#daylike | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

agent-cupcake · 10 months ago

Text

Flashbang

Chapter 3 - My Ugly

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f!Reader

Synopsis: You have a lot of uncomfortable, complicated feelings about yourself, your life, and Captain Buggy. Buggy has a lot of comfortable, uncomplicated feelings about using you for cheap entertainment.

Word Count: 7.8k

Notes: My dearest says that this is her favorite chapter so far and I'm inclined to agree. It's almost 8k of sexual harassment in the workplace peppered with reader being Not Okay and Buggy riding that line of silly goober and sexy bully. Hope you like it as much as we do~

“I don't care if it hurts meI want to be worthyThe world to be thirsty for meI will grind night and dayLike a cosmetic slaveTill you're 6 feet down bad for me”

Dad liked to go out at night. More often than not, the big grandfather clock’s little hand hovered in the uneasy in-between of eleven and one before he got back. Drinking, usually, although you knew that wasn’t all he did when he was gone. He said it was business. Now that you were older, you understood that the two of you lived beyond the means of a retired Marine, but you never cared to know how. Dad wouldn’t have told you anyway. It wasn’t your place to know. Your place was curled up on the hearth as the fire burned down to cinders, dutifully waiting for him to return in case he needed something from you.

This wasn’t at all the same. This was a job. A duty rather than an obligation. The sense of hot determination from earlier had yet to fade. You were going to make yourself irreplaceable. You were going to be the best. You would not fail Captain Buggy or Cabaji—you would prove everybody wrong. You had to. There was nothing else.

To that end, Captain Buggy’s bed was made, the room was tidy, you knew what to use when removing his makeup, you knew where everything was kept. That didn’t stop nerves from buzzing in your stomach like angry bees, or keep your skin from crawling at the idea of being alone with Buggy after everything Crina and Cabaji had said. You tried, as surreptitiously as possible, to find Crina’s missing dress, but to no avail. It left you thinking that maybe you were just confused. Even the parts of last night that you could remember were hazy, and then there were the many, many things you didn’t dare to remember. So how could anyone—let alone people who weren’t even there—assume something inappropriate happened? If anything, you were the one in the wrong for imposing on the captain like you had.

Another reason that you had to prove your worth. You repeated that over and over to keep yourself from spacing out, to remain focused so that you would be ready when Captain Buggy came back. It made the span of minutes feel like days, but paid off because you were on your feet before he even had the door all the way open.

“Good evening, Captain Buggy,” you said respectfully.

He kicked the door shut, not acknowledging you. Too busy mumbling under his breath as he stomped through the antechamber. You followed quickly, a sick pit forming in your stomach. It seemed the poor mood from earlier had not only returned, but gotten worse.

“-buncha talentless idiots. Good for nothing, rotten lot of-” Buggy paused, shrugging his coat partially down his shoulders. He stayed like that for a moment before snapping. “Well?”

“Well?” you echoed nervously. You hadn’t prepared for this.

“Don’t just stand there looking stupid, take my coat.”

“Right, of course. Sorry, sir,” you told him, rushing over to take his coat as he roughly shrugged it off.

“I hope you’re not as useless as everyone else on this ship,” he said. “I can’t deal with another failure.”

“I’m sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said, hanging up his coat while he removed his gloves.

When you turned, he threw them at you without looking. You tried to catch them, but missed. Only having one eye made it difficult to judge where things actually were, and your fist closed around empty air while his gloves thumped to the floor. Buggy seemed too lost in his own world to call you on it as you stooped down to pick them up.

“I’m a clown, not a goddamn miracle worker,” Buggy continued, pulling off his hat and headscarf. Finally free, his hair flopped down, creased from being up all day. To your surprise, the bits of what looked like ribbon were entwined with his hair, only adding to what looked like an absolute nightmare to try and sort out. Absently, Buggy smoothed and tied it back. “Nobody is prepared. Rehearsals start tomorrow and, frankly, I’m not optimistic.”

Scowling, he tipped into his chair, legs outstretched, elbows on the rests, and his chin resting on his fist.

“I could put out a casting call next time we make it to port, replace some of the dead weight,” he muttered.

Since he didn’t sound like he was talking to you, you remained silent as you knelt to remove his boots. What you realized right then, what you hadn’t stopped to consider, was that his boots weren’t the kind with laces, they needed to be pulled off. You frowned, grabbing his foot and getting a solid grip around the heel.

“-check their egos,” he continued, paying you no mind as you tried to wrestle his boot off. Unfortunately, Buggy didn’t seem at all inclined to point his toe and make it easier for you. “I really can’t stand divas.”

You adjusted your grip to get better leverage, bracing the sole against your chest and pulling at the ankle.

“Every idiot with a deformity and shitty act thinks they’ve got what it takes to be a star. They’re lucky to have the chance to be in my show.”

Taking a big breath, you pulled hard. His boot finally came off, but the amount of force you had to use nearly knocked you over. Luckily, you managed to avoid that particular embarrassment. Setting it aside, you grabbed his other boot, mentally and physically bracing yourself to wrestle it off.

“They have no idea of how much blood, sweat, and natural talent goes into perfection,” Buggy continued, continuing to ramble to himself. This time, you avoided falling, but only narrowly. It was good that he was so distracted. “Without me, they’d be nothing. They’ll be nothing anyway, if they keep this up.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you stood up to set his boots aside. The next part was the one you had been dreading ever since Cabaji told you about it—removing the captain’s makeup. Oil remover first, then soap and water. Mind the lashes, don’t get anything in his eyes. Mentally, you added Crina’s reminder about not drawing any attention to his nose.

Your problem with the idea of it at first was that standing so close to Buggy seemed intimate, but now you worried about his reaction. Buggy was still muttering to himself as you washed your hands and filled a bowl with water, angrily staring at the wall. So far, his ire hadn’t been directed at you, but that could change. Very easily, that could change, and you knew what happened after that.

If you worked quickly and didn’t mess up, then everything would be fine. Telling yourself that over and over, you took everything to his desk. That drew Buggy’s attention just like you feared, but his muttering had stopped.

“I still don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he said.

You froze. “Captain?”

“It’d be nice if you had some sort of skill. Anything, really… You sure you’re not holding out on me?”

You set down the bowl and bottles before holding out your empty hands with your fingers splayed, showing him the fronts and backs. “I’m not holding anything, sir.”

“No kidding,” Buggy said. To your relief, he finally cracked a smile, pressing his hand against yours. “How could you hold anything with those tiny little doll hands?”

You drew back with a frown, your shoulders curling. He sounded like he was teasing, but it reminded you of what Crina said about stunted development. Pushing that thought from your head, you picked up the cloth, but he stopped you.

“Ah, ah, ah. That shit’s messy. Clothes first.”

“Clothes?” you asked.

“Yes, clothes. My clothes,” Buggy said slowly, like you were stupid. Your only response was to look at him uncertainly. “Take them off.”

“Right, of course,” you said with a little shake of your head, stepping in closer. Standing between his legs. He was so indifferent to personal space, yours or otherwise, so it wasn’t as if it was a big deal. It wasn’t. It was fine. Completely fine. It wasn’t as if there was anything strange about this. There were many nights when your dad was too drunk to take off his clothes and you had to help, this was the same thing.

Except that it wasn’t.

With Buggy sitting, you were a tiny bit taller, finally seeing eye to eye. His were so pretty. Disarmingly so, their color divided between the ring of blue encasing the green haloing his pupil. You tried to avoid them, tugging your bandana down a little more to cover the scar before undoing the loose knot of his cravat. Last night, before the alcohol really even set in, you remembered wishing to see more of his neck. Now you were almost afraid of it, overly aware of your awkward, fumbling fingers as you tugged the fabric loose. His neck was pale and smooth, nothing like the wrinkled, leathery tan your father had after years as a Marine. You couldn’t help but let your gaze slip over the pronounced shape of his Adam’s apple, following the strong lines of tendon that descended into his shoulders, down the valley between his collar bones to the trail of hair that disappeared into the deep V of his vest.

“This isn’t a peep show,” Buggy said.

“No, I…” You cleared your throat. “I’m sorry, sir.” With careful hands, you folded the scarf and set it aside. He wasn’t wearing an undershirt, so the vest was all that was left. Buggy leaned back so you could undo the front, saying nothing. Part of you wished he would, just to break the tension. It wasn’t weird. You had seen shirtless men before. Cabaji hadn’t been wearing a shirt and that was fine. You were a pirate now, you had to get used to seeing skin.

It was different though, with him. Of course it was, because you made it different. Wiry as he was, Buggy wasn’t boyish in the way you almost hoped for. The word your brain supplied was adult, not because of the difference in age or size, but because he physically existed in a way you didn’t. There was no curious dip where his neck met his shoulder, and hair trailed all the way down his torso. He was solid. A man. Standing in front of him instilled a very odd sense of vertigo within you, like drowning. A wave of nausea rolled from your stomach all the way to your head, the sickness of shame and something else, something worse.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, your face burning as you turned to put his vest aside.

“I was just kidding. It’s not a crime to admire a work of art,” Buggy told you with a lopsided grin. “You’ve only got one eye anyway, it barely counts.”

“I wasn’t… I don’t mean to,” you said, wishing to be anywhere else. You tried to distract yourself by dousing the cloth in oil, but you could still feel his eyes on you, watching your awkward movements.

“Jeez, relax a little,” Buggy said, grabbing your shoulders to give you a shake. “I know it’s a huge honor to serve me and you’re scared you’ll mess it up, but I’m not gonna bite your head off or anything.”

“I know,” you said, unable to look him in the eye and knowing better than to look at his nose but also unable to look down at his body. The middle ground was to look behind him but that was just as awkward as anything else.

“Just be careful, I wouldn’t wanna end up with an eye like yours,” Buggy said, tapping the bottom of your chin playfully before closing his eyes. Being spared of his gaze helped, at least.

“Yes, sir.”

Taking in a deep breath to steady yourself, you held his head in place with one hand and began to clean his face, starting at the top and working down. You could only imagine how long it took to draw on the crossbones, but the oil made quick work of them. And then the blue, cleaning up the sparkles. You took extra care to be gentle around his eyes, but he didn’t react at all, sitting still as you peeled off the lashes with the aid of more oil.

Without anything else to distract you, your thoughts of last night only spiraled. Now that you were so close to him again, you had vague flashes of sitting on his lap, although you weren’t sure if that was real or not. Hopefully it wasn’t. The embarrassment would eat you alive. And then there was your conversation with Crina. In your head, you had tried very hard to imagine what he might do or say, how he might react if you asked what happened. It was just in case. You needed to know that Crina was wrong, that the entire crew was wrong. You knew, and Buggy knew, that he would have no interest in you. So you would say what you needed to say, confirm that you were right, and move on.

“Captain Buggy?” you asked, pausing to adjust the rag.

“What?”

“About last night… I had too much to drink, and I know I was being annoying and I know that we… um… and that I…”

“Does any of this have a point?”

“Oh! I’m sorry. Nevermind,” you told him, shaking your head and refocusing on finishing your task.

He opened one eye to give you a flat look. “No, no, you can’t just leave me hanging.”

You sighed, carefully working on the corner of his red smile. You remembered, distantly, having drunk thoughts about his stubble, and you were right about it being rough. “It’s just that I can’t remember everything that happened last night,” you said, “but I remember enough to know I embarrassed myself. I’m really, really sorry if I put you in an uncomfortable position.”

“What are you talking about?” Buggy asked, his voice distorted from the way he had to hold his mouth taut for you to wipe off the makeup.

“I want to apologize if I was too forward and you felt pressured or, um, uncomfortable. I’m really sorry.”

“The only thing I felt pressured to do was carry you to bed. My bed, by the way. You’re welcome for that.”

“Thank you,” you responded quickly. “I’m really sorry, truly, but thank you.”

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he said, opening his eyes as you cleaned up the last smears of paint from his jaw. “I couldn’t stand the thought of anybody else taking advantage of you.”

Your breath caught with nerves. He probably didn’t mean that in any way, but the phrasing made you blush. Blush more.

“By the way, um,” you said, “do you know what happened to the dress I was wearing?”

Buggy opened his eyes and stretched, yawning loudly. You didn’t want to, but you couldn’t keep your eyes from wandering down for a moment before you caught yourself. “When?” he asked. You busied yourself with the water and soap before he could catch you looking.

“Last night, I was wearing a dress that Crina lent me.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.”

“That’s fine! I was just wondering if you know where it is?”

“Why would I?”

You looked up, but Buggy looked as innocent and bored as his tone would indicate. It was a stupid concern in the first place, there was no way he would have done anything. Shaking your head of the annoying thoughts, you raised the cloth to wipe off the oil and any remaining traces of makeup. He watched you this time, only closing his eyes when you were cleaning them. Very studiously, you avoided his nose—avoiding even looking at it. What you were left with was a very regular, if handsome, man. Pink lips, a cleft chin, beautiful eyes. Maybe that was part of why the nose upset him so much. Before the accident, you liked to think that you had been pretty enough, losing that made your injury that much more hideous.

“Come on,” Buggy asked, still staring at you as you put the rag back into the bowl, “aren’t you going to ask me?”

“Ask you what?”

“You wanna know if we fucked,” he said, dragging out the words in a slow and mocking way. You gasped at his childish use of vulgarity, your stomach twisting up. Buggy grinned. “Don’t look so scandalized, I know you were thinking it. Well, we didn’t. Trust me, you’d remember that. You did get a little handsy, but I didn’t mind it. I don’t feel weird about it or anything. I managed to fend off your advances until you passed out.”

You shook your head, staring at his shoulder. “I am so sorry, Captain Buggy.”

“Aw, are you embarrassed?” he asked, putting his hands on your hips to sway you back and forth. The casual touch made you jump, more aware than ever of his state of undress. But it wasn’t weird. People touched all the time. It wasn’t weird. “I promise I won’t tell anybody how badly my little one-eyed monster wanted my one-eyed monster.”

It took a second for you to realize that he was saying what you thought he was saying, and that was your limit. You stumbled away from him with a choked squeak, covering your face with your hands. They were still wet, but you didn’t care, only wanting to hide from him as he laughed at the joke.

“You are just a treasure trove of new and exciting sounds, aren’t you?”

You slowly lowered your hands, still shaking your head. “I… I didn’t mean…”

“Hey, hey, do you think if I squeezed you real tight and let go it’d sound like a squeaky toy?”

“Um… I’m… I don’t…”

“God, don’t look so scared, I wasn’t gonna try it,” Buggy said, leaning back. “Yet. You’re way too squirmy and I’m tired.” He yawned again to make the point, causing you to yawn in turn. “You too, huh? I’m surprised, you only slept in for half the day.”

“I know,” you said, averting your eye. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry, sir.” You were glad to have the excuse of cleaning up to avoid his eyes.

“From now on,” Buggy told you seriously, “you’re an early riser. I could need you at any time, so you better stay on your toes. That’s the only way you’ll ever be able to reach anything.”

You blinked, realizing too late that he was poking fun at you. At least it was about your height this time. Buggy’s grin fell, disappointed with your lack of reaction.

“We’ll have to work on that,” he said. “Now make like a tree and… Well, more of a stick. Maybe a stump… It doesn’t matter. Get out of here and come back bright and early tomorrow. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” you said, relieved that he wasn’t going to ask anything more of you after making that comment. “Goodnight, Captain Buggy.”

“Sweet dreams, babydoll.”

Despite how tired you had been all day, you couldn’t fall asleep. Since you often only got a few hours to rest, it wasn’t usually that difficult. It was a talent, mom used to boast about how good of a baby you had been, sleeping through the night while other infants screamed and wailed to be fed. A small and quiet child, so easy to mind.

But you didn’t want to think about that.

You shifted, curling up beneath the uncomfortably thin blanket you had been given. The beds for the crew were dormitory style, set into the walls. You got the top bunk, sleeping above a woman named Pippa. She had heavy eye makeup and clipped words. Her big steamer trunk laid by your feet, she claimed you were small enough to fit with it on your bed. Everybody slept in the same area, men and women. Crina told you to get a knife to sleep with, although you had forgotten to heed that warning. Maybe it wouldn’t matter, you wouldn’t know how to use one. You never had before.

Except for once.

But you didn’t want to think about that either.

Rolling onto your back, you stared at the ceiling. The ship creaked and people snored and coughed and snorted. Footsteps above and waves below, the ocean was a place of endless motion and noise. A constant reminder that you were on a ship with your crew. Which was what you wanted, wasn’t it? Not only that, but you had been given a respectable job. You should have felt a sense of accomplishment. This was far better than what you had hoped for when you left home.

Maybe it just hadn’t set in yet. Maybe you would feel better after getting some rest. Maybe you just had to get used to being here.

Maybe you had made a terrible mistake. Maybe you couldn’t handle this. Maybe you were exactly as weak as Crina and Cabaji accused you of being. Maybe it was only a matter of time before you disappointed Captain Buggy and he cast you out with nowhere to go. Or maybe it was that intangible monster that people called fate, the rusty ladder you had trapped yourself on. The only way down was to take each rung at a time, to obey the gravitational weight of inevitability. That’s what took you northside, that’s what made you beg to join Buggy’s crew. And now you were a murderer, was that inevitable too?

There was something within you that screamed, that thrashed, that bled. Something with gnashing teeth and clawing fingers. The thing that existed in the hollow pit when you were half conscious, the one that took over when you were smothered. She didn’t understand why you acted the way you did, she was different. You made her skin crawl with disgust for letting a man touch you and hated you for what you had done, the betrayal you perpetuated with every mile put between you and the remains of your town. She was a familiar host, always there, always agonized and angry and bewildered by your behavior, holding onto your worst feelings.

Once, you were in love with Randall. He was the neighbor boy, the son of a carpenter. He wanted to be a Marine. You wanted to leave Barley, actually leave, not just the short trips like dad sometimes allowed you to go on with him. But then the accident happened to your mom and Randall inherited his father’s business. He told you it was a matter of responsibility. You had yours, and he has his. And then he had a pretty girl from a nearby town, and you only had your dad. You hated him. Didn’t you? If you hated him, that would be better. You had to hate him.

Eventually, you rolled onto your side and, an eternity after that, fell asleep.

Days began early on a ship, a shift change rather than a good morning. Not that you would know what time it was, buried in the ship’s stomach like you were. The hour didn’t bother you as much as the cold did, it was the first thing you were aware of before your circumstances snapped into place. The facts came easier than they had the previous morning, your reality slightly more real. You sat up slowly, crusty eyed and with a headache, looking around to orient yourself.

Privacy was a foreign concept to the pirates, they all went about their business without any concern for anyone else. To your surprise, the women were as casual as the men in regards to their modesty. Averting your eye, you awkwardly got dressed under the covers before climbing down, fixing your bandana over your eye and breathing deep to try and wake up. Pippa was still sleeping, sprawled across her small bunk with one toned leg sticking out.

Although others were eating, you didn’t join them. Captain Buggy got his breakfast first. The cook made no comment, although you did get another look. Lots of people had given you looks. But nothing more. Cabaji said that having an official position among the crew would keep you safe. Keeping your head down and fighting the dizzy pain of your worsening headache, you hurried to get the food to Buggy’s chambers. After serving him, you would eat. Maybe Crina would give you something to help you feel better again.

You knocked on his door and then waited, listening. On a ship, there was never silence, but there was a sort of hushed equivalent. You knocked again, a little louder, calling his name. And again.

Deliberating for a moment, you decided that it was best to use the key Cabaji had given you. After knocking and calling out your intentions, you awkwardly balanced the tray to unlock the door and enter. The dining area antechamber was empty. You set the tray on the table before venturing further, peeking your head into Buggy’s bedroom. The captain laid in a sprawl of pale skin and blue hair, face down and fast asleep.

Were you supposed to wake him up?

“Captain Buggy?” you called softly. “I brought your breakfast.” He didn’t move, but you could see the steady rise and fall of his breathing. You walked a little closer. “Sir? Are you awake?” Nothing. Carefully, slowly, you approached him until you stood at the edge of the bed. “Captain?” you asked, daring to reach out and touch his shoulder.

“Not now,” he said, slapping your hand away. “‘m very busy.”

“Sir, you told me bright and early,” you said, frowning. With the amount of light peering in through the curtains, it was certainly bright outside.

“Bright and…” Buggy began, his words eaten by a yawn. He finally opened his eyes, rolling onto his side and blearily looking up at you with a smile. Illuminated only faintly and obviously sleepy, the expression was shockingly boyish. “Hey there, babydoll. I knew you’d come crawling back to me.”

“No, I um… I brought your breakfast, Captain Buggy,” you told him, flushing.

“Oh. Right, you’re…” He groaned, exhaling harshly.

“It’s going to get cold, sir,” you told him nervously.

He blinked alert suddenly, sitting up. “Why didn’t you say so? I can’t stand cold food.”

“I-”

Buggy snapped his fingers, gesturing to the side. “Get my robe,” he ordered. He barely opened his eyes as he snatched it out of your hand and stood up, stretching as he left his room. “If it’s inedible,” Buggy called, “I might have to eat you instead.”

While it sounded like a joke, his tone was not at all humorous. You didn’t respond, hurrying so you could pull out his chair for him. Buggy dropped into it heavily, yawning without bothering to cover his mouth. There was something slightly funny about the way he was huddled beneath his robe with a sleepy scowl, his hair a disaster and face scruffy. He ran a hand over his cheek and chin, frowning.

“I could help you, if you wanted,” you offered. “You know,” you gestured to your face, “shaving.”

Buggy blinked at you. Then he burst out laughing.

You shuffled self-consciously. “What’s funny?”

Taking in your confused expression, his laughter came to an abrupt halt. “You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“You think,” Buggy said, “that I’m gonna let you,” he pointed at your left eye, “anywhere near my neck with a sharp object?”

“I’m very good at it,” you insisted. “Dad… His hands are shaky, so I help him with it.”

“With one eye?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” you said, a hint of defensiveness in your voice.

“Yeah, I’m probably gonna have to say no to letting the one-eyed new girl anywhere near my neck with a razor,” Buggy said with another yawn, taking the lid off the tray.

“Is there anything else, sir?” you asked, knowing better than to push it.

“Yeah, go get something to eat,” he told you. “You’re too scrawny.”

“Yes, sir.”

The rest of the day passed like the previous afternoon. Crina agreed to give you something for the headache in exchange for fetching supplies she needed, and Cabaji continued his lessons from the previous day.

Eyes followed you wherever you went. Regardless of what Buggy said yesterday about you being a member of the crew, you knew that some of it was hostile. You couldn’t fight, you couldn’t perform the basic tasks of a sailor, you didn’t dine with the crew, and you had no talent to add to Buggy’s show. Many of the pirates were already working on their acts, it was just as likely to have to avoid a stray juggler as it was to weave around men minding the sails. There was no strict order like there had been on Marine vessels, but colors and noise and movement of every variety, and you weren’t involved in any of it.

Ostracization came as a natural consequence of who, and what, you were. In some form or another, you knew it very well. What you couldn’t handle was the fear you felt sometimes when you passed other crew members, or when you were too far from the captain or Cabaji or Crina. Sometimes you caught sight of Ivo. Rather, sometimes he caught sight of you, and his expression would darken. Cabaji said you shouldn’t worry about it. You weren’t worth the risk.

The duties Captain Buggy expected you to fulfill, at least, were not difficult. It seemed like Cabaji’s warning was for nothing because the tasks given to you were standard. Delivering meals, cleaning, taking messages, and anything else he needed. By the end of your second night, you felt like you had a handle on it.

Until the third day came and you learned a new lesson. Buggy’s moods were as fickle as the sea, calm as glass one moment and riled into a frothing swell the next. A man with a temper wasn’t very new to you, but Captain Buggy’s rules were entirely different. Where your dad misinterpreted your behavior to be in opposition to what he wanted from you, Buggy had a way of misunderstanding any behavior he didn’t like as direct insults to himself.

The afternoon had been wearing on and on, and Buggy didn’t dismiss you from his office while he worked on the logs, leaving you to sit across from him, just waiting. You had a habit of losing track of yourself, your mind wandering whenever you were left to idle, to seek some distraction instead of having to contemplate your own life or thoughts. It wasn’t always that foggy nothingness. Actually, you were thinking about a story you’d nearly forgotten about. A girl whisked away on a grand adventure by a boy who descended from the clouds, one conjured from childish whimsy. So it wasn’t as if you were looking at anything in particular, you were barely aware of anything until Buggy snapped at you.

“What are you looking at?”

You blinked, shaking yourself free of the cloud filled daze. “Sorry, sir. I-”

“You were staring at my nose, weren’t you,” he said, his voice hard.

“I wasn’t,” you told him, shaken by the cold anger of his random accusation. And you didn’t mean for your eye to flick down to his nose, it wasn’t like you had been staring at it in the first place, but Buggy clearly noticed, a muscle in his jaw ticking with barely contained rage. Your heart dropped, your tongue clumsy as you tried to desperately placate him. “I wasn’t looking at anything, I was thinking about a book I read-”

“Red?” he shouted, abruptly standing up with enough force to knock his chair over. “You were staring because you think my nose is red?”

“No,” you said, shrinking back. “I wasn’t, I swear.”

“I saw you doing it and, unlike you, I’ve got both eyes. Pretty soon, that’s gonna be two more than you’ve got.”

“Captain Buggy, I wasn’t-”

“Get out,” he demanded. “Right now.”

“Yes, sir,” you said, bowing your head and scurrying out of his office, carefully sliding the door shut before escaping into the bright afternoon.

There weren’t many places on a ship to hide, but you were small enough to fit in between the large crates of supplies in the cramped storage room beneath the forecastle. Luckily, you managed to avoid any attention until you were safely hidden. You didn’t cry, but it took you a while to stop shaking, composing apology after apology in your head. When you emerged from there, you returned to your chores, and you kept waiting for him to summon you again, to hit you and get it over with. That’s what the aggressive posture he’d taken always led to. A black eye, sore ribs. And you were prepared for it.

But he didn’t.

You weren’t summoned again until you were informed that Captain Buggy decided to dine in the officer’s mess and you, of course, would serve his meal.

When you entered from below, the colorfully decorated room was abuzz with activity and laughter. You recognized Crina and Cabaji, of course. The former was in deep conversation with a red-faced officer you thought was called Newt. Mohji sat in the corner with Richie at his side. Buggy sat in the center of it all. The star. Having an audience didn’t do much to set you at ease, Buggy had no reservations about dealing out punishment in front of his crew. Nobody would dare to stop him. You kept your head down, taking Buggy his food and desperately wishing to be invisible.

“Is there anything else you need, Captain Buggy?” you asked softly, staring at the floor rather than risk meeting anybody’s eye.

“Yeah, sit down,” Buggy said, pointing to the chair next to him. You peeked up at him, confused, but he was far more concerned with his meal than you. After earlier, you expected red hot vitriol, but Buggy was relaxed, and you didn’t see any anger in his eyes. That was another lesson about the captain. His temper flared at the slightest provocation, but burned out fast.

You sat down nervously, looking around again. The other officers were only just being served, but that didn’t stop Buggy from immediately digging in.

“I heard that you don’t eat enough,” he casually said, talking with his mouth full. There was only one person who would have been able to tell him that. You looked over to where Crina sat, but she seemed to be reading Newt’s tea leaves. “What kind of message does it send about me if my little protégé is starved half to death? From now on, you’ll eat when I do.”

“I’m sorry, captain. You really don’t need to…” your words died out, withering away beneath his hard stare. “Thank you, Captain Buggy.”

And so you were served with the rest of the officers, given a larger portion than you usually took. Buggy insisted you eat every bite. And then, after that, he insisted you stay in the officer's mess while they all drank and talked. Ale, mostly. A few bottles of the harder stuff were broken out, but nothing that interested you. The mere scent of it was sickening, let alone the taste. You wouldn’t want to drink anyway. A liquor-loosened tongue could very easily upset Buggy again.

Cabaji began to idly juggle after a little while, which caught your interest far more than any talk about the winds or raids or treasure. He made it look so easy, tossing and catching the balls without any added tension in his posture or change of expression.

Very abruptly, he caught the balls, looking at you directly. “Do you need something?”

“Oh, no,” you said, embarrassed at getting caught staring. “No, sir. It’s just so cool to watch, that’s all. I can stop.”

“Maybe you should give that a try,” Buggy said, leaning in to catch your attention. “It could be your secret talent. Cabaji, hand those over.”

“Captain Buggy, I don’t think I can juggle,” you said. “With my eye-”

“That wasn’t a problem when you were watching Cabaji,” Buggy said, handing you the balls Cabaji had just tossed over. “Nobody’s gonna laugh at you, I promise.”

You weighed them in hand, your stomach twisting because you knew that this wouldn’t end well. At the very least, the only people who were watching were Buggy and Cabaji. You let out a big breath and, with all of the grace you could muster, accidentally threw two balls in the air while dropping the third. You tried to catch one, but your hand closed around empty air to the side of the ball where you thought it would be, a common occurrence when you only had one eye. They all hit the floor with dull thumps, rolling away in different directions.

Almost immediately, Buggy cracked up, leaning back in his chair with how hard he was laughing. Ducking your head, you got up to hunt down the dropped balls, your cheeks flushing red.

“You’re supposed to catch them, genius,” Buggy said, breathless from laughing. “Here, hand ‘em over. I’ll show you.”

He set down his bottle and you gratefully let him take the balls. Buggy straightened out, lining them up in his hands. He did far better than you, smiling at his own success, but slipped up when his eyes flicked away for a second. One of the balls escaped and hit the floor for the second time.

Buggy scowled, tossing away the other two in exchange for his bottle of ale.

“Clearly there’s something wrong with those ones. I think they got broken or something when she dropped them.”

“I am so sorry,” you said, meeting Cabaji’s dark eyes.

“I have more,” he said, unconcerned.

“How about cards?” Buggy asked you, quick to move on. “Do you know any card tricks? You gotta be hiding some sort of talent.”

To nobody’s surprise, but Captain Buggy’s immense amusement, you were not.

That seemed to be the point because, rather than be upset about your consistent ineptitude, Buggy laughed at each failed trick just like he had with the juggling. At a certain point, you began to feel a bit less insecure because at least he was entertained by you. Not to say it wasn’t humiliating, but you could accept that as long as Captain Buggy was happy. You liked his laugh, mean or amused or raucous, you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of it.

When he finally called it a night and your decided lack of talent was exhausted, the full moon had reached its highest point and Buggy was more than a little drunk, needing you to steady him on the way back to his cabin. He was heavy and hot, singing a song you were pretty sure was entirely made up and you worried that if he collapsed, you would both go down, but you managed to get him all the way into his cabin and onto his chair.

Buggy told you stories as you fixed his hair and got his clothes off, drunkenly meandering between his prowess in combat, awkward encounters with fans, and tricks he’d effortlessly pulled off on idiot nobodies.

When you stood in front of him with a washcloth, Buggy blinked a few times, his eyes focusing on you with more clarity than you expected. “You and me, babydoll, we’re the same,” he said seriously, the words muddled by his drunken slurring. “Like, obviously you’re way more pathetic and less talented, but both of us were kept down by people who didn’t see our value. People who wanted to—to stifle our light, to keep us from ever shining the way we’re destined to.”

“Do you believe in destiny, Captain Buggy?” you asked, beginning the process of washing his face.

“Of course I do,” he said, his eyes closed. “I’m destined to find the One Piece, to become King of the Pirates, to be loved by everyone. You agree, right? That’s why you wanted to serve me.”

“No, I wanted to serve you because I-” you cut yourself off, realizing that now probably wasn’t the time for you to start talking about your feelings.

“Because you… What?”

You sighed, kicking yourself for saying anything. “When I saw you and your crew northside, I remembered my dad mentioning you a while back. You were involved in a raid on a town he had been staying at,” you explained as you removed and set his false lashes aside. “He called you a freak. There are a lot of weird pirates, but only you were a freak. Buggy the Clown, the Fool, the Jester—I’d never seen or heard anything like that. And then I saw you and your crew and it was just… I had to. No matter how scary or difficult it would be, I didn’t see any other option. I know you’re going to do everything you say, but I ran away and all of that because I wanted to serve you, Captain Buggy.” You shrugged even though he couldn’t see, shaking your head with a nervous smile. “If that makes sense.”

By now, you had gotten to his cheeks, but his growing smile made you stop.

“I knew it,” Buggy said with a huge, manic grin.

“What?” you asked, dismayed.

“You’re in love with me,” he said. “I knew it the whole time. I mean, the signs were all there, I just figured you were too shy to say it. But this… sheesh, you’ve got it bad.”

“No!” you exclaimed. “No, that’s not what I meant. You’re my captain, it’s not anything like… like…”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he told you, grabbing your shoulders, “it was bound to happen at some point. I’m willing to help you out, I’ve just been waiting for you to get desperate enough to ask.” He released you, sitting back. “Okay… Go ahead.”

“Go?” you asked softly.

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Strip, idiot. Take off your clothes.”

You stared at him in pure shock. “I can’t… I can’t do that.”

“There’s no point in being shy now. I’ve already seen you in your undies.”

You shook your head fast. “Captain, it’s very late, and-and you’re drunk.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I was drunk the other night and that didn’t stop me from coming my brains out thinking about how you’d look—”

“Please stop!” you interjected in a desperate whine.

Your reaction made Buggy erupt into hoarse, drunken laughter.

“You’re… you’re teasing me?” you asked.

“Of course I am. You didn’t seriously think I wanted to fuck you tonight.” He slumped back into his chair, yawning widely. “Don’t get me wrong, I thought about it but, frankly, I’m exhausted.”

Your shoulders tightened, a pit forming in your stomach at how stupid you felt for assuming he would mean that. You were the one who insisted over and over again that you knew Captain Buggy didn’t want you in that way. To think that he would was nothing but undeserved ego. You couldn’t be surprised. You especially couldn’t be hurt.

“You gonna finish or what?” Buggy asked, opening one eye. “I’m falling asleep over here.”

“Sorry, captain,” you said, glad to throw yourself back into the task.

Buggy didn’t talk very much after that. The liquor set in heavily, and he was half asleep by the time you were done. You helped him get up and into bed, and you very, very, very professionally ignored how hot his bare torso felt, even through your own clothes. You decided after a moment that you could not handle removing his pants, but you took his belt. And then it was a familiar ritual to get him to lay on his side, tucking a pillow behind his head to keep him like that.

“Is there anything else, Captain Buggy?” you asked as you covered him with his blanket and put a cup of water on the table.

“You do love me, don’t you?” he asked, his eyelashes fluttering so he could look at you with bloodshot, filmy eyes. Compared to earlier, he just sounded vulnerable, his voice fried and sleepy.

“Of course I love you, Captain Buggy,” you said, unable to keep yourself from brushing his cheek with your thumb. He sighed, his eyes drooping shut. Part of you wanted to stay and watch over him, to make sure he didn’t throw up and choke, to force him to drink water, to ward off any alcohol induced nightmares. To stay by his side and just be. Be with him.

It was a silly impulse. He didn’t need that from you, and you doubted he would accept it anyway. So you left, and you hoped he could sleep through the few hours of night that remained.

Despite how late it was, you didn’t feel very tired at all as you climbed into your bunk. You wrapped yourself in a cocoon of blankets—the only way you could stay warm—and stared up at the ceiling. Thinking. Just thinking. Every day was a barrage of new information and activity like you had never experienced, but today felt like more. Being yelled at, being made fun of, but also taken care of. You knew better than to read too far into anything Buggy did or said while he was so drunk, but that didn’t stop you from shivering with a brand new type of warmth and disgust when you thought about it. Pure, blazing, white-hot, and unambiguously terrible because you knew it was stupid. And wrong. And gross.

Captain Buggy teased you about sex things because it was easy, because you reacted so strongly to it. That was the only reason. You knew that. Really, if you thought about it, the way he treated you wasn’t all that different from your dad. At least in his gentler moments. That was kind of the role of a captain, wasn’t it? If you only thought about it like that, then you could condemn and ignore the weird things you felt.

Huffing with irritation at yourself, you turned onto your side. You were being stupid, it had only been a couple of days. The love you felt was the love of a servant for their master, and it was the only kind of love that actually mattered in any measurable way, not any of the jittery anxious feelings in your gut, or the heartache you felt when you thought about your dad. Love through respect. Love through obedience. Love through service.

And to serve, you needed to sleep.

#opla buggy x reader #opla buggy #buggy x reader #one piece live action #opla #my writing #flashbang

76 notes · View notes