training.

“We will be looking forward to accepting your responses regarding your future attendance at our upcoming wedding,” You curtseyed to the crowd, bowing your head respectfully; a gesture which was returned with equal enthusiasm by your prior students in attendance with their chaperones, “It has been a delight to make your acquaintance, and to see you all again.” You danced your eyes over your students, them all returning your smile with vigor.

The guests began to file out of the open doors of castle Kuraigana, the large reptilian man once again extending his elbow in a gesture for you to take it. Paying one more glance to the side at your intended and meeting his eyes a final time, you unlaced your hand from within the crook of his elbow and interwove it within the arm of Sir Crocodile.

“He doesn’t love you.”

Your brows furrowed, looking straight ahead and not sure where the doubts were coming from. Shaking your head to rid your mind of the thoughts, you engaged Sir Crocodile, Buggy and Shanks in polite conversation as they ushered you throughout the halls; the protective presence of Benn Beckman behind you aiding you in feeling safe with the two strangers alongside the red-haired rat.

Perona watched your retreat with great interest; her wide eyes narrowed as she witnessed the exit with the four men. Zoro smirked, his brow arched up as he playfully gave his commentary on the situation.

“What is it?” He smirked down, hovering over her shoulder, “Don’t like the thought of our Governess being without the great lord to protect her from the three burly men and that stupid clown?” Perona’s lips were tight in a firm line, her focus on the back of your head. She began to hover in the air, slowly finding her body drawing itself closer to your own, staring off into the distance.

“I just thought I saw-...” Perona began, cocking her head sharply to the side and holding firm her gaze, “Something watching.”

—----------------

Beautiful.

Everything was simply beautiful. The layers of satins, silks, chiffon, ivory, embroidered golds and silvers. The two dresses were everything your greatest fantasies could have ever dreamed up, and then exceeded the expectations tenfold. Each gentleman presented their designs to you; Sir Crocodile’s first. The hue alone was enough to make your eyes gloss over and a sigh pulled from your lungs at its mastery. Buggy the Clown’s presentation had the gloss begin to prick at the corners of your eyes and trail their diamond lines down your cheeks.

But Shanks. Shanks. Shanks’ contribution had the change of pace from dreaminess to a bashfulness you had not experienced in some time. Excusing yourself from the other two men after bowing respectfully to the hulking Sir Crocodile, and encumbering the clown in and embrace for their efforts, you were chaperoned into a small room with both Beckman and Shanks to accompany you.

“Now, love,” he began, prompting your eyes to fall forward and dance over the mannequin’s bodice, “This is the concept only. I’m still working on the finer details, and I won’t leave the port of Kuraigana before it finally comes to me,” he took your shoulder beneath his palm and ushered you over to the bodice, the curtain draping behind you to shield the three of you from the other two gentlemen. Beckman continued to hold his eyes firmly against the sealed crack in the velvet curtains to ensure no prying eyes view the lingerie Shanks had made for you.

“See, this is where it goes over your breasts,” he gestured to the torso of the onyx bodice of the mannequin, releasing your shoulder from beneath his palm and tugging at several robes of gold hanging limply, “And these tie everything in place. The symbolism behind it is you, yourself, are the sun. The gold is what encases you beneath it, the rays,” he released the golden rope and adjusted the sheer robe over the shoulders, “The rays are bound by each of the knots tying it together.”

“How would you ever expect me to remember how to assemble the knots and the strings myself?” you furrowed your brows, attempting to see the vision Shanks had for the outfit. Shanks chuckled, clasping the back of his neck as he winced a little in anticipation of your reaction.

“Well, Exterminator,” he laughed at you, prompting you to arch your brow and seek him out in the corner of your eye, “Some assembly is required by another person. I’d never do anything you, yourself, are not comfortable with, but,” He drew himself in front of you, “If you’d prefer it just me, I can use my right hand and my teeth to bind you within it.” Your eyes widened at the suggestion.

“I do not desire your sharpened rat-teeth near me, Shanks,” you reprimanded him, your brow decreasing and resting in a straight and serious line. Shanks winced a little at your elevated words, but nodded to your boundary.

“Would you prefer it if Beckman did the knot tying?” The usually stoic man had his ears pricked up at his name, still holding his eyes firmly against the line of the curtain but listening more intently to the conversation behind him, “What say you, Becks? You keen on doing some knot tying for our most precious and beloved exterminator on her big day?” Beckman sighs, shaking his head and takes a few moments to answer that very pointed and heavy question.

The first moment you met him, he found you effortlessly managing the crew of Red-Haired pirates from their lustful advances on a menagerie of young ladies in silks and satins. This piqued his interests, him desiring to learn more about the protective exterminator and her role in shepherding the youthful gentlemen and women in society.

After many years of running into you from port to port, he treated you with the utmost respect and found himself hanging onto your every command as a loyal knight taking instructions from his queen. From then on, you were the friend he confided in and trusted to handle the troop easily when ushering you throughout the seas on the red-force. Of all aboard, you trusted Beckman the most to treat you well.

“If you would prefer me to complete this task for you, teeth free,” he smirked, placing a cigarette between his lips and igniting the tip with a lighter, “Wouldn’t wanna do nothin’ you’re uncomfortable with, my lady. This would be a rather intimate experience, and I wouldn’t dream of putin’ ya in a position you’d not deem appropriate.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, truly now realizing what task you placed on your intended when you initially requested the former warlord to complete.

“I require a dress that meets the intensity of the sun with its rays of gold and copper. An accumulation of material so outrageously forbidden, it be intended for your eyes alone with its intended purpose. A dress so scantily designed, that you will find none to ever match its equal in both color and provocative appearance.”

Your heart panged with guilt, eyes wide but frown depending as you relayed your own words within your mind. Before your words had enough time to gather more thoughts behind their intentions, you found yourself murmuring below your breath; Beckman responding in a similar tone to your question.

“Could you do it blindfolded?”

“I will do my best, my lady.”

“You better get to planning your wedding, love,” Shanks called up from behind you, prompting you to turn back around to face him, “I think I’ll have it for you sooner than you might think.”

—----------------------

Tucked beneath the duvet after ridding yourself of your gown and scrubbing the night off your skin, you reminisced the words Shanks spoke over you. You shook your head, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation you had found for yourself. A small shriek allowed itself to exit from your lips as you hid your face beneath the covers; yourself devolving to a teenager encumbered by their own stupidity circulating within their minds.

“It won’t be enough. It will never be enough.”

Your ears pricked up at the voice, prompting you to throw the covers of your bed from your face and seek out its source. Slowly scanning the room, you found no such presence within the corners of your wing. The bothersome thoughts circulating within your mind seemed to have a physical presence; a presence that continued to watch over you as an executor would watch a prisoner place their head within the circle of a guillotine.

Laying back down against your plush mattress, you began to be eclipsed by invasive and tiresome thoughts so tangible that your body felt more tired upon reawakening than it did attempting its slumber. Once again, no birds serenaded the morn due to its distance between breaking the daylight against the purple hue of cool nightfall.

Sucking in a breath from your nose, you flung the covers back with your exhale and began to aggressively tug trousers and a blouse onto your body, alongside your socks and boots. Perhaps pushing yourself further to exhaustion may coerce your body to allow slumber to claim you.

Attempting to furiously walk in silence was no easy feat. The desire to allow the remaining members of the household to enjoy their restfulness overcame your own need to behave erratically and childish in the moment, but you were looking forward to enjoying stomping to your heart's content to satisfy your inner angry teenager once walking among the grounds.

After opening the cold, wooden door to the castle; you silently crossed the threshold and clicked the latch behind you as softly as you could muster with the iron-barred door’s affinity for squeaks and clanks. You turned and hastily embarked on your descent down the stairs and onto the footpath leading towards the vast grapevines throughout the castle grounds. The pebbles kicked up with dust beneath your heels, scuffing your shoes as you picked up your brief sprint to the winding and heavily fruited vines.

Upon reaching the first row, your steps halted their motion as your mind began to process exactly what was happening before your eyes. Your fingertips began to shake at your hips, your jaw slackened and eyes wide.

Dracule Mihawk, lord of castle Kuraigana and lands surrounding, former warlord of the seas, current world’s greatest swordsman, your betrothed and intended husband, was gardening. Hands holding firm to the base of a mattock and humming under his breath, he slammed down the iron tip to pry the earth of its rest. His brown trousers were stained with the waxy coat of the ground, cementing itself against his calves and leather boots.

His shirt was hanging on a post beside a small, dirty triangle of cloth and a round, large brimmed straw hat, leaving his entire chest and back exposed to the sunlight as it began to share the radiance of the dawn. Beside the hat lay an intricately designed bouquet tied with twine and lace and laying carefully within the circle of the upturned hat.

A grunt fell from his lips per impact of the earth, halting his hum as his body continued upheaving the ground to a point he deemed far enough to stop digging. His forearms and biceps shook upon impact, his pectorals and abdomen compressing upon retracting the object from its place embedded in the earth. As he turned away from the hole he dug, he rubbed his forearm against his brow to rid it of the sweat and grime.

He sighed as he began retrieving a small vine with bare roots and placed it within the hole, kicking the dirt beneath his boot heel to place the earth securely around it, and stomping to resolidify the ground. Straw hat, ruffled pale shirt, covered in mud, gardening, flowers in a bouquet.

It all began to swirl within your mind, watching as he sighed once more before placing the pale shirt over his head. He secured the face shield over the lower half of his face and began spraying the hole he had just covered with rain water. The earth began to splash up under the pressure of the nozzle of the hose, dampening his pale shirt and caking the top half of his body with sticks, mud and hay from the compost. More water began to splash up into his face, him shaking his head and grumbling below his breath, verbally reprimanding himself.

“Never messy in combat, never messy in gardening,” Mihawk yelled at himself in a hushed tone, “But you slip below the vines one time and now you’re this-this-...” He sighed again, raking his fingers through his exposed locks a final time before shaking his head, “This Farm-Hand. The creature from the earth created to serve as friend and confidant to your beloved. Why must she make me so-... so-...” He growled, intentionally now splashing his body with water, raindrops falling like glass from each curl attached to his radiant head.

Hastily, you stepped as quietly as you could away from the scene in front of you, hearing the vocal chastations echo with each angry grumble exiting from his mouth. You placed your back against a nearby oak tree and took a moment to process internally what you had seen and heard. Clapping both hands over your mouth, you began to teeter into a giggle.

The lord of Kuraigana, your betrothed and beloved, had intentionally been attempting to woo you all this time with flowers each day for a month. The first time you had caught him was when you were wandering the halls in your nightdress, apparently the first time he had ever fallen amongst the sludge while gardening: covering his body from head to toe in an amassment of the earthly elements.

You risked a peek at him, witnessing as he shook his head further; now completely under the disguise as your friend: the Farm-Hand. Fur, feather, straw, clay, mud, sticks and stone cover all apart from his honeyed eyes and his straw hat. He has assembled his beastly persona, a caricature of the man you had come to adore through your time spent with him.

A portion of you wanted to continue this torturous facade for him, not one to enjoy trickery or deceit and wishing to punish him in some way for his lies. Although immediately after that single thought, you smiled for your sweet Farm-Hand, adoring the extent he was willing to go to enjoy speaking with you with no filter apart from the muck and slop he adorned on his body. After toying with the notion within your mind, you decided on behaving in the former: not wishing to allow him the upper hand in this next interaction.

“Farm-Hand?” You called to him, weaving your body from behind the tree and exposing yourself under the first light of the dawn, “Farm-Hand, is that you here so early?” You watched as he began to scramble, at first attempting to askew the floral arrangement behind his back from view before holding it at heart-level.

“Lost-Lady,” his voice called to you, disguising what you thought to be a small stumble in his footing as he began to clamber towards you from his prior position gardening. His boots met with the sludge, sliding the earth from beneath his footstep and successfully dropping him down to his knees. You sucked your lips into your mouth, witnessing a man full of dignity and grace be brought down to his knees while cradling flowers against his chest.

“Sir, are you alright?” you asked, beginning your hasty descent towards him and almost losing footing yourself.

“I would not be so hasty-!” Mihawk called at a moment too slow, watching as you lost your own footing beneath the sludge of his own making and being dropped to a low crouch; managing to collect yourself at the last moment. “My lady, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I am uninjured, my darling,” you reassured him with a small chuckle, bringing your eyes up to meet with his shielded face, “It is you I am more concerned. Do you tumble often? Must be very poor on the knees.” You silently hoped he both would and wouldn’t catch onto your vocal slip up, darting your eyes between his to check over his reaction to the name.

“I try not to lose my footing often, my lady,” he confessed, reaching out his unoccupied left hand to you to ensure you were steady enough in your crouched position, by offering you additional aid should you need it, “Contrary to what you might think, I am actually rather competent at gardening.” You smiled, rising to your feet and collecting his left hand within your right to support him in his rise.

“I believe the world of your abilities, sir. Now, allow me to aid in your rise to your feet once more,” you smiled down at him, his eyes meeting your own with an almost overwhelming amount of adoration. You hoisted him up to his feet, uncaring at the passing of grime onto your clothes from his.

You began to walk in silence, the destination of the castle steps once more in sight for Farm-Hand. You noticed his shoulders slouching and the weight of a mental burden begin overencomber him beneath the waves of thought. You furrowed your brows at his posture, unsure as to how to address such an issue.

“Is there something the matter, Farm-Hand?” you asked him, slowing your step beside him to check him over.

“All is well, Lost-Lady,” he uttered in a half-hearted manner. You purse your lips, a frown finding its home against the center of your brow as you looked him over once more. You decided against continuing this little facade further, and halted your steps all together as you both stood at the entrance of the doorway. Sighing out a huff of agitation, you shook your head before hardening your resolve in addressing the proverbial elephant in the room: although you were truly unsure as to how.

You rotated your neck, a small crack produced from its circular motion in response. Drawing your eyes up to meet with his and stepping into his aura, you looked down at the floral arrangement in his hands. The hues were as vibrant and beautiful as each day prior, although this bunch seemed to hold an almost desperate apprehension and appreciation. There were so many intricate elements, it looked as if he absolutely scanned each leaf, petal, and stem within the greenhouse and beyond to draw each piece into it.

“Will you be joining me for breakfast this morning?” you coyly asked him, trying to tease out whether he would give himself up willingly or continue with this little facade no matter how much it pained him to do so. He looked at you, puzzled and perplexed, and began to attempt to assemble a response to your question.

“I will be where I always am for breakfast, my lady,” he responded, his eyes looking very pleased with his retort. You hummed in response, nodding your head externally while internally agitated at his successful avoidance of the question. Your betrothed seemed to not desire giving himself up willingly; which spurred you on to push harder.

“Even now he hides his face from you. He intends to deceive you until the bitter end.”

You shook your head of the thoughts whispering into your consciousness, casting them aside by closing your eyes and assessing your internal monologue. Reopening your eyes, you gazed back into his honeyed hues and smiled once more at him.

“Then I shall bid you farewell, sir,” you nodded politely and began to take your leave of him to only be halted by his firm grip holding firm to your right bicep beneath his left hand. You halted in your steps, turning back to look at him with your eyes filled with something Mihawk was not expecting to see from you.

Sorrow. Doubt. A deep and upturned sadness eclipsed over your face and caused him to stumble over his next words to you.

“I thought we were past all of those titles, Lost-Lady,” he attempted to reassure you with his words, only for you to pull away from his grasp. You apprehensively drew your right hand up to his face, hovering in front of his hat and mimicking the same movement over his features as he did the night prior. You sighed as your thumb brushed against his shielded chin before finding yourself cupping his shoulder beneath your palm.

“Would you prefer me to call you ‘Farm-Hand’,” you sighed, a smile pricking at the corner of your mouth as you continued to watch his eyes stagger beneath your pointed look, “Or shall I return the title you bestowed onto me?”

Mihawk was perplexed. Had you been spying on him? Did your ears hear the internal monologue he decided to relay verbally, actively mocking himself for his idiocy? Surely not. Hopefully not. He yearned for this deceit to flee from his form. No longer desiring to adorn this shield and to be the man beneath this amassment of muck for you; he wanted so desperately to cast aside titles and just truly be yours.

“And what title may that be?” Mihawk whispered beneath his breath caught within his throat. His gaze followed your fingertips as they circled around the flowers within his hands, prompting him to release them into your grip. You slipped your hand from his shoulder and turned to begin your withdrawal into the manor with one final quip over your shoulder.

“Thank you for the flowers. I will cherish them as I do all of the others you have presented me each day.” Beginning your ascension to your wing, you couldn’t help but wonder why he decided to continue adorning the mask you had already seen slipping and cracking at the corners.

“Perhaps it was truly because he does not truly love you.”

After retreating back into your designated wing, you shook the thoughts away from your mind and replaced the flowers atop your table with the fresh assortment he had crafted for you. You sighed out a small breath and began changing from your soiled clothes into your regular gown for tutelage of your two wards for the day.

Breakfast was far from silent that morning. Perona had begun chittering away about which lord and lady had begun courtship. She provided her commentary on the dresses and suits adorning each member of the attendees, focussing on the amassment of silks and satins clinging to the infamous clown-captain of the east blue.

“Did you see his frilly collar? Wasn’t it stunning?” her voice did little to hide her excitement regarding the frills and feathers, “And how beautiful his hair is! How does he keep his locks so silken on the seas, Mihawk? In fact, how do you keep them so-.”

“-Why must you continue to listen to the whining of the insufferable child? Flee from this land and find a suitor attuned to your interests and class-.”

“-And the amount of weaponry on the red-haired pirates! Did you see Yassop’s pistol, Zoro?” Perona continued with glee. Zoro grunted, reaching for a small rice-ball and placing it onto his plate before pouring himself a small, ceramic dish of tea from his ocha teapot.

“And the green-haired boy? Do you think he truly need of your services? He is a swordsman, no mere gentleman in need of a few curt lashes upon his behind. You can do nothing to train him further in the ways you know best. Leave.”

“I did see,” he grunted, rising the small mug to his lips and taking a sip, “I aim to tell my sharpshooting crewman about it when I get back to ‘em. Usopp would be keen to-.”

“Even now your intended ignores you. He has no interest in fostering the flames of your affection.”

You inhaled a deep breath, a shaken hand reaching forward to grasp your teaspoon within it and stirring a spoon of honey within the mug. You placed the spoon beside the mug and began to raise it to your lips and take a small sip of the liquid within.

Mihawk was not accustomed to this amount of silence from you. You often engaged with the wards in conversation over breakfast and went over the agenda for the day. Routine, structure and discipline were the three aspects alongside true professionalism he had come to enjoy with your mornings. Whatever plagued your thoughts held you completely in silence and unable to speak those words to life.

“Beloved-?” Mihawk began, attempting to regain your attention, only to witness your eyes continue to stare at the teapot placed in front of you.

“The moon, the starlit sky; they are beautiful dresses. But the golden assortment? Do you truly think that be enough-?”

“-My love, are you quite alright?” Mihawk attempted to gain your attention once more, only to become more concerned at the state of your daze. Perona halted her conversation with Zoro, looking over to Mihawk before drawing her eyes over your hunched form.

“Why don’t you set them in a glorious blaze, hm? What would be the harm in setting fire to those beautiful gowns? It should save you both the trouble of going through this sham of a marriage-.”

“-Hey!” Perona’s booming and otherworldly voice held dominion over the room, prompting your eyes to immediately draw themselves up to your pink-haired ward in confusion. Her rounded, dark pupils were holding firm to a space beside your left ear, the internal monologue halting itself as you glanced up. Perona began to levitate above the breakfast table, her hands reaching forward with her palms presented outwards.

“Step away from my governess, Hag!” Her voice held several tones within the single vocal strand, the air sucked from its delight of the morning rays. Zoro immediately was drawn to his feet, unsheathing his sword from beside him and brandishing it with flourish. Mihawk also rose to his feet, nodding to Zoro briefly, before he closed and reopened his amber eyes; now a ruby iris surrounding its glow. Zoro did the same, his iris crackling under the new color within his orbs.

You felt a weight being shifted off you as Perona’s hands sunk into the air beside you and cast it upwards. Feeling the rush of wind beside you, you inhaled a shaken breath and closed your eyes in a tight squeeze and held your lips in a tight and firm line. Feeling alone of the inner monologue, your hands were taken within the cool hands of your betrothed; prompting your eyes to flitter open.

“She is gone, beloved” he crouched at your left hand side, looking up into your eyes with concern interwoven within the once more amber hue of his irises. “Have her words bring you no hindrance nor whisper of worry. She can do no harm on this plane.” He reached up his hand and claimed your cheek beneath his palm, soothing you with his thumb rubbing circles within your smooth skin. “Her words are poisonous. The only harm she can truly do on this plane is with her words alone. I promise you, you are safe.”

“How long has she been here, Mihawk?” Perona asked at your other side, her eyes fixed on a pinned point in the roof and remaining unblinking, “She seemed so sad.” Mihawk continued to hold you within his sights, as he desired to ensure your emotional wellbeing after an encounter with the spectre of the witch that plagued him.

“She has been here with me since the ring was placed atop our governess’ unity finger. I had heard her voice only once before such a time,” Mihawk informed the three of you within the room, “And it was when I commissioned the ring to be set within the woven band itself.”

Drawing your eyes over to his, you danced your sorrowful eyes between his and allowed yourself a moment of weakness to lean into his palm with your cheek. He sighed at the small gesture, leaning his crouched body further into your and searching your eyes for any thoughts you desired to relay onto him.

“She fled from me two days ago when I had began concluding the task placed on me,” Mihawk continued to confess, removing his hand from your cheek and collecting both of your hands within his own, “I thought we were rid of her, considering-,” he halted his words, continuing to leave them unspoken within the air, but written all over his face.

Considering I love you.

Your soft smile in return had Mihawk’s heart swell within his chest. He drew your hands up to his face, the knuckles on your hands brushing his mustache as his lips caressed each joint above your fingers gently and deliberately. Perona smiled an impish smile as her eyes met with the display of affection between her lord and her governess, prompting her to swiftly gather the arm of the swordsman and direct him away from the room with an echo of protestations: “Hey, but I didn’t get to finish my breakfast-!”

Mihawk used his right leg to hook beneath a chair at your side and draw it close to him. His cocky smirk continued to hold against his lips as he continued gazing into your eyes, prompting you to roll them and chastise him with a click of your tongue. He drew it close to yours, sitting directly beside you and released one of your hands to collect your teacup and present it to you.

“My, my lord,” you smirked, taking the teacup from his hand and raising it to your lips, “offering to serve a lowly governess at breakfast?” It was his turn to chastise you with the click of his tongue, tutting you at your personal degradation.

“I thought I told you,” Mihawk began, choosing his next words by searching within his mind, “What was it you told the clown? We are more than the titles that make us?” You giggled, watching the corners of his eyes gather as his lips drew up into a small smile, “And we are far beyond simplistic roles, do you not agree?”

“Like the roles we chose for ourselves?” you offered the first extension of the relationship between your alter-egos to unmask between the two of you. He sighed, closing his eyes and bowing his head down in deep thought.

“I never thought of you as a lady who was ever lost,” he whispered, his tone low and deliberate, “I had always thought of you as a woman who commanded every space she found herself within. Even as a man far more advanced in his years,” he continued, reopening his eyes to look lovingly into your face, “I had always seen you as a woman who could have the mighty fall to their knees- much as you had me do this morning.”

Sighing your laugh, feeling the physical weight fall from your shoulders as your smile elevated your lips with its relief, you drew yourself closer to your beau and placed your forehead against his own with your eyes shut tightly.

“Does this mean I will no longer be receiving flowers from my beloved Farm-Hand, adorning an assortment of mud and grime?” you quipped at him, taking your bottom lip beneath your teeth. He huffed out a laugh of his own, withdrawing his forehead from yours and replacing it atop your brow with his lips.

“If you so desire for your Farm-Hand to bring his Lost-Lady your daily gift of flowers, I will gladly become him once more for you. However,” Mihawk drew his eyes back to yours, an almost playfulness dancing behind his honeyed gaze, “I expect my Lost-Lady to be in naught but her nightdress in return.”

—-----------------------

“I-I think I’ve done it,” the redhead captain exclaimed, his shaken right hand gathering the material beneath his hand and looking over it one last time, “I’ve done it! Becks! Becks!”

Shank’s cries of glee echoed throughout the red-force, his crew alerted to his excitement and began gathering themselves at their posts. Beckman rose to his feet, beginning to direct the crew in their duties to prepare to board the pier of Kuraigana once again.

“All hands! All hands on deck!” Shank’s voice called, his right hand waving a piece of parchment paper in absolute delight, “Hoist the colors, sound the alarms! We got to get the word to Hawk-Eyes! He marries on the morrow! Beckman, Becks-,” Shanks halted his feet, thrusting the parchment into the awaiting and overworked hands of his first-mate, “You reckon you could do that blindfolded, mate?”

Benn Beckman straightened the parchment with an assortment of intricately composed directions with diagrams and mathematical equations correlating with the design. He frowned, eyeing the minute details and beginning to commit their paths to memory.

“As I said, Cap’n,” Beckman confirmed, meeting the hazel gaze of Shanks’ awaiting and hopeful face, “I will do my best for the lady.” Shanks clapped his hand over his shoulder and began making his way to address his crew as Beckman began visually putting together the guide and its make within his mind, practicing several intricate knots with the strands of the rope beside him.

“The Vile Exterminator is getting married to the Hawk of Kuraigana! What a match!” Shanks cried in glee, the red-haired pirates cheering as they readied themselves to exit the ship and leave it behind to once more celebrate with the former rival of the captain.

“I will find your ring, Red-Haired Shanks,” Shanks’ smile dropped from his face as he snapped his head to seek out the voice, “I will find your ring and I will claim your soul as penance for your aid in keeping Mihawk’s from me.”

Shanks’ rubied eyes met with the cursed and haunting spectre of the ghoulish witch haunting his former rival and his former sailing companion.

“Do your worst, witch,” he addressed the spectre, “I would sooner lay down my life than see those two part from one another. You should be happy! You’ve got what you wanted. They will be unified and your curse shall be lifted. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To see others have what was taken from you? To see them happy and thriving with each other?”

The spectral woman, her hair thrashing and wild, snarled at him before her form dissipated from its place in front of him. Shanks mockingly snarled in return at the position the ghostly woman was prior, opting to pay her warning no mind as he began prematurely celebrating with his crew by opening a fresh keg of ale. Gathering his den-den-mushi to inform the bride and groom of his success in completing the task, he dialed after placing the receiver against his shoulder and waited for the other end to pick up.

“It’s done, Hawks. Congratulations, you marry on the morrow!”

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk one piece #one piece mihawk #mihawk sapsorrow au #mihawk fairytale au #sapsorrow au

243 notes · View notes

short-honey-badger · 3 months

Text

Forgetful Valentine's

The long awaited fic! I do hope you all enjoy what I've whipped up!

Everyone have an amazing Valentine's Day! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairings!: Sir Crocodile x AFAB Reader.

Quick summary : Crocodile is hard at work trying to get the Cross Guild up and running and accidentally forgets that it's Valentine's Day.

4.3k words

Masterlist

Buggy Town was lively as usual. Almost Everyone here belonged to the cowardly clown’s crew, but a few select members had elected to stay loyal to Crocodile. The ex-warlord strolled through the tall tents toward the middle of town where real construction had begun. He had a hand in each building, deciding what and where needed to be built first. Mihawk was uninterested in this side of running the guild, and Buggy was far too incompetent to use a hammer, much less direct a building crew made out of pirates.

Crocodile made his way to the largest building, a hotel slash bar of sorts that housed him and the other leaders of the Cross Guild. It'd been a couple of days since the devil fruit user had been able to rest his head, and he was thrilled at the thought of getting to see you, his wife. The two of you have been together since his relocation to Alabasta, been married for around eight years now. Impel Down and Marineford had been life-changing for both of you, but things were beginning to look up with the formation of the Cross Guild.

Only the people Crocodile thought worthy enough to see him with his walls down knew that he was a bit of a romantic at heart. You were obviously one of them, and he couldn't wait to get back to their personal room, curl his huge frame around you, and go to sleep.

However, Crocodile couldn't help but think that he was forgetting something important- he just couldn't figure out what. He sighs heavily and pushes open the door to the hotel, and his cigar would have fallen out of his mouth if he had not clenched his teeth.

The entire lobby has been decorated in PINK. There are paper hearts and streamers everywhere, and someone has even made cupcakes with cutesy designs. There is a massive banner that spans across the bar, where Buggy and his crew sit at the bar, drinking and having a swell time, and Crocodile feels his heart drop. It's Valentine's Day, and he forgot.

Crocodile has nothing ready, nothing prepared for you. He's been far too busy dealing with the new shipment of crops and lumber coming in. The ex-warlord swears under his breath and spins on his heel, mind working quickly to try and find a solution.

Any other year, Crocodile has gone all out for you. Back in Alabasta, he'd wake you with flowers and a sweet breakfast, keeping the day open just for the two of you. Then he would take you out for an extravagant date, only to bring you back to the casino to feed you expensive fruits and worship you from head to toe. Before the night was over, he would run the two of you a bath, making sure it suited you perfectly before gently cleaning his love of the day's events.

All that changed after Straw Hat came and wreaked all of his plans, but right now, none of that mattered. Crocodile needed to find something - anything to give you. He's already wasted the majority of the day and cursed himself for not realizing what today was again. He could only hope that you would be forgiving.

Crocodile flies out of the hotel, dropping into sand and scattering out through Buggy Town. He comes back together when he finds Mihawk, knowing that the other man would have some fancy, expensive wine lying around somewhere.

The swordsman cocks a brow at him, looking thoroughly unimpressed at Crocodile's sudden entrance. Mihawk takes in the older man's rather erratic appearance.

“Can I help you?”

Crocodile smooths his hair back, settling back into nonchalance. He doesn't want the haunty man's help, but he doesn't have many options at the moment.

“I need a favor, a bottle of wine - strawberry, your most expensive brand.”

Mihawk shifts his weight, crossing his arms and leaning back against the crates behind him. It's not every day that Crocodile of all people comes asking for a favor.

“Why?”

The taller man flicks the ash from his cigar, eyes flickering to the darkening sky. He inhales deeply, lungs filling with smoke and then leaking up into the air. Fuck. This was embarrassing.

“I forgot it was Valentine's Day. I can't show up empty-handed,” Crocodile grumbles and huffs in annoyance when he sees the amused smirk on Mihawk’s face.

“You? Why celebrate such an unnecessary holiday?” Hawkeye inquires, but his eyes shine in mischief. Mihawk knows exactly the reason, but he can't help but want to pick on the other man.

Patience running thin, Crocodile glares down at the pompous bird who looks too smug for his own good.

“Because I don't take the one I love for granted,” he snarls down at Mihawk and revels in the look of anger that flashes across his face before it disappears. They glare at one another before the swordsman ultimately sighs and rolls his eyes as he is being asked to do the most unfortunate thing in the world.

“Fine,” Mihawk drawls and turns on to march back to the hotel, “Only because your wife deserves to have a nice Valentine's.”

Wine now in hand, Crocodile stalks to the back and into the kitchens. He demands the cooks whip up a platter of fine fruits and cheeses, simple things that he knows that you like. As he steps back into the lobby, he catches sight of the rack of cupcakes that sit far too close to Buggy for his liking. He sighs as he steps over to the figurehead of the Cross Guild, clearing his throat and smirking around his cigar at the way the clown shrieks and breaks into pieces.

Crocodile snatches up a cupcake, transferring the bottle of wine to a helpful pile of sand that he summons without a thought, “Who made these?”

Buggy looks about to die in his spot when he raises his hand, cheeks coloring bright red in embarrassment as he admits to baking the cupcakes. Crocodile scoffs at the goofball of a man who somehow became an emperor of the sea.

“Of course you did,” he sneers before turning on his heel and loping upstairs, leaving behind a befuddled and terrified Buggy.

The gator is uncharacteristically nervous when he arrives in front of his door. He can hear soft music playing from within, and his scar pulls tight around his nose when a wince crosses his face. The song is slow and crooning, one that he recognizes as one of the few that you play when you are feeling upset with him. Shit.

I’ve lost all ambition

For worldly acclaim

I just want to be the one you love

Crocodile steps through the door, brows pulling up at the sight of soft lighting and delicate decorations that are just a bit tacky. He cracks a tiny grin, and stubs out his cigar in the nearest ashtray, though the effort you’ve put in here just makes the ex-warlord feel guilty. On he goes, passed the living room, and out to the small balcony where he can still hear the slow tune of the song.

And with your admission

That you feel the same

I’ll have reached the goal I’m dreaming of

You sit in one of the chairs that have been set outside, blanket wrapped tight around your body, and turn when you hear the door slide open. Crocodile catches your eyes, and his shoulders slump in relief when you reward him with a soft smile full of love. You stand, dropping your blanket, and come to his side, simply happy that your husband has made it home before the end of the day.

Crocodile drapes himself over you, setting the wine bottle and cupcake away and then curling his arm around you tightly. He lifts you, tucking his hooked arm under your legs, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself in so that you can seal your lips to his, sighing in relief at feeling the man you loved close again. You know that he is busy, and you try not to let how much his absence hurts, but you hadn’t thought that Crocodile would have forgotten Valentine's Day.

You rest your brow against his own when the ex-warlord parts from you, letting out a quiet giggle when he presses a smattering of kisses to your cheeks and nose, though when he stops, you can see the regret still shimmering in his purple eyes.

“Forgive me, doll,” Crocodile rumbles against your lips, “Getting the guild up and running has taken too much of my attention away from you.”

You smile at him, a soft quirk of your lips that Crocodile had fallen in love with over time. He once thought you were mocking him with that easy expression, but now it is one that he cherishes above all else.

“There is nothing you need to apologize for, baby,” you coo softly and smooth a hand along his jaw, feeling the days-old stubble there. You trace the scar that runs along his nose and cheekbones, “I know that you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

Crocodile huffs, leaning into the hold you have on him, “That’s no excuse. You deserve better than this. If I’d remembered, we wouldn’t be spending this evening in the hotel surrounded by fools.”

“It's not very nice to speak about your co-workers like that,” you tease your husband, and the gator just rolls his eyes skyward.

“As if either of them contribute to the guild,” Crocodile grouches and shrugs out of his heavy overcoat and settles into the chair, situating you into a more comfortable position in his lap. Below the chair, sand shifts and slides back inside and to the cellarette. He retrieves two wine glasses and his hand reforms with the stems tucked between his fingers.

“Impressive as always,” you quip and take the glasses, resting them beside the wine and cupcake that you are just now noticing. Your smile turns into a delighted grin, and you snatch up the bottle, reading the label, “You got my favorite!”

Crocodile gives you a smug smirk, feeling proud of himself for doing at least something right tonight, “Thank Mihawk later. He’s the one who had it lying around.”

He disintegrates the cork of the dark bottle and pours them both a generous amount of the pale pink wine, handing you your glass first and then taking up his own, “The cooks are making you that little snack tray you like so much. Always eating like a little mouse.”

You snort at the old nickname, “Not my fault that fruit, cheese, and bread go so well together.”

Crocodile keeps a steady hand on your hip when you lean back over and pick up the cupcake, examining the bright pink icing and chocolate cake, “Who made this?”

The sigh Crocodile disperses is earth-shattering, and you raise a brow at his dramatics, only to smirk when he hisses, “Buggy.”

“See, your business partners are good for something, right?” You point out and take an obvious sip of your wine, then examine the cupcake, wondering which angle to go in at to create the least mess.

Crocodile snatches the cupcake from your hand, setting it back on the table. He didn’t trust you not to get crumbs everywhere, “Enough, you’ve made your point. Be grateful, hmm?”

You scoff at his audacity to think that you would ever be ungrateful for anything the devil fruit user got for you. You quickly decide to show your husband just how grateful you can be by being obnoxious, of course.

You drape yourself over Crocodile’s chest with a dramatic sigh, shifting to cradle his face in both of your hands to press your lips to his in a lip-smacking kiss, “Thank you so much for the wine and snacks to come my sweet, dear husband! What would I ever do without you?”

“Be wineless and snackless,” Crocodile rumbles and snickers at your dramatic display. Seas does he love his wife, so opposite to him, but with a unique outlook on life that he has always admired.

You laugh, catching him in another kiss before settling back down. Crocodile pours you another glass, and you sip it with a suspicious look, “Are you trying to get me drunk, Sir Crocodile?”

The grin that you receive is dastardly, and you are tugged impossibly closer, almost spilling your drink if not for the grip you had on the delicate stim. You shiver when that dangerous hook finds the edge of your dress, and send Crocodile a soft glare when you hear it begin to rip. Cool air meets your thighs when he rips it further, and he leans in, lips brushing against yours as he speaks.

“If I recall, you quite like it when I take advantage of you, Doll,” He rumbles, and his flesh hand smooths up your thigh, thumb dipping in between the juncture of your legs and stroking the soft skin there. Crocodile longs to feel your plush thighs wrapped around his waist or his head. The ex-warlord wasn’t picky. He presses his cheek to his wife’s, breathing you in and leaving a lingering kiss to your ear, “Or am I remembering incorrectly?”

A breathy laugh escapes you, and you turn your face, lips finding his stubbled cheek, “No, you remember correctly.”

You think about teasing him about the fact that he had forgotten what today was but cast the thought away when you lean back and catch sight of the dark circles under his eyes. Your husband looks tired, and your tipsy, lust-filled mind is swiftly reminded that this is the first time that Crocodile has been back to the hotel in days.

The gator raises a brow when he catches the change in your expression, and he sighs as he is subjugated to your concerned fretting until a knock on the door grabs his attention. Crocodile sets you on your feet, hands off his glass to you, and suggests you gather the wine and join him inside.

By the time you make it inside, Crocodile is shutting the door and lopes over to the sitting area where you’ve sat your bounty on the center table. The tray of snacks joins the wine and sweet treat, and Crocodile presses a quick kiss to the top of your head, “Get ready for me while I change, Dear.”

Crocodile smirks at the way you flush at the husk of his voice, and satisfaction curls hot in his chest at still being able to make you blush like a virgin even after all these years.

“Yes, Sir,” You breathe, and his cock twitches in interest. Crocodile leaves before he can say fuck it and go straight to the main course.

With your husband gone, you take in a deep breath and set to “getting ready” as he ordered you to do, which surmounted to waiting for him to get back so that he could manhandle you how he wanted. You help yourself to another glass and pick at the charcuterie board - eating the cupcake too while you’re at it - you’ve already eaten, but you were never one to turn away food.

The sight of your husband dressed down in black sleep pants with a cigar hanging from between his teeth - he’s even taken off his golden hook for the night - makes you smile, affection, and love for the dangerous man who used to infuriate you at every turn. Now, only you had the honor of seeing the suna suna user like this, all soft and intimate, and all for you, his wife.

Crocodile sighs as he settles on the floor where you’ve strewn out pillows and thick blankets, making a cozy pallet for the two of you. He rests his back on the couch, extending his hookless arm along the cushions and taking up his filled glass. He watches you pick over to the record player and switch songs, smirking when the husky voice of the female artist fills the room. You settle back in his lap, and he wraps his left arm securely around your waist.

Your fingers find his scared wrist and trace gentle patterns there. You rest against him and quietly ask him about how the last couple of days have been. You listen to your husband grouch about the incompetent fools he works with a fond grin, occasionally rising to pick at the snack board and feed your overworked ex-warlord just to get him to pause in his rants. You chime in here and there and offer one last time if he wants your help, but Crocodile denies you like every other time.

“I won’t have you out there around those heathens when I can’t be there to protect you. Mr. 3 and Daz are the only two I trust around here,” Crocodile grumbles and pushes away the cracker and cheese combination you offer him. He smirks as he watches you shrug and eat it for yourself.

“Once I get a more stable network, then we can talk about getting you back out there.”

You huff, but agree for now, not willing to argue with the stubborn man right now. You blink when your world suddenly spins, and the next thing you know, your husband is looming over you, scar scrunching up as he grins meanly down at you.

“Enough about work, Doll. I’ve held myself back for your sake, but I’m done being patient,” Crocodile rumbles and stabilizes himself with his left elbow, trailing his flesh hand up your knee and pushing your dress up and around your hips. Saliva pools in his mouth at the sight of smooth thighs, your panties hugging your mound and leaving little to the imagination. He wants to mark you up like his personal canvas and paint you with bites and hickies so that everyone would know who you belong to.

He leans back just enough to tug your dress up and over your head, tossing it behind him the moment it leaves your head. Crocodile hums, pleased at the sight of your bare breasts, though he would have liked to have seen you nice and dolled up for him, “What have I told you about wearing the lingerie I bought you?”

You blush and shake your head, “It just gets in the way.”

“Ku ha-hah, If you would give it a chance, then maybe you would change your mind,” Crocodile grumbles at you and then leans down to mouth at your collar bone, nipping at the delicate skin there. His hand splays across your side, and he slides it down your hip to hook into your underwear. He tugs them down, growing impatient when his cock throbs in his pants.

Any thoughts of arguing about lingerie are whipped from your mind when those sharp teeth of his find one of your nipples and bites. You curse, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other sliding into his hair, nails biting sharply into his olive skin. The tip of his tongue curls around your nipple, sucking gently to ease the sharp pain.

With your underwear out of the way, Crocodile hooks his fingers around your thigh and tugs your legs open, hooking your left one over his hip. The tips of his fingers dig into your inner thigh, and you moan when he nips your nub before releasing the abused flesh and lean your head back to expose your throat when he noses forward. He sucks dark marks into your skin, leaving behind a painting that only your husband would have the pleasure of viewing.

Crocodile drags his hand down your thigh, growling low in his throat when you dig your nails into his scalp again. The tips of his fingers find your cunt, and he slides his middle finger through your folds, smirking against your skin when he feels how wet you are for him. He leans up and sucks his finger into his mouth for half a second, soaking it thoroughly before sliding it back down and finding your entrance with practiced ease.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and your hips jerk at the sudden stretch. Crocodile was a large man, bigger than the average at the least, and that meant everything on him matched his height. His fingers, usually decorated with rings, were long and thick, and the gator knew how to use them to bring you over the edge until you were begging for his cock.

“Too much?” Crocodile grunts out from where he has leaned back to lave his tongue along your throat, sharp teeth nipping, “But you can take it even if it was, couldn’t you, sweetheart?”

You jerk your head in a nod, deliriously with wanton lust, “Of course, Sir. Whatever you wanted from me.”

He laughs against your skin, and then he is moving up to shove his tongue past your lips, groaning at the mixed taste of you and sweet strawberry wine. You suck on the thick muscle that fills your mouth, jaw aching at the way Crocodile doesn't let up. Your thighs shake when he adds another finger, the pace brutal and impatient.

“C-croc, please,” you plead when he pulls away, lips red and smeared with spit, “You're not the only one who's been waiting.”

Crocodile gives you a smirk, not needing to be told twice. You unwrap your arms from his neck, and he sits back on his knees, thumb hooking into the elastic of his pants, pulling them down, and you watch his impressive length spring free. Your mouth fills with saliva, and if you didn't want your husband inside you so badly, you would demand he sit back so you could suck him off.

Instead, you reach out and wrap your hand around the thick base, smirking when you feel him pulse in your hand. You squeeze gently, eyes landing on the thick precum that leaks from his tip. Crocodile rumbles above you, sounding like the animal that he is named after, and the sound sends shocks straight to your core.

Done with your playing, you sit back and tighten your legs around his waist, causing the big man to rock forward.

“Fuck me, Crocodile. Make it up to me for almost missing Valentine's.”

Crocodile's grin is nasty and mean, sharp teeth pearly and on display, “As my wife demands.”

With those words, Crocodile bats your hand away from his cock and takes himself in hand. He guides himself forward, hissing at how tight of a fit you are, swallowing him down until his hips pressed flush against your own. Crocodile lingers for half a second before he is pulling out, dragging along your walls before slamming back in.

You shout, head falling back to the pillows below as Crocodile sets a back breaking pace. You hold on to his shoulders to dear life, his hand tight around your hip to keep you still as he fucks into your cunt. He shifts his knees under you, arm moving to wrap around your waist, keeping you close as he moves to kneel on the ground. This position pushes him impossibly deeper, and you lean forward to rest your sweaty brow against his chest.

Crocodile bounces you on his cock, bodily moving you up and down, and you feel that hot coil of pleasure snap inside of you when your clit grinds wonderfully against his pelvis. He doesn't stop, growling as you clench tight around him and snapping his hips up, dragging his length against your sweet spot.

“You should see yourself,” Crocodile snarls above you, and bends, pressing his cheek to yours, “Stuffed so full with my cock. You like it when I'm rough, don't you baby?”

You nod eagerly, teeth clenched tightly when your husband tightens his grip in your waist and holds you down while he grinds up. You come quickly after that, hands tight around his shoulders and nails digging into Crocodile’s back.

His pace becomes erratic, and Crocodile can feel himself starting to get close. His wife feels too good, and he doesn't fight it when that heat snaps, pulling you down and shoving in to fill you up to the brim. You watch him, taking in the blissed out way, his brows furrowed and his sharp teeth clench. He paints you from the inside, and the two of you look down at where you are connected to see a mix of slick and semean leak out and stain your thighs.

The two of you stay like that until Crocodile grows soft and he slips out of your fucked out pussy with a quiet groan. You stay draped over him, unwilling to move, and feeling exhausted. The gator huffs at you, though he can't pick when Crocodile lets out a jaw cracking yawn. He stands with a heavy sigh, unbothered by the mess left behind as he lopes to the bathroom.

Crocodile switches arms, tucking his handless arm under your ass to keep you help up while he flicks on the tub. It's too hot for him when he steps into the huge tub, but he knows that you wouldn't tolerate anything cooler than molten lava. He adjusts you so that you are mostly submerged, big frame relaxing against the edge of the tub.

He smooths your hair away from your face, a soft smile playing on his lips when he catches your eyes. He leans in and presses his lips to your brow, “I love you, Doll.”

You grin, eyes falling shut, and you press yourself as close as you can to your husband, lips grazing his chest, “I love you too, Crocodile.”

The ex-warlord hums low, a smirk appearing, but you can still see the slight discontent in his eyes. Today isn't how he would have liked it to go, and you both know it. He tucks you close, head leaning back.

“I won't forget next year.”

#fanfic #one piece #reader insert #fluff #valentine's day #valentines day #sir crocodile #op crocodile #crocodile one piece #crocodile #crocodile x you #crocodile x y/n #crocodile x reader #cross guild #masterlist

278 notes · View notes

2treez · 5 months

Text

Katharine Hepburn’s childhood, in her own words.

“Once when I was a teenager, my father and I were standing in line to buy tickets for the circus.

Finally, there was only one other family between us and the ticket counter. This family made a big impression on me.

There were eight children, all probably under the age of 12. The way they were dressed, you could tell they didn't have a lot of money, but their clothes were neat and clean.

The children were well-behaved, all of them standing in line, two-by-two behind their parents, holding hands. They were excitedly jabbering about the clowns, animals, and all the acts they would be seeing that night. By their excitement you could sense they had never been to the circus before. It would be a highlight of their lives.

The father and mother were at the head of the pack standing proud as could be. The mother was holding her husband's hand, looking up at him as if to say, "You're my knight in shining armour." He was smiling and enjoying seeing his family happy.

The ticket lady asked the man how many tickets he wanted? He proudly responded, "I'd like to buy eight children's tickets and two adult tickets, so I can take my family to the circus." The ticket lady stated the price.

The man's wife let go of his hand, her head dropped, the man's lip began to quiver. Then he leaned a little closer and asked, "How much did you say?" The ticket lady again stated the price.

The man didn't have enough money. How was he supposed to turn and tell his eight kids that he didn't have enough money to take them to the circus?

Seeing what was going on, my dad reached into his pocket, pulled out a $20 bill, and then dropped it on the ground. (We were not wealthy in any sense of the word!) My father bent down, picked up the $20 bill, tapped the man on the shoulder and said, "Excuse me, sir, this fell out of your pocket."

The man understood what was going on. He wasn't begging for a handout but certainly appreciated the help in a desperate, heartbreaking and embarrassing situation.

He looked straight into my dad's eyes, took my dad's hand in both of his, squeezed tightly onto the $20 bill, and with his lip quivering and a tear streaming down his cheek, he replied; "Thank you, thank you, sir. This really means a lot to me and my family."

My father and I went back to our car and drove home. The $20 that my dad gave away is what we were going to buy our own tickets with.

Although we didn't get to see the circus that night, we both felt a joy inside us that was far greater than seeing the circus could ever provide.

That day I learnt the value to Give.

The Giver is bigger than the Receiver. If you want to be large, larger than life, learn to Give. Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get - only with what you are expecting to give - which is everything.

The importance of giving, blessing others can never be over emphasised because there's always joy in giving. Learn to make someone happy by acts of giving.”

~ Katharine Hepburn

🌳❤️🌳

402 notes · View notes

heluvaku · 6 months

Text

ROLE MODEL.

A Fyodor Dostoyevsky | BSD x Gender-Neutral Reader Smut Fanfic.

warnings ; smut , reader has female anatomy but is overall gender neutral (except for one (1) use of 'girl') , slapping , mean fedya , bondage , praise if you squint , a bit short , nikolai mention giggles , not proofread , etc .

authors note ; hihi !!! hope you guys missed me... yes i returned solely because fyodor's birthday was yesterday and i HAD to write smth for him. ignore that. giggle wiggles. also i got lazy and ended it on a cliffhanger.. oopsie poops dont get too mad

Fyodor always was a man who saw himself as dignified.

He believed someone as sanctified as he shall always receive the utmost respect, no matter the form; especially on his date of birth. He asked for no presents, no surprises to be thrown. Cakes were out of the question, too. The sweet thing Fyodor wished to devour was you.

Silk purple ribbon danced around your body, the fabric an eye-pleasing restraint. It wasn’t your idea to put it on; in fact, it was Gogol who brought it up. The clown dumped several ideas of what to do for your ‘acquaintance’s’ birthday onto you, some more obscene than others. But you couldn’t be upset at him; not when his ideas led you to paradise.

Lithe digits grip your hips as you sloppily bounce on Fyodor’s shaft, his hands attempting to keep you steady. Hours ago, your ability to think fled elsewhere, the capability to speak following suit. It was as if you were a mindless doll, a toy whose only purpose was to serve its owner.

“You seem to enjoy this more than me, Kukla,” the demon shamed, “must I remind you why I’m permitting you free rein of my body?”

The Russian receives no reply. Sounds of skin against skin and squelching of slick echo throughout the empty bedroom; braindead babbles accompanying the lewd melody of intercourse. It was gorgeous, music to Fyodor’s very ears, but there was something.. missing. Something that would make this song perfect.

Fyodor slapped your cheek, hitting hard enough to leave a sting, but not a mark. You were beautiful, after all. He would never want to taint such a graceful figure. My, were you a sight for sore eyes when you cried. Eyes that were once glossed over with tears finally let them run free, each droplet hastily streaming down your cheeks.

A pale hand reached up to your face, cupping the section hot with assault and tears. Fyodor wiped away the teardrops with his thumb, a feigned look of sympathy on his visage. “I’m sorry, love, but I will not take such disrespect from you. Give me an answer, or I’ll have another give me the benefaction that I seek.”

Despite your hazy mind, you shook your head no and brought all movements on the raven-haired man's cock to a halt. Your heart banged in your chest as you finally relaxed, the ribbon still keeping you up straight. Chuckling, Fyodor brought both appendages to your boobs, toying with your nipples through the thin cloth.

“Good. Now, go on. Do I have to remind you why I’m letting you do this?”

“No, sir..”

“Really, now? Tell me then.”

“B-Because you want me to make you feel good..”

“Correct, Milaya moya. Such a smart girl,” the Russian praised. “Don’t lose focus on the objective at hand, and answer when I speak to you. Do I make myself clear?”

@ HELUVAKU 2023 . do not share or repost .

#⁺˚⋆✩₊ heluvaku works .#bsd #bsd smut #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou sd #bsd fyodor #fyodor smut #fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky smut #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bungou stray dogs fyodor

321 notes · View notes

bangchansgirlsblog · 5 months

Text

Sweet Angel 👼

Part one:

Has to re-write this

-🩷

The clock was ticking. Her heart was pounding as she sat outside the principals office. She said a small prayer because she knew the trouble she was in. She knew this was going to be a good day.

“Y/n. The principal is ready to see you,” Candice, the school receptionist, called for her. She gulped and looked over at the lady. She was tall and had a mini skirt on. Her blouse was see through but no body complained because quite frankly everyone enjoyed the view. She was a hottie after all.

“Goodluck,” Candice said before Y/n could even step into the office. She needed it in order to stay calm and stay collective.

Her shaky hands opened the wooden doors and the smell of fresh books and coffee filled her nostrils as she took a step inside.

“Y/n, please take a sit,” His voice was loud but not scary loud more like loud for no reason loud. Y/n never liked the way he yelled. It was always hours of a lecture that she didn’t give two shits about because she knew she was going to get into trouble again but get away with it anyway.

“Goodafternoon Mr.Zang,” she smiled politely before taking a sit and looking straight at him. It was almost like she was taunting him, making him look like some type of clown.

“Alright let’s cut the crap young lady. We’ve called your brothers in,” her whole body went cold. Her breathing picked up its pace and her shaking hands were very visible now.

“You called my brothers?” She asked in disbelief, “but sir-“

“I don’t want to hear it Y/n, we’ve been going through a roller coaster with you and I think it’s time I set my foot down,” He was signing a piece of paper. The room was dark and mostly made of wood. It was a typical principal study and that creeped her out even more.

She was scared. She was terrified because if Chan was on his way he was definitely pissed off. She was definitely going to be in big trouble and she was definitely going to get killed. She was on her second strike. She had already been kicked out of a school before this and if she got suspended again in this school that meant she was one step away from getting expelled again. That alone would put Chan and all the boys in a coma.

Fuck.

She let out a sigh. This wasn't good at all. At all.

She looked up at the clock again to calculate how much time she had to live. 20 minutes. She had 20 minutes to live and she would spend it in this sad room. Not how she expected her last moments to be.

Her stomach was churning and suddenly the lunch she had eaten wasn’t such a good idea because of the nauseous feeling that came over her. The nerves were eating her alive and at a point she thought she was dreaming.

Her short prayers were interrupted by the doors opening. Had it been 20 minutes already?!

"I'm so sorry I'm late," She heard Chan's voice fill the room. She looked over at the door and gulped when she saw him come in with leeknow glaring at her. A lump in her throat started to form.

Leeknow was the scariest out of them all. He was the only man that scared the shit out of her (after Chan ofcourse) she just knew if it was the two of them (Chan and leeknow) it wasn’t a good thing because the both of them together was like losing a finger while cooking your favorite meal…does that make sense?

"It's okay Mr.Bahng, welcome. Please have a sit." Mr.Zang said pointing at both empty sits right next to Y/n. She made sure to scoot a bit further so she wouldn’t be at punching reach from Chan. (She was just taking safety precautions)

"So what seems to be the matter? what did she do this time and how much will it cost me?" Chan chuckled and she knew straight away that that chuckle wasn't real. It wasn't real at all.

"Im sorry we have to go through this again but today we caught Y/n- well you'll see by yourself," he pointed the tv remote at the tv that sat on the opposite side of the room. It was cctv footage. Y/n cursed herself for not knowing that this man was keeping cameras on her 24/7. She felt dumb. The video tape played and showed Y/n with a bottle of vodka passing it around with her friends. They were behind school in the alleyway between the gym and main hall.

Shit.

She gulped again and looked at the floor not daring to look at Chan or leeknow. Her throat was dry at this point. She could hear a frustrated sigh and a 'you better start praying' from Chan.

"Now Ofcourse we don't tolerate any of this behavior," Mr.Zang turned off the tv and sat back in his chair.

"I understand that sir," Chan replied,

"We will have to put her on suspension for 3 days but I do have a question," he looked back and forth between Leeknow and Chan with a worried look on his face.

"Yes Mr.Zang, what is it?" Leeknow asked.

"Who is at home with Y/n? Is it just you guys?" He questioned the boys while adjusting his glasses.

"No sir, she has a nanny that takes care of her sir. It's me and my other brothers that are in charge of her sir,"

"And what about parents?..." he trailed off. Her heart slightly jumped at the thought of her mum and dad. All she could feel was numbness everytime they had to talk about them.

"We don't have any of that sir, her mum and dad died a while back so I was given custody over her sir," Chan replied politely. He too didn’t like to talk about the death of her parents. It ruined his whole mood because he knew it was a soft spot for his little sister.

“Oh I see because Y/n has been acting out lately and with the grades and her attitude she might not make it past 12th grade,"

She glanced over at Chan who was massaging his temples and trying to stay cool while leeknow sat with his hands crossed and his eyebrows furrowed.

"I understand that sir, I'll make sure she gets on her game,"

"Alright I think that's it, young lady I hope you take this time to reflect on your behavior," he pointed at her. God! She hated Mr.Zang. His pin black hair and beady eyes always creeped her out. Even his golden tooth that always seemed to be glowing no matter what. Ugh.

"Trust me she will be reflecting a lot," leeknow said before shaking Mr.Zang’s hand.

They handed them the peace of document for her suspension so they could sign it and once they had finished she got out of her chair and grabbed her bag from the floor and started following behind her two older brothers. They both were talking to eachother whispering back and forth as she walk quietly behind them. The school corridors were quiet and she was glad because if word got out that 2/8 of straykids were in school, that would be hell for her.

The car was parked outside with the driver in the front seat and when they got into the car and all the doors closed Chan started yelling. Yelling really loud. Her body was trembling at this point.

"What the fuck Y/n?!" He started off. she kept quiet and looked at the ground not daring to look him in the eye. "Oh! So now she can't talk huh?! Now she can't talk!"

"This is so disappointing! Yah! Do you know how embarrassing this is?! Getting called out of rehearsal?!" Leeknow added on.

"I can't even look at you right now! You're so stupid! Why can't you think before you act huh?! Why can't you do things without getting into trouble?!" Chan yelled while bawling up his hands in a fist.

"I'm sorry-" she softly said but she was interrupted by his sharp laugh,

"She's sorry! She's sorry she says! You know what I'm sorry for?! You're grounded for life. Locked up in that house for internal life!" Chan scoffed, "No tv, No phone, No tablet, No computer..oh and you know what else? No more free tickets for your friends! You will stay in that house until I see straight A's again understood?!"

“Yes Chan," She nodded her head,

“Also I’m taking you out of the trainee program. Your not debuting anymore-“

“Chan, please don’t. Please Chan that’s the only thing I have-“ tears started to build up in her eyes. Her heart was shattered. Chan knew how important that was for her. He knew how much she was looking forward to being in a girl group.

“I don’t want to hear it. This conversation is over,”

His face was red and he looked scary but she couldn't help it. Why would he do that? He knew that was my most valuable thing going on in her life.

“Chan I’ll-“

"I don't care! I don't fucking care right now! Just stay quiet and don't even talk to me, don't look at me if you can please don't even breathe the same air as me,"

She looked at him with so much hurt but obeyed his wishes. Her heart was heavy but she couldn't blame him. She deserved it.

She kept quiet and continued to look at the floor as they arrived home. Leeknow was trying to calm Chan down as she got out the car and walked into the house. Tears fell from her eyes at a constant speed.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Han asked, he was sat in the living room with one of his friends but he still chose to leave them and come up to her.

"Y/n? You reek of alchohol, where have you been?" He pulled her into a hug. Concern was written all over his face.

“Don’t touch me,” she tried to remove herself from his grip but it was too tight,

“Talk to me please,” he begged.

"I thought I said I don't want to see your face!" Chan's voice boomed in the room. She got out of Han's grip and quickly run up the stairs sobbing.

"Wait- what happened?" Han asked Chan who was now huffing and puffing.

"She's on Suspension,"

"Again?" Han asked confused, "what did she do this time?"

"Bottles of alcohol in her bag," leeknow explained while rubbing his eyes, tired as usual.

"Where does she even get that?"

"I don't know but I'm starting to get worried about her. I think this is her last strike. What are we gonna do?" Leeknow shook his head.

Chan was fed up and it was so clear, "I don't know but right now I don't want to deal with her crap."

"Chan don't say that, you don't mean it," Han said frowning.

"No I do! Han she has been causing hell! I don't know what to do anymore! I might just have to ship her off to boarding school! I can't be dealing with work stress and her stress! I've tried everything, literally everything but she won't change," he snapped at Han.

“Dont yell at me, I don’t mean any harm,” Han frowned feeling abit attacked, “Chan just give her time, she's just a teenager and she just lost her parents,"

"Who's just a teenager?" Felix asked entering the room from the kitchen.

"Felix back me up here, Chan wants to send Y/nnie to boarding-"

"What?! Why? You can't do that Chan?!"

"I didn't say I would and she got suspended Lix, " he run his fingers through his hair before he started to pace back and forth

"Maybe we can put her in classes? To distract her from being bad?" Han suggested.

"Yeah that's a good idea! That way we can monitor her there too. We can even pick her up after practice," Felix agreed

"We'll see but for now she's grounded for life."

#skz imagines #skz comfort #skz x reader #skz angst #skz drabbles #skz fluff #skz stay #skz x y/n #skz x you #stray kids drabbles

269 notes · View notes

henrioo · 5 months

Text

°•*⁀➷ SMAU: CROCODILE

꒰ WARNINGS ꒱ : TransReader (but can be read as cis because have only one mention about pregnancy), MALE READER, GAY RELATIONSHIP, MALE PRONOUNS, mentions to sugar daddy relationship (more like a joke), dark jokes (it's Robin after all), Buggy x Shanks x Mihawk and Buggy x Mihawk (is more a joke and fight to give more entertaining than really a shipp) age gap (not specified but Crocodile is older than reader and reader is older than Luffy, but none age is mentioned)

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : I decided to try make one SMAU because I really like the ones of @sanjisboyfie then thanks for the inspo, I don't know if I gonna make more but I really like this one. Enjoy!

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

crocobaby posted:

liked by MLuffy, Hawkeyes, Akaagami and 638,973

crocobaby_ helping him get late for work... But it is fine, he is the owner ;p

view all 20,327 comments

TheCrocodile you are always so troublesome...

╰ TheCrocodile I wasn't.

╰ crocobaby I didn't see you complaining...

ClownKing that's why you are always late...

╰ TheCrocodile say one more thing and you're gonna regret it

╰ ClownKing DON'T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT!

TheCrocodile posted:

liked by Hawkeyes, Akaagami, QueenIVA and 291,083

TheCrocodile this boy was waiting for me finished the meeting so he could give me flowers... How can I say I'm a little old for that?

view all 8,367 comments

crocobaby but you are my man, you deserve flowers 😔

╰ TheCrocodile I appreciate the flowers but I am not a teenager for that my dear

╰ crocobaby you never are going to be too would for me... And if I don't give you flowers what can I give to show my love to you?

╰ TheCrocodile find me in our room and I can show you some things I can think of...

MLuffy posted

liked by RoroZoro, San, CatNami and 893,547

MLuffy me, my dad and my friend that dates my dad! Wait that makes him my dad too? How much dad's one person can have at the same time?

view all 40,754 comments

CatNami WTF IS (Y/N) DATING YOUR FATHER?? YOU INTRODUCED US SAYING THAT IS ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS LUFFY!

╰ MLuffy so? He is my friend and he dates my dad, he can't be both?

╰ CatNami I'm gonna just ignore that because (y/n) isn't that young too... BUT DAMN @crocobaby YOU GOT A SUGAR DADDY AND DON'T SAY TO US???

San by my count you have four dads if we count with Shanks... If you count the two boyfriends of Shanks then there are six dads... You probably have more dads than we all have together...

╰ ClownKing wtf you saying with two boyfriends??? @akaagami

╰ Hawkeyes 👁️👁️

╰ ClownKing YOU KNOW THAT HE WAS DATING BOTH OF US AT THE SAME TIME???

╰ Hawkeyes Actually probably is you that is dating two men at the same time, because I don't date Akaagami and only date you.

╰ Akaagami WTF YOU MEAN THAT YOU'RE WITH BUGGY????

╰ RoroZoro THAT FUCKING CLOWN??? SERIOUS DAD???

crocobaby posted

liked by Hawkeyes, Mr0001, ROnico and 348,869

crocobaby Damn... He always knows the best places to take me...

view all 32,785 comments

TheCrocodile you deserve the most beautiful things in this world and I will be the men giving you that

╰ crocobaby I don't think there is anything more you could give at this point...

╰ TheCrocodile that is what you think. Let's see the future...

ROnico hope you enjoy your time there, it is gonna be more calm without Boss here 🤭

╰ TheCrocodile any complaints about?

╰ ROnico never sir

ClownKing posted

liked by Hawkeyes, crocobaby, buggyfanclub and 1,647,536

ClownKing if they two gonna act like too teenagers in love I'm leaving right now

view all 70,374 comments

TheCrocodile we actually didn't invite you... So please leave

╰ ClownKing you are fucking mean

Hawkeyes it could be worse, you could have a vacation with them because our sons are friends. Then you gonna be stuck with them because you tree are adults are you have to pretend that you not realize that they are fucking each other only with their eyes.

╰ crocobaby I kinda don't want to go on vacation with you anymore...

╰ Hawkeyes I agree, please don't.

╰ TheCrocodile You really need a boyfriend...

╰ Hawkeyes I have one.

╰ TheCrocodile The clown doesn't count.

crocobaby posted

liked by MLuffy, Hawkeyes, ROnico and 2,347,743

crocobaby Okay... Maybe he hasn't given me all before... But now I definitely have everything I could wish

view all 89,753 comments

TheCrocodile you are the only one that deserves all this

MLuffy are you giving me a brother now?!

╰ crocobaby DON'T FUCKING ENCOURAGE YOUR DAD HE'S JUST WAITING TO TALK ABOUT THIS WITH ME AGAIN

╰ TheCrocodile you can't run now, we live at the same roof.

ROnico I really hope you enjoy your honeymoon and it would be horrible if Crocodile dies but if we think in a positive way you would be a billionaire and probably a boss more chill than him 🤭

╰ TheCrocodile Well I can't say I wouldn't pretend my death only to have eternal vacations...

╰ crocobaby Please don't, I'm supposed to be the househusband, not you!

╰ TheCrocodile so demanding...

QueenIVA SO HAPPY FOR YOU CROCO-BOY AND (Y/N)-KUN, WHEN I GONNA GOT A INVITE TO TALK TO YOUR LOVELY HUSBAND ABOUT YOUR PAST TOGETHER?? I HAVE A LOT OF STORIES

╰ TheCrocodile I'm gonna send the police after you if you show here

╰ crocobaby I'm kinda curious now... And I'm really interested in those stories...

╰ TheCrocodile no you not.

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

148 notes · View notes

rorywritesjunk · 6 months

Text

I'm aiming for full control of this love

Buggy has a fantasy that you decide to try involving Mihawk and Sir Crocodile.

Rating: 18+, MDNI. It's porn, y'all. P0RN. Warnings: Sex. Buggy has to wait his turn. Everyone is consenting adults in this. There's aftercare from Buggy. I just love that guy, okay. A/N: Fell down a rabbit hole of fics of the three guys. I've yet to see Sir Crocodile so like, what I'm writing from is what I've seen in the fics. I'm slow at catching up to the anime. Also, first time writing and sharing porn and it's sort of a quick one. Sort of at 2k words. Enjoy the Sunday Smut. Title comes from "G.U.Y." by Lady Gaga.

It really didn't take much to convince Mihawk and Sir Crocodile to accept your request. You just had to mention "torturing Buggy" and they were onboard before you could even continue with what you actually meant, and when you finished telling them they were still onboard.

You knew how the three of them worked, and that Buggy was more of the face of their little operation and not the brains. They barely tolerated the clown, and he did try to assert himself as someone in charge, but they never took him seriously. He hated that and you felt for him. There were definitely some control issues happening there.

The idea came to you after Buggy caught you talking to Crocodile. The large man had said something that made you laugh and you touched his shoulder affectionately. Buggy had seen the way he looked at you, how his hook caressed your lower back gently. Buggy saw the flirting and wasn't pleased. He showed you that night and you could barely walk the next day.

Your boyfriend definitely had some issues around the other men and you. He admitted it wasn't so much of a possessive thing as… he was turned on by the thought of Crocodile touching you. And after some prodding you got more out of him.

It was a little hard to admit but he told you he had fantasies of you being with the other two and him watching. It… wasn't a bad idea to you, it was just a little surprising. It was the last thing you expected to hear from Buggy, especially when it came to Mihawk and Crocodile, but you loved the clown and well, you kind of wanted it yourself as well.

So that’s how you ended up in your bed naked with Crocodile and Mihawk while Buggy was told to sit in a chair and keep his hands to himself. He wasn’t allowed to touch you, or even himself, and he had to remain clothed while his girlfriend was touched by his two comrades.

You were sitting on Crocodile’s lap, his cock slowly splitting you apart while his finger rubbed slow, lazy circles against your clit while his hook pressed against your throat, keeping your head up while Mihawk’s cock was choking you. Spit and cum spilled out of the corners of your mouth while tears rolled down your cheeks. You were making the most pitiful noises as the two men filled your holes while Buggy watched.

“It’s not fair!” He whined from his seat as Crocodile pulled another orgasm from you. Your screams were muffled by Mihawk’s cock, the swordsman gripping your hair as he forced himself further down your throat until your nose was buried in the curls at the base of the hilt.

Crocodile smirked, letting you to fuck yourself on his cock while he continued rubbing your clit. “She asked, clown. Maybe you need to up your game at fucking your girl.”

Buggy glared at him and Crocodile chuckled as he let his hips jerk up suddenly, hitting that sweet spot inside you. Your eyes widened and you tried to pull back from Mihawk, the overstimulation becoming almost too much for you, but he held your head in place.

“C’mon, get outta her already!” Buggy complained as Mihawk finally pitied you, pulling his cock out just enough to allow you to catch your breath. Crocodile moved his hips again, his cock bumping against that spot again. You couldn’t keep quiet now that there was no cock in your mouth at that moment. Tears were spilling from your eyes as you rocked your hips against Crocodile’s, nearing another orgasm already.

“I’ve lost count how many times she’s cummed on my cock already.” He said as his hand moved from your clit and rested against your stomach; you let out a whine when he stopped touching you. He attacked your neck with his teeth, marking you up while Mihawk grabbed your hair and slid his cock back into your mouth.

“Mhm, at least five times since we started.” The swordsman grunted as you swallowed him, allowing him to use your mouth and throat as his fucktoy. “Doubt the clown can get that much out of her.”

“Oh, fuck you two.” Buggy grumbled.

“Nah, too busy fuckin’ your girl.” Crocodile chuckled; Buggy glared at him, digging his nails into the seat of the chair.

Seeing you like this was too much for him. He wanted to rescue you from those two and treat you right, but the sound of your moans, the way your pussy clenched Croc’s cock, and how your body trembled with each orgasm was such a beautiful sight to Buggy. He would only rescue if he felt it was becoming too much for you. He was choosing to ignore how Mihawk was fucking your throat and how Crocodile was leaving marks on your neck and shoulder. He kept his attention on watching your pussy fuck itself on Croc, and he wondered how much longer either of the other two men would last. He wanted to be the one choking you with his cock, not Mihawk, and he wanted to fuck you until you couldn’t walk. Croc may be bigger than him but Buggy knew how to make you scream for him.

Your body shook with another orgasm. Your thighs were trembling and Buggy could see how your cum was coating Crocodile’s cock and dripping down his balls and to the bedsheets. Oh, he wanted this to be over so he could sink his cock into you, but he wasn’t sure how much longer this was going to take.

“When are you going to be done?” He whined pitifully. The two men shared a look; Mihawk tightened his hold on your hair as his hips suddenly stilled. You tried to swallow what you could, but when he pulled back you had to spit some out, your throat spent. He cupped your chin, thumb wiping away some of the drool and cum around your lips before he leaned down and kissed you. Buggy’s jaw dropped as you closed your eyes and sighed against his lips.

“Jealous, clown?” He smirked as his hand returned between your legs, pinching your clit and catching your attention. “I’m passin’ her over to Mihawk once I’m done.”

“You’re taking too long!” Buggy complained. "I want my turn!"

"Keep carryin' on like this and we'll never stop." Croc threatened as he thrust his hips slowly into you. Mihawk pulled back for a moment and knelt beside you. His hands went for your breasts, long fingers pinching and twisting your nipples. He didn't hesitate in kissing you, silencing your noises as Croc increased the speed of his thrusts. He rubbed your clit harder, quiet grunts leaving him as he bounced you on his cock.

Your whimpers were the sweetest sounds. Buggy scraped his nails over the seat of his chair, nearly splitting them as he watched you clench around Croc, another orgasm hitting you, just as Crocodile came inside you with a low groan. He didn’t pull out, instead his hips slowly rocking against yours as a mixture of both of your cum leaked out of you. Mihawk pulled back from you as you slumped against Crocodile, trying to catch your breath as your eyes closed.

“She’s not a bad fuck.” He chuckled as he pulled her off his cock, settling her in his lap. He kept her legs open for Buggy to have the perfect view of her abused hole, cum still dripping from her and onto the sheets. “I wouldn’t say no to her if she asked again.”

“You ass-” Buggy started, but was stopped when you let out a content sigh. He pouted, he was growing impatient.

Mihawk wasted no time in removing you from Crocodile’s arms and laying you on your back with your head at the end of the bed, allowing Buggy a better view of your face. The swordsman pushed your legs apart and slid into you, eliciting a whimper from your spent body. You stretched your arms out towards Buggy, reaching for him, and he looked at the other two men for permission.

“She’s the one in charge.” Crocodile said as he sat back on the bed and lit up a cigar. Buggy swallowed and looked back at you, still reaching for him with pleading eyes. He wasted no time in trying to his feet and hurrying over to you, taking your hand in his while his other hand touched your face gently.

"Need you, please." You whimpered as your hand moved to his bulge. He nearly passed out at the request and immediately pushed his pants down to his hips, freeing his cock. He took it in his hands before guiding it to your open mouth, nearly cumming at the sight before him: Mihawk fucking you while you swallowed Buggy’s cock, eyes blissed out from the pleasure you were receiving. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, how well you had taken the first two men and yet still wanting more.

You had reached back to put your hands on Buggy’s hips, needing to hold onto something while Mihawk fucked you. Buggy had a difficult time focusing on his own pleasure, instead wanting to watch the swordsman’s cock fuck into you, coated in your juices. Every other thrust seemed to hit your sweet spot because your hips would arch and you’d moan around Buggy’s cock. It was almost too much for him.

He put his hands on your cheeks, thumbs rubbing over the drying cum and spit that was all around your face. You hummed around his cock, trying to focus on him while Mihawk slammed his hips into yours, his nails digging into your hips and leaving marks. Your squeal was muffled from Buggy’s cock fucking your throat. The swordsman was ignoring your clit, instead focused on his own release, so Buggy’s hand popped off, moving between your legs and rubbing your clit in time with Mihawk’s thrusts. You let out a cry around Buggy’s cock, digging your own nails into his hips as you came, pussy clenching around Mihawk.

Buggy couldn’t wait any longer and held your head in place as he came after you, cum shooting down your throat. You swallowed what you could, whimpering loudly as he pulled out of you, wiping away the cum and spit that dribbled from your mouth. He immediately knelt down, kissing your face, whispering words of thanks to you, as Mihawk chased his own orgasm, spilling into you. The swordsman gave himself a minute, breathing heavily as he pumped his cock into you a few more times before finally pulling out.

Crocodile climbed out of your bed, Mihawk following him. The two of them pulled their pants back on and collected the rest of their clothes. A servant had brought them a pitcher of water, cups, and some fruit, leaving it on a platter near the door. There were also some warm towels. Mihawk grabbed the towels and held them out to Buggy.

“Let us know if you need anything.” He said as Croc set the platter down on the chair. The two of them left after that.

Buggy helped you sit up, immediately wrapping one of the warm towels around you before grabbing another one and pouring some water onto it to clean you up. He started on your face, wiping away the tears, cum, and spit, pressing kisses on your cheeks and forehead once he finished. You leaned into him, giggling softly when he moved down to your neck.

“Ya up for more, Buggy?” You asked as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled yourself into his lap. He shook his head as he wrapped an arm around you, holding you close as he moved the wet towel to the rest of your body, making sure to get you cleaned up. You ran your fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead. “You good?”

He nodded, tightening his hold on you as he looked up at you shyly. “Thank you.”

“Mm, anytime, Buggy.” You murmured as you curled up against him. He picked you up and moved you to the head of the bed, arranging the pillows around you before tucking you in. His hands popped off to pour you a cup of water while the other grabbed the plate of fruit. He was going to make sure you were taken care of after all that. Admittedly, he loved every moment of it, and if you suggested doing it again he’d be all over the idea, but right now he was going to take care of you.

He stripped off what remained of his clothes before climbing into bed next to you, pulling you against his chest while one hand fed you apple slices and the other played with your hair. He kissed the top of your head and sighed happily. “Love you, babe.”

“Love you too, Buggy.” You giggled as you snuggled up against him, basking in his touch. “When do you think they’d wanna do that again?”

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #dracule mihawk x you #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x you #mihawk x reader #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x you

277 notes · View notes

everlastlady · 6 months

Text

Mammon + Servant Reader (Female)

✘Posted: 11/4/2023

✘Story Contains: Fem reader, Reader is a maid, Bubble baths, Gentle Mammon, Slight Nudity, Favoritism, & Feel good times.

✘Word Count: None, writing this on mobile y'all

✘Author's Note: Decided to do Mammon with female reader, I'll do a male reader soon. Just decided to cater to my female readers but I promise I will cater to my male readers. Remember to eat a meal or a snack, drink some water, get some fresh air, take your medicine, and remember that you are loved. If you loved this story remember to comment, click or tap that heart button, reblog with tags, and blaze if you can. Always remember to support your local writers. ♡♡♡

✘Summary: {Name} is a simple maid for the greed lord Mammon. {Name} isn't sure why Mammon always calls on her and always wants him by his side when he wanders his home. But she doesn't mind because she finds her master funny and enjoys how gentle he is with her. But what happens when {Name} gets sick? And it's time for Mammon to take care of them.

" It's okay sir, I'm sure that you will fine someone better than Fizzarolli. " She spoke softly to her boss Mammon who sat in the large green chair. As the imp news woman spoke about what happened at the show. The maid named (name), picked up the remote and pointed it at the large screen and turned it off. Once it flickered to black. She looked over at Mammon who was still fumming over what happened at the clown pageant. " I don't understand, I gave him everything! " Mammon's voice deep and demonic as he slammed his fist onto the table, sending a large crack through it. (Name) smacked her lips. She would have to get that fixed. " sometimes, you can give someone everything and they will still leave, I understand that you are frustrated sir but don't let this stop you from making money; I'm sure someone new will come along, what about the Glam Sisters? " (Name) walked over to Mammon's liquor cabinet. " Comas, after a piece of the set fell on them, they both ended up in the hospital in comas, besides they don't really fit the image of what I'm looking for. " Mammon muttered. (Name) noodded her head and set down the glass of liquor for Mammon. The greed demon looked up at (Name) and smiled. " Thanks, I know I always say this but you are my favorite maid, far better than the rest! You always do your job right and know how to keep a smile on my mug. " Mammon chuckled and took a drink. " Come drink with me, (Name) " Mammon grinned looking up at the maid. Her soft (E/C) looked at Mammon before shaking her head. " No, thank you, sir, I still have work to do; it's not good for one to be drunk on the job. You can cause a lot of mishaps that way putting others in harm and yourself. " (Name) said with a darling smile.

" See that is why you're my favorite (Name)! So smart and responsible with your duties. Maybe next time on one of your vacation days, you and me can drink together. " Mammon said. He would actually love to have a drink with (Name). And you wouldn't have to wear that plain maid outfit. Mammon wondered what (Name) would look like in different outfits. What dresses would (Name) wear or outfits that weren't dress related. Mammon never really seen (Name) outside work. He knew that she lived in the Pride ring and had an apartment. That's all he really knew about (Name's) life since she barely sooke about herself, she listened more than she speaks. " So (Name) how the payments on your apartment? Going because I've been thinking about giving you more payment, maybe you could buy yourself a nice house. " Mammon smirked. " It's going well, besides my loud and annoying neighbor. It's been good but I don't think I need a bigger payment. " (Name) said while tucking a piece of her hair behind her pointed ears. " Aww, come on; yes you do because you are responsible and work hard so tonight expect me to send you a shit ton of money. Now run around and tell the cook to prepare dinner. " Mammon waved his hand to dismiss (Name).

She smiled and bowed, walking out of Mammon's office. Mammon stood up and stared at the spot that (Name) stood in. " Lord of greed giving out money, I must be crazy... " Mammon looked away. " She better get a nice house with that money, a beautiful one at best. " Mammon sat back down. But there was no time to think about (Name) because Mammon had to find a replacement for Mammon so he would probably have to hold another clown off. His little fucked up beauty pageant, but hey if it helps him find Fizzarolli's replacement. Then he would be glad to hold one again. Especially have Fizzarolli and Asmodeus banned from it even that little imp with the gun that had showed up. When night time had finally coated the sky. Mammon sat in the dining room. The table decorated with food. (Name) stood next to Mammon holding a bottle of the greed demon's favorite wine. " (Name) how about you sit down and eat with me. " Mammon took the bottle wine and set it on the table. " And that's an order, just in case you try to come up with some excuse. " Mammon gestures towards the chair at the end of table. " Hey cook! Bring out plate for (Name)! " Mammon yelled. (Name) walked over and sat down - with a smile, the chef brought out a plate that had lemon pepper chicken, mashed potatoes covered in gravy, pasta,and vegetables that were just steamed. The night went well, Mammon made (Name) laugh with his jokes and stories. She listened to her master's rants and ideas.

Mammon enjoyed seeing (Name) laughed. The way her giggles slipped off her lips and coated his ears like honey. How her shoulders moved when she laugh, even that snort was adorable. Mammon felt hot in the face. He couldn't believe that she had made him feel this way for such a long time. But he never acted on these feelings because he was busy making money. But he always made sure that no one tried to get at (Name) which is why so many servants were fired for trying to hit on her. After dinner was done, (Name) stood up and bowed. " I'm grateful that you invited me to join you for dinner, sir, everything was delicious and I appreciated our conversation and the jokes you told. " (Name) spoke through a fit of giggles on the last part still remembering Mammon's joke about clown fish. " No problem, I also enjoyed eating with you. Way better than those dinners I have to attend with Lucifer and the other sins. " Mammon stood up smiling but he stopped noticing how (Name) wobble a bit when standing straight up. Did she drink to much wine? No that couldn't be because she had to drive home. " (Name)? " Mammon walked over to (Name) . " You okay mate? " Mammon reached out. Before she could respond she threw up on yourself and the carpet, (Name) would have fallen and hit the floor but Mammon caught her before she could pass out.

" (Name)! " He called her name and held you close not caring if he got her vomit on him. (Name's) eyes flickered opened as she coughed. " I don't feel good... " Her voice sounded dry and low. " Y-You are going home, let's go get you cleaned up. " Mammon picked up (Name), poor girl could barely speak it hurt to speak so she wouldn't fight back with Mammon who brought her into a guest bedroom. (Name) always took care of him, he will now take care of her. Mammon managed to grab a large shirt that had his logo on it. (Name) could sleep in that and get out of that disgusting maid outfit that was covered in vomit. Mammon ran (Name) a bath. He made sure the water wasn't too hot or cold. He added in some bath salts and oils. Mammon turned towards (Name) trying to figure out how to not make this sound creepy. " (Name) take off that outfit and get into the tub, we gotta get you washed up mate, this bath will help a little. " Mammon offered his hand. (Name) nodded weakly and took his hand, stepping into the bathroom. Mammon turned around as (Name) peeled away her clothing and stepped into the tub - it smelled like mint and honey. She let out a relaxing sigh. Mammon turned around and got on his knees as he began to wash her up. " You don't have to do that sir. " (Name) said in a tires voice. " Shh, yes I do, you always take care of me, so for the night just let me take care of you please. " Mammon said while washing up (Name).

She nodded her head as her boss Mammon washes her up. Avoiding her chest area and crotch area. She held onto the tub when Mammon lifted her leg to wash it. This felt nice, so she enjoyed herself. Mammon took a cup of water and poured it over (Name's) head as he washed her hair and face. He would let her handle the rest while he went to go get her towels and medicine. He could have gotten servant to do this but no, he wanted to take care of (Name), Mammon returned and helped (Name) out of the tub. She dried off and slipped into the large dark green shirt that Mammon gave her. It had his logo on it. " Sorry that I couldn't get you any undergarments. " Mammon said with a crimson blush. " It's fine, I usually sleep without them more comfortable that way. You feel less trapped. " (Name) said while taking the medicine that Mammon brought her. She crawled into the bed as Mammon placed his hand on her head. " Your fever is going down a little. " Mammon said with his hand placed on (Name's) head. " I'm going to stay by your side so scooch over. " Mammon moved over before getting into the bed with you. He laid next to you and stared at you. " You look cute in my merch. " He said. (Name's) voice was still a little dry but still did her voice to talk. " Thanks, the material feels soft. " She said while playing with the blanket.

Mammon turned his side to look at (Name) who did the same to look at Mammon. " Sir... " (Name) began to speak again. " Call me, Mammon. " Mammon said running his fingers through her hair. " Mammon thank you for taking care of me, I'm also sorry that I ruined the carpet. " She looked down. " It's fine, I can get it clean; besides I've been wanting to replace that carpet with a new one. Taking care of you is something you deserve, you always take care of me, so I decided to take care of you... I don't know your my favorite and I like you. " Mammon he hoped that saying that didn't make things awkward between (Name) and him. " I like you too. " (Name) smiled tiredness filled with their eyes. She rested her head on Mammon's chest, while he continued to play with her hair, but soon he leaned down and kissed her. (Name) pulled away quickly. " Mammon, you'll get sick! " She had worry in her voice. " I don't care, I will be fine. " Mammon went back to kissing (Name) who soon melted into the kiss. She enjoyed this moment between her and Mammon. This was no longer just a maid and her master. But just two people who love each other and care for each other. Who take care of each, who soon will have a future together.

Mammon's Clowns aka Mammon Tag List:

If you want to be added to the Mammon Tag List Let Me Know.

#helluva boss #helluva striker #helluva mammon #helluva mammon x female reader #helluva x reader #helluva x female reader #character x reader #character x you #helluva fanfiction #helluva fandom #helluva stories #helluva everlasting #everlasting writes🪻

177 notes · View notes

gentlebeardsbarngrill · 3 months

Text

02/24/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Cast&CrewSightings; Samba BTS; David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Damien Gerard; Guz Khan!; SaveOFMD Crew Billboard; AdoptOurCrew Saturday Sillies; Making A Difference; Articles; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Tonight's Taika;

Been a long Saturday yall. Hope you enjoyed the BTS and general clown/honking going around!

== Cast & Crew Sightings ==

= Samba Schutte Feat. David Jenkins! =

Samba's back with more BTS for us today!

This time the Crew Shoutout is for Chaos Dad himself: David Jenkins! So good to see Chaos dad having such a great time BTS. We love you David!

Videos on Tumblr:

Video 1

Video 2

Video 3

= Rhys Darby =

Rhys decided to take it up a notch today on his Tiktok/Instagram and tell... someone they've created a monster. Who might that be?

== Damien Gerard ==

Our crew-mate @patchworkpiratebear got a Cameo from our lovely Father-Teach, Damien Gerard! There's a bit of a story behind it, see below! Cameo link

== Guz Khan! ==

Hey! It's been a hot minute since we've seen our friend Guz Khan-- and now he's showed up on a cat! Good to see you sir!

== Save OFMD Crew ==

There have been questions raised about the billboard that the SaveOFMD Crew have been posting teasers for on their socials. The Crew had a meeting today wherein they discussed the concerns of the fandom, and have taken that feedback to heart. They are currently working on a clear information packet regarding the logistics of the current billboard efforts. They have kindly asked for your patience while they finish putting those last touches together!

== @adoptourcrew Saturday Sillies! ==

Our friends over at @adoptourcrew were kind enough to set up a new Saturday Sillies this week! This time they made custom OFMD Wordles! There were WAY too many images to include in the recap, so if you'd like to check them out, please visit the tumblr post below!

Wanna play? You can visit a tumblr post here

== Making a Difference! ==

Thank you to everyone who contributed to, or shared the fundraiser for Trans Pride Brighton! They've finally met their goal and can stay open another year! You made a serious difference in the lives of trans and non-binary folk in that community!

== Articles ==

Deze HBO-serie is gecanceld, maar had een 95% op Rotten Tomatoes

Schwule Romanze zwischen Piratenkapitänen

== Love Notes ==

Hey lovelies. I hope you had a fun Saturday/Sunday wherever you are. I know some of you are already closing out the weekend. We made it through another day-- and there's all sorts of action going on across all the platforms. I hope you got a chance to have fun, but also to rest. I know you know this, but even though I do too I often forget it. Rest is so very important. It's so easy to burn out, especially when we're constantly exposed to so much online. I think to myself "oh it's fine I'll just get a few more things done" and then it's suddenly 3 hours later and I've had only 4 hrs sleep in the last 30. Please please please give yourself self care today. Go brush your teeth, or take a shower. If you feel like you can do more, brush your hair, or make yourself a nice cup of tea. Do something for you that makes you relax and feel rested. On your last day of the weekend, make sure to take a few moments to yourself and just remember how awesome you are. You may not feel like it sometimes, but I can tell you now you truly are Awe-some. You bring so much life and love to this world and you deserve all beautiful things you want. Anyway, I'm very sleepy and I'm rambling again (what's new). Sleep well and enjoy your day lovelies, see you tomorrow.

== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

I'm being lazy tonight again yall. Just two goofy gifs that caught my eye, sorry I am running on fumes. Tomorrow I'll try to find some themed ones for ya <3

Rhys Gif: Courtesy of @fandomsmeantheworldtome

Taika Gif: ohnotheydidnt.livejournal

#daily ofmd recaps #ofmd daily recaps #ofmd daily recap #daily ofmd recap #our flag means death #ofmd #rhys darby #taika waititi #samba schutte #david jenkins #chaos dad #daddy jenkins #guz khan #damien gerard #save ofmd #save our flag means death #adopt our crew #save ofmd crew

109 notes · View notes

briluvspnk · 4 months

Text

SWEET CITRUS ! — childe x fem!reader smau

🍊 | synopsis » the so-called class clown, childe, gets partnered up with his "happy crush", (name). little does he know that his "little crush" would be more than "just a crush", and that getting the attention of someone so focused with her studies would be as hard as passing the math exam he has next week. :')

#01 : meet before the cute

“Is this falling? I don't know yet It's too early to tell what you're thinking Or how I feel” —is this falling? by charlie bennett

🎵: is this falling? || tingin

One day, in 8th grade,

Childe caught himself staring. Again. How many times has it been? 5? 8? He swears it’s just pure coincidence. He spaces out sometimes and ends up staring at people, you know? And can you really blame him? It’s not his fault that you’re sitting right in front of him and Science class has been way too boring these days. Staring at you would be much more- what? No. No, he swears he doesn’t care about you—

“Childe? Hey! Tsk. Childe!”

He blinks. “O-oh, hey, (name)! Uhm, what’s up? Haha!”

You roll your eyes, “Were you even listening? Sir partnered us up for the activity.”

“Sorry, what activity?”

You sigh and take out your books, papers, and pens while explaining to him the instructions for the task.

—But he notices how most of the things you own are in your favorite color. He notices how you’re wearing a new jacket today and you forgot to wear your usual accessories. He notices how your writer’s callus has gotten worse because of how much notes you’ve taken. He notices how you fidget with your fingers and the pen when you’re thinking.

You look up from your notes, “Do you understand?”

He snaps back from his thoughts and gives you an innocent smile. “Yup!” He doesn’t get a single thing. “Nice! So, can you do this part for me? I’ll handle the rest.” If it’s for you then he gladly will.

* * *

At lunch, he finds himself immediately looking for you. His friends' chatters fade into the background and everything else blurs until his eyes set on you.

You're right there, smiling and laughing, joking around with your friends. He notices how cute the way your eyes practically close when you smile. He notices how you cover your mouth when you laugh. He notices how you're carrying your notes because there's an exam today, but you can't really focus on reading through them because of how chaotic your friends are. He notices how you bring out a new wallet. He notices how you constantly ask your friends what time it is because you forgot your watch today and god forbid you come late to class. He notices how you cling onto your friend's shoulder as you walk back to class. He notices how you greet other students "Hello!" and remind your groupmates to send in their assigned part by today when you bump into them.

* * *

After school, he notices how you stay a bit longer in the classroom to clean up and fix up the shelves and chairs. He notices how you watch your friends train and play. On days where your friends don't have any training and go home early, he notices how you walk around the school alone and enjoy looking at the plants while waiting for your service. He notices how, sometimes, you would bump into other students you know from other sections and start discussing the recent lessons and exams with them to pass the time. He notices how-

"Childe! DUDE! Hello???", he hears his friend Xinyan call him. "What is wrong with you? You've been spacing out a lot."

"Ha! Probably because he's staring at that girl a little too much.", Kaeya snickers.

"Ooo~ Is it the new girl?", Hutao points at you.

Childe blushes and grabs Hutao's hand. "Don't do that! And no, I am not staring at anyone."

"Then who's got you so... like this?"

"No one! Well, maybe I have been kind of noticing... someone...? I'm just being an attentive and aware person! Is that so bad?"

Kaeya pats him on the back, much like how a big brother would to his sibling. "Oh, Childe... my dear, dear, Childe... you're interested in someone! But I guess it wouldn't be so obvious to a hopeless romantic like you." "Oh, shut up Kaeya."

He turns silent, and at first it looks like he's giving his friends the "silent treatment" from how annoyed he was. But really, he just wants to look at you again.

If he really does like you, then is this really just it? Is it really just stolen glances, soft smiles, and staring and wanting from afar? Or will he make his move one day?

No, that can't be. This is just temporary. This is just a simple happy crush. Right?

masterlist » previous » next

🌻 | a/n » OH MY GOD 1ST CHAP FINALLY??? took so long cuz i didnt like how i wrote it at first + school is kicking me in the ass. this is my first time writing an actual fic + posting so uhm ya :> also imo "tingin" fits this chap sm better so if you're filipino i 100% recco listening to it. this is js a lil warm up lololol... the story really starts in chap 02. ALSO this is a flashback thingy

📨 | taglist » [closed]

@kentply @ssock @hanilessa @inlovewithlondonn

#🍊 sweet citrus!#childe genshin impact #childe x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #childe #genshin imagines #genshin x you #childe genshin x reader #genshin childe #genshin fanfic

89 notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 3 months

Text

A Small Kindness

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 8,088

Notes: The clown needed a little bit of love, I think. This is a gift written for the lovely @sordidmusings. Let's love on the failing-forward man. Image Source link.

Synopsis: A blue-haired man with a round red nose is down on his luck. He's lost everything, not a single berry to his name after being defeated again by the straw-hat crew. A small kindness from a stranger propels him to get back on his feet. How could he repay you? Surely you needed something in return.

Themes: homeless Buggy, pathetic-leaning Buggy, MDNI, smut, p in v, afab!reader, angst-smut-fluff sandwich, one-bed-trope.

In the corner booth, resting with his chin on the heels of his palms, and staring at the cool droplets of the condensation running down the water decanter of the tavern he sat. All majesty, all tom-foolery, all wealth, fame and power flung from him the moment he was defeated, yet again, by that stupid kid, with a stupid grin, crowned with that stupid hat he got from that stupid rat.

A stray hair fell into his face, prompting his pouty lips to huff out a puff of hot air at the strands to push them away from vision. He’d lost it all. His crew dispersed among the seas, his big top sunk and in dire need of repair with no means to finance such a feat.

But you didn’t know any of those things.

All you saw was a blue-haired man with a shiny, round, red nose sitting alone and down on his luck in that booth; yet to order a single thing from the menu. You noticed the way he attempted to hide his hunger, clutching at his stomach and cursing under his breath for it to stifle its incessant groaning.

Brows arching in a triangle at the peak of your forehead, a thin, lopsided smile danced on your lips as you took out a large, ceramic dish from under the benchtop and drew it to the stove. You ladeled into the dish a large portion of the lentil, split pea and hickory ham soup you had been lovingly caring for throughout the day into the bowl and sliced up two pieces of sourdough to place atop flames to char its surface. Sorting out a small ramekin of soft, salted butter, you placed it on your tray alongside the bowl of soup, completing your assortment of food to lay before the somber stranger.

“Excuse me, sir?” you smiled down at him. He lazily lolled his head up at you and stared blankly through half-hooded eyes. His eyelashes danced as they battered up at you, his frown still ever present at the peak of his brow.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m movin’ on, Doll. Don’t you worry yourself, I’ll be out of your hair in a-,” he began, dismissively waving his hand only to be cut off by you placing down your tray atop the table and beginning to silently arrange the elements in front of him. His eyes widened at the harvest, his lips automatically opening and beginning to salivate at the aroma wafting to his large nose from the soup.

“This is for you, sweetheart,” you beamed at him, a genuine and polite smile cooing down at the man in the booth, “I hope you enjoy your meal.” Turning away from the blue-haired man, you began collecting emptied pint glasses and tankards from the adjoining tables throughout the room. You gazed at the man over your shoulder, watching as he apprehensively removed his pale gloves from his hands and placed them beside him.

Taking the silver, round, spoon into his hands, he took a small portion of the soup into it and darted his tongue out to take a small lick of the stock. His eyes widened before rolling back into his head, his lips smacked together as he savored the first gulp of soup. You thought you heard an utterance of an “Oh, fuck,” under his breath before he began horking down the assortment of treats you had presented to him.

Allowing a small giggle to escape your lips, you fished around in the front of your apron in search of a few of your personal wage to pay for the man’s meal to place in the till. Down to the last note of your berry, you had yet to break-even on this shift. Feeding this man had put you behind on your pay, but it was worth it to see the small twinkle in his eye at each spoonful he threw back into his open mouth.

After bidding the last patron farewell and beginning to close down the till, the man wandered over to the counter and placed down his empty bowl; completely licked clean, and with no crumb nor smudge of food left atop the plate and ramekin. Your brow arched up at the discovery of how little remained behind before you drew your eyes up to meet with his.

And what magnificent eyes he had. Although they seemed rather frantic, sheepish and darting; his eyes held a deep sorrow behind them. The tone of his eyes danced in the flicker of the flames initing the tavern walls, in some lights: a calming blue, and in others: a spark of green.

“Was that okay?” you asked him, your knowing smirk rising to a grin to bare your teeth at him. He held his teal eyes to the floor, meeting his gaze with anything other than your own in the process. His teeth bore themselves into a thin line, grimacing a small smile through a sheepish expression.

“It was-,” he began, sighing in the middle of his thoughts as he found the correct word, “-Nice.” You flung a hearty laugh into the air, shaking your head at his curt response as you took the dishes and placed them in the pass behind you to clean once he had exited the premises.

“I’m glad you thought it was nice,” you teetered off your laugh into a small giggle. His face held no humor, no longer depicting the twinkle in his eyes as he pouted and held his eyes away from yours. He grumbled under his breath before elevating his tone, curling his lip before snarling at you.

“So what’ll you have me do, huh, Doll?” he spat, his eyes now agitated as he rotated his neck to rid it of a small click, “I gotta repay you somehow, don’t I? Ain’t nothin’ in this life come free, and that meal was worth a bit, wasn’t it?” He began dancing his eyes around the room, frantically moving to meet his gaze with anything other than your own. His anger began to grow more heated with each thought processing through his mind at a hastened pace.

“It’s on me. Really, I assure you-,” you began, shaking your head and reaching forward to press the heel of your palm against his re-gloved hand. You thinned your lips, holding firm to your resolve and dancing your eyes between his; which continued still to not meet your gaze. It was when you began to retract your hand from atop his that he returned your grip and firmly squeezed your hand into his.

“I ain’t got a thing on me, Sweets. I have nothing I could offer you. I have nothing. I am nothing-,” He spoke at you, using you to verbally process everything plaguing his mind. Expecting hatred reflected back at him, as all those who listen to his woes often depict in their eyes, your empathetic gaze held no such complex. “-I-... I have-...I-...It’s all gone. Everything is gone. I’m nothing. Not a damn thing.”

The man in front of you had tears beginning to threaten its hasty downfall from the corners of his eyes. He winced back the sting, sniffing and grunting through his nose noisily and disguised it with a cough. He attempted to laugh through the pain of processing his emotions, inhaling a shaken breath and hoarsely beginning the teeter of his laughter. He cackled his laugh, messily allowing a small amount of gloss to fall over his waterline and litter his lengthy teal eyelashes with the dewdrops of emotion.

Bowing his head, his shoulders began to quake as the mental process had finally solidified its place within the forefront of his mind. There was nothing he could do about the situation, not a prayer he could pray, nor a song he could sing to break him through this. He was completely alone. Not a single berry, not a place to sleep-.

“-It’s okay,” you quietly reassured him, stooping your head down to seek out his eyes. His gaze snapped to you, shocked at being brought back out of his circulating thoughts of doom and gloom to meet with your eyes. Kindness, sweetness, empathy and humility were the only aspects he met with your gaze as he reveled in the feeling of human contact. Your thumb circled itself over the tips of his knuckles, feeling each bone beneath stiffen slightly before relaxing into your touch.

“I mean it, Doll. I’ve got nothing,” he whispered, his tone continuing to hold a raw raspiness beneath the hiss. A small shake in his head and a quiver of his lip had your heart swelling in pity before it began to hammer within your chest. Upon listening to his small tirade, your adrenaline propelled your small question.

“Have you got a place to stay for the night? Somewhere safe you can wake up in the morning?” Your quiet question had Buggy’s heart filling itself with dread at each beat of the rhythm within.

“I-I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he confessed in a low tone, his eyes falling to rest on your hands intertwined on the benchtop, “This is the first time I’m spending a night in civilization for a while. I think I was going to go and sleep on the beach near the docks-.”

“-A terrible idea,” you cut him off, pulling your hands out from his and removing your apron from your neck, “There have been numerous reports of violence by the docks in the quiet hours. If you start with not much, you’re left with even less. Sometimes, you’re left with not a breath in your lungs to breathe with.” You hang your apron behind the emptied till, the berry stashed within the safe under circular and rotational cogs and locks, and brushed over your thighs to rid itself from any cotton strands fallen from the material.

Buggy’s brows furrowed, searching within his mind for a safe alternative. He’d walked for half a day to reach this town; now too late to walk back to the grove he was sleeping within. Raking his gloved fingers beneath his bandana and removing it from his lengthy, cerulean hair; dampened with the grime, grease and sweat from weeks of ill-maintenance.

Turning back around, you began a slow and pointed trail of reading the body language of the man in front of you. He was lost, in every sense of the word. You could see the thoughts ticking behind his teal eyes, written all over his face. You sighed, bringing your right hand up to the scruff of your neck and giving it a small squeeze.

“Look,,” you addressed him, prompting his eyes to snap up to meet your own. You offered him a small, apprehensive half-smile with your brows lifted in a small peak in the middle of your forehead, “I don’t normally do this, so please don’t think so low of me.” Buggy watched as you began walking around the bar and ushered him towards the door with a coax of our hand.

“Let’s go home, okay?” you offered, opening the door and nodding your forehead towards the threshold for him to cross it with you, “I don’t have much, but-...” as he exited the door, you closed it behind him and fished your keys out of your pocket. The jingle of a few keys echoed in the quiet of the night, the dimmed lampposts had locating the correct key taking a small while.

“-I can offer you a bath, I think my ex has some spare clothes that could fit you if you’d like me to wash and dry what you’ve got on you?” You turned back around, noticing the bright-nosed man staring at you. His eyes were unblinking and wide, his mouth hanging slightly ajar as he processed what you were saying. You sighed through your nose, a downturned smile offered at his shocked expression.

“W-...” he began, struggling to find the words he wanted to ask you. He shook his head, stuttering on, “-Why are you doing this for me? What have I done to give you any reason to offer me kindness? Me? I’m an idiot, a fool, a no-good outcast, a good-for-nothing-.”

“-Because I know what it’s like to be all of those things and then some,” you shook your head, reaching your right hand out for him to place his left within, “And I know how hard it is to climb that mountain alone. And you, my friend, are not alone. Not tonight, anyway.” He looked down at your extended hand, reaching slowly down to take within his left and allowing you to lead him up the windy, dirt path towards where he imagined home to be.

And home was more than what he had expected. The small, open-plan room had the kitchen, dining room and lounge space all interconnected to suit the needs of one or two people. The couch took up the majority of the space with a small side table with a draw beneath it, and a coffee table with an assortment of notes and books laying askew with pens, pencils and paintbrushes and a small pallet of rapidly drying paint.

“I would’ve tidied if I’d known I was having company, I’m sorry,” you confessed, closing the door behind you and locking the door with your key, and a balled latch and chain. Your kitchen had a few tarnished bowls from a hastily consumed breakfast, the drying rack had a few clean dishes fully air-dried and stacked neatly.

“It’s nice,” Buggy confessed, nodding as he took in each area. He noticed a few den-den-mushi pictures printed and hanging by nails and tape throughout the walls; the corners littered with sketches of the subject matter contained within.

“Are you an artist?” He asked, leaning down to take in more of the sketches within the margins of the images. You giggled, taking out your hair and giving it a small shake to rid the pressure gathered behind the entanglement.

“I was once,” you confessed, “Traveled the seas with my partner. Always looking for inspiration wherever the seas took us.” You headed to the sink, pouring a small amount of water within the sink and beginning to rid the morning dishes of their grime and stack at the sink.

“And how did that go? Did you find inspiration?” Buggy asked, looking over to watch you roll your shoulders in agitation.

“No, but he did,” you grumbled, old wounds beginning to resurface, “Several times, in fact. A rotation of inspiration hopping like rodents in and out of the house while I was working hard to support us both at the tavern. A variety of men and women-; fishmen at some stages. He would always deny doing it, until I saw the amassment of paintings he produced by rolling his and their bare skin in paint on stretched canvas over the floor, making art as he lay with them naked and thrusting against the-...” you huffed out an exasperated breath shaking your head and turning back to face the stranger you had invited into your home.

“-I’m sorry. That was likely a little much to place onto you so late,” you softened your eyes, noticing a small pink hue rising against his cheeks and ears, “You're likely exhausted. The bathroom is that way,” you gestured to the small room, “latrine, bath and shower all in there. The other is the bedroom. I’ll get some fresh sheets for you to lay on while I’m washing your clothes, if you like?”

Buggy was processing too much information all at once. His kind hostess, an artist in disguise, was offering him more kindness than his heart could take. Not only were you beautiful to look at, but your artistry now showcased your soul beneath the surface. He hesitantly took a few steps towards the bathroom, looking over to watch you beginning to pack up the coffee table of your tools and rough sketches.

“I’m sorry you didn’t manage to find inspiration of your own while he did all that, Doll,” Buggy murmured as he passed you. You stiffened in your movements, barely visible to the eye, before you continued collecting your arrangement.

“If that comment was regarding artistry: inspiration can be found everywhere you look. If it was regarding looking outside the relationship to give in to lustful advances,” you huffed a humorless laugh through your nose, “One of my many flaws is I’m loyal to a fault. I don’t cheat. Not in art, not in cards, and especially not in relationships - no matter how angry he made me, nor me having the right for vengeance. Better off leaving than making the pain worse, right?”

Buggy hummed in response, opening the latch to the bathroom door and pushing the door open. As he stepped through the threshold of the bathroom, he turned to face you, raking his eyes over your body as you reached up to place your artistic tools atop a high shelf. Your lower stomach exposed itself as your shirt stretched upwards, the small glimpse of your flesh had his heart beating and mind foggy.

“Towels are in the cupboard beneath the sink, if you’re looking,” you called over to him, stooping below to collect a small brush that managed to escape your clutches. Buggy now had a clear view of the roundness of your subtle flesh, his foggy mind turning into the smog of lust. He shook his head in an attempt to rid it of the unruly thoughts.

“Thank you, Doll,” he called, beginning to shut the door only to find himself halting at the last moment to meet his eyes with your smile.

“You’re welcome, Sweetheart,” you shot him a small wink as he closed the door, leaving you to continue fussing over the mess you were attempting to tidy.

You heard the water start to run, the shower’s steam wafting below the crack in the door alongside the scents of shampoo and conditioner mixing with the floral assortment of body washes and scrubs. Smiling to yourself at the knowledge that he was using every kindness you’d offered to him, you began collecting some clothes for him to change into for the night and swapping out your bedsheets for fresh linen and toppers.

If you were offering this man the luxury of sleeping in your bed, he should be privy to the scents of fresh-laid sheets of satins and silks. You heard the shower halt its rapid pour, the tap squeaking as your guest turned the handle.

“Uhh…” He called, his voice halting as he gruffly cleared his throat to ensure he wasn’t imposing on anything important, “Did you say somethin’ about clothes?” You laughed, nodding as you collected a white cotton shirt and soft, gray trousers and walked over to the crack in the bathroom door.

“I’ve got some things, if you want to trade?” You reached your hand behind the door, thrusting the clothes behind them without glancing through the crack to offer your guest some privacy. He huffed out a laugh, taking the objects before giving you the pile of his soiled clothes for you to take.

“As long as I get ‘em back, you can take ‘em,” he laughed. You allowed a small giggle to exit your lips as you drew the items into your arms and began readying them for a wash cycle within your hand-cranked barrel.

Filling the brim with water and some shavings of velvet soap, you lathered each item within the barrel and began rotating it within by winding the handle beside it. Yawning, you looked at the clock hanging above your small, two-burner stove and noticed how late it had gotten. You were well pleased that the big boss had decided to gift you with two days off in a row tomorrow, hopefully just enough time to sort out the remainder of household chores and aid your guest in any way you could.

Draining the liquid from the barrel, you hung each item of clothing on a line out on the back porch. The overlook of the ocean was one of the reasons you had opted to choose this as home for yourself. The soft scent of the sea always carried towards the windows, the warmth of the sun dampened by the coolness cast from the waters on the shore. After hanging the last item, you turned to witness the guest you had invited into your house; standing tall and firm in his rigidity, hands clapping his thighs awkwardly as he danced his eyes around the room.

“Something the matter, sweetheart?” you asked him, reentering the room and closing the back door behind you. He offered you a half-smile which almost looked like a wince as he articulated his thoughts cohesively.

“Where am I sleeping?” he cringed, his brow knitting together as his teeth bore themselves in a straight line. You giggled, gesturing to the bedroom with your right hand.

“Right there,” you shook your head at him, walking over to the sink and taking out a glass to fill with water. You turned the tap, filling the container to the brim with the cool liquid and turning to face him again. Maintaining eye contact, you began gulping down the water, draining it of its contents and wiping your lips with the back of your forearm.

“And w-where-...” he began, trailing his words off as he looked around the room for a suitable explanation. You chuckled, walking over to the bathroom and readying yourself for a shower by removing your socks and placing them in the hamper to the side of the room.

“I’ll take the couch,” you giggled, stepping within the bathroom and peeking at him from behind the door. He looked beautiful; a work of art come to life. His beautiful blue hair, his rubied rotund nose, the way the white shirt and gray pants clung to his body; he was absolutely stunning. “I’ll be out in a moment, okay? Make yourself comfortable and I’ll check in on you before I go to sleep.” He nodded, his eyes a mix between sheepishness and a deep sorrow. You flashed him a reassuring smile before clicking the door behind you.

Stripping yourself of your clothes, you relished in the warmth of the scorching water drumming against your flesh and removing the grime from the laborious shift you had undertaken moments prior. You lathered soaps, scents, oils and nectars to dance and soothe your aching skin. Reveling in the final moments of the water cascading against your body, you quickly turned the tap off and began the grueling task of drying yourself enough to be able to get into your sleepwear.

After prying the small shorts and oversized shirt combination, you stepped out of the bathroom while drying your hair with your soft, microfibre towel. You noticed the bedroom door was slightly ajar, but your guest had taken residency against your couch as he sat, staring at the sea through the window.

“I thought you’d have gone to bed by now,” you sighed your smile at him, shaking your head and approaching the blue-haired man. He turned his head over to you, eyes taking in your dressed-down form and offering you a small smile in return.

“I couldn’t, Doll,” he shrugged, looking longingly towards the bedroom before coming back to meet your eyes once more, “That’s too good for the likes of me. Even this couch is too good for me to sleep on. I’m better off lying on the floor-.”

“-Go and take the bed,” you ordered him, pointing to the bedroom with your index finger extended towards it, “I didn’t go through all that trouble of washing and changing over fresh bed sheets, at near midnight, for you to not sleep in it.”

“I’m not gonna sleep in the bed,” he stood to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing you dangerously, “Contrary to what you might think of me, I do have some manners. It’s not right for me to take your bed and you take the couch, no matter how much I’d fucking love to sleep in those sheets-.”

“-So hop to it then,” you huffed, tapping your left foot with your eyes holding firm against his, “I got out my nicest sheets, and I sprayed the pillowcases with lavender and eucalyptus oils to aid with your sleep.” He stepped towards you, walking around the couch and getting closer to you.

“Stop being nice to me, Doll. You’ve already offered me too much, and I’m not worth all that,” Buggy continued, prompting you to step closer to him and square up with him. You looked up into his face, cocking your head to the side and pursing your lips.

“If you feel that strongly about it,” you floated your eyes down to his lips and drew them back up to meet his eyes as hastily as you could, “Share it with me.”

Buggy’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening at the thought. He began to stutter and stagger with his words, jumbling his disagreements with an assortment of “couch” and “floor” suggested once more.

“No, no, sweetheart,” you shook your head, “No. You said you didn’t want me to sleep on the couch, and I refuse to waste all of that hard effort on just me alone. Knowing that the couch would be less desirable than the silks, satins and cotton blend I paid a lot of money for to get a better night's sleep.” He growled, his lip curling at the corner and his eyes narrowing.

“I snore,” He spat his taunt at you.

“I hog blankets,” you retorted, stepping closer.

“I grind my teeth,” he cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes and arching his brow upwards.

“I sleep talk,” you shrugged, giggling as you watched his pointed look turn more playful.

“I’m a hugger,” he sneered, his mouth pursing in the center. He stepped his body closer to yours, but still remaining a whisper away from your body.

“I make a wonderful snuggling companion,” you leared back at him. Reaching out, you took his hands within your own and gave them a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

“I haven’t slept beside someone in so long, I don’t think I remember how,” he confessed below his breath, hanging his head low enough he almost brushed his forehead against your own.

You smiled, standing up on the tips of your toes to close the gap between you; closing your eyes on impact while genuinely smiling, “I need to relearn that skill, myself.”

Buggy’s spine tingled at the contact you gave him, shuddering from his skull to his coccyx and turning his body jelly beneath your words. He smiled back, his own eyes closing as he did so. You relinquished the contact between you, rocking back onto your heels and looking up at him with fondness.

“So, how do you wanna-...” he trailed off, watching as you shook his head and lead him by the hand into the bedroom. You placed your towel against the bedside table and pulled the sheets back, scuttling your body beneath it while watching him remain awkward and rigid watching you.

“Get in the bed,” you ordered him with a smile, patting the vacant space on the large bed beside you.

Buggy couldn’t stop his mind from racing far further and drawing unwritten conclusions where there ought to be none. You were so beautiful, inviting a perfect stranger into bed with you to just sleep and enjoy each other’s company, nothing more. But what if something more did occur? What if he accidentally got so excited his body didn’t only flood his heart, but the other head that did half his thinking located beneath the waistband of the borrowed trousers-.

“-Sweetheart?” You broke him away from his thoughts, his eyes not once leaving yours while they glazed over, but finally drew themselves back into reality.

“I didn’t get your name at the tavern,” he nodded, walking over to the bed and drawing the sheets back. His nose was immediately hit with the warm and welcoming scents of soothing lavender and eucalyptus as they wafted through the smooth sheets.

“I’ve gone by a few over my travels, and you can take your pick of them,” you smiled, relaying the amassment of names you had gathered for yourself over time. He chuckled at a few of the alliterations and augmentations as you drew the list to a close. “Although, admittedly,” you bashfully began confessing, “I do like the way you call me ‘Doll’. It seems natural, or something.” You began lying beneath the sheets, lying on your side to watch him settle himself below them, “And what do I call you?”

“I’m in a similar way, Doll,” He smiled, reaching up and moving one of your rapidly drying strands from your face and tucking it behind your ear, “I’m the flashy-fool, the genius-jester, the clown-captain, the chop-chop devil-fruit eater, the infamous Buggy D Clown, but,” he floated his eyes over your hairline and drawing them over your exposed ear and traced down your jaw to settle on your lips, “I like the way you call me ‘Sweetheart’. Makes me want to believe it to be true.”

“Well then, Sweetheart,” you commented, prompting his eyes to once more meet with your own, “I hope you’re able to get to sleep, some. You deserve to be well rested after everything you’ve gone through.”

“As do you, Doll,” he smiled at you, his eyelids heavy and overburdened with the sultry song of sleep lulling him into its peaceful bliss. As Buggy closed his eyes, he felt the small brush of your fingertips as they met with his in the center of the bed while listening to your breathing become heavier and elongated between each inhale and exhale.

It was nice, lying beside someone and enjoying their presence while you slumbered. Movements were, you thought, very minimal throughout the night. The way his body was draped over yours, his arm over your waist as your back was pressed firmly against his chest, told a different story. His lips were pressed firmly against your neck, the small swell of breath hovering over your skin in a repetitive and slow manner had you almost lulled back to slumber.

Buggy’s bottom leg was straight, his top thrust between your own, prompting your knee to bend to make room for his thigh. You noticed your bottom hand had drawn up to collect the hand lying around your waist and lace your fingertips between them while the other was braced against his forearm. The softness of the experience had your heart swell, the morning bliss of a night of slumber free from expectation from one another had a smile find residency against your lips.

“G’mornin’ Doll,” a lazy voice drawled from behind you, his lips pressing a small kiss against your exposed skin before his mind caught up with his foggy thoughts to tell him not to. You giggled at his kiss, allowing your heart to flutter and soar at the feeling of his lips brushing against you.

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” you whispered back at him, refusing to roll over to break away from the comfortable embrace. You felt his lengthy eyelashes dance against your neck as he fluttered them to break from his slumber and relocate his mind as to where he was.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry, Doll!” He flinched away, breaking from your embrace and scuttling away from you. You turned over to face him, a broad smile on your face as you shook your head at him. “I warned ‘ya I was a hugger. I didn’t mean to kiss you, honest! Shit, I’m sorry. You must think the worst of me: inviting a stranger into your house after feedin’ ‘em, bathing and sharing a bed. I’m so, so sorry. It just felt natural-.”

You took the opportunity to collect his cheek beneath your palm and draw his face close to yours, pressing a small kiss against his lips; prompting a muffled groan to depart from his lips and into your own. You smiled, attempting to withdraw from your claim on his lips, only to find him angling his body above your own. He rested his weight on his forearm and deepened the kiss you invited him to share with you.

Pressing down further, he ushered you onto your back to continue to place open mouthed and dangerously seductive kisses against your lips. His chapped lips danced expertly against your own, the laziness of the morning all but halting as the fire of desire began to build between you. He collected the scruff of the back of your neck beneath his fingertips, lacing them in your hair and tugging lightly on it, eliciting a gasp of shock from you.

Groaning against your lips, you couldn’t stop your fingers from reaching themselves below his shirt and raking your hands against the cerulean hair beneath the cotton. He jittered away, a portion of his abdomen ticklish beneath your dancing fingers. You drew them over his back, scrawling them upwards to cradle his caging body further into you as your lips continued their heated connection.

Before you truly knew what had become of you, you found yourself collecting the cotton material of the shirt within your fingertips and prying it off his torso and casting it to the side. You took the time to enjoy the artistry in the marble figure adorned with a soft margin of blue hair dancing atop his dewy flesh. His heart soared at the feeling of adoration beneath your gaze, but quickly his pride was eclipsed with lust once more as he witnessed the small peaks of your nipples hardening against your own shirt.

Hastily, he lunged at you, removing your own shirt as hastily as you did his; although he opted to continue by prying off your shorts alongside them. Now in your nudity, he drank in every inch of you; from your toes, up to your calves, to your plush thighs that had his jaw clenching in anticipation, to the top of your groin presented to him. You held your thighs shut, not quite exposing how truly aroused you were by his actions. He drew his eyes up to your breasts and sighed, much akin to when he took the first bite of the meal you offered him the night before.

A simple “oh fuck,” was all it took for you to remove the band of his pants from their place on his waist, the tip of his cock meeting his lower stomach with a small slap. Your face depicted your wanton desperation, your pupils blown to eclipse the color of your irises, as your hand drew itself to circle the base of his incredibly sensitive cock. The tip shuddered as he sighed out a shaken breath, the dewy drops of precum already coating the slit with its lubricants, swaying your body to respond by coating your entrance with a fresh wave of your own slickened arousal.

You sat in silence, enjoying the exposure of your bodies in the light of the rays of the dawn. Buggy’s hands shook a little, static of anticipation depicted in the way his fingertips opened and closed with anticipation. You were both unsure how to progress from this point; Buggy with not having access to this type of affection in a readily way, and you also not having a romantic partner since your ex left.

“Can I-?” He began, halting his words as you spoke at the same time.

“-Do you?” You asked him just as curiously as he did, halting as you heard his voice halt.

Both of you laughed at your awkwardness, you scrunching up your nose as you sat upright. Hooking your arms beneath his shoulders and pulling him against yourself, falling backwards to meet your head with the plush pillows once more. He chucked as you drew him in once more for another kiss, his chuckle halting and evolving into a low, shocked groan as you opened your legs to him and hooked your left knee over his right hip. You ushered him closer, his body halting its decent and him sucking in a breath at your actions.

You broke your kiss, sensing his apprehension and gazed up into his wide, teal eyes. You darted your eyes between his and floating down to his kiss-bruised lips before back up to meet his shocked expression once more.

“We can stop if you want?” You both asked at the same time, eyes cracking in and upturned smile as you checked in with each other. Buggy placed a chaste kiss against your nose, trailing a sporadic fluttering arrangement of kisses over to your cheek and down your jaw as you both laughed.

“Just thought I’d give you one final out, before I s-sink-...” he began, the tip of his cock twitching itself against your clit and brushing down your glistening entrance, prodding at the opening, “-In.” He groaned as he felt your body stretch around his tip, a small gasped whine pulling itself from your lips as the initial sting eased into the pleasant feeling of stretching wide to fully accommodate more of him.

Your eyes clamped tightly shut, wincing a little as he eased more of his impressive girth into you, his own eyes rolling back as he slowly sank into you. Crying out a little at the stretch, Buggy’s breath hitched, prompting him to lean up on his hands to hover over you once more.

“Are you okay, Doll. I’m not hurtin’ you or anything, am I? I wouldn’t bare the thought of givin’ you any pain,” he cupped your cheek, coaxing your eyes to reopen under his palm and meeting his concerned eyes.

“I-It’s just been a little while, Sweetheart. Just need t-,” you arched your hips upwards, your needy walls sucking more of his length into yourself. A low, rumbled groan pulled itself from your guest as the small patch of hair above his shaft met with your clit; fully sinking down into you, “-to adjust a little b-before you move, okay?”

Buggy drew in a shaken breath through his parted lips, his eyes shutting tightly closed as he relished in the feeling of your warm core sucking him in so beautifully. The contraction of your walls as you adjusted to his length had him fall from his forearms, head finding residency against your neck and placing a flurry of open-mouthed kisses against your neck and shoulder. You whimpered at the sensation of being full as he lovingly grazed his tongue over your pulse and down to your clavicle bone.

“You can move, if you want,” you whimpered, grinding your hips upwards to coax him on to move.

“If I want?” he murmured into your shoulder, brow arching up as he circled his hips against your core, prompting a small cry to fall from your lips in bliss, “No, Doll. I want you to want it. I need you to tell me you want me to move. You need to tell me what feels good for you so I can treat you right, okay?” You whimpered again, crying out his name as he ground himself against you in a circular motion.

“Tell me what you want,” Buggy groaned his hoarse voice into your ear, his teeth nipping at your lobe and jaw, “Tell me.” His light whine had you throw your head back as you hooked your right leg over his left hip and grasped his ass-cheeks in fistfulls to hold him against you. You relished once more in the small twitch of his cock within your walls, quivering and awaiting instruction with anticipation.

“I want you to move,” You whispered in a breathy whimper, “I want you to fuck me.” You sought out his gaze with a small nudge of your forehead meeting with his, ushering him away from contact with your neck. He moved his head, gazing down into your eyes as he tested withdrawing his cock partially before resheathing itself within your warm walls. You mewled in bliss, his shuddered low groan mixing harmoniously with your tone.

“Oh, f-fuck-...” He uttered, again testing a small thrust within you before immediately beginning a low and rolling rhythm of pistoning within your core. The flutter of your walls circling his cock had his eyes rolling back as more groans were pulled unrestrained and crying into the room. Your tone was not much different, crying out your bliss as you watched his face begin contorting in pleasure.

“O-Oh f-fu-... ngmm-f-... you’re s-so good at this,” you complimented him, his eyes snapping to meet with yours once more as you continued to praise him, “And you’re s-so pretty.”

“P-Pretty?” he laughed, picking up his pace with the rough clap of his hips meeting yours, “You think I’m pretty-... mm-ng-... like th-this?” He picked up his pace, his balls slapping against you with each powerful thrust of his hips. He relished in fully sheathing within you, grinding his hips against you to stimulate your clit as he pulled more pretty sounds from your lips.

“I th-think you’re beautiful,” you confessed, your voice higher than you thought it ought to be as you cried out in bliss. Your stomach began to twist and contract, the feeling of an overwhelming blissful ignition of pleasure beginning to tighten. He groaned into you, his shuddered tone lulling into a soft growl at your compliments. His balls began to tighten against his flesh, feeling the stampeding approach of his own bliss beginning to hasten. His knob twitched within you, prompting a gasp to fal from your lips as you threw your head back.

“Y-You’re-...ah-h, fuck-... gorgeous, Doll,” He complimented you, your eyes meeting as you felt the familiar tingle in your toes as they curled behind him. You smiled as you hooked your ankles within one another and slowly drew your hands up to pull his neck into you for another meeting of your lips with his. He groaned and whimpered into your mouth, his staggering movements alerting you of how close he was to his release.

“W-Where c-can-... fuck me-e-... I-...” He continued plunging himself into your walls, his jaw staggering as his glazed eyes began to prick at the corners as he concentrated on not finishing within you, no matter how much he desired to. Holding onto the approach of your own pleasure, you refused to have him pull out of you and release his seed over your stomach or into his fist. Feeling selfish, you held a seriousness in your eyes as you uttered your commands.

“I want you to fill me. I want you to empty yourself into me and keep fucking me through it until all I can think about is how good you feel,” you demanded, rocking your hips up to meet his stuttered movement. His eyes were wide, wild and frantic as he heard your confession continue, “Don’t you dare think of pulling out. I-I’m too close for y-you to stop. Please. Please, Buggy. I n-need you.”

“O-Oh, fuck. I-I’m cumming. Doll, I-I’m-... nmngh, fuck-... I’m f-filling you up. You f-feel it? I’m d-doing what you told me,” Buggy cried your name as he rocked his hips against yours as he emptied himself into you.

Unsure if it was either his whimpered cries of bliss, the particularly hard slap of his staggered hips meeting your own, the ropes of his thickened load splashing within your walls with his cock twitching within you, or his admission of following your orders flawlessly; you clenched around his shaft in bliss as your walls contracted with a rhythmic thump as you allowed him to usher you through the waves of your high.

“Such a good boy,” you praised him, prompting him to wince out another broken whimper at your utterance. You cried out in your own bliss as the woven coil shattered and warmth spread throughout your abdomen to coat your body with the sparked radiance of your bliss. A sharpness of a bolt of lightning from a particularly harsh snap of his hips had your eyes rolling back and mouth hanging ajar as the plush trail of blue hair met with your clit and provided stimulus to have you scream his name.

“Oh, fuck, Buggy! I-I’m-... I’m-,” you laced your arms around his shoulders and pulled him against you, his whimpers due to the staggered overstimulation of his rapidly reducing cock thrusting messily within you. He continued to shepherd you through your high as you arched your back into him, grinding your hips and thrashing below him as your ankles unhooked from behind his back.

After your bodies rode through their mutual bliss, you gazed lovingly into the perfect stranger now coated with the beaded dewiness of the afterglow of a passionate entanglement. He managed to halt his panting breath to smile at you, collecting your cheek beneath his palm and drawing your forehead against his own with his eyes lulling closed.

“Was that okay?” He asked you, his cock remaining sheathed within you and twitching within your final thumps of your orgasm. You laughed at him, scrunching up your nose with a simple: “It was nice.” He laughed at your echo of his own words back at him, the corners of his eyes cracking at the corners

“Thank you for taking me in and showing me there’s still kindness in this world, especially for the likes of me, Doll,” he brushed his large nose against yours, prompting a small giggle to fall from your lips as your breath caught up with you.

“You’re welcome, Sweetheart,” you whispered up into his face, brushing your lips gently with his, “And you’re welcome to stay for as long as you like.” You made to move away from him, only for him to wrap his arms around your shoulders and pull you in close as he could, burying his forehead into your neck.

“I’d like that,” he hushed his tone to mimic your own as he placed one more lengthy kiss against your flesh and held you firmly.

As the day floated into night once more, you ensured your guest was fell fed and watered throughout the hours he shared with you. His clothes hanging on the line still remained slightly damp, although you were certain he spilled a small amount of water on them to elongate a reason his stay with you further.

Lounging casually with him on the plush sofa, you rested your head against his shoulder and began coloring a small sketch you managed to produce of him. There was something in the color of his eyes, something about the way his lengthy blue eyelashes framed his beautiful orbs within his sockets had you hypnotized as you shaded the circular lines you produced of him.

He gazed half-lidded over your shoulder, watching as you captured his likeness within the parchment paper with pencils, brushes and charcoals littering the page. He hummed softly, pressing his cheek atop your hair as you held firm your focus against the sheet.

Relishing in the bliss of sweet domesticity he never expected to come from a small kindness offered towards him, he allowed a small amount of sorrow to release from his heart as he heard the call of adventure on the seas whispering his name.

“When I go,” he whispered into your hair, prompting you to halt your sketching with your ears pricking up, “Will you come with me, Doll? Sail with me and seek out inspiration?” You mulled it over in your mind, weighing up the consequences with the bliss you knew sailing brought you.

“You’re all the inspiration I need, Sweetheart,” you confessed, leaning up to glance lovingly into his face, “And I’d be glad to sail with you. It’s been a while since I’ve traveled, you might have to help me get my sea-legs back.” You giggled, pressing a small kiss on his jaw with him sighing out a small laugh at you.

“I’d be happy to carry you everywhere until you do, Doll,” he uttered while closing his eyes, “repay you somehow for the kindness you’ve given me. Plus,” he arched his back down, brushing his lips against your neck with his mouth partially agape and leaving a small trail of his breath pricking your skin up beneath it, “I do love your legs, and I’d love to feel them wrapped around me again in any capacity.”

Tag List: @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @vespidphoenix @feral-artistry

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #buggy #captain buggy #buggy x reader #buggy smut #buggy x reader smut #buggy d clown #op buggy

236 notes · View notes