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sordidmusings · 18 days

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I hope you know that when I feel like garbage about my writing I think about this reblog to feel a bit better 💀 which means A Lot cuz my brain is stubborn as shit lol

I am a fellow veteran of straight facing so much smut so knowing I can sate my own kind??? Beautiful 🤌🏻 hearing my penchant to get stuck over-describing everything instead of getting on with it is something someone really likes??? Relieving 💀 (I did spend like five paragraphs just on the o 🤡)

Looking at this rn for an energy boost to work on all the half finished shit I’ve got going on, including much more smut lol one is a series where I hope to get through many charas - hope you like abo for that one 🤡

Anyways, thank you so much for the reblog and response. I laughed much and also smiled big 🤍🤍🤍

Give (in) and Take (me) - (Beckman x Reader)

Art by shibama_TK9

A/N: *Hasn’t completed a smut in weeks, comes back throwing a niche character at you to spread simpin for him like a virus* plz love him he’s great and while he ain’t my main I’d have nooooooo complaints in partaking 😩 tryin to give @fanaticsnail some morsels cuz the writing for this man is quite devastatingly scant. She also a whole sweetie and wrote me some perfect Buggy when she found out I was doing this. Obviously I am much slower 🥴🥴🥴

Word Count: ~8.7k

Warnings: fem!reader, NSFW, there’s some plot at the front and back, bratty reader, brat-tamer Beckman, he does the Nanami hair grab 👌🏻, semi-public, standing, against the wall, man-handling, clothed sex, p in v, creampie, praise, degredation, lots of teasing on both sides, age gap? (briefly mentioned, ~30 and late 40s), Beckman is a lil mean but don't worry he's Whipped, this some filth filth 🥴 whoops

Now please come enjoy prodding the big gruff man (who just wants to treat you right) until he snaps

(˵¯͒〰¯͒˵)

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

You’ve had enough of the raucous jubilation in the bar, especially now that you noticed your awaited opening unfolding before you. The rest of the Red Hair Pirates were fully distracted in their jovial whirling, hooting, and playing, leaving a certain silver smoke cloud all by his lonesome. You’d been dancing through his whisps all night, enjoying how they’d wrap and curl around you as you went. It was in their nature to do so. Each brush of a hand got a shiver and a sigh and a trailing stare. Each floated conversation was leaned into, breathed in, savored. Each departure was followed with the turn and lean of his chest, pulled to follow from the sure grip on his thumping heart until his doubts rooted him down and resisted the tug.

You were plagued by your own doubts, mostly of what the “after” would look like, but you were certain of one thing: he was attracted. Along with his need to entwine with your presence, you’d noticed the tell-tale sign of his gaze drawn to lips, neck, breasts, hips, and thighs. You’d noticed the hunger growing his pupils so they could better suck in your image on each glance. You’d noticed how he had to keep flicking his tongue out to wet his lips, mouth dry from restrained need. Most importantly, you’d noticed the way he had to shift and shuffle while he watched you dance, fighting the need to pull you away for himself to join and trying to flush the heat from his body. Whatever it was that was holding him in his seat and keeping his hands and lips and tongue off of you, you were going to drag him right through it until he was fully in your grasp.

First thing’s first, you retook your spot on the stool next to him at the bar. Immediately the smoke tendrils embraced you; your drink was scooted back in front of you, his thigh slid sideways to seek the brush of yours, a lethargic smile took residence on his face to greet you. You responded with a coy smile of your own and then a hearty gulp of your drink. The steady burn and potent taste of liquorice cutting through the muddled mint and lemon centered you and heartened you for your plan of attack.

“Thanks, Becks, glad to have you as my cocktail guard dog,” you said with teasing humor. You gave his thigh a friendly pat that crossed the amicable boundary with a lingering hold and gentle squeeze, before you brought the hand back up to give you another sip of your drink. The taste of touch on his thick muscle had it twitch in delight. Your mouth watered at the feel, not quite sated with alcohol on your tongue when there should be skin.

“Any time, darlin’,” Beckman responded easily and honestly. “Though I don’t think there’s any here who would do much to it. Much more likely one of the fools will steal it to drink for themselves.”

You laughed at the statement, knowing how true it was. When the crew was drunk they got sticky fingers, and when it came to drinks they were the worst - none quite remembering whose was whose and caring even less to get it right. Knowing where you wanted to try and get this night to go, you’d kept yourself far behind them in intoxication. You kept yourself right in the sweet spot of inebriated enough for that coveted liquid courage but not so much that you were out of control of yourself. Besides, if you got your way you didn’t want any of the details to be foggy.

“Even so, it’s appreciated,” you reasserted, giving him a winning smile and stalling his heart. “Now can I ask another favor of you?”

“‘Course you can, darlin’,” he replied instantly. Another cheer rang out in the background, followed by the beginnings of a long and loud drinking song. Beckman used this as an excuse to lean into your space to better hear and see you. “What can I do for you?”

You centered yourself more forward towards the bar, just to force him to lean in even closer to chase you, and peeked at him from the corner of your eye. The look mixed with your mischievous smile had him ready and eager to agree to whatever you had in mind. Not that he’d let you see how easy it was for you to sway him.

“Well…” you trailed off, just to make him squirm, “I can think of lots of things you could do for me. I’m having trouble picking my favorite.”

Beckman’s brows rose at the blatant flirting. Sure, you’d both thrown some flirtatious comments at each other throughout your relationship, but they didn’t feel anything like this. They felt easy, friendly - like something to build rapport and have fun. This felt so much heavier - a gift offered to him that was pulling the possibility of closeness from cloudy dreams down to the ground with the weight of the warm cast of the bar lights, the dark desire in your eyes, and the sultry tone of your voice. He began to recount how many drinks he’d had to check if he was imagining the advances he’d long wished for. Maybe he should check for you too.

“Darlin’, how many drinks you got in you?” There was genuine concern in the question, mixing with a touch of incredulity. You scoffed at it all.

“Not enough to lose my sense, thank you very much,” you answered. To snub his misplaced worries, you downed the rest of your drink. “That was only the fifth of the night, we’ve been here hours, and you know it takes much more than that to take me down.”

“That it does,” Beckmann conceded. The bare affection in his voice and eyes while he said it had you flushing, finding care much more difficult to process than lust. “Now my task?”

Yet again, you took to keeping him in suspense. Instead of answering, you slowly drew your gaze over him, assessing him. He fought against the small shiver it put through him; he felt like you were staring straight through his clothes. He felt like he was getting the most important appraisal of his life and all he had to go on was the burning in your eyes and your cryptic smile. You were doing a better job of reading him; while his expression remained perfectly schooled, you were observant enough to see his tells. Just as when he watched you dance, he shifted in his seat, working through the flush of arousal poured on him from his nervousness and having your eyes glued to him. Between the curtains of his wavy silver hair, you saw his Adam's apple bob with a strong swallow. He started lightly drumming on the bartop with his fingers on the hand closest to you.

Using that to your advantage, you made your next move. Doing it slowly so he could layer each second with his anticipation, you trailed your fingertips across the knuckles of his fidgeting hand, halting the motion. You flicked your gaze up to check in on his eyes. They mostly held confusion, but so so much interest was also packed into his silver irises. Happy with the reaction, you proceeded to move your teasing touch further, traveling over the back of his hand and his wrist to play with the soft hair on his forearm in deliberate circles. Though he was nearly bursting with questions, Beckman kept his mouth shut and resolved to let you lead this at your own pace until you finally decided it was time to reveal your hand to him.

“I’ve decided,” you started, finally breaking the silence with an alluring whisper, “that I want more than one favor.” You stopped watching your fingers touch him to look at him through your lashes. “And I know where you can start.”

Beckman blew out a long breath, hoping to settle down his heart, which was still jumping and kicking. You’re not drunk, but this has to be the alcohol. You couldn’t be propositioning him. Him. Maybe he’s just a curiosity? Perhaps you were interested in trying out an experience with an older lover who’s had more years to learn his way around a woman? Maybe, even though you could have your choice of any of the patrons, you found him to be the easy target.

“And where is that?” he asked, making sure to keep his tone steady.

“You can take me home.” You noticed the real shock in his gaze, and for the first time in the encounter a bit of panic seeped into you. Thinking quickly to soften the blow, you explained, “Don’t wanna walk home alone with even a little alcohol in me, and I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Aye, darlin’, that I will.” The honesty in his words stoked your courage back into a steady burn even better than the one brought on by the hard drinks.

Using the hand that had been trailing over his forearm, you loosely held his wrist, slid smoothly from your seat, and began leading him out of the bar. Beckman followed you easily. You didn’t have to put any pressure behind your hold on him; he wouldn’t let you get more than a step ahead of him. Even with his close hover, you both ducked and weaved with practiced grace through the chaos of your crew and the rowdy celebration they’d whipped up with all the other patrons. By the time you’d reached the entrance, you’d ducked three swinging fists, five drunken “dances”, two frisbeed hats, one flung fork, and a pair of tossed shirts.

The door shutting behind you sealed away the cacophony of the crowd, melding it with the comforting ambience of late night bugsong and strangers distantly living their lives. The outside world felt pleasantly chill and calm, especially in contrast to the atmosphere of the bar. The slight bite to the air only made the small contact between the two of you feel that much sweeter in its skin-to-skin warmth. Both you and Beckman sucked in a deep breath of crisp evening air to savor the moment.

Throwing a cheeky (and, to his worry, slightly plotting) smile his way, you began to head in the direction of the docks. You only made it about eight steps. The moment the alley between buildings opened on your right, you yanked Beckman into the shadows with you. He stumbled after you with barely a fight, continuing his emotional flavors of the night: confused, intrigued, and happy to be here. Once you fell past the full streams of light from the street lamps, you spun around to him and pounced.

You began by rooting him in place, fisting your hands tight into his shirt by his waist and stepping so close that your chests and stomachs and hips and thighs touched. You leaned up to place a kiss right above the point in his v-neck, relishing the heat of his skin against your lips. You shivered at the feeling of a twitch of interest against your lower stomach. His hands quickly found your waist and gripped. He worried the flesh under his fingers, earning his first quiet moan from you. It only made his grip stiffen, warring with himself between his disbelief at your advances and the rabid need to pull you closer and make sure you never stopped.

Beckman began to use his hold on you to ease you back from him. You responded with a frustrated whine and greedy hands. Those hands massaged their way across the packed muscles of his sides and chest before twisting in the fabric over his large pecs and tugging him down to your height. Taking advantage of the untouched skin now within reach, you kissed and sucked your way over his collarbone and up his neck.

His plan of retreat crumbled under your advance, leaving him to paw his grip down to the meat of your hips and try not to succumb to the fierce instinct to grind his aching cock against you. Your head spun with your rushing blood and skipping breaths. The whirl was spurred on by finally getting to know the taste of his skin, the feeling of his coveting hands keeping you close, the sound of his stuttering breaths morphing into panting. Now you just needed to spur him from receiving into action.

“Beck, touch me,” you whispered against his ear. He shivered fully from your lips and breath ghosting over him and filling his skin with addictive tingles. Losing his concentration, Beckman guided your hips in one long, sturdy grind against his straining hardness. You nipped his earlobe in appreciation. “I want you to touch me.”

“You’re drunk,” he weakly protested.

“We both know I’m not,” you shot back. Switching your methods, you crawled your hands up his shoulders, his neck, and into his hair. You led him with sweet and teasing kisses against his cheek and jaw, playing with the way his head always tilted to follow your affections in a wanting daze.

“You should look for another man to share your body,” he tried again, this time managing to sound assertive through the breathiness of his voice.

“Do you really want another man touching me?” you bit back at him.

“No,” he instantly growled. The mere idea had always put a pang in his heart but feeling your touch and hearing the words from you made it more real, and he was no match for the spike of angry possessiveness that overtook him.

“Good,” you cooed coyly, lips back against his ear, “because I don’t want that either.” You took a long moment to tease your nails against his scalp and nip the skin next to his pulse. He succumbed to another torturous grind against you. Each press of him gave you a better idea of what he was hiding and had your mind running rampant trying to figure out how it would feel splitting you open.

“I want you,” you moaned, pushing all the genuine need into your voice that you could.

“Come on, pretty thing, you don’t mean that,” Beckman stubbornly argued. He’d sound much more convincing if he wasn’t moaning the words out with his strained rumble, turning the statement into a plea.

“I do though,” you whined back to him, right below his ear where you were working hard to leave another pretty mark. For all his propriety fueled hesitation, Beckman was still leaning down so you could reach his neck and tilting his stubbled jaw away, pleading for more of your attention. “I do mean it.”

Your own desperation and his unspoken pleas for your touch fueled your boldness. One of your hands left his tresses to wedge between your pressed hips and grab a hold of him. A groan shook through his ribs, only encouraging your hand to press and feel more. His cock twitched and jumped under your slow strokes and palming, begging for your touch when he wouldn’t. His cheek fell to your shoulder and his humid panting caressed your neck.

“Pretty girl, if you keep touching me like that,” his speech was interrupted by a poorly restrained moan, “I’m not gonna be able to keep my head.”

“Then don’t,” you encouraged, voice rushed and ravenous and pulling him to the depths of his urges in his new favorite siren song.

Having felt him in your palm, you became set on getting to feel him skin to skin. You wanted to feel the power of the radiant heat that poured from him so strongly you both felt like you were burning through your clothes. You wanted to see what’s been hidden from you, become privy to secrets that will let your fantasies forever hold more reality. You wanted to know he let you have this piece of him, let you take his body and take control of his pleasure. On top of all of that, you wanted to feel, see, and know the thick hardness that was going to stretch you wide open.

In your rush, you only gave yourself time to trail a few kisses down his chest on your way to your knees. Beckman leaned himself back on the wall of the bar, opening himself up to as much of your touch as you would give. He still attempted to keep his defense under the siege of temptation, taking to opening and closing his hands at his sides to keep them from manhandling you. He wasn’t strong enough, however, to push you away. Each touch of yours was teasing him with the heaven he’d been dreaming of finding under your hands and in your body. Now having had a taste of your touch, It’d take nothing short of a gun to the head for him to break from anything you were willing to give. Doesn’t mean he won’t try to steer it so you’re taken care of the way he wants you to be.

He looked down at you, hypnotized by the radiant image of you and your styled hair and your decorated lashes and your smudged lipstick actually kissing him, treating him with the desire he thought impossible. His eyes had long adjusted to the darkness of the alley, blessedly letting him take in this image to hoard forever.

As your knees hit the dirt path, it hit him - alley. You were getting yourself dirty to touch him, basically in public in your rush, stuck in a location with only hard ground and stone walls for comfort. The realization had his cock throb hard, getting an eager moan from you where you were kissing along his length while your fingers made their way under his sash to find the waistline of his trousers. Fuck, this was a dream. It was a dream, but not the one he wanted for you where he takes his time worshiping every inch of skin, treating you like royalty, going slow so when he makes you cum it shakes you from toes to fingertips to the crown of your head-

“Darlin’, you deserve better than some back alley fu-”

“What I deserve is you; now let me have you,” you grumbled back to him, nosing his sash up so you could leave kisses and nips right above the hem of his pants. You inched them lower and lower, following their descent with your hungry mouth and savoring every new speck of skin you could. You got past the ridge of his adonis belt when you realized he had nothing on underneath them, making your mouth water with ever more anticipation. You could tell from the tenseness in his muscles, the tremors in his thighs under your clawing grip, that he was at the end of his rope. Centering a kiss on his happy trail, you looked straight up into his eyes and ordered, “Now fuck me.”

You were just about to get his pants low enough to let his painfully hard cock out to greet with a kiss when an angry hand took hold of the hair at the back of your head. It clamped in a fist and turned, taking absolute control of you. White hot adrenaline poured through your body, bursting fresh with each hard pound of your heart and stuttering your every breath. That iron grip jerked back, forcing you to crane your head back with it and look up at the imposing bulk of Beckman looming over at you.

“You want me to fuck you?” he growled dangerously, leering down at you with a growing scowl. Steadily he curled himself down until his nose bumped yours and you were sure you could see how the lighting and lust had turned his eyes from shining silver to dark stone. The light pulsing in your scalp was no match for the shadowed face and piercing eyes of Beckman taking over your every thought and dragging your heartbeat low to drum between your legs. “Fine. I’ll fuck you like the slut you’re set on being.”

“I’ll happily be a slut if it's for you,” you breathed out before you could think, sounding nearly in a trance from his sudden dominant behavior.

The declaration had his cock jumping and his knees weak.

“Darlin’,” he moaned, voice stretched thin by his taut, straining need. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He surged down, stealing your lips in a bruising kiss, using his hold on your hair to control every tilt and press. Right away, you opened to each other, exploring the flavor of each other’s tongues and indulging in the tingles brought on by sliding the slick muscles over each other. You shivered and moaned when he flicked the point of his tongue on the roof of your mouth and he swallowed the sound down greedily. Never breaking his claim on your lips, Beckman hauled you up to your feet. The action set a pleasant burn on your scalp as you chase the pull of his grip. Your hands went back to work on getting his cock free, but he snatched them up.

“No,” he rumbled against your lips. “You’re just going to take what I give you.”

“Beckman,” you whined back to him between your continued fervent kisses, “let me touch you.”

“Sluts don’t make demands,” he snapped in a bitter taunt. Using his height to his advantage, he pulled out of the reach of your lips. He was still able to lean down over you and keep distance, forcing you to keep your head craned back with his fist in your hair and his gaze holding you hostage. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“I want you,” you moaned in complaint. Though your voice was warbly with want, your tone was way too petulant to be considered begging. Even so, it was testing his resolve.

“You’ll have me,” he answered gruffly.

Before you could realize what was happening, you were flipped around and swapped, now facing the rough wall of the bar with Beckman right behind you. He had released your hair so he could trap each of your wrists to your sides. He kicked your feet to spread with heavy boots and settled eagerly against your ass. He anchored you against him by pulling on your wrists, keeping you trapped against his grinding hips. The height difference had him centered at the level of your tailbone. The feeling of having you against his cock was overwhelming, especially with the plush of your ass massaging at his sensitive balls. Quiet grunts accompanied each circle of his hips, always carried with the erotic sound of his heavy breaths.

You tilted forward and arched your hips up, seeking attention against your weeping entrance and swollen clit. The change had his dick nestle between your cheeks, the base of his cock and his tense balls giving you a small piece of the pleasure you were seeking. He stood just barely too tall for them to give any attention to your clit, causing you to shift and shimmy back into him in search of more. Despite the lack of direct stimulation, your body was still in a pleasant buzz; he felt large and heavy and hot against you and your mind was swimming in joy at how hard you made him. The open-mouthed groan you earned from him with your squirming shot enough pleasure through you to have your clit pulsing.

“On your toes, slut,” he ordered.

You listened without thinking about it and were rewarded with the new height lining him up much better to grind against everywhere you wanted him. Well - almost everywhere. Most of all you ached for him to massage you inside out, rub and dig into every slick plush space you could offer. Despite the burn already entering your calves, you tilted your ass up even higher to feel any extra speck of friction you could get from him.

Beckman’s grip on your hips was commanding, he owned your every sway and grind of your clothed cunt and ass against him. The skirt you were wearing was beginning to ride up with each thrust, exposing inch after inch of fresh skin to his hungry eyes. Both of you thanked your choice of garment as he used one hand to shove it up and over your perked ass to hang limply around your waist. It swayed and brushed your legs with each continued motion, hypnotizing Beckman for a moment.

That moment was broken when he instead looked at your ass, smooshed high and round with each grind, your underwear cutting sinful lines across the muscle, making your skin pop around the tension in the most mouth-watering way. It had Beckman moaning from deep in his chest again and thanking whatever lucky stars he had that let him have you in front of him like this. The sight mixed with the new heat from being just that much closer to getting to your bare cunt had a flurry of possessiveness and need overcome him. He nearly bowed forward to the strength of it, but fought the call so he could keep watching your body writhe against him.

You had no doubt you were sopping wet, more than enough to make his slide in slick. Each grind of him against you had your soaked panties dragging with him, causing sharp friction that was just on the right side of too much. You wondered faintly if you were getting his pants wet too, wishing you could easily turn and see to find out. You wouldn’t have been disappointed; a steady dark spot had built on his crotch from a mix of your leaking pussy and his weeping cock. You had gotten him dripping pre-cum the moment you began kissing down his chest. It had only gotten worse with each touch, his body desperate and ready to be inside you.

Suddenly, one of his hands and his hips disappeared from you, leaving you feeling lost. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a whining moan at the loss, sounding fucked out and pathetic without either of you truly being touched yet. The small coherent part of yourself marveled at the number he had done on you.

“Don’t you worry, pretty thing,” Beckman grumbled, half placating and half condescending. The sound of shuffling fabric clued you in to his missing hand’s task. “I’ll give you just what you need.”

His large fingers hooked into the sides of your underwear, guiding them over your ass until they fell down. Your slightly spread legs had them catch on your thighs and Beckman huffed at the inconvenience.

“Stay right there,” he rumbled in warning as he crouched down. He dragged the soaked cloth the rest of the way off, guiding you with gentle cues. The slide of his fingertips down your legs sent tingles across your skin, but the delicate hold he put on each ankle to ease them out of the garment had your heart thumping. In this process his touch switched from tyrannical to reverent, making your mind sing with hope. That song only hit a great crescendo when he peppered the backs of your thighs with sweet and slow kisses.

As he rose back up and shoved the ruined cloth in his pocket, Beckman broke you both out of his worshiping trance by giving a playful and slightly mean nip to your left hip. You let out a little yelp despite yourself and he chuckled at the reaction, finding it absurdly cute. You shivered again at the throaty sound, nerves too easily tweaked from your potent anticipation. It only got worse when his hips found yours again.

Both of you moaned at the feeling of finally meeting skin to skin, immediately addicted to the wet heat and heady throb of each other. You sent your hips high with renewed vigor, spurred on by the need to chase more of the feeling of his thick cock against you. You were right about him being thick and long; his grinds spread your folds wide, exposing your entrance and clit to the sweet friction, and he laid across the length of your pelvis. It let him see the leaking red head of his cock peeking out from between your cheeks, the filthy image making his eyes roll back and an involuntary moan of “fuck, darlin’” growl out of him.

Beckman hooked his right arm around your front, nestling it as close to the tops of your thighs as he could get. It let him use your hip bones for stability in his hold, saving you from your weight crushing the limb into your stomach. The anticipation of feeling your legs bounce against his arm while he fucks you had him salivating.

He curled his arm, pulling your lower back flush to his abs. It made him take your weight, the toes of your shoes just barely scuffing the ground when you pointed them. You’d seen his insane strength before, but feeling it used on you had your body lighting on fire along with your cheering mind. Beckman’s other hand slid from your hip down and in on your thigh, spreading and lifting your leg until he was holding the inside of your knee out to the side. It left your cunt exposed to him, each grind of his further mixing your arousal with the pre-cum spreading down his cock.

“Hold that wall and keep your voice down,” Beckman instructed, “Unless you’re such a whore you need an audience.”

You let out a complaining moan at the harsh words but still writhed eagerly against him, unable to deny how they had you fluttering in anticipation. Your hands found purchase on the stone wall in front of you, giving you a sense of balance and security in your barely supported upper body. You were close to it so your arms were bent, allowing you strength and leverage. The force behind his grinds had you sure you’d need it.

Slowly and deliberately, Beckman slid his cock from root to tip between your slick folds, threatening you with his impressive length while he made sure he was properly coated. He only stalled the movement when his thick tip found its way down to your entrance. Unable to help himself, he ground a tight circle around it, groaning out a deep “fuck” at the feeling of your cunt trying its best to suck him in. You let out another keening moan, sounding vaguely like “please”, at the realization that his head was the perfect width to stretch you out right to the edge of your limits.

Angling his hips just right, Beckman followed the catch of your entrance to start forcing his way into you. You were right about the size of him; only his mushroomed tip was in and you already felt like your hips were being pressed wider. His achingly slow sink into you let you both feel every overwhelming bit of contact, every delicious rub of soaked skin on skin. Your mouth hung open, letting out appreciative moans, even though your attempts to hold them back left them clipped and jumbled.

Beckman had to shut his eyes and scrunch his brow to handle all the sensations flooding him. You felt so goddamn perfect wrapped around him. He felt somewhere in his being that you were made to be here with each other and force bliss from your pounding hearts and bodies. He finally fell to the call to curl as close to you as possible, his temple rested on yours, his stubble teasing your cheek, and stray gray hairs sweeping down to tickle your skin.

“So, so good, darlin’,” he praised breathlessly. He made it another inch into you, offering your cunt more firm flesh to clamp down on. “You feel better than a dream -nnngh- got the perfect pussy for me.”

An unrestrained moan tumbled past your lips at his praise, brain too empty and body too happy to care about anything anymore other than him and the feelings he brought out in you. The cheering and music from the bar was loud enough to lightly leak through the walls, so you wouldn’t have worried too much about attracting attention anyway.

He hadn’t prepped you any, but the abundant arousal sitting in your body so long loosened you up and made sure there was more than enough lubrication for him, especially with the addition of his own. His torturously slow press into you helped your body make room for him too. In fact, your pussy was so eager to open for him he felt like your walls were trying to suck him in quicker as they quaked and trembled around him. It made it near impossible to resist the urge to shove as deep into you as he could go, needing the hot grip of you around his aching cock and the pleasure of your plush ass and thighs pressed tight against his hips.

When he finally got there, you were both shaking and gasping. Your head felt light with the amount of bliss swimming through you at finally having him like this, held tightly in you while you shared your bodies. It also helped that he had you feeling so deliciously full; the press of him was potent enough to spread through your sides and up through your chest. It was the biggest stretch you’d taken but his size was just perfect, like he was built just to fit you and you him. The weight of his thick cock rested down towards your stomach, primed to massage your every favorite nerve.

“Just like that, darlin’,” Beckman groaned, starting his first pull back out of you. He continued with his slow speed to make you feel every ridge and vein in detail. Your favorite was the rim of his head dragging across your swollen walls. He sat that head just within your entrance and paused. “Bein’ such a good little slut.”

Right at the end of his praise, he shoved forward to fully sheathe himself back in you. The force of the thrust pressed the air from your lungs, creating a breathy moan, and gave you a taste of pleasure that had you certain that no matter how long he fucked you, you’d always want more of this potent bliss. You could live like this, fucked the rest of your life, just so long as he never stopped taking and touching you. He continued the strong and steady pace, needing to savor every second in your cunt, memorize every twitch and flutter. It had you whining, mind fraying under the threat of how much more he could give you.

“Beckman,” you moaned in frustration. “Give me more, I -ahhh- I need it.”

A punishing thrust had you feel him in your throat and your eyes rolled back in time with your high pitched moan. That moan turned into a rough whine when he stayed sat fully inside you instead of continuing. To tease you further, he began tight circles against you, making his pulsing cock play with every inch of your cunt, earning him a tight clench from you. This tantalizing rub continued as he moved to nip at your ear lobe.

“What did I say about making demands,” he warned, rumbling the words right against your ear. The puffs of his breaths shot goose bumps up your neck. He tilted his head down to tease his teeth over the flesh and continued his maddening little circles against you. With one leg trapped in his grip and the other barely reaching the ground, you had almost no leverage to work yourself back against him. Your abs burned with the effort as you tried to use your grip on the wall to stabilize yourself and grind back, but his iron grip was much stronger than any of your attempts.

You sobbed out a few needy moans at his continued meticulous playing with your body. Though you wanted so much more right away, that steady press of him waking up every inch of your insides was starting to build a pit deeper in your stomach than the one you were used to. Your mouth watered at the thought of what a full body high it could bring you but it felt so far away and you wanted to be smothered in pleasure now.

“Beckman,” you whined out, catching the way it made his breath hitch over your skin. “More, harder.”

Nothing changed and you were stuck spread open and suspended and at the mercy of his whims. It was the most deliciously frustrating thing you’d ever experienced, being forced to take the slow treatment. It made your body and mind agonize over every little sensation, every pulse and throb, every inch of you he reached that you’d never felt before. It made your ears take in the obscene sound of the little motions of his cock pushing drop after drop of your arousal out of your entrance to drip down his balls and your thigh. You flushed at how graphic it sounded, ears, face, and neck burning, especially with your combined heavy breaths and mixed moans and groans.

“You’re gonna have to try much harder than that, pretty little thing,” he goaded. You could hear the taunting condescension in his voice and you cursed the fact that it made your pussy spasm around him. The twitch of his cock that it earned inside you swelled your desperation to feel more from him until it swallowed your pride whole.

“Please,” you gasped, near truly sobbing in need. “Pleeeeease, fuck me harder, Beck, fuck me faster, please, just -hhhah- just need more.”

Beckman sucked harshly on your neck and set about answering your pleas. He changed right to fucking you fast and hard, making you yelp at the immediate flood of sensation. Your thigh and hips jumped in his grasp as you tried to take the onslaught. Every nerve in your pussy burned in the most beautiful way, emptying your head of any thoughts other than Beckman working your body into a quick frenzy. His teeth, lips, and tongue were decorating the sensitive skin of your neck; his hands and arm were clamped, making you feel blessedly trapped; his torso hovered on the back of yours, giving you brushes of his hard working muscles in motion; and his cock - his perfect cock - was bullying you open over and over and lighting every quaking inch of you ablaze.

Through your panting breaths and scattered moans, you could hear the wet slap of his hips against you, each impact making a little more arousal gush out of you. Being spread as you were also let his heavy balls tap against your clit with each hard thrust, ensuring every wired part of your pussy was seen to. You could barely form words but you were sure he caught the slurred praises you sent his way from how he echoed them back and kept adding more and more heat, pressure, grind, suck, and drag on you at your breathless moaning.

Stuck on the start of the encounter, he kept repeating a favored phrase to you - “So good, darlin’, such a good fucking slut”.

“Your slut,” you panted, “only -hnngh- yours.”

The pledge of ownership had his eyes rolling back and his mouth more ravenous against your skin. He needed to keep you locked to him forever, be on your skin forever, brand you as his, and have you mark him as yours.

“That’s right, darlin’,” he rasped, “only mine.”

He dropped your suspended thigh in favor of sinking a bruising grip into your hip. Your thighs clapped together with a wet smack, forcing a yelp from you as it jolted your clit. He placed an apologetic kiss on your shoulder and got right back to his tempo. The deep pressure he’d built with his deliberate grinding was now added to by every thrust, creating a shaking warning of the orgasm to come that sat from hip to hip and up to your ribs. It felt like he was fucking you just as deep, each drive of his cock seeming to replace the beating of your heart in your chest.

The new dancing on your toes had your calves, thighs, and abs working in sporadic clenches and twitches, the jerks and shifts causing pulses around your clit and into your trembling cunt. The new position made him feel all the wider as it let your labia relax around him and light up with delicious friction on each thrust in and pull out. The squeeze of your legs and muscles also put constant pressure on your clit, which Beckman would jostle with each forceful fuck into you.

All of it was getting to be too much and you were happily drowning under the rising tide of that threatening orgasm. It was swimming through your body so thoroughly you were sure you could feel each strong thrust pull pleasure from your very bones. Every piece of you that lived between your hips felt blinding white hot and pulsing and alive and so so very good.

The cherry on top of your euphoria were the pieces of the feeling you could hear echoed in Beckman. His voice was deep and groaning but also strained and fucked out as it whispered dark praises against your neck and shoulder. His breath was ragged and just as desperate as his touch, which was trying its best to permanently attach to your skin. His aching cock was just as responsive as your trembling pussy, dripping and twitching and jumping with each move and touch of your body.

Responding to the telling grip of your cunt clamping down constantly around him, Beckman slowed his pace slightly, focusing instead on the strength of each thrust and keeping his angle just right to drag you to your end. It accented the sound of each strong clap of his hips into yours and brought back clarity to the feeling of his thick cock spearing you. Your mouth hung open, panting and watering from the change of pace and unending pound and pull of him fucking your cunt into the shape of him.

“Beckman, Beckman, Beckman -ahh!- so cloooose,” you cried, voice thin and desperate. He cursed and moaned in response, the sound of you nearly making him lose himself and cum before you. He kept his pace pounding into you, each firm fuck lighting up your tightening walls and bouncing through your swollen folds and thighs to drum on your clit. Your head was swimming; despite your fast and canting breaths, you felt like you couldn't breathe, the air escaping you with each thrust beating a needy moan from your open mouth. The burn for oxygen only added to the tightly wound pleasure gripping you from throat to cunt, clawing tightest from your hips in, held steady between his sturdy hands.

Your toes and fingers tingled numbly in anticipation and shook just like the rest of you. Instinct tilted your hips just a degree higher, letting the tip of his dick tap just so against your cervix, ramping the overwhelming build even higher than you thought possible. Your moans yelped out sharper and higher amid sobs of “don’t stop, don’t stop, pleeeeease”, making Beckman groan and curse in his own mind-numbing arousal and frantic fight not to cum first.

A few more thrusts blazing across your cunt and shaking deep in your gut had the tension finally burst. You felt it first in the shot of electricity from your clit down to your toes and up to your buzzing head, before the tight pulse of your muscles took over everything. You writhed and shook against Beckman as he held you like a lifeline, trying desperately to fuck you through every second of heaven you could feel instead of following you over the edge. Each jerk and clench of your body gave you more and more bliss, the squeeze of you so tight and sure that it felt like there was only room for Beckman’s large cock in your body.

He couldn’t manage to pull even an inch out of your cunt, too weak to deny himself the bliss of feeling you cum, so he guided you through with shallow but heavy thrusts. Each tap on your cervix swelled you more and more until you weren’t sure if you had already cum or there was something else building on the other side of this endless screaming song in your nerves. Your answer came with the feeling of a snap that switched your cunt from long pulses into frantic milking down on Beckman’s jolting cock. Each squeeze was powerful enough to cause a full jerk and shudder of your hips, having you slip and grind in Beckman’s clawing hold on your hips.

“Fuck, darlin’, sweetheart, fu-uuuck, you’re too good, too much -ngah!- so goddamn perfect,” Beckman moaned out a stream of mindless praises while he shoved his forehead into the side of your neck, your only anchor in the torrent of sensation ripping through your body. After an eternity, your muscles and nerves began to relax, leaving your body feeling limp and heavy in the wake of your pleasure. You were positive nothing worked anymore except for your clit and cunt, both still drooling and twitching over Beckman’s shallow thrusts. You were thankful your closed legs kept the attention from overstimulating you fully. Beckam felt your body relax, getting an addicting sense of pride from fucking you into a limp puddle, and finally took to chasing his own pleasure.

“Need to see you,” he gasped, flipping you around and desperately pressing his twitching cock back into you. He shuddered at the relief, feeling ravenous and untethered every second he couldn’t be inside you. All his sanity was now held in the taste of your skin, the pleasure in your voice, and the sweet clench of your plush cunt. Pressing your foreheads together, he made it impossible to look anywhere but at each other. Even in the low light that managed to sneak between the buildings with you, Beckman’s silver eyes glowed while taking you in. The color looked sharper pressed thin by his lust-blown pupils and you were hypnotized as his gaze swallowed you whole.

Seeing the needy scrunch of his brows and the way he switched back and forth between clenching his jaw and hanging his mouth open to moan freely sent fresh sparks straight down to your clit. Having your legs spread around him had his racing thrusts teetering you on the edge of overstimulation, but it was well worth the sight and feeling of him rabidly chasing down his pleasure in your cunt. He was mindless and rutting in his need, enjoying your sopping heat contrasting with your nails scrabbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. The hug of your thighs around his waist kept him close and added to the wondrously tight clench of you that seemed to spread over his whole body. He was so, so close he just needed one little nudge.

“Beckman, please, need you -hahhn- need you to cum in me,” you begged, tone broken from all your moaning.

He was kicked right over the edge, barking out a deep “fuck” at the power of the orgasm shredding through him. He jerked his lips down to yours, holding you in an open mouthed kiss full of tongue and teeth and groans. He shoved himself as close as he could get to you, trapping you near painfully tight against the stone wall with his pressing bulk, demanding lips, and throbbing cock. His dick jumped hard with each pump of hot sticky cum deep in your cunt. It warmed you inside out and mixed with the heady knowledge that you’d completely unraveled this imposing man to unexpectedly drag you into a milder orgasm of your own. Each heavy jerk of him helped guide you through your own bliss, bodies working in perfect synch to have every pump answered with a coaxing squeeze. It kept you both suspended in your mindless heaven until you’d wrung every bit of pleasure from each other that your bodies could possibly give.

Beckman was certain that you’d sucked his very soul from him if the numb and clumsy feeling of his body was anything to go by. It wasn’t ready to listen to him, acting like it belonged to someone else and he supposed that was true; it was yours now. You’d held his heart a long time and his mind even longer, so it was only fitting that you owned his body too.

You didn’t seem to be doing much better with being in charge of your body, eyes half-lidded and lashes fluttering against the need to close. You were a vision - your foggy and affectionate gaze glued to him from under dark lashes, the flush tinting your sweat-damp skin, your lips parted and kiss-swollen, hair a wild crown around your head, decorating your face with stray strands. He studied and admired the image of you fucked-out and languid with eagerness and reverence. You were doing much the same, enjoying his mussed silver waves of soft locks, his gently shining eyes, the hints of red on the apples of his cheeks and his chest, the heavy rise and fall of his sculpted shoulders as he tried to catch his breath.

The sound of a drinking song spiking high in volume snuck through the wall and shattered your illusion of privacy. You were both suddenly back against the side of the bar instead of whatever pocket world you had carved out for just yourselves. Beckman continued to hold you steady as he slowly let your tired legs down, your skirt following after to hang back in place. Your legs shook under you like it was your first time standing and you laughed at their clumsiness. Beckman cracked a loving smile at you, stealing your breath and halting your chuckles. Again the melody within the bar seeped out to you clearly and you laughed even louder this time when you recognized one of Shanks’ favorite tunes. While he tucked himself away, Beckman raised a brow at your cackling until he recognized the song too and added his own gentle laughter to yours.

Looking him straight in the eyes, you fought to sing along properly through your bubbling giggles.

“I took that lass and smacked her ass

Said darlin you’re comin’ with me”

He took your hips and pulled you to him, guiding you in the closest to a swaying dance that your uncooperative legs would allow. He quietly joined you on the next lines, treating you to the deep and raspy parts of his voice that lived in his chest.

“Ain’t got a hall but we’ll use the wall

Just give me an hour or three”

“What do you say, darlin’?” Beckman asked with humor dancing in the light reflections in his eyes. There was a seriousness underlying his tone in his next question, however. “Willing to give me a few more hours?”

You gave him a sweet smile but turned it coy, your attitude sneaking back as your mind stabilized. “You’ve got one to convince me to keep you.”

Beckman huffed out a laugh at your bite coming back and leaned down to kiss your forehead affectionately. He took a moment to rest his cheek atop your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, delicately tinged with a touch of sweat and sex. It had him shiver and start to twitch back to life. Slowly, he trailed kisses from the top of your head to the tip of your ear. His warm breath made you shiver and begin to heat again as well.

“Sweet darlin’,” Beckman mumbled, lips tickling the rim of your ear, “I’ll have you back to begging for me in half the time. Gotta show you that I don’t just know how to fuck; I can worship.”

#crying in the club #thank youuuuuuuuu #motivation for me

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sordidmusings · 18 days

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LOOK AT YOUR LITTLE RACCOON OMFG I L O V E

Our neighborhood trash kreechurs would be honored to have them ngl haha

I decided to be obnoxious and make a gay possum clown because I too am simply a gay possum 💀

We have many around and I adore them with my whole heart 😭🤍🤍

No pressure tags to @fanaticsnail @writingmysanity @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here and @snippychicke to join the critter circus!

Cute animals and clowns, let's gooooo

Picrew link

no pressure tags @rorywritesjunk @be-not-afraid-gg @lostfirefly @sordidmusings

#tag game #picrew game #critter circus #gay possum

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sordidmusings · 18 days

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2 of them want buggy dead the other wants to honk his stoopid red nose <3

#ME FUCKIN TOO SHANKS #I’m a clown for the clown #they shouldn’t knock it til they try it #cross guild #red haired shanks #buggy the clown #sir crocodile #dracule mihawk #fanart #one piece

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sordidmusings · 19 days

Note

The tender love and care series has me just-

Thank you so muuuuuuuuuch 😭🩵💚 thank you for sending and for enjoying!!!

I’ll have to actually post the rest of it sorry about that 😅 it’s got more moody clown being met with soft love because I have an endless need to coddle him 😩 and hurt/comfort type vibes are a whole ass weakness for me I NEVER tire of it

Yet again thank you so much for the love and I’m very happy that you got something out of reading❣️

#precious readers #ask #SordidMusings’ TawdryResponding #my writing

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sordidmusings · 19 days

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Me drunkenly hyping you to try out that redacted material. Get 👏🏻 your 👏🏻 mens 👏🏻😘

I’m glad I can blast it to you cuz like you said it’s in my name - all sordid musings all day long and no place they should go 💀💀💀 now sometimes featuring a Rare sappy ramble I let escape the prison to visit you lol

I adore you too, dearest moot-wife 🤍🤍🤍

Moots Mooting

Conversations with @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry

Snail: "Okay, Ladies. So, hear me out..."

Smol-Snail: "Absolutely not. Cut his ankles, watch him fall."

Artistry: "I'm not judging, but know my eyebrow is raised."

Sordid: "It would certainly be an experience. I don't blame you."

Snail: "He looks exactly like a terrible decision I can't wait to regret making later. Would it be greedy to want both Donquixote brothers?"

Sordid: "To enjoy both? No. To have both at the same time? Might be a little weird. Too small a radius to have-(redacted, 18+, NSFW, mdni, living up to her name, lots of thoughts, I adore this woman and her mind)."

(Also, just know that when I talk with you guys about these guys: it feels very much like we're sitting around and having a drink at a bar. Just looking, {dis}respectfully at a couple of the blorbos from afar. Love you guys).

#precious moots #silly thoughts #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #donquixote brothers

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sordidmusings · 20 days

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Started this yesterday but only got a short way when Life was Happening where I was struggling to read. Besides that I def take my time while reading 💀 and I'm glad to have done so so I can fully enjoy the writing instead of just breezing through it. Below are the inane rambles - some of the thoughts/reactions/yada yada yada lol

Comforting Shachi did things to my heart idk man 💀 bring comfort caretaker bring Big Joy 👌🏻 also wish I had the balls to give friendly kisses it’s one of my fav affectionate gestures and Shachi and Penguin need All Of Them

Law being perturbed by sinking to childish showboating and squabbling when in the supernova trio has always been a fav - it just makes it even funnier that he's self-aware but can't help it lol He do also need to know that if he lets it out in bursts when there won't be any true consequences, then it'll be easier to regulate when there are 👌🏻 Also been eternally crying over his need to reclaim a childhood. There are so many charas in One Piece that need this and his case but especially how coping with that lack of childhood manifested in him hits especially hard.

Brook was definitely not ready to get so much info for once in response to his greetin lol and I love the idea of him struggling to decide if he likes the idea of there being no info cuz there's no panties or if simply a color or style would have been better. Also the fact that he ups the ante immediately 👌🏻 love a man who when given an inch of attention will crave many miles 😩

I love that Penguin and Shachi are just immediately on board with helping reader fuck the skeleton 💀 truly beautiful enablers 👏🏻 Also, was wondering why the relationship with them was so kissy (not a complaint trust me lol) and it being for jealousy of a believably misinterpreted action is a good choice 👌🏻

Dressing nice, both in the outfit part and the lingerie part, for Brook would be so nice because you know for a FACT that man would appreciate the fuck out of it lol an absolute confidence boost is inevitable

It only hit be just now while reading this that Brook basically has a form of pic for the tip of each finger so when he plays guitar he could use them as such. To create the warm sound of finger picking and try to fight the more metalic tones that would come out of the strings with his fingers, he'd probably have to wear something. The first thing that comes to mind is leather gloves but that would still struggle to get the right timbre I think. The best it could be would probably be a thin layer of supple leather lined internally with a thick layer of cloth. My first thought was thick leather, but that would be near impossible to keep from being stiff especially when formed to the shape of fingers. The give of fingertips is really essential to the subtleties you can bring out when fingerpicking and it makes me sad to think of Brook trying to endlessly chase that 😭 Of course, like many of the things Brook does, the being a literal skeleton thing has its paradoxes for the sake of a better and smoother story so it is simply a very pedantic long ramble 💀 His soul or some shit makes it happen, just as it makes his voice possible with neither lips, tongue, nor vocal chords

It's so unbelievably sweet that songs reader adored while learning music and through her life were the work of Brook. I'd give my left leg to meet some of my favorite composers and would also very much fall head over heels if I heard them playing their works firsthand 🫠

Knowing he's playing classical I had to think of what to imagine him playing and ended up with a Basic Ass Choice 💀 It is of course Une barque sur l'océan - the title is broadly fitting for the whole pirate thing but It's also a piece that I think fits Brook well because of the section of struggle and despair towards the end, where the boat is alone and at the mercy of the ocean's whims. Of course the song is long and the harsh parts wouldn't quite fit The Vibe so if he did this one it would be smart as the pianist to just play roughly the fist half, using those flourishing arpeggios across the whole keyboard to create a solid enough final cadence

I HAVE A VERY DEEP NEED TO JOIN IN ON THE BUG GAMES YOU HAVE NO IDEA DUDE. Basically all my spiders would absolutely lose in this game, but I'd at leaast get to sow them off without it being me randomly gushing about arachnids to people 💀 If any are interested, my Colombian curtain web spider, Thigh Highs, is the only one of mine I think wouldn't freeze in terror, move at .0005 mph, or die of fright lol they are all such little Weenie Babies. (Came back up to this paragraph to add that I would simply Die if any of my babies entered the gladitorial matches, they are too precious to risk any harm 😭)

Hurdy-gurdy is such a fun choiiiiiiiiiice I love its sound and it holds its own really well irl in backing someone up

Brook's confession at yearning for lips to just receive a proper little kiss has me achinggggg 😭 My heart goes out to the dear dear man

A therapist using their skills for Evil to manipulate Brook into apologizing has me cackling ngl 💀💀💀

Also adore the mood at the end going back to the fun playfulness with Brook!! I think he's at some of his best when he's like that, it feels really natural and charming 🤍

Wonderful job as always love bug❣️❣️❣️

Parts You Left Behind

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 7,300+

Synopsis: You are the ship’s counselor aboard the Polar Tang. Giving your captain the permission he desires to behave idiotically with the two Nakama captains, you give yourself permission to behave with similar unbridled stupidity. The Soul-King Brook has your romantic attention: you love his energy and decide to reciprocate his flirtations, no matter how crass and distasteful they come across.

Themes: Brook x f!reader, therapist!reader x nakama-musician!brook, skeleton kisses, cheek kisses, platonic kisses, romantic kisses, angst, fluff, crews being themselves, validating feelings, requited love, flirtatious dialogue, talks of panties, heart-pirate!reader

Notes: this was meant to be a small drabble. And the same thing happens every time I try writing a small drabble - we end up with a full fic. Apparently I have a lot of angst inside about the Heart-Pirates that needed to get out, and also skeleton kisses. Posted a day late for the Skele-man's bday. Thank you to @sordidmusings and @since-im-already-here for helping me with boney kisses.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @feral-artistry @gingernut1314 @vespidphoenix @carrotsunshine @cinnbar-bun @i-am-vita @mfreedomstuff (sorry if you're all not into the skeleton. He needed some love)

The air shifted the weight of salt-forward air through the strands of fallen hair which whipped across your face. The docking of the three ships, joined together by ropes and beams, were thrust into the hull by a soft thump. Your crewmate Shachi instinctively reached for your forearm to steady himself on, gritting his teeth as he adjusted to the new altitude above deck.

“You alright there, big boy?” you cocked your head to the side as Shachi balanced himself on your forearm and the metal beam framing the deck. He hid his head from view, shooting you a swift gesture with his thumb to indicate his well being. You smiled at him, shifting his weight on your arm by weaving yourself beneath his shoulder.

Rubbing soothing circles onto his back, you aided him in adjusting to the altitude difference, as he grew accustomed to life above the barrier of the oceanic waves. Being at lower altitude saved Shachi’s sea-sickness from the swell of waves, rocking his body and causing his stomach to lurch with every rise of the ocean surface.

“I got you, sweety,” you cooed at your red-headed crewman, holding him steady as he holds back the rise of bile in his throat: refusing to open the floodgates to expel the contents of his stomach, “Take some deep breaths for me, hun. Big one in,” you breathed with him inwards for three seconds, holding it briefly, “And then out,” you exhaled with him.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Good job,” you praised him, feeling a shudder in his shoulders as he fought back the sickness in his stomach and mouth. You breathed with him a few more times, praising him on every inhale and exhale that he took with you. Once adjusting to the pattern of the swelling ocean, he turned to face you.

“It’s just hard, you know? Being under the water, then over it again,” he commented, leaning into your touch with his back arching beneath your palm, “It’s the rocking that does it for me. Just the constant rocking.”

“I dunno,” you shrugged beneath his shoulders with a bitten-back, downturned smile, “I don’t mind a bit of constant rocking from time to time.”

Shachi expelled a roar of laughter accompanied with your own at your unbridled jest. He hooked his arm over your shoulder and teetered off into a light chuckle. You looked up at your crewmen beneath your shoulder and shot him a winning smile. He reflected the expression on your lips with one of his own.

“There’s a few members of the Straw-Hat and Kid-Pirate crews, hun,” Shachi commented, gesturing to the ship that had docked with your own with the index finger of the hand around your shoulders, “Maybe you could find some constant rocking amongst a few of them.”

Your captain, Trafalgar Law, made you aware of all of the crew that served the Captain of the Thousand Sunny. The ever growing list of occupants never seemed to end: Captain Luffy, First-Mate Zoro, Navigator Nami, Marksman Usopp, Chef Sanji, Doctor Chopper, Archeologist Robin, Shipwright Franky, and finally, the Musician Brook.

Your role as the counselor of the Heart-Pirates, executing your position with the utmost excellence, had you immediately drawn to advise your captain with the Nakama encounters with the Straw-Hat Crew. You knew a few members of the crew, the person you seemed to gravitate towards the most was Nico Robin. Her level-headed dimenure alongside her ability to balance the rapport of the crew was truly admirable.

The other was the playful musician, Brook. The first time you met with the Straw-Hat “Brook,” you were truly ill-prepared for what was to come of it. Where a few people found his straightforward approach of flirting with the opposite sex repulsive, you found it quite endearing. When he performed his melodic compositions, you were entranced by his musicianship. You adored him, and would love to get to know him in the arena of flirtatious engagement.

“We’ll see,” you smirked up at him, pressing a small, friendly kiss on your crewmate’s shoulder before you gave his waist a gentle squeeze, “How are we feeling, Shach?”

“A bit better,” he confirmed with a nod, looking over to the docked ship and their crewmen, “Just gotta focus on not locking my knees, and we’ll be all set.” He turned to look down at you, smirking with his eyes shrouded beneath his glasses. Leaning down, he pressed a small kiss on your forehead before breaking from the embrace.

Shachi, Penguin and you were the closest amongst the Heart-Pirate crew. The seas were incredibly lonely, comfort being scantily found amongst one another aboard the crew. It started one night when the shifts were switching between the ‘am’ and ‘pm’ crews, your body reacting in its exhausted state within changeover.

“Nothing new to report here, just a small blip on the monitor indicating the arrival of a school of fish,” you yawned at Penguin, he nodded in understanding.

“Alright then,” he confirmed, clapping a hand on your shoulder in his own dissociative and sleep-deprived state, “Get some rest. See you in a couple winks, honey.” You hummed in response, cupping his left cheek within your right hand and pulling his right cheek towards you.

“Night-night,” you uttered, pressing a small peck on his left cheek before turning to his redheaded shift-partner beside him, “Happy shift-watching,” you uttered, breaking contact with Penguin’s body before extending the height of your body by standing firmly on the tips of your toes. Grasping Shachi’s cheeks, you tilted his head to give him a gentle peck on his forehead before heading off to crew-quarters without any further explanation.

After that moment, the three of you became as close as close friends could be. Jokes, playfulness and comradery were always openly expressed physically between the three of you. Should Captain Law make port, you would wingman for your special boys, just as they would absolutely reciprocate for you. Each time Law made a Nakama encounter, you would all be on the lookout for appropriate couplings for one another.

“All crew: prepare to board,” your captain’s voice rang over the speakers with a soft crackle, “Reconvene aboard the Straw-Hat vessel. Counselor, to my side.”

Bowing a small nod and giving Shachi a final squeeze, you broke from your position within the arms of Shachi and made your journey to your position beside your captain. Both the Victoria Punk and the Polar Tang bound themselves against the Thousand Sunny: sandwiching the great lion figure between their own figureheads.

Approaching your captain, you cupped your palm over his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. He huffed out an acknowledgement of your name and title while he bowed his head.

“You wanted to see me, Captain?” you asked him, stepping into his peripheral view. He continued to have his head bowed low, pursing his lips into a straight line. You furrowed your brows, sinking lower to get a better gauge on his emotions.

“I have a confession, Counselor,” he nodded, opening his eyes and looking above his descended brow, “And I need absolutely no judgment other than the highest level of professionalism.”

“Understood, Sir,” you smiled, releasing his shoulder and quarrying your own as a way of depicting your full attention, “You will always have my ears, along with my complete attention.” He sighed in gratitude, tilting his chin to elevate his eyes upwards.

“Being with those two captains makes me-...” he paused with a light scoff in his tone, “...-make awful decisions. It’s as if I am no longer in control of myself: always doing something to prove how much of a man I am to not only them, but to myself.”

Nodding along to his confession, you wordlessly agreed with all points he raised regarding himself. You relaxed your stance, opting to remain more compassionate and empathetic while you listen to your captain speak. As of this moment, your captain was only a man - and one that desired to verbally process with his therapeutic confidant: you.

“I put our very lives at stake with this utter stupidity,” he continued, shaking his head at himself as he uttered his confessions to you, “All I seem to do is share a single, joint brain cell with those two morons each time we meet. There are no intelligible thoughts I can call my own, only competition and idiocy seem to remain.”

After taking several moments pause, Trafalgar D Water-Law waited patiently for you to offer a countenance for his predicament. You suddenly allow a warm smile to begin its rise on your lips.

“May I ask what our purpose is with docking with the Thousand Sunny and the Victoria Punk?” you pose your question as simply as you can. He furrows his brows, clicking his tongue in thought.

“It’s a simple exchange of information,” he confirms with you, eyeing your face as you receive this knowledge, “And to determine if our alliance should remain valid in its longevity.” You hum in response, pursing your lips before allowing that warmth to return to your features once more.

“Then I would suggest leaning into the so-called stupidity, sir,” you shrug, scrunching your nose before looking to the hull of the Thousand Sunny. Cyborg-Franky was tying up the rigging to secure the Polar Tang in position to ensure it didn’t slip away in the swell of water with the dark-haired Nico Robin beside him.

“Excuse me?” Law expressed his concern with a low tone, “Lean into it?” You hum emphatically, returning your gaze to meet with your captain. You shrugged nonchalantly, cocking your head to the side to get a better gauge on the emotions of your captain.

“We’re not in any danger here, sir,” you relay your translation of his objective, “We have no threats posed to us, that is not at the hands of one another. I doubt the other two captains and their crew would make any attack on our vessel here, if we’re all in a similar predicament.”

Law stands quietly, interlacing his hands behind his back as he mulls your words over in his head. He inhales a deep breath, closing his eyes with his brow deeply furrowed in the center of his forehead.

“If I also may, sir,” you add, stepping closer to your captain, “You are only twenty-six years old. You are young,” you dip your head down to capture his gaze, his eyes now reopened, “And from what we’ve discussed in our prior sessions together: the opportunity to behave like a child in your youth was taken from you by illness and cruel, tyrannical hands. You never truly had an opportunity to be stupid, Captain.” His small gasp was barely audible, eyes widening at you giving him permission to behave childishly.

“Then what would you suggest, Counselor?” He questioned you a final time, floating his gaze with the utmost seriousness between your playful eyes.

“Allow the crew of the Polar Tang to switch out of their uniforms, and let us all be stupid together,” you smile at your captain, extending your hand up to clasp his shoulder once more, “You deserve to be stupid amongst friends. Even if it’s just for a little while. If it matters, as one of the few members of your crew you trust with the rank and title to dismiss you from active duty-...”

Law’s eyes never left yours as you softened your playful expression

“...You have my permission to be stupid, sir,” you quip with a small wink, releasing his shoulder from within your grasp and turning back to make eye contact with the Thousand Sunny’s archeologist. You give her a small wave and a broad smile, with a final word to the gloomy man by your side, “But really, the person who’s permission you truly need is your own. Give yourself the luxury of behaving like, as you say, ‘a moron’ for a few moments. See what happens.”

With that final word, Law dismissed himself from his place standing beside you and hurriedly scurried below decks to, presumably, his office. In his sessions with you, he has worked through a few hard truths, all of which resulted in him taking a few moments in isolation to allow the truths to sink in. This appeared to be such a moment as this; which left you, in his absence, to be the welcoming committee to both the Straw-Hat and Kid-Pirate crews and their Captains.

As you walked over the wooden plank used as a makeshift bridge between the vessels, Nico Robin offered you her hand to stabilize your footing as you stepped down onto the deck. Her radiant smile elevated her features, mirrored within your own.

“Counselor,” she addressed you with the smooth hum of her voice.

“Archeologist,” you acknowledged her title with a soft nod in your welcome, “Are we reduced to titles now? Shall I address all of you in such a manner?” Luffy smiled at you, his pearly teeth shining beneath his upturned eyes.

“Where’s Traffy at?” Luffy asked loudly, his voice carrying over to alert the red-headed captain at the other side of the deck, “He not with you?”

“Unfortunately not. My captain is not available to conduct the preliminary introductions of our crews presently,” you relayed your practiced response, “Is there anything I can do to make this first step more comfortable for you while we wait, Captain Luffy?” you asked before turning to the taller man rapidly approaching, “Or you, Captain Kid?” you finished your question with a low bow and awaited their responses.

“Nah,” Luffy shrugged, clapping his hands behind his neck and offering you a tight-lipped smile, “Welcome aboard, Counselor. Tell your crew to get comfy, Sanji has made a whole heap of food for us all.” You rose from your deep stoop, smiling at Luffy before turning to Eustass Kid and awaiting his response.

“Traffy sends his cute little counselor ahead of him to meet us, instead of showing his ugly mug up here,” Kid smirked, his lip paint cracking in the warmth of the sun, “Smart man, that captain of yours.” You chose to remain stoic at his unbridled, backhanded compliment of your captain. You extended your chin into the air, narrowing your eyes at the tall captain.

“I would prefer all compliments coming my way be not at the expense of my captain’s intellect, nor his appearance,” you snarled, arching your brow at him, “If that would be all, Captain Kid.”

“Aye. That’s all, little mouse. Scurry on back to your duties,” he smirked down at you, his narrowed eyes training after you as you turned to direct your crew, now in common clothes, aboard the Thousand Sunny. They all seemed more than joyful at their captain’s lax behavior, depicting their personalities in their own styles rather than in boiler suits. The only member of the Heart-Pirate crew that remained in their uniform was yourself, eagerly awaiting for your captain’s dismissal so you could change into common clothes, yourself.

You felt a presence behind you, your blood running cold as a shudder curled itself up from the base of your spine to the top of your skull. The small rattle of bones indicated the soul which stood behind you, a smile immediately tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Pardon me, miss,” the soft-spoken voice addressed you over your shoulder, “Would you mind terribly if I were to ask you what type of panties you were wearing?” Your tight-lipped grin did very little to stifle your teetered giggle at such an insanely, forward question from the familiar man behind you.

“Soul-King Brook,” you addressed him, turning to meet with the hollowed eyes of the skeletal form which stood before you. He was dressed in a purple, velvet suit, his hair curled and styled in a carefree, circular afro. The beads hanging from his skeletal neck shook and rattled against his exposed ribcage, the perfectly bleached bones secured with a black, leather belt.

Eagerly awaiting your response, he pressed the tips of his fingers together in anticipation of your response to such an unhinged question. He could not remember if you were the type to yell, if you were the type to respond with violence, nor if you were the type to simply scoff and walk away from him.

“If I were wearing any, I would absolutely inform you of the make and model,” you smirked up at him, before adding a soft wink with a further hushed utterance, “When I am dismissed from duty by my captain to change into more comfortable clothes, I would be more than happy to tell you the exact shade of the ensemble.”

If you had never met this man in encounters prior, you would scoff if anyone ever attempted to convince you that skeletons could blush. But you did know him, and here he was: Brook, the Soul-King, the undead skeleton - blushing red at your words. The cracked cap above the crown of his head popped briefly, to which you almost thought you could see steam rise out of the hollow crevice.

Nami, the straw-hat navigator, noticed the skeletal musician beside you seeming to have a small rush of energy pop out of his cranium. Immediately, she hastily walked to your side to ensure the skeletal man was behaving himself.

“I-If then, it wouldn’t be too much trouble, miss,” he stuttered over his words, tumbling through his teeth without anything to halt them, “Would you mind telling me if the carpet matches the drapes?”

“Brook!” Nami scolded her crewmate with a loud reprimand, “You can’t just go around asking people if-.” You halted her words with a wave of your hand and an enthusiastic giggle.

“-It’s perfectly fine with me, Navigator,” you huffed a laugh at both his poorly held conversational skill, and the response his crewman welcomed him with, “I am more than capable of defending myself if I were ever uncomfortable, but I thank you for your valiance nonetheless.” From the corner of your peripheral, you notice Law’s presence aboard the Thousand Sunny. He gives you a curt nod before elevating his chin sharply to excuse you from active duty to change out of your uniform.

“If I may be excused, Nami, Brook,” you nodded to the two Nakama crew respectfully, which they both reciprocated. You turned and began to take a few steps, casually calling over your shoulder, “To answer your question, Musician: The last time I checked, I wasn’t bald up top.”

The whistle of steam sprung into the air behind you, the rattles of the rotation of excited bones clinked together behind you with the familiar, unhinged laughter you had come to enjoy upon your meetings with the Straw-Hat crew. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself as you made your way back to the Polar Tang to redress yourself in more appropriate garb for the encounter.

Brushing your shoulders against Shachi and Penguin as you began to go below deck, Penguin quickly grasped his hand over your wrist and halted your movement. You quickly snapped your head to him as he lent down towards you.

“You keen on the skeleton, honey?” he whispered his hushed question into your ear, “Need a wingman to set something up? We can be on the lookout for something, if you like.” You laugh at his questioning, shaking your head at his enthusiasm at the proposition of a romantic fling amongst the crews. Feeling the loosening of his grip over your wrist, you quickly pressed a small kiss against his cheek in gratitude.

“I think I can manage on my own,” you confirmed with a small teetered laugh, “He is quite easy on the eyes, and I find his unbridled lust for the living flesh endearing.” Shachi joined you with your laughter, both quickly dismissing themselves from your presence as you hopped back on board of the ship you called home.

Hollowed eyes tracked your every movement. From the grip on your wrist, to the kiss on a cheek, to the teetered giggle rising between the three of you. Brook didn’t truly understand how to feel in this moment: a woman of his dreams seemingly reciprocal of his flirtations being more than friendly with her own crewmen. Was this foreign emotion jealousy?

He turned his head from your position, as your silhouette vanished below decks of the Polar Tang. He felt a warm hand tuck itself within his skeletal palm, giving his bones a gentle squeeze in support. Nico Robin offered Brook a smile alongside her affectionate touch, soothing over his scattering nerves.

“She is friendly with those two, Brook,” she hummed up at his tall form, “You, of all people, understand how lonely it is on the seas. She’s blessed to have found friends to offer her a gentle touch and a friendly embrace from time to time.”

“That I do, Robin,” Brook confirmed softly, nodding to himself as he knit his thoughts together, “I just-...” he trailed off, his onyx hollows seeking out the former position you were atop the deck of the Polar Tang, “...I would never dream of ruining that, should I choose to entangle myself with her. She’s wonderful.”

Robin’s gaze floats over to the two crewmen of the Polar Tang you had found a family with, both of which were focussed in deep, private conversation. Their eyes would float up to Brook, as their hushed whispers were scheming in hyper-focussed plotting.

“Something tells me you won’t be ruining anything, Dear,” Robin chuckles before releasing Brook’s hand and giving him a small tap on his shoulder in encouragement.

As you stripped out of your boiler-suit, you hastily made yourself more comfortable in clothes you rarely found yourself donning. You quickly made an appropriate arrangement of your favorite dress: cinched in the waist, accentuating your figure in a perfect hourglass and laid it out on your bed. Before you threw on a plain set of undergarments, your fingers halted on fabrics you had yet to have an opportunity to wear.

A small smile grew into a playful, mischievous grin, as your fingers looped over the lingerie: hastily drawing it up onto your body. You usually wore this garment if you were feeling particularly dull in your boilers uniform: something only for you to wear to make yourself feel more confident. You giggled as you hooked your thumbs over the bottom piece and pulled it up over your thighs to settle on your hips. Hooping your arms through the arm holes of the corseted bodice, you tightened the front of the piece to accentuate your breasts within the cups.

You quickly took a moment to laugh at yourself at your own stupidity, before you reminded yourself: “If I gave the captain permission to allow himself a moment of idiocy, why should I not do the same? Where is the harm?”

Throwing your dress over your head, you took a final glance at yourself in the mirror. Hastily adding a small amount of makeup to accentuate your features, you hurriedly made your way back up to the top deck of the Polar Tang while adjusting your laced ankle boots as you took lengthy strides.

As you made your way back aboard the Thousand Sunny, you truly took the time to notice the assortment of clothes your crewmen were finally allowed the luxury of expressing. You set an internal reminder to put forward a petition to allow the crew to dress casually at least once a month while serving aboard the Polar Tang.

Your eyes quickly found the skeleton, sitting cross legged in front of a checkerboard with the archeologist of the Straw-Hat crew: both drinking jasmine tea and engaging in a game of chess. Approaching slowly, she gazed up at you and wordlessly complimented your chosen casual attire for the day. You gestured with your eyes whether it was an opportune moment to interrupt their game to claim the skeleton’s attention for a moment. She tilted her head with a warm smile, gesturing with her hands to go right ahead.

Brook was confused briefly before he felt a hand press down on his shoulder. He quickly turned his face to glance down at the fingers perched on his right shoulder before his chin was claimed beneath the same warm grip. You tilted his face to gaze into his eyes, taking a moment for Brook’s mind to catch up to what his body was experiencing. You gazed through half-hooded lashes into the darkened recesses of his circular hollows, a playful smile drawn up on your lips.

“Violet and pastel-lavender,” you uttered in a soothing, low voice, “Laced up with a gold ribbon in the front with a gold embellished trim around the hemline.” Brook would have lowered his eyebrows in deep thought, if he had any hair sprouting over his skull. He was confused as to what exactly you were relaying to him before he focussed on who was relaying the information.

His spectral breath was taken from him, no further words were formed within his hollow cranium as steam began to exude from every open orifice. Your half-hooded eyes playfully toyed with him, as a feline would with their freshly caught rodent in their teeth. You held your eyes watching him squirm as you bit your smile back with your teeth, while Robin attempted to contain her chuckle at witnessing her crewman be the center of another’s romantic attention.

“Y-Y-You-...” he choked on his words, the steam rapidly whistling and fuming throughout his skull, “...You’re w-wearing purple panties?” You giggled at his response, pressing your painted lips against the hollow surface where his nose was once located, leaving a perfect pursed circlet of affection painted on the bleached bones.

“Of course I am,” you confirmed with a wink before pulling away from him, releasing him from your hands and beginning to rise from your stoop, “I had to match with my favorite musician.” You gestured to the velvet suit Brook was wearing, prompting his attention to briefly switch to his own clothes before snapping his head back up. His jaw hung comically slack, prompting a giggle to rise in your throat before you turned back to acknowledge the woman opposite to Brook.

“Apologies for my forwardness, Nico Robin,” you bowed your head in respect to the dark-haired woman before returning your attention back to Brook, “Soul-King,” you nodded your head to the musician before walking over to your captain.

Sitting beside Trafalgar Law as he shared a single brain cell with the two Nakama captains was truly a sight to behold. You adored how he finally allowed himself to loosen the tight reins he held himself bound by, his playful stupidity was something you would’ve prescribed as his personal councilor. He needed a holiday, and he was finding one beside the two louder captains.

As the food changed from the savories, to the sweets, to the cheeses and cured meats: you felt hollow eyes fixated upon your form. You were not swayed by the attention in the slightest, it was a welcomed change to your experience aboard the Polar Tang. You embraced the opportunity to express your femininity in a creative way, and it was a bonus that you managed to snag the attention of such a unique individual as-.

“Brookie!” Captain Luffy called over the ramblings of the crowd, “How’s about a song? Somethin’ from the heart while we enjoy being one big crew together?”

His trance broken by the orders of his Captain, Brook snapped out of his bout of hypnotism as he made his way hurriedly to claim the first instrument set aside on the deck. The old guitar had water-swollen cracks in the base, but the strings were all new and freshly tuned. When he played music, he was in his own world: unaware of the life around him as he let the music carry his soul.

As his skeletal fingers began plucking at the strings, his voice relayed a heartfelt melody that held you completely transfixed on his form. Both Shachi and Penguin snickered at your awestruck expression, nudging each other with their elbows as your breath was claimed from you. Law attempted to ask you a question over his shoulder, turning to face you as he didn’t hear a word or utterance of response from your direction.

Law's gaze floated over your starstruck expression, the music fully moving your soul was painted intricately on your face. Your eyes began to become glassy as the swell of Brook’s melody reverberated in your eardrums and shook you to your core.

He smirked at you, uncaring that his question remained unanswered. Your captain reached his hand down, claiming your palms and giving them a gentle squeeze as you remained unresponsive to the world around you.

Nothing existed in this room: just you, and the skeletal man who was singing to every fibre of your very soul. You were entranced, bewitched, captivated and spellbound by his melody.

Brook in his time as a musician in his corporeal form was well renowned for his shanties and musical ensembles. Some of his melodies were taught to you as a child before you decided to embark on a life of piracy.

Nothing could have prepared you to meet the man who influenced your childhood musicianship, especially one on the high seas between all the quarters of the continent. Nor did you ever picture yourself falling in love with him as he finally concluded his performance aboard his vessel, to which you were a welcomed guest aboard.

You were too stunned to offer applause in response to the song’s conclusion, the world suddenly jolting back into existence as calls for an encore were encouraged from the three crews.

Brook’s spectral eyes were held in complete focus against your own, noticing the elevation in your heartbeat flooded to dust your cheeks in a warm flush. Your lips were parted, your eyes never leaving his as you blinked the world back into existence around you. Brook took a brief bow before he extended his boned hand out towards you, nodding to you in a gesture for you to take his hand and join him.

Turning to your captain first, Law nodded his head to excuse you from your position beside him, you rose to your feet and stepped around from the positions the three crews scattered themselves atop the deck, reaching forward and taking Brook’s skeletal hand. He guided you over to the plush stool beneath the piano, taking a seat beside you as he began to perform a classical arrangement that required no vocals.

Enthralled by the melody once more, your eyes focussed on the piano. The ebony and ivory keys dipped and rose beneath skilled fingers, the passion in the melody depicted with each crescendoed element.

“Do you play any instruments?” Brook asked in a low, hushed tone beside you. You snapped out of your brief captivity and looked to his vacant hollows. The empty sockets held firm against your face, focussed on every subtle change in your expression. His fingers continued to clack at the smoothed tips of the keys as he awaited your answer.

“Not since embarking on a life of piracy, much to the disdain of my heritage with my familial title,” you shrugged with a soft smile, his skull now holding your attention rather than the melody, “I did sing in my youth when I was in medical school, which was a long, long time ago.”

“Not as long as my youth was. Of that, I am certain,” Brook jested with you, nudging you playfully with his shoulder, “And I bet you could still sing if given the appropriate circumstances.” You returned the gentle nudge with your bicep before lulling your head over the curvature of his firm shoulder.

“I highly doubt we would find ourselves in those rare circumstances, Bone-Daddy,” you snickered at him, enjoying the subtle hiccup in his tinkering atop the keys at the bestowal of such a title.

“And if I were to ask you to sing with me, Liebchen?” he asked, briefly resting his head atop yours and nuzzling against you. His hair tickled your skin as he rested his undead body against yours. The rambunctious merriment aboard the vessel broke you away from Brook’s question, prompting you to raise your head from its position on his shoulder as you witnessed the stupidity your captain’s were involved in.

Each captain had managed to locate several bugs and beetles aboard the vessel, drawing a chalk circle on the wooden floor of the Thousand Sunny. It seemed that each captain had chosen a bug, beetle or arachnid: those creatures needing to touch the chalk ring of the circle the fastest to determine a clear winner amongst the Nakama.

Shaking your head with a warm, melodical chuckle at how much your captain was letting himself engage with the two other captains in their idiocy, you allowed the warmth to spread up to your cheeks. You were proud of your captain in his vulnerability to engage with them in this way.

Brook concluded his piano concerto to the absence of applause now the attention was on the insects in front of the captains. You turned to Brook and gave him a soft round of kind applause with your hands, to which he bowed his head in response. Cheers and hollers were thrust into the air at the engagement of the insect race, prompting you both to shake your heads as your eyes remained fixed on Brook’s.

“Will you?” Brook asked once more, elevating his hand to capture your own beneath his, “Will you sing with me, Liebchen? Something small and familiar to you?” You sighed in response, upturning your brows and allowing a soft smile to elevate against your lips. He held onto hope, his hand giving yours a small squeeze in eager anticipation of your answer.

“I would adore singing with you, Brook,” you sighed breathlessly, “Lead me in song, and I’ll follow the melody you set.” The skeletal man, should flesh be imagined on his features, would be beaming a broad and enthusiastic smile at your willing participation.

He reached within the opening of the piano, pulling out a small instrument with four strings and a rotating handle at the base. Several indented cogs and keys clacked at the sides beneath his skilled fingers, the music springing from the instrument sounded not so dissimilar to a violin with the dual tonality of piped bags.

“This is a hurdy-gurdy, if you haven’t seen one of its make before,” he informed you with enthusiasm. You nodded down at the instrument as he performed with chords and melody over the clacking and winding, stringed instrument.

“Do you know any melodies to this progression?” he asked as he played a few minor keys in sequence, “I know it would be somber, but I would love to hear you sing something like-.” His words were stolen from him as you began to lilt your voice in a familiar tune from your childhood.

Although over time the lyrics in certain passages became lost to you, the intention was there with each skilled fluttery phrase. This melody was bittersweet and melancholy, the song depicting a foreign land where death and grief would no longer hold purchase over those who flee to its comfort.

There was no mention of a lover, nor whisper of romance within the phrases - yet each lyric fleeing from your lips had the skeletal man falling deeper into the trenches of his adoration and admiration for you. As he learnt the melody and the repetition of the chorus, his voice joined your melody in harmony: skillfully floating in perfect pitch within the realms of your vocal skill.

As the melody ceased, silence once again surrounded you: the world once again free of the colorful atmosphere you were painting with your song. You were in your own little world with the Soul-King, Brook, beside you. Barely comprehending your actions, you leant forward and brushed your painted lips against the bone occupying the space his lips once were.

Drawing up the heels of your palms, you collected his cheekbones within them and held him firmly as you pressed several more, soft kisses against his boned lips. It was an unusual feeling, teeth where lips should be, bones where cheeks should be, cold aura of hollows where the fluttering eyelashes of a lover would belong.

Breaking away your lips from his face, you gazed longingly into the dark sockets of his eyes. No word was spoken between you as you held your breath. He turned his face away from you, shaking his head lightly as if battling an internal argument with himself. Your brows triangulate upwards in the center of your forehead, eyes wide and innocent as you bite at your cheek nervously. Resolving his internal struggle with a huffed breath, he turned back towards you.

Claiming both of your hands within his own, he gently squeezed at your digits.

“I never, in all my days in this skeletal body, have longed to have lips as much as I do now,” he confessed in a dark whisper. You floated your eyes between the hollowed sockets, searching for further insight to his feelings.

His sorrow was depicted within his tone, his face remaining vacant at each uttered confession, “I have no flesh, no muscle, no organ: I am only bone. I have no heart, my soul is all that remains. I have nothing to offer you in this life-.” You had no choice but to break him out of his spiraling thoughts with your own argument.

“-All of those things are untrue, Brook. Aside from the physical attributes, don’t you dare reduce yourself to merely the parts you left behind,” you chastised him with your verbal warning. He was shocked at your passion, feeling the heat radiating off your body as you drew up further arguments to present to him.

“You have no lips? I am more than capable of allowing you to borrow mine,” you spoke with no hint of irony, nor jest within your tone, “No flesh, no muscle, nor organ? Those are just the tangible surroundings for the spirit within all of us. Are we not merely vessels for our souls to use as hosts?”

Brook remained speechless, hanging on your every word as the fire of your passion ignited your tongue with sparks and flashes.

“You are only bone? No heart?” Your anger now truly evident on your features, “How dare you reduce yourself to less than all that you are,” you broke away his grip on your hands, and began to rise to your feet from the position beside him on the stool, “Your heart is your music, your soul is depicted in the care you have for your crew. I feel it, Brook.”

He cowered back against the piano, the hurdy gurdy dropping limply on the floor: discarded and abandoned. No crew spared the two of you a glance in your quarrel, choosing to remain solely fixated on the insect race, now turned into gladiator death-matches within the chalk circle.

Brook was in awe, watching your passion ignite in your eyes as you scold him with your words and bless him with your compliments. In all your encounters together: each time the Polar Tang met with the Thousand Sunny, he was entranced by your rapport and support for your crew. Your soothing words and answers to his unashamed lust presented to you had him blushing, but your attention now has him soaring with the reignition of his absent heartbeat.

From your position now standing, you brushed off your dress and shook your head to rid the prior passion from elevating further. There were no regrets from offering him a kiss, not even the absence of his lips inhibited you from pressing your affection into his bones. At a huff of your breath, you lowered your tone to be in a kinder pitch, softening your features as you turned back towards the skeleton.

“I will not stand for such self-degradation, especially with my occupation serving aboard the Polar Tang,” you extend your hand out to him, a soft smile slowly creeping up against your cheeks, “For what it’s worth, I adore you, Brook. I have always held you in the highest regard.”

“The highest regard? Even with only the parts I’ve left behind?” he uttered his question barely above a whisper, seeking out further explanation within your orbs, “I am only a skeleton, afterall.” You sighed, rotating your neck atop your shoulders and stepped further towards him. Pressing a small kiss on his forehead, your lips lingered for a moment longer against his cranium before you simply walked away from him.

Feeling truly no need to draw out an explanation for your dismissal of his question, you felt your heart break for the Soul King. You had already confessed your admiration for him, uplifted him with your words and then wordlessly expressed your affection for him with a soft kiss. The skeletal face now had several painted hoops from your pursed lips written on his bones, a memorial of love artistically indented into his absent skin.

Staggering in his rigidity, a boney hand reached out for you as you attempted to retreat back towards your crew. His essence was screaming to unify with you, to lead you in more intentional touches against his corporeal form.

“I-I’m sorry. I only meant-...” he circled his boney fingertips around your wrist and gently tugged you to return towards him, “...-I cannot kiss, nor embrace you, in the manner to which I desire most. The others aboard can give that which you seek, commit those acts with you. Why would you choose to engage in this way with me when there are so many others available to you?”

You exhaled slowly from your nose, turning to face the Soul-King. You stood between his parted knees, leaning down while seeking out his chin with your fingertips. Apprehensively cupping his jaw, you leant down to hold your lips a whiskers length away from his pearly teeth.

“Because you’re who I want, Bone-Daddy,” you confessed down to him, smiling as you touched your forehead against his. He reveled in the warmth rolling from your body to his own, feeling your smile mirrored with his spirit. If he had eyelids, he would close them as you did your own within the arms of one another.

Elevating his left hand, his slender fingers cupped your cheek and guided you in towards his skeletal mouth. Following his lead, you pressed your lips tenderly against the cool bones of his teeth, feeling the divots beneath your pursed flesh. He held your cheek against his face, tracing soothing circles over your wrist with the tips of his phalanges in his thumb.

Cheers and an uproar of hooted hollers erupted from the three crews, tearing your attention away from one another as you witnessed an exchange of Berry from Shachi, Killer and Nami. The wagers the crews placed on the variety of small creatures in the gladiator ring were as freely given as the drinks concocted by the skilled hands of the Straw-Hat chef.

Joining your laughs with your crews, you both held each other firmly engulfed within your arms. The Soul-King nestled his head between your breasts as you soothed your hands within his hair. After several moments remaining this way, you felt the tips of Brook’s fingers trailing curiously up your spine.

“Purple, you said?” he hummed coyly against your chest, his fingers brushing with the hem of the back of your dress, “Violet and lavender with a gold trim?” You chuckled warmly, feeling his head turn slightly in your embrace, his chin placed firmly between your breasts as he looked up at you with his jaw seeming to smile up at you.

“And corset-laced, gold ribboning in the cleavage,” you smiled, smoothing over his hair as you collected his cheek within the heel of your palm. You scrunch your nose at him, gazing through half-hooded lashes playfully down into the hollow abyss of his eye sockets.

“Would you like to see them?”

#soul king brook #brook x reader #one piece #x reader #afab reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece x reader #precious moots #Spotify

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sordidmusings · 23 days

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#need to burn this post into my retinas #the lesson I will probably never learn #specifically in relation to myself #tying self worth to productivity is a Dangerous Game #one I will never fucking win 💀

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sordidmusings · 23 days

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GOTTA LEASH TH MAN AND MAKE EM C R A W L DUDE 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

Have too many thought about that ngl 💀

@hey-august it’s the m a n

SIR🥵

#buggy the clown #buggy my beloved #my favorite man #dont tell th others #one piece #one piece live action #opla

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sordidmusings · 23 days

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He don’t know how to read

#canon #ASL is like my fav thing dude #each one of them is so fucking good #and all three together???#immaculate #one piece asl #one piece #humor #monkey d luffy #portgas d ace #flame emperor sabo #sabo

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sordidmusings · 24 days

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law and Bepo way too cute

Like how is my heart meant to handle this?

Bepo is the favourite

Bepo is forever number 1

#oh to experience a bepo hug #or a Law huuuuug #or b o t h #they are too precious too dear #gotta make a crochet pattern for those tiny bepos 😩#trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #bepo #one piece

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sordidmusings · 24 days

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Hello! I was wondering if you had any plans of continuing A Coronary Tale - Sanji x Reader? I LOVE what you have written ❤️❤️

You have made me Big Happy with your ask thank you for sending 😭🤍🤍 I’m so so happy you enjoyed the writing❣️

I did have Many Plans for how that one was gonna go 💀 prolly too many lol it’s far from my lil skill set so I’ve been worried about that one. And whether people wanted more which is part of the reason why I’ve been struggling to write in general - very in my own head lol 🤡 I greatly appreciate the lil boost you’re giving me thank you 🙏🏻 I’ll set back to working on that one!! Gotta get to Sanji and reader saving each other from their external and internal constraints with the power of ✨love✨ lol

Thanks again!!

#ask #precious readers #one piece #SordidMusings’ TawdryResponding #black leg sanji #my writing

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sordidmusings · 24 days

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D a m n I knew a Buggy fic from you would be the perfect way to help my reading drought 😩👌🏻

Absolutely ADORE the choice to have the kink features after stuff has already ramped up. I must admit it’s one of my favs and I’m used to it being a preamble or postlude, but an intermission?? Delicious change of pace and so fitting to make a perfectly reactive, whiny, and pathetic Buggy 🫠

Bless you for your content hun 🙏🏻🩷

March Madness Event - Winner (NSFW | Buggy X Marine!GN!Reader)

Woah woah woah, this story concludes the March Madness event!

(In case you missed it, throughout the month of March I posted polls pitting kinks against kinks. The ones that lost in the polls received short stories involving a bit of failure. The kink that won at the end of the month was slated to receive a proper story. And that's where we are now!)

I'll be honest, I did not expect this to be the winner. Then again, I should have seen it coming with how it took off in every poll it was in.

Thank you all for participating! Voting, reading, commenting, liking, reblogging - everything!!

I hope you enjoyed this event and that you enjoy this story. 🩷

Description: As a Marine, you're responsible for safely escorting the captured prisoner, Buggy the Clown. Things don't go according to plan and while the prisoner remains captured, not all of him ends up behind bars...

Teeny tiny teaser: "This fucker needed to know the effect his dumbass decision had on others."

Word count: ~3.4k (I don't remember the last time I wrote a one-shot this long 🥴)

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x GN!reader, marine!reader, no use of Y/N, insertion sex, bit of degradation, cockwarming (not solely intimate, but there is some eventually), misuse of devil fruit powers

“I can fuck you harder if you uncuff me,” he said through gritted teeth. “C’mon, tell me you don’t want that.”

The teasing remark was hissed behind your ear, sending a shiver through your body. Your weak fucking body, nearly wiped of all self-restraint. A thin thread of rationality kept you tethered to a sense of preservation, but the constant pounding threatened to snap that hold.

You were responsible for locking up the prisoner - a duty you’ve fulfilled many times without issue. Over the years, your strength and cleverness helped you climb the ranks of Marines, yet this was the first time you failed to complete this responsibility. Well, you haven’t failed yet, but the more the thread frays, the more your legs shake, the more his heavy grunts fill your ears…

Your shaky hands gripped the seastone cuffed wrists wrapped around your body. Although the pirate couldn’t grip your hips the way either of you wanted, he was able to pull your body towards his as he relentlessly slammed himself in you.

Of all the captured criminals you ever escorted, it was the goddamn clown that broke you. The pathetic clown with a face of smeared paint. Left behind by his crew. A captain who was visibly crestfallen when none of the Marines appeared impressed by his presence.

Despite his circumstances, the prisoner - Buggy the Clown - lived up to his namesake. Nearly every comment out of his mouth was a joke, often at the expense of anyone around him. The lack of laughter after each quip should add to embarrassment and pity for the clown, but you found yourself enjoying the amusement he was clearly creating for himself. It was…endearing.

As his sole escort below deck, his attention quickly turned towards you and the warm fluttery feeling you had moved lower in your body. Silence only protected you for so long before your face was too red to ignore, giving the clown encouragement to continue. Changing tactics, Buggy started spouting cheesy and overused pickup lines. Each remark said with unabashed enthusiasm added to the heat on your face.

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put ‘U’ and ‘I’ together.” “I’d like to report a crime. My breath was stolen.” “That Marine uniform doesn’t look so bad on you. But it would look better on the floor.”

Those comments were so stupid and worked so well. A few hissed retorts and threats of punishment were disarmed with a charming smile. You had no chance of winning whatever this game was. Secretly, you weren’t sure you wanted to win. There was something alluring about this pirate who tried to hide behind jokes and laughter that you wanted more of.

Arousal easily increases in potency when mixed with other feelings. For you, it was unexpected affection and the lure of degeneracy. For Buggy, you assumed it was the fear and anxiety that comes with imprisonment. Each concoction was perfectly portioned and all it took were choice words, overly-familiar touches, and curious glances for the poison to take effect.

Alone in the room, it only took seconds to pull your pants low enough to grant Buggy access. You leaned forwards, steadying yourself against the wall, while he grabbed the lower hem of your top. His thrusts were erratic and sloppy as he tried to find a decent pace. There was barely enough time for this moment of guilty indulgence and you both wanted as much from it as possible.

Bringing his bound hands overhead, Buggy pulled you close to his chest until you were wrapped in his hold. With his hands closer to your hips, he was able to move both of your bodies at a quick tempo. He was rewarded with a whine that escaped your heavy breathing.

“S’that how you like it? Hard and rough? I didn’t expect you to be so fucking filthy. Do all your prisoners get welcomed like this?”

Fuck. Why did his voice sound so good? And why did it sound better saying such degrading shit?

You shook your head and leaned into his touch, wanting to feel more. “Sh-shut up. Don’t you ever stop talking?”

“You d-don’t want that,” Buggy groaned. “I can feel your body squeeze when I talk. You like it.” His teasing was met with a delicious whimper.

Every word from his mouth had your head spinning. You wanted so much more. You wanted to taste his voice, to feel his mouth against yours, to feel his lips on your skin, but he wore that stupid face paint. You wanted his touch everywhere, for his hands to roam your body, for him to hold you tighter, but he needed to keep the cuffs on. Buggy was a Devil Fruit user. He was dangerous. And he was breaking you down.

Almost as if he could read your mind, Buggy started describing all the ways he wanted to screw you. How good you are at taking him. He wants to hear how good he makes you feel. Lost in the haze of lust, you barely remembered pulling out the key you wore on a chain and had tucked under your clothes. Your palm ached from how tightly you gripped the key while fighting against the horny instincts crowding your body.

You were so close, so achingly close. Maybe if you timed it right, it would be okay. You could minimize the danger. That makes sense, right? It could work. The wisp of rational thought faded away so softly that you didn’t miss its absence.

“Please,” was all you could get out as you unlocked the cuffs and let them fall to the floor.

It was like you released a feral animal with that decision. You didn’t realize just how much the seastone had sapped from Buggy until you felt his bruising grip as he brutally slammed his hips into yours. Even his cock seemed to get harder as it was bullied deeper in your body. He struggled to stay quiet, grunting like a wild boar as he rut into you.

You were on the edge of the precipice, ready to throw yourself over the ledge, when a horrible sound yanked you back to solid ground. A piercing siren sound filled the ship, signaling the top of the hour and a change in duties. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You needed to finish your job before anyone found out what you were doing. Who you were doing.

In a panic, you elbowed the pirate and spun around. “They’re gonna catch us,” you said with wide-eyes.

With all his blood below the belt, Buggy was already caught off-guard by the loud noise. Your rapid change from a whimpering needy thing who needed to be railed, to a Marine who wanted to follow the rules was a lot for the pirate to follow after losing the trail of his own orgasm. All he could do was struggle to pull up his pants as you shoved him into the jail cell and locked him in. Thoughts slowly returned to his head and weakness seeped back into his body as he watched you fix up your uniform before freezing.

“What the fuck did you do?” The question started as a shout before you restrained the rest of your temper.

“I wanted to make sure you come back for me,” Buggy responded with a wink. “Besides, we didn’t get to finish. I figured you could keep it warm for me until the encore.” He reached down and grabbed the crotch of his pants, which was baggier than it should be.

“Are you fucking ser-” The rhetoric question was stopped by the throbbing in your body.

Between your body fully accepting the rough fuck and the whirlwind of anxiety about being caught, you didn’t notice that Buggy left you with a piece of himself. Of all the things he could have done with his Devil Fruit powers in that moment, rather than doing something, anything, that could help him escape, the clown chose to part from his dick. What a fucking joke.

---

It was a sunny day with just enough of a breeze to keep the sails full and to blow away excess heat from the sun. The gentle wind helped dry the perspiration on your skin as you crossed the deck, towards the meeting room. While the air carried away some of the physical evidence, your body still burned and you chose to believe the unrelenting heat was shame. Punctual attendance was critical on the ship and you couldn’t even spare a few minutes to evict the pirate’s privates without risking a penalty.

With each step, you felt the fullness between your legs and the stretch from his girth. You couldn’t remember what it meant to walk normally. Every movement was over thought and analyzed. What felt normal made your core feel too tight against the intrusion. Longer strides had you worry that he might slip out. While it seemed unlikely (all of this was unlikely already), you worried about losing this bit of Buggy. There would be no reasonable way to explain a lone penis anywhere on the ship.

As hard as you tried to be upset with Buggy’s stupid horny decision, your body was still flooded with hormones that drowned logic and only allowed obscene thoughts to float. You were deep in a fucked up situation and you were enjoying it.

You arrived just in time for the meeting to start. It was a daily check-in where attendees would recite numbers and metrics that meant nothing to you. It was important and wholly unnecessary. The returning sheen of sweat and lingering redness on your face could be excused as the hustle needed to arrive on time and not the throbbing you felt inside.

Settling into one of the open chairs, you couldn’t find a position that was remotely comfortable. There was minimal padding on the wood chairs and the backrests were at an awkward height that provided no support. Leaning too far one way pushed Buggy further inside and you just barely concealed the discovering gasp as a deep breath.

Crossing your legs was a terrible idea, as it only added to the unforgiving pressure. The sensation attacked you both, as you felt the confined cock flex in its warm prison. You quickly uncrossed your legs, glad no one could see how they shook under the table.

Wicked voices began whispering to you, talking over the droning presentation at the head of the table. You couldn’t find any reprieve from what you were feeling. The only thing that made you feel better was giving in. You could afford to let your mind drift, this meeting was only to make others feel important. You had your own feelings to deal with.

Your mind wandered down to where those feelings radiated from. To the frustrating ache between your legs. Buggy was a good length, on the longer end of average, but his thickness was far more than average. Thankfully he got you so riled up earlier and all you had to suffer through was a burn that he quickly fucked away. Your body had grown accustomed to the wideness, but being held open for so long was different. Even through the uniform, you felt exposed. With each twitch from your hole as it fruitlessly tried to find some give against the occupant, you fell apart a little more.

You shifted in the chair again, cautiously rolling your hips with the movement. Just once. And then again, under the guise of trying to get comfortable. Fuck, that did feel good. Your body shifted against Buggy’s member just right. You tensed against him, chasing that sensation, and receiving a heavy throb in response.

Your name broke through the fog you willingly got lost in. Your eyes snapped to the man standing at the head of the table.

“Is there something more important than going over these reports?”

Maybe your movements weren’t as subtle as you thought.

“No, Sir. Just trying to get comfortable. I apologize for the distraction.” You spoke loudly, overriding the quiver hiding in your throat.

Buggy was reacting to the jolt of tension that ran through our body. Clenched fists pressed into your knees and your toes curled in the little space available in your boots as you rode out his movement. It was incredibly frustrating and absolutely embarrassing. So why did it feel so fucking good?

---

The rest of the meeting ended without further incident. At least, as far as any of the attendees cared. For you, every action and reaction from either of your linked bodies felt like a whole new event to survive. You offered a tight lipped smile to everyone as they left the room, preferring a small audience when you attempted to use your weak legs. Luckily, horniness and adrenaline held you up and supported you out of the room.

The infirmary was a few doors down and it was around the time the doctor took a break. If you were lucky, the room would be empty and you could put an end to this. The luck was debatable when you opened the door to two pale faces. One belonged to the Marine who was on guard duty and the other belonged to the prisoner being guarded. A prisoner who offered you a small smile that matched the one painted on his face.

The guard started babbling when you entered the room. “H-he doesn’t look good, r-right? I brought him h-here, but they’re all on break. I’m wor-worried he’s gonna upch- upchu-ugh, pu- v- vom-”

“Get sick?”

The guard nodded with pursed lips, struggling to hold back the hiccups and sympathetic heaves that wracked their body. “Doesn’t seem ser-serious enough to call the med-ugh medics b-back.”

You looked at Buggy, trying to assess what was going on. Was this a ploy or was he actually ill? Were you going to get sick?

“It doesn’t look that serious. I can stay with him. Why don’t you go lie down?” Your offer was accepted before you even finished speaking.

The infirmary door closed, leaving you and Buggy in an awkward silence. He sat in a chair, hunched over, still giving you a weak smile.

“Are you okay? Is it bad?” You asked, concerned that his flashy self seemed to be affected. Crouching down, you brought yourself closer to his level.

“Bad,” he repeated hoarsely, leaning towards you.

His trajectory would bring his painted forehead to the white shoulder of your uniform, so you intercepted. Pressing your head against his, you waited for Buggy to continue.

“N-need you. Made a bad decision, need you, please.” One of his cuffed hands pawed at the empty space where his dick should be.

With his strength and stamina taken away during imprisonment, Buggy’s self-inflicted secondary imprisonment was too much. He could feel everything - how your body continued to struggle around him, how warm you were inside, how you reacted to his involuntary cries and demands for more. It felt so fucking good, so deliriously wonderful, and downright torturous.

There was no end in sight, though. There had to be a reason you kept him inside, so even if Buggy could come, it would be followed with overstimulation that could go for who knows how long. Not to mention how upset you would probably be if you were unexpectedly full of his hot cum.

Buggy whimpered at the thought. At imagining you full and plugged. Of his jizz dripping out and collecting in your underwear. Of you being an absolute fucking mess under your prim and pristine uniform, because of him.

“Please,” he whined again.

You pulled away and locked the door. “We don’t have a lot of time. Again.”

Buggy bit his lip as you held out your hand to help him up and blubbered what sounded like, “thank you.”

You understood how he felt. So insatiable that nothing mattered more than giving into these desperate needs that aggressively grew out of desire. Giving up on everything but chasing the high, you uncuffed Buggy and undid your pants.

This fucker needed to know the effect his dumbass decision had on others. You shoved his hand down your pants, letting him feel how wildly aroused you were. How much of a mess he made.

His groan was laced with delight and pain at the knowledge. His touch was everywhere, committing all of the evidence of your lust to memory. As his hand crept further, it came in contact with his base and his body jolted at the touch. This was too much.

Yanking his hand out of your pants, Buggy rushed to unbuckle his and expose where his member belonged. Following his lead, you pulled your pants down and turned around. Wary about wasting precious time, Buggy pressed his hips against yours and shuddered when his cock returned to its rightful place. It felt as if his senses increased a hundredfold now that it was back.

“M’close,” he warned, struggling to set a reliable pace.

Honestly, he was about to explode when his hand was down your pants. But he needed this. He needed to feel you moving on his cock. To feel your body react against him. To feel you explode.

As if reading his thoughts, you grabbed his hand and pushed it down. You didn’t need much. This entire time, you didn’t need much, apparently. Just his attention on you was enough to pull you off the trail you were on. And that’s what he gave you - his enthusiastic attention.

His hand moved fervently, following the cues your body gave. The touches that had your breaths teeter on moans, pressure that had your body clench his, sensations that increased the tension in your core.

“Uh-haah, uh-huh, just like that. K-keep going, g-gonna… You’re gonna make me c-” You were cut off as the feeling ripped through your body, sharp and electric. The words in your mouth were wiped away as you fell to the indescribable surge.

Buggy huffed as he struggled to fuck through your orgasm. Your unsaid words rung through his head - he was responsible for this. You were shaking beneath him because of what he did. Your sweet sighs of relief were for him.

“Wh-where-” Buggy could hardly stutter a question he should have asked earlier.

“Finish what you started,” you said, leaning into his touch once again.

Feeling your body melt against his, accepting his thick cock so easily, pulling him deeper - that was more than enough.

“F-fucking shit,” Buggy hissed as he came.

The climax was nearly painful as he shot stream after stream inside your body. Feeling like the release would never end, the pirate clung to you and whimpered with each pulse. Eventually, he ran out. His hold released with a shaky sigh.

Buggy struggled with words to fill the next moment. Something about how this felt good. Maybe a thanks? But before he could decide, yet another loud sound interrupted the moment. A sound that was accompanied by a lurch that threw the pirate back. An explosion. Then came the alarms. The ship was under attack by pirates. You both rushed to fix yourselves up.

“I-I think that’s for me,” Buggy said.

You looked at him incredulously. Was this all a fucking trick?

“I want you to come with me.”

His request kept you silent. This didn’t make sense.

“I didn’t think they were coming. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. But it was fun - well, I had fun. I think you did too. We can keep having fun, unless you want to keep living this stuffy life.” Buggy spoke quickly.

His explanation was rushed, but you could see a hint of honesty among the turmoil.

Buggy held his hand out for you to grab.

---

Life on a pirate ship was different, but also similar to life with the Marines. Useless meetings couldn’t be avoided and petty drama existed everywhere. But the spirit and passion that came with piracy was unbelievably vast. Joys flew high, parties raged hard, drinks always flowed, treasure was celebrated.

And on Buggy’s ship, there was always more. More life, more color, more light. Dumb jokes, death defying stunts, fantastic skills, and stupid decisions that managed to work out in the end.

One of your favorite things about life aboard the ship were the quiet afternoons you spent with the captain. Afternoons that were spent laying in the shared bed, your body nestled against his. Afternoons full of stories and musings. Afternoons dedicated to the two of you, which you spent slotted together in warmth and intimacy.

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown #precious moots #thirst hours #one piece #buggy smut #x reader

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