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Buggy was bored.
There was nothing worse for him than being bored. Mihawk apparently had some business somewhere and hadn’t been seen for days. Normally, Buggy loved to annoy Mihawk, it was just way too much fun, even if Mihawk stayed pissed for days afterward and made sure Buggy felt it in every possible way.
But at least he still had Croco. The man was sitting at the table, reading the latest newspaper. Buggy had already gone through it earlier, but there hadn’t been anything interesting in it. Still, Crocodile acted as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world, probably just so he wouldn’t have to talk to Buggy.
Buggy sprawled across the opposite chair with a dramatic groan, limbs loose, like he might die at any second. “What’s so interesting about your boring newspaper anyway?” he demanded, tilting his head upside down just to peek at Croco from the stupidest angle possible. “It’s all the same crap - pirates, Marines, bounties. Yawn.”
The only response was the quiet rustle of a page turning. Croco’s cigar glowed faintly, smoke curling in the dim light. He didn’t even glance up.
Buggy narrowed his eyes. So this was a challenge then.
He kicked his boots up onto the table with a loud thud. “I mean, if you’ve seen one bounty, you’ve seen them all. Don’t tell me you’re actually reading the articles too? What’s next, the classifieds?”
A sharp flick of Crocodile’s golden hook against the table edge. His gaze didn’t lift, but Buggy could feel the irritation simmering. Good.
“Don’t you get tired of pretending you’re such a big shot?” Buggy pressed on, grinning now. He stretched his arms wide, his shirt riding up enough to flash skin. “Sitting there with your legs crossed, cigar in your mouth, like you’re above everything. What if I told you it’s actually pretty damn boring to watch?”
At last, a glance. Just a flick of grey eyes over the edge of the paper. Cold, dismissive.
Buggy’s grin widened, sharp and stupid. “Ohh, there it is. That look. You’re gonna scold me now, huh?”
Nothing. The paper lifted again, blocking him out.
Buggy huffed, then leaned forward until his elbows rested on the table. His legs stayed propped up, boots dangerously close to the edge of Croco’s precious ashtray. He dropped his voice, deliberately low, almost sing-song. “You know, if you wanted something interesting to look at, I could give you a better show than that paper.”
That earned him another flicker of attention. Croco’s eyes dropped once, lingering a beat too long on the bare stretch of Buggy’s legs where his pants rode up. Then back to the page, as if nothing happened.
Buggy smirked like a cat that had cornered its prey. “What? Did I distract you? Hard not to, right? With these legs…” He dragged one boot slowly across the table until it almost touched Croco’s wrist.
The newspaper came down with a snap. “Get. Your feet. Off my table.”
Buggy startled, then broke into a wide grin, not even trying to hide his glee. “Finally! He speaks!” He leaned back in his chair, balancing precariously on the back legs. “You almost had me thinking you’d gone mute.”
Crocodile exhaled smoke slowly, deliberately, through his nose. His gaze pinned Buggy like a knife, voice rumbling low. “You think you’re funny, clown. All you are is loud.”
“Loud, hot, entertaining - same difference,” Buggy shot back without missing a beat. He reached up, tugging his bandana looser, letting a few strands of blue hair fall. “Admit it, Croco. You’d miss me if I wasn’t around.”
The silence that followed was sharp, cutting. Croco tapped ash into the tray with precise ease, ignoring him again.
Buggy’s grin softened into something sly. He leaned further forward, eyes glinting. “You’re imagining it now, aren’t you? What kind of trouble I’d be if I actually tried.” His voice dipped suggestively, smooth as he could manage. “Bet I could make you forget that boring paper real quick.”
It had been far too long since Buggy had any real fun.
Being a Yonko made it damn near impossible to find someone for just one night. Buggy liked it a little rough, and he was certain Croco was perfect for that. He just had to make him give in.
Crocodile’s hand stilled on the cigar. His eyes flicked up again, darker this time, the faintest twitch of his jaw betraying his irritation or something else.
Buggy swallowed, heat sparking in his gut at that look. He wasn’t sure if he was winning or signing his own death sentence. But either way, he couldn’t stop.
He grinned wider, flashing teeth. “What’s the matter, Croco? Cat got your tongue? Or do you just need me to use mine?”
The sound of the chair scraping back was sharp, final. Croco rose to his full height, towering over Buggy with smoke curling around his shoulders like a storm cloud.
Buggy’s breath hitched, but his grin never faltered.
“Pathetic,” Croco muttered, voice low, dangerous. “You really don’t know when to shut up.”
Buggy’s pulse spiked. He leaned back in his chair, deliberately sprawled, eyes bright with challenge. “Maybe I just like it when you shut me up.”
The newspaper lay forgotten on the table, ash curling in the tray. Crocodile’s shadow fell heavy over him, and Buggy’s heart raced with a cocktail of nerves and glee.
Exactly what he’d wanted.
But then Crocodile turned around and left him alone.
Buggy sighed and looked down at the tent in his pants.
Ugh. So close.
✦
The meeting had been doomed from the start. Buggy knew it the second the envoy strutted in, some dumb lackey of Blackbeard’s, all bravado and no weight. Vasco Shot or Burgess would’ve been too important for this; so instead, Teach had sent Kikipatsu, one of his errand boys.
Buggy, sprawled on a crate, balanced a dagger on his finger and tried not to yawn. Deals bored him. Numbers, territories, “alliances”, that was all Crocodile’s business. Buggy just liked the wine and real treasure. What did he care if Blackbeard’s people wanted to haggle?
Apparently, Crocodile cared. A lot.
“You misunderstand,” Crocodile said, low and steady, his voice like sand grinding against stone. He didn’t raise it; he never needed to. His presence filled the room without effort. “I don’t negotiate.”
Buggy shivered. Damn. Even when Croco wasn’t talking to him, that tone did things to his spine.
Kikipatsu smirked wider, leaning back in his chair. “Blackbeard says you either cut your prices or you get cut out. You wouldn’t wanna make an enemy out of us, would you?”
Buggy’s eyebrows shot up. Wrong words, dumbass.
The next second, Crocodile’s golden hook shot forward with a hiss. It clamped into Kikipatsu’s collar and yanked him clean off his feet. The scumbag gagged, limbs flailing, boots kicking uselessly against the air.
Buggy’s heart slammed into his ribs. His lips parted in awe, then twisted into something darker. Crocodile didn’t even look strained. One arm flexed, the chain rattled, and Kikipatsu dangled like a fish on a line.
“Do you take me for a fool?” Crocodile asked, calm as death itself.
Buggy couldn’t breathe. Or maybe he was breathing too fast. He watched the muscles in Crocodile’s forearm tense under the fabric of his coat and watched the effortless way he held another man’s life in one hand.
Seas, the sheer power of him.
Buggy’s brain betrayed him with a filthy, stupid thought: What I wouldn’t give to feel that hook drag across me instead.
Heat curled low in his gut. He shifted on the crate, trying to hide it, but it was useless. Crocodile was too much. So sharp and dangerous. And so - fuck.
Kikipatsu sputtered and begged, face turning red first, then white. Crocodile’s lip curled in disgust. He flicked his wrist, and the chain whipped. Kikipatsu crashed into the wall, crumpling like a rag doll before scrambling out the door, tripping over his own boots to escape.
“Pathetic,” Crocodile spat.
The hook retracted with a metallic clink, the chain sliding back into place. Crocodile adjusted his coat like nothing had happened, but fury radiated off him in waves. The kind that filled a room until there was no space to breathe.
Buggy sat frozen, his painted grin twitching. Every nerve buzzed. He wanted to laugh, to clap, to jeer, but the only thought burning in his skull was fuck, I want him even more when he’s like this.
Crocodile turned sharply, coat flaring, and strode out without another word.
Buggy hopped off the crate instantly. “Wait up, bossy pants!” He scurried after him, boots clattering, already plotting how he could twist this anger into something useful.
But just before he caught up, he overheard two women chatting outside the warehouse door, voices hushed but clear in the night air.
“Bet he’s heading to the brothel again,” one said knowingly.
“Of course he is. He’s always like this when a deal goes south. Needs to blow off steam somehow,” the other giggled.
Buggy froze mid-step. His eyes went wide. Then, slowly, a grin stretched across his lips, wicked and bright.
A brothel. On the beach.
Oh, the idea sparking in his brain was reckless. Dangerous. Perfect.
If Crocodile wanted to vent… Buggy knew exactly where he’d be. And if Buggy played his cards right, he’d finally get what he wanted, hook and all.
✦
Buggy wasn’t supposed to be here.
Hell, even he knew sneaking into a brothel on his own island was asking for trouble. But the idea had taken root the moment he overheard those two women gossiping about Crocodile’s habits, how he came here after every failed deal, how he liked to “take out his stress.”
Buggy had never moved so fast in his life.
Now, pressed against the wall near the entrance, cloak pulled up high and a boring black hat angled low, he scanned the interior with quick, darting eyes. Perfume and smoke clung thick in the air. The sound of soft laughter, the creak of bedsprings above, the shuffle of painted heels across polished wood.
And then he finally saw her. Alvida. She owned this damn thing.
“Buggy?” Alvida’s voice cut sharp as a blade, dripping with amusement, as he walked over to her. She leaned on the counter, arms folded, her figure framed in silks and jewels that matched the decadence of her establishment. Her grin was wide enough to split her face in half. “Well, well, look who crawled in through my door. Didn’t expect a Yonko to visit us.”
Buggy’s jaw worked uselessly for a beat before he leaned closer, dropping his voice. “I need Crocodile’s room.”
Her brows shot up. Then she laughed again, doubling over against the counter. “Ohhh, this is rich. You? In his room? You’ve lost your damn mind.”
Buggy slapped a pouch of coins onto the wood between them. “I’m serious. Give me his room for tonight.”
Alvida slid the Berry closer, weighing it in her hand with a thoughtful hum. Then she leaned across the counter, her perfume wrapping around him, and whispered, “Do you even know what he likes, Buggy-boy?”
His throat bobbed. “...Doesn’t matter.”
“Wrong.” Her smirk widened. “It matters a lot. Croco’s a picky bastard. He likes control. He likes it rough. And he really likes it when someone struggles.” Her nail traced the edge of the counter, slow and deliberate. “Oh, and he’s an ass man. Always has been. He likes to take the women from behind.”
Buggy’s knees nearly buckled. Perfect.
He cleared his throat, trying not to show how much the information thrilled him. “Fine. Great. I can handle that.”
Alvida arched a brow. “You sure? Because last I checked, you don’t exactly have the… equipment he’s used to paying for.”
Buggy’s face went crimson. “Mind your own business!”
“Whatever you say.” Alvida pocketed the coins, still grinning. “His usual room’s upstairs, last on the left. He’ll be here any minute, so you’d better hurry. Oh, and Buggy?”
He spun back, scowling. “What?”
“Don’t get stuck somewhere you can’t wriggle out of. He’d like that.”
Her laughter chased him all the way up the stairs.
Buggy’s heart was a jackhammer as he crept into the lavish room, curtains drawn tight, the scent of tobacco already lingering in the sheets. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
“Perfect,” he muttered, spotting a wide wooden barrel near the wall, half-filled with silks and gauzy skirts. He tugged one of the skirts free, ran the fabric through his hands, then wrapped it clumsily around his hips and threw his pants away. His pulse roared in his ears, when he found some pretty shoes and a fresh shirt. Then he looked back at the barrel.
Maybe he’d enjoy someone literally stuck, hm?
Buggy grinned wickedly to himself, ignoring the nervous tremor in his hands. Then I’ll give him helpless and stuck.
He bent over and lowered himself into the barrel until his torso was wedged tight, arms pinned at his sides. The skirt spilled down over his thighs, hiding everything for now, since he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Buggy wriggled deeper into the barrel, silks rustling around his hips. He shifted until the wood dug into his ribs, leaving him completely pinned. Exactly the way he wanted it.
The thrill shot through him like fire.
But one problem remained.
If Croco got even one glance at the wrong angle, the game would be over before it started. Buggy clenched his jaw, glaring down at himself.
“...Tch. Guess you’re sitting this one out, pal.”
With a muttered curse, he detached his cock in one practiced flick, flying it up into his waiting mouth. His lips closed around it, muffling the sound of his laugh as it clicked into place like a bizarre gag.
It was ridiculous. Utterly insane. And yet, perfect.
Now, when Croco came through that door, he wouldn’t hear a word of protest. Wouldn’t see the clown’s smirk or hear his taunts. Just a silent, helpless body, stuck and waiting to be used.
Buggy shivered, the absurdity only fueling his excitement. If he wants a dumb little plaything… he’s getting one.
He squirmed one last time, locking himself tight in place, skirt riding high over his thighs. The barrel held him firm, fabric hiding every telltale mark.
All that was left now was to wait for the heavy tread of Crocodile’s boots and the scrape of that hook across his skin.
Buggy’s pulse thundered in his ears. He grinned around his own cock, the sound muffled and obscene.
I’m a fucking genius, he thought again.
✦
The door opened with a heavy creak, hinges protesting before slamming shut again. Crocodile’s presence filled the room even before his shadow stretched across the floorboards. Smoke curled in with him, the faint scent of cigars clinging to his coat.
He paused, eyes narrowing at the sight before him.
One of the long storage barrels near the wall had been upended, fabric spilling out like a broken dam. Among the tumble of silks and lace, a pair of legs kicked feebly, the hem of a skirt rucked high.
“Ohh…” Croco’s voice dropped into a low, almost amused purr. He liked that. He stepped closer, boots echoing slow, deliberate against the wood. “Sweet girl, are you stuck and all alone?”
Buggy’s heart slammed so hard against his ribs he swore Croco would hear it. He sucked on his own cock again to keep quiet, the faintest whimper escaping around the thing filling his mouth. His face burned under the paint.
Croco didn’t wait for an answer. He never needed one.
The curved steel of his hook traced along the back of Buggy’s thigh, the cold bite of metal dragging upward until it pressed against the round curve of his ass. A shudder rattled through Buggy, his toes curling in the heels he’d found in the chest of costumes.
“Hmm.” Croco exhaled smoke slowly, deliberately, letting it drift down over the exposed skin before him. “Quite the predicament. Pretty thing like you… helpless in my room.”
Buggy whimpered again. His fingers clawed uselessly at the inside of the barrel, the tight press of wood keeping him bent forward. Exactly where he wanted to be.
Croco leaned down, his breath hot through the smoke, lips brushing close enough to the bare nape of Buggy’s neck. “Don’t tell me you climbed in here on purpose.” His grin was a sharp slice in the dim light. “Or maybe you like the thought of being caught.”
The hook pushed higher, slipping under the hem of the skirt. The fabric lifted with humiliating ease, baring Buggy’s ass fully to the air. Croco hummed, a sound deep in his chest, entirely too pleased.
“You’re trembling.” The words were observation, not comfort. His gloved hand followed where the hook had traced, warm leather dragging slow circles into sensitive skin. “But you’re not saying no.”
Buggy’s lungs seized. He wanted to scream, to laugh, to snarl something clever, but his cock in his mouth muffled everything into pitiful noises. His painted lashes fluttered shut, his whole body taut with desperate anticipation.
Croco chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through the small room. “Not much of a talker, are you?” He pressed the blunt edge of the hook down against Buggy’s spine, pinning him further into the barrel. “Good. I prefer my toys quiet.”
Buggy nearly came undone right there. His cock ached, but every nerve screamed alive under Croco’s touch. Immobilized. Controlled. Exactly where he belonged.
Croco straightened, his coat brushing over Buggy’s calves as he shifted his stance. One hand slid to the back of Buggy’s neck, the weight firm, claiming. “Helpless and silent,” he murmured, voice velvet and steel all at once. “Just how I like it.”
Buggy shook, but he didn’t move away. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not when every inch of him burned with the heat of being seen, being used, being wanted.
The barrel creaked under the strain, Buggy’s breath ragged in the dark hollow of wood and cloth. Crocodile loomed above him, calm, patient, predator to prey.
The silence was unbearable. Crocodile didn’t move for a long moment, just let the weight of his presence hang heavy in the air. Buggy’s pulse hammered in his ears, his whole body locked in the humiliating bend forced by the barrel.
Then, finally, Croco’s hand tightened at the back of his neck, pushing him down another inch, making the rim dig into his stomach.
“Pathetic little thing,” Croco drawled, voice low and rich, dripping disdain that somehow made Buggy’s cock throb harder. “You crawl into my room, get yourself stuck like this… desperate for someone to use you.”
Buggy whimpered, muffled and weak, his throat working around the shape stuffed in his mouth. He tried to shake his head, deny it, but the tremble of his thighs betrayed him.
Croco chuckled, dark and humorless. “Thought so.”
The snap of his belt echoed sharp in the quiet. Buggy’s breath hitched. The scrape of fabric, the faint rasp of leather sliding free, it was all too much.
Then heat pressed against him. Broad. Heavy. Croco’s cock slid along his bare ass, dragging slowly, teasing, making him squirm.
“Still not saying no,” Croco murmured, amused. His hook rested lightly against Buggy’s hip, cool steel a counterpoint to the heat burning through the rest of him. “Guess that means you’re ready.”
Buggy’s fingers dug into the wood, nails scraping useless grooves as Croco pushed inside.
The stretch was brutal. Too much, too deep, all at once. Buggy’s cry was swallowed down by his cock, which twitched beautifully in his own mouth, and Buggy nearly came just from that.
“Quiet,” Croco hissed, shoving harder until he was buried to the hilt. He held still there, letting Buggy’s body clench and quiver around him. His gloved hand stroked lazily down Buggy’s back, almost gentle, mockingly so. “Good girl. That’s it. Take it.”
Buggy’s eyes rolled back. He wanted to curse, to laugh, to beg, all of it locked behind his teeth. His body betrayed him instead, shuddering, grinding helplessly back against the thick cock inside him.
Croco pulled back slowly, then slammed forward, the sound of skin on skin sharp in the close room. His rhythm was ruthless, each thrust forcing Buggy deeper into the barrel, keeping him trapped, helpless and exactly as planned.
Leather creaked. Smoke lingered. Croco fucked him like he owned him, hook dragging lightly along Buggy’s side, the threat of it a constant reminder.
“You’re trembling,” Croco observed, voice maddeningly calm. “Is it fear… or is it because you like this?”
Buggy’s muffled wail was answer enough.
Croco smirked, leaning over him, weight pressing him down even more. “That’s what I thought.”
The pace built, rough, punishing. Buggy could barely breathe, chest crushed into the barrel rim, ass aching and stretched around every merciless thrust. His legs kicked, not to escape, but because it was too much. Too good.
Croco growled low, a sound vibrating against Buggy’s skin as he bent closer. “You’re going to come like this, aren’t you? Stuffed full. Helpless. With my cock inside you.”
Buggy screamed into his own gag, hips jerking wildly. His body answered before his pride ever could. The climax tore through him, sudden and violent, his cock spilling messily into his own mouth. His body clamped down hard around Croco, dragging a grunt from the man above him.
“Fuck,” Croco hissed, pace stuttering. He shoved deep, holding there as his release spilled hot inside Buggy, claiming him completely.
For a long moment, there was nothing but ragged breathing. Buggy sagged in the barrel, legs trembling, chest heaving, humiliation and bliss tangled tight in his veins.
Then Croco’s hand slid into his hair, tugging his head back just enough to hear the words.
“You were right, clown,” he murmured, voice low, darkly satisfied. “That was quite good.”
Buggy froze. His whole body jolted, realization slamming into him like a wave.
Croco knew.
He tried to jerk forward, scramble away, but the hook slid up to the back of his neck, holding him still with insulting ease.
Buggy slumped forward, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temples. His limbs were useless, trembling too hard to push himself free. The barrel’s rim dug into his stomach, kinda hurting him now.
Croco withdrew with one slow, deliberate drag, making Buggy shiver all over again. The emptiness that followed was almost worse, his body clenching around nothing, aching, used.
For a beat, Croco said nothing. He adjusted his clothes with calm, unhurried precision, as though he hadn’t just wrecked a Yonko into silence. Then, with a soft metallic clink, his hook tapped the barrel rim.
“Enough games,” he said at last. His hand returned to Buggy’s nape, firm but not cruel, guiding him upward. “Out.”
Buggy whimpered, struggling, half afraid and half desperate to escape. With a humiliating pop of fabric and wood, he managed to drag himself free, collapsing onto the floor. His face burned crimson as he realized he was still gagged by his own detached cock.
Croco arched one brow. “Pitiful.” He snapped his fingers, and sand whipped across the room, plucking the gag free and tossing it aside, it attached himself back to him instantly. Buggy gasped air into his lungs, lips wet and swollen, eyes glassy.
“You knew?!” Buggy croaked, voice cracked.
“Of course I knew.” Croco crouched with predatory grace, gloved fingers gripping Buggy’s chin, tilting his head up. Smoke curled from the cigar between his teeth, eyes sharp as razors. “Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you? Your scent. Your nervous little tremors. The way you gasp when you’re touched.”
Buggy’s throat worked. He wanted to deny it, to snap something back, but all that came out was a shaky, “Fuck…”
Croco chuckled, low and humorless. “That too.” He let Buggy’s face go, only to stroke his damp hair back, deceptively gentle. “You wanted this. And you got it.”
Buggy looked away, ashamed, aroused, everything tangled. He muttered, “You’re an asshole.”
“Yes,” Croco agreed easily, lips curling. “But tell me I wasn’t exactly what you wanted tonight.”
Buggy’s breath hitched. He stayed silent, which only made Croco smirk wider.
“That’s what I thought.”
The Ex-warlord straightened, towering over him. Then, after a pause that made Buggy’s heart race, Croco surprised him, he extended his bare hand towards him.
“Come on.”
Buggy blinked up at him, stunned. Slowly, hesitantly, he let Croco haul him to his feet. His knees wobbled, but the grip was steady, grounding.
“Next time,” Croco said, brushing dust from Buggy’s shoulder with casual disdain, “you don’t need a barrel.”
Buggy nearly choked. “N-next time?!”
Croco leaned close, smoke curling against Buggy’s cheek, voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Don’t pretend you don’t want it again.”
Buggy shuddered violently, every nerve alight. He couldn’t stop the truth from spilling, barely above a whisper. “…It was good.”
Croco’s grin was slow, dangerous, but not unkind. He patted Buggy’s cheek like one might reward a pet.
“Good boy.”
Buggy’s heart nearly stopped. He hated how much it made him melt.
As Crocodile turned to leave, coat sweeping behind him, Buggy collapsed back onto the bed, face buried in his hands.
Apparently, he really was absolutely insane… because it had been everything he’d dreamed of.
And he knew it would happen again. His cock twitched. He couldn’t wait.