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bythenineshards · 11 months

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Suffering Fools

Summary: The new Doctor in Impel Down gives her patient a hand.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI

Tags: Buggy x OC, Canon x OC, Buggy x Syre

A/N: So this wasn't initially going to be smut, but it happened. It's not my best, but I hope y'all enjoy it. I said I would post it here, and I ain't a liar lol. So here it is. Stupid sexy clown.

Syre stuck out like a sore thumb in Impel Down. It took a few days for her to find the right words to describe how she felt, but when she did, it was like a slap to the face. Soft. Amid the torture, harsh stone walls, monsters, and even more monstrous guards, she felt soft. She supposed that was a good quality for a doctor to have, but it didn’t stop her from feeling out of place. When she’d joined the Marines, the goal had been to travel and help her comrades after battle. Not be stuck in a hellish prison. She had her theories as to how she’d gotten these orders, but the fight wasn’t worth the effort.

She eased back in her chair and blew out a breath. Paperwork all morning, and the stack mocked her with more into the afternoon. It was probably wrong for a doctor to wish for something to whisk her away from her desk. Only paperwork meant no one had been hurt enough to come see her. That was something else that rubbed her the wrong way. Tending to the guards that were hurt was one thing. Seeing the prisoners and mending their injuries for the purpose of giving them more suffering felt cruel even as a punishment.

The door to the infirmary swung open with unnecessary force, causing Syre to scramble to her feet. A single guard had kicked in the door and brought a prisoner into the infirmary slung over his shoulder. Syre watched as the guard, a hulking man of little rank, carelessly dropped the blue haired prisoner on the examination table. She moved closer cautiously, “What has happened?”

The guard began to strap the prisoner to the table. Syre had a variety of words she wished to impart about his roughness. All of them culminated in her raising hand with a singular finger outstretched to point out his mistakes, but she thought better of it. She got the feeling that trying to explain the possible repercussions of manhandling this inmate like a sack of potatoes that owed him money, was going to have the same effect as doing likewise with the lamp on her desk.

“Don’t know. Best guess? He got lippy with some of the men, and they took offense.” The guard stood back and admired his work, arms crossed with pride.

Syre pushed in close to the prisoner. Pulling out a pen light and gingerly lifting his eyelids. The pupils were responsive, that was good. “And you let this happen?”

“Why does it matter? He’s a pirate. A good pop in the mouth was good for him.” The guard replied, scratching the back of his neck.

She held back the string of insults she had been building and blew out an irritated sigh. At a cursory glance, the damage wasn’t too bad. But definitely more than a pop in the mouth. A few of the cuts needed to be cleaned, and his face was difficult to examine with the paint. Who was giving him paint? As she cataloged his injuries, he began to stir. Syre couldn’t help the smile she gave him. It had become a habit in her training as a physician. It was a little silly in this place, she thought, but her bedside manner wasn’t going to just walk out the door because she worked in a prison.

Buggy woke with a throbbing headache. There was something cold against his back and a tightness across his chest and encircling his wrists and ankles. The pain and discomfort were pushed from the forefront of his mind when he saw the woman standing over him. He’d heard from other men that Impel Down had gotten a new doctor, and now he understood the comments that she looked like she tasted sweet. Her hair was a lovely shade of pastel pink. It reminded him of cotton candy, and the chin length curls only added to that image. Their eyes met, and a smile touched her lips freely. Her eyes were brown and radiated a warmth that he wasn’t typically accustomed to.

“Good morning,” She said. Her accent was like poetry, “I am Doctor Syre Bon-”

“He doesn’t need to know your name. Just fix him up and call for us when he’s done,” the guard interrupted. Buggy eyed the man despite the strap across his forehead.

Syre pressed her lips in a tight line. Her eyes narrowed on the guard, but she stopped that building cacophony of disdain from getting past her lips. “Very well,” she said curtly.

She began to ready a tray of instruments, mostly for cleaning wounds, and set to work sterilizing them when she realized the guard hadn’t departed. Syre stopped working, and her eyes flicked up to the man standing there.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

“Yeah, I was wondering,” His voice stammered slightly which was an odd juxtaposition to the way he leaned on the table, “when you’re done for the day, did you want to join me and some of the others for drinks? It’s just a few-”

“No, thank you.” Her response was blunt, and her eyes, surprisingly cold, went back to her work.

“It’s just a few of us-”

Syre interrupted with a clipped tone, “I gave you my answer. I will call for assistance when I am finished with this prisoner. Before you leave my infirmary, could you tell me his number? I need to document this incident.”

Buggy’s cheeks inflated with the laugh about to burst out of him like a balloon. The guard raised his hand to strike him for his insolence, and Buggy swallowed the laugh. Syre cleared her throat sharply, “You will not do harm to my patient. The number, then you will leave.”

The man looked from Buggy to Syre, weighing his options and considering the temptation to hit the bound clown. He lowered his hand and said, “Prisoner E-8200.”

“Thank you.” She replied, still short and frigid.

The guard nodded and left the infirmary. When the door closed, Buggy blew a raspberry in his direction, then struggled against the strap to face her. He caught her just in time to see the momentous eye roll she’d been holding back. She rose from her chair beside the examination table to cross to the desk. Buggy took the opportunity to watch the way her coat swished with the sway of her hips. She was petite but no less beautiful, and watching her walk was a highlight of today he hadn't expected. He stopped staring as she thumbed through the files and found his. The entire time, she was muttering something under her breath. He couldn’t quite hear the words, but the tone of them was thoroughly disgruntled.

“Ah! Here we are,” She said, “Prisoner E-8200… Oh, that is such a mouthful…”

He heard her going through the pages of his file as she walked back at a slower pace.

“You could call me by my name,” He suggested with an impish grin and waggle of his eyebrows. He wanted to hear her say his name.

“And what is your name?” She asked, plunking back down into the chair. They both knew it was right there in the file, but she was choosing to treat him like a person.

“You can call me Buggy, Dollface,” he replied with a wink, “Buggy the Clown.”

“Buggy, Buggy the Clown,” she repeated, as if tasting his name on her tongue. She smiled down at him, “As long as you do not tattle on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Buggy purred with a smirk bordering on wicked.

Her face had softened noticeably with the departure of the brute that brought him in. She had gone quiet and was cleaning the instruments again. As she cleaned, Syre took stock of him. He was tall, but that was by far the least interesting thing about him. His hair was a gorgeous blue, and despite it being a bit of a mess, she thought it was very pretty. It just needed to be brushed and pulled up to help it from getting tangled. He had painted on a big red smile and two bones crossed on his forehead, reaching just to the corners of his eyes. These were accompanied by red marks down the center of his blue eyes. Again, who was giving him paint for these? This was still not mentioning the most apparent trait of his. At first, she had thought the guards or his fellow inmates had managed to glue a big red ball on his nose, and she was pondering how best to extract it without causing him pain. However, after a longer survey of his face, she came to realize it was his true nose. It would be comical if she didn’t find it so deeply charming. It fit him perfectly.

“Does that happen often?” Buggy asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hm?” She asked, his question dragging her out of her musings about his appearance. “Which part?”

“The coming on to you?” He replied, picking which one to inquire about first.

She gave a lazy shake of her head that set the curls bouncing. The gesture wasn’t a no but more to suggest she was outwardly combing her recent memories. It was accompanied by a strangled sound that led into her saying, “Enough for it to be irritating…”

He nodded in understanding.

“The ones that just use words are not the worst. It’s the few that think smacking me on the behind will instantly fill me with desire that truly anger me. What are they thinking?” She made a gesture like she was swinging to spank someone on the ass and gasped a little, “Oh yes, please, take me I’m yours.”

She rolled her eyes again and muttered something else under her breath.

“Maybe they’re just trying to make it a win-win situation. You might say yes, you’re more likely to say no, they got to spank you either way.” He teased.

She smirked, but he didn’t get the laugh he’d been aiming for. With the tools clean, she leaned forward and took a deep breath. Beginning to clean the most egregious of the lacerations, “Poor thing…”

“You should see the other guy.”

“The other guy is not in my infirmary,” Syre said tartly, indicating to the other examination tables in the room. Buggy’s smug smile drooped like a birthday cake left in the rain. Her eyes were smiling, and it slipped to her lips with a giggle when she met his eyes. He watched as she fought the bubbling of laughter like the fizz of champagne. Attempting to quell the laughter, she took a slow, giggle laced breath to calm herself. She thought it was probably against protocol to joke with inmates, but the joy never left her beautiful eyes.

“Don’t look so glum, Mon Cher, you’ll make a full recovery.”

“Yippee.” Buggy replied unamused.

“Just try to play nice with the other boys.” She said, wiping up the blood. She chewed on her lip, and Buggy had the thought that he’d like to be that lip. “Though… I think this one is going to need stitches.”

Syre leaned over him to get a better look. Being at this proximity treated him to the smell of her perfume. It was sweet but in a cozy way, like warm vanilla but more subtle. It also occurred to him that she was nearly chest to chest with him. Her body was as soft as her glance was tender. She was debating the stitches while cleaning the cut and breathed, “Probably for the best that I do. Are you alright with that?”

“You’re the doc.” He replied, attempting to get comfortable on the table. Syre hated the cold tables. She thought they should at least have a pillow. It was just her luck that she would leave home to heal people and end up helping them to suffer more.

She slid her chair across the floor to the cupboard where the needles and thread were kept.

“There will not be many. I doubt it will scar,” Syre tried to reassure him then cocked a brow playfully, “Unless you wish for it to scar. I can do them messily and make it look rather fearsome.”

“And ruin all this handsome?” He scoffed.

“Fair enough,” She shrugged and went to begin the process.

Buggy squirmed away as best as he could with the leather strap, “Whoa there, Sweets! Aren’t you gonna do anything to numb me?”

Syre sat back, “I can not. I’m under strict orders to only use numbing agents on staff. They’re kept under lock and key, and I have yet to figure out how to jimmy open the lock. I am sorry…”

Buggy inhaled a long breath and released it with a raspberry, making Syre smile just a smidge.

“I will do my best to not make it hurt.”

His face told her without words that he didn’t believe that was possible. When she leaned back over him, he didn’t squirm, indicating a tiny bit of trust. “Good, Mon Cher, stay still.”

She could tell he was nervous. No part of her faulted him for that. It was one thing to get an injury by accident and another to watch with anticipation for it to happen. She tried to set him at ease by speaking, bringing up the first thing to pop into her head.

“I was on leave back home when I got my orders to come here,” she started, “They sent me the protocols so I could prepare myself and be informed before arriving. When I read the policy regarding pain, I ranted to my mother for a good hour.”

Buggy hissed with pain, and she stopped, an apology clear in her eyes.

“Keep talking, Dollface.” He demanded, wanting this to be over but enjoying the sound of her voice. It was like listening to a song. He didn’t understand some of the words she said but her inflection was damn near affectionate.

“She asked me what I was going to do? You see, my family was not thrilled that I studied to be a doctor and wanted to join the Marines. Obviously, seeing me so unhappy with my orders, I wanted to travel, and this is not travel. She was hoping that I would quit or refuse and stay home. I knew that was her intention, so I said that I would do what she used to do when my sisters or I got hurt.”

“Which was?” Buggy managed to say through gritted teeth.

A ghost of a smile touched her lips, “I said I would kiss and make it better,” she had to stop stitching due to her own laughter, “You should’ve seen the look on her face. It took me hours to convince her it was a joke.”

“I don’t know, Doll, I think it’s the least you could do considering you’re stabbing me in the face.”

Syre stopped, taken aback by the glint in his eyes. She felt her cheeks getting hot. Why had she told that story? She fought her now, shaking hands to finish quickly.

“All done.” She announced. More for herself than for him. “I will call for the guard-”

“Please don’t. Not yet.” Syre couldn’t help the pang in her heart hearing the plea in his voice, a finger plucking the ridiculous chord of sympathy in her.

She tried in vain to tuck a pale pink curl behind her ear, “I suppose I could…” She searched her mind for something she could do that would take time when her eyes fell on his hair, “Check you for lice?”

“I don’t have lice!” He spat back, thoroughly offended. “What kind of imbecile are you!? What next? Gonna make fun of my nose, huh?!”

Syre flicked his nose. “Of course not. But I should probably check. Do you mind if I comb your hair?”

The offense left his face immediately, finally back up to speed. It had been ages since he was able to brush his hair, and pure stubbornness had kept him from just cutting it.

“Not at all.”

“Good.”

Syre disposed of the needle and rummaged through her drawers, looking for a comb. She wouldn’t say it, but she was a tad giddy to rid his hair of the tangles. It was such pretty hair. Returning to her chair, she swiveled it to the head of the table and unbuckled the strap across his forehead. She gave him a moment to roll his neck while she formed a game plan. A quick look told her he didn’t, in fact, have lice, but she wasn’t about to tell him that she looked.

One by one, she tugged the fingers of her gloves loose and set the pair on the table beside his head. With the help of lifting his head, Syre gathered up all of his hair so that it cascaded off the edge of the table. She separated a lock and combed through it as gently as she could. If it snagged, she held just above and worked out the tangle until the comb went through with little resistance. The two of them were quiet for a long time. Syre wasn’t sure when his eyes had closed, but she didn’t mind. No matter what he had done, Impel Down was no joke. She wouldn’t begrudge him this respite.

“You mentioned you have sisters?” He asked, his tone calmer than before. Thoroughly enjoying the sensation of his hair being brushed.

“Mhm, two of them. Marie and Avery. I am the eldest.”

“All of you have pretty pink hair?”

“You think my hair is pretty?” She teased lightly.

He gave her a look that even upside down made her heart hop into her throat. Her cheeks were hot again, but this time, she was less worried. A comb wasn’t exactly the same as a needle.

“Yes,” She managed to squeak out, “we all do.”

Another silence was starting to build when Syre blurted in an embarrassed little voice, “You have pretty hair too…”

“I know I do, Baby.”

“Is it your natural color?” She asked.

“Why don’t you check for yourself?”

Syre allowed the nervous giggles but didn’t say anything more. With most of the tangles out of his hair, she placed the comb next to her gloves. She sat there for a long moment, biting her lower lip. Before reason or protocol could hinder her, she sank her fingers into his hair. Buggy let out a soft moan, and Syre let herself enjoy that sound low in her belly. Her fingertips drew swirls over his scalp, leading into her nails doing the same or giving him tight scritches. She ran her fingers down the tresses, blue strands slipping through her fingers like silk. Once they reached the end, she returned to massaging his scalp only to repeat their descent. Syre had been focused solely on his hair thus far, but the sound of the straps binding the rest of him being fought caused her to look up.

Her breath caught. She hadn’t noticed the growing tightness in his striped pants nor the writhing he had begun against his binds. Now Syre was doing a poor job of pretending not to notice. She was practically staring at it.

“Oh…” She whispered, “Should I stop?”

“Don’t.”

Syre tried not to look at it, but the breathy moan from before had led into ragged breathing, and primal instinct knew its call. Her face was on fire and grew hotter with each arch of his neck. Her fingers withdrew but were halted with a desperate whimper of, “No…”

“I really should stop…” She said, the blush clear in her voice, “You’re…”

He arched his neck enough to look her in the eyes. There was that gleam again. It sent her heart racing. Hungry, pleading, and looking to her for salvation. “Touch me…” He begged.

Syre gasped, her voice bordering on shrill, “What?”

“Please,” he added, “I can’t do it myself, or I would.”

“That’s obscene and crass and completely inappropriate,” she said, looking around the room, lingering on the door. Anything but looking at those eyes.

“C’mon Sweet girl,” Buggy purred, “Help me.”

Syre blinked, “I couldn’t.”

She tried to ignore it. Taking one of the few leftover hair ties she kept for her sister's hair emergencies and pulled his hair into a hasty ponytail. Syre was about to apologize for the color when she caught sight of his erection. It was still masked by the pants, but she was so tempted.

“Is there anything else I can do to help it go away?”

“Hand, mouth, over the pants or under, I don’t care. Please, Doc.”

She swiveled the chair around so that she was at his side. Her eyes momentarily brushed over the space between his stomach and the slight lift in his pants. A dusting of blue hair led down further, but she ripped her gaze back to his face, “That’s not what I meant. Is there-”

“Please…”

They’d taken so long already. A guard could come by to check on them at any time. If one of them showed up and he was this…aroused, Syre couldn’t see a way for him not to get the shit kicked out of him. Not wanting to do more harm than good, she bit her lip and slid her hand into his pants.

Syre wasn’t inexperienced with love affairs. Over the years, she’d had a few trysts, stolen a handful kisses, and even had a fumbling in the dark a time or two. This was much much different than any of those. There was a tension here that felt raw. She was stroking the cock of a prisoner housed in Impel Down. And he was looking at her with a hunger she wasn’t sure she could handle. His eyes, his history, his cock in her hand, all of it felt so deliciously wicked. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Oh Sweet Girl,” He moaned, arching off the table and elongating his neck into a curve. His hips pushed up into her hand. Each thrust inched the pants off, exposing his cock completely.

Hearing his tender words made the butterflies in her stomach flutter. He was so hard. She'd never felt such a thrill. "A-am I doing it right?"

It wasn’t exactly a hard task. She just felt so damn awkward.

He gave a moan mixed with a chuckle in response. She wasn't exactly sure what to say. This was new for her, but there was a part of her that was enjoying it, "Is there anything else I can do to help?"

“Kiss me.” He pleaded.

“I couldn’t…” She replied with a nervous laugh.

“But you want to. I can hear it in your voice. You’ve come this far. So why don’t you be a good girl and give me a kiss?”

Syre swallowed hard. She was already stroking him. Wasn't that supposed to be later, and a kiss came first? All of this was wrong. Why should she stop now?

"C’mon Doc…" He panted, "I kiss good."

Syre rose from her chair, sending it wheeling back. Her legs were shaking as she moved closer to his face. The chair hit one of the cupboards, causing her to look over. Seizing the opportunity, Buggy ran his tongue along her cheek. Syre squeaked and gripped his shaft harder in surprise. He rested back on the table with a dare in his eyes. She couldn't help but look at his painted lips.

"Just one kiss, Doll."

Syre bit her lip nervously, and he looked a little sad. "Let me do that for you."

Syre caved to the temptation and leaned down to brush her lips against his. Her free hand came up to caress his face, and it didn't take long for him to beg entrance into her mouth. His tongue prodded her lips, and she moaned when it slipped inside with the slightest part. His hands struggled against the straps. He wanted so badly to touch her, too. When he finally broke the kiss, he breathed, "Harder baby, grip it harder..."

"Are you going to cum for me?" The question was posed in the sweetest voice he'd ever heard. She wanted him to. Needed it just as much as he did. Her face, flushed red and lustful mixed with the desire in her eyes to kiss him again, it was too much.

He arched his back, fighting against the straps. Syre was breathless as his cock pulsed in her hand. She didn't mind the hot seed creeping over her hand. She was enthralled. He was inches from her face, panting in ecstasy and holding her gaze. His eyes were hooded with pleasure. She'd never felt more powerful.

"Fuck…" He moaned, his body trembling. Lips brushing against hers just from proximity. As she looked down over his body, he nibbled her ear. Groaning with the aftershocks of his climax.

"F-feel better?" She asked after he seemed to be coming down. She was tempted to give him another kiss, but that would be too much.

"Yes. Oh yes. I wish I could do the same for you." He panted.

She was getting bashful under his eye. "That's not necessary…"

"To stain those thighs red…" He mused, "and if the rest of you is as sweet as your kisses…"

He was growing hard again just thinking about it. "Oh no, you don't!" Syre released him and scuttled to the sink. She didn't need paint for her face to be as red as his lips. Hell, Buggy didn't even need to see it to know it was red. She scrubbed his seed off of her hand while trying to calm herself.

"You want to, though."

"Don't be ridiculous..." She forced a laugh.

Buggy had to give her some credit. Her voice had stayed mostly even, but her cheeks were a dead giveaway. That didn't mention her avoidance of his eyes.

"I won't tell anyone, Dollface." Buggy tempted. "You already know I kiss good, just think what else I can do."

Syre took a measured breath and covered him back up, eyes lingering just a little too long on the blue hair on his lower stomach. "For your sake, Prisoner E-8200, stay out of fights."

Before Buggy could tempt her again, there was a knock at the infirmary door. The guard from before poke his head in, "Everything okay, Doc?"

"Yes, we just finished up. You may take him," She waved dismissively but avoided eye contact with either man.

The guard unstrapped him and roughly got him to his feet. "No funny business, Clown."

Buggy turned to look at Syre and blew her a kiss. "Thanks, Doc."

The guard shoved him down, "Get moving!"

Syre was left in her infirmary, reeling from what had just happened. She busied herself, getting ready for another patient. She tossed the comb, but when she retrieved her gloves, she found one was missing. She furrowed her brows and looked up at the door with a sigh.

Walking down the halls of Impel Down, Buggy held the soft white glove hidden in his hands. A devilish smile across his face.

#buggy the clown #buggy x oc #buggy x syre #buggy fanfiction #one piece oc #suffering fools #fem oc #female oc x Buggy

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