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“Look, look!”
You hold out your left hand towards the men in front of you, proudly noting the golden band on your ring finger as it glints in the light of the room.
Sir Crocodile leans back in his chair, legs crossing and eyebrows furrowing incredulously. He’s dressed in expensive fabrics that wrap his large form in a formal embrace and a well-used cigar hangs delicately from his mouth. As he speaks, a dusty-colored smoke drifts from between his lips unceremoniously.
“If you’re expecting a congratulations, you won’t get one. What a woman like you sees in him is beyond me,” he retorts, then adjusts his body to take his focus back to the newspaper in his hand. You lift your hands up to your cheeks in fake astonishment, sliding to sit on top of the desk and making a mess of the organized piles of papers.
“Oh my, oh my! Are you jealous?” you muse playfully. “What a shocking development!”
You watch his manly features scrunch in annoyance, and strand of his dark hair falling into his face. When he looks up at you, there is venom in his eyes.
“The clown brings out the worst in you. I’m not above hitting a woman who annoys me, you know.”
Then the other man, who’d been perched against the wall nearby, clears the distance and chops a hand down onto Sir Crocodile’s head. His yellow eyes gleam from beneath his hat, looking fierce and structured.
“Don’t threaten a pregnant woman, Crocodile.”
“Mr. Mihawk!” you exclaim happily, rubbing a hand over your round, growing stomach. “I knew you’d be happy for me!”
He looks back at you, surprised. His voice comes out harsh. “I’m not happy for you. I feel bad for you.”
You laugh it off, and your refusal to let their words deter you leaves both men staring back you in disgruntled concern. Then all three of you turn your faces towards the door, where Buggy has walked in unannounced. He’s wearing his formal attire, a bright red jumpsuit and a massive, finely decorated pirate hat. His delicate blue tresses of hair hang down to his waist, looking soft and vibrant. His faces contorts into a comedic display of shock.
“Y-you!?! What are you doing here, woman!?”
You smile, delighted to see him and hear his flustered voice. Everything about him drives you wild! You hold your hand out again, displaying the gold ring.
“Darling!! I’m showing your business partners my engagement ring!”
He slams the door behind him and sends a gloved hand dangerously close to your face, one finger out stretched in an accusatory point. “Stop telling people that! It’s a friendship ring, a friendship ring!! And don’t call me darling!!”
He’s blushing and annoyed, and it’s hopelessly adorable. When he’s like this, you just want to irritate him even more. You cock your head to the side with a bright grin, refusing to acknowledge any of his words. “I was thinking, what about a beach wedding? Doesn’t that sound nice?”
“There is no wedding, you dimwit! Can’t you hear!?” he yells, and you could swear his red nose shines a bit as he gets worked up. You want to kiss it so badly!
Suddenly, you hear the rustle of movement and a pained squeal from Buggy. The other two men have walked over to him, and are now harshly kicking his body back and forth between them. He welps and chops himself, but they just commence kicking his separate parts in what could approximate some sort of game.
“Be nice to her, clown.”
“Scum like you shouldn’t be around women.”
“She’s carrying your child, you know?”
“How self-important can you be?”
Buggy screams out an apology and some other incoherent begging, and you lean back on the desk in amusement. Yes, you loved him dearly. But sometimes he needed to be put in his place.
“It’s fine, it’s fine!” you eventually call out. “Please stop, being around violence isn’t good for the baby!” You place a loving hand on your stomach again, and feel a shift inside you and then a soft kick outwards- almost as if your child agreed from within. It’s uncomfortable, but also swells your heart.
The two men cease their bullying, gathering their coats and heading towards the door.
“Break up with him,” Sir Crocodile coldly says to you as he opens the door. Mr. Mihawk nods beside him, and then they exit together, both looking somewhat amused.
You peer down at the heap of a man below you, catching the sad glare of his eyes and smiling wide. You can tell he’s feeling embarrassed, so you lovingly throw him a line.
“It’s so sweet that you let them rough you up a bit,” you tell him in a gentle voice. “Most pirate captains are too prideful. But I think it’s great you know how to build up your underlings’ sense of confidence!”
He blinks up at you, then reforms himself and stands tall, the fabric of his jumpsuit stretching across the air to fill the room with his form. He nervously lies to you, faking confidence. “Well, there’s no other way to handle proud, ex-warlords like them! Ha ha ha!”
You clap your hands together in a short, tender applause. Of course, you figured out the true nature of his relationship with his business partners a long time ago, but it was much more fun to play along. You struggle to lift yourself off the desk, the weight in your stomach and pressure against your organs making most movement a considerable effort. You notice him watching you, and he slowly shrinks down to his normal size as he does, face looking concerned and tense.
“I’m glad you came, Darling!” you say, reaching into a package that was discarded on the desk. “We got some presents from your Emperor friends!”
Buggy bristles at the word ‘friends’, and you hold in a giggle. You fish out a small, soft item wrapped in plain parchment paper. You smile wide as you hold it out to him. “This one is from Mr. Shanks!”
“Sh-shanks!?!” he shrieks, unhappily. But after eyeing the package for a moment, he takes it from you and unwraps it with some excitement. Inside, there’s an impossibly tiny onesie, clearly meant for a newborn baby. The fabric is soft and bright red, but something on the front of it makes Buggy grimace as he holds it up.
“No way!!” he complains, flipping it around and letting you see the Red-Haired Pirate’s Jolly Roger imprinted on the chest of it. “That flashy bastard! No way in hell my child is wearing this!!!”
You giggle, quickly retrieving it from him before he can destroy it. Your baby will be free to do whatever they please, of course, but you can’t help but hope they’ll choose to follow in their father’s footsteps, taking over the Guild or reopening the delivery.
“Now, now! You know he means well!” you say motherly, taking out an envelope that was also tucked into the package. “Now open this one! It’s from the Strawhat Pirates!”
The look on Buggy’s face morphs into a hilarious mixture of shock and disgust. He rips the letter from your hand, opening it violently.
“What is that bratty kid thinking, sending me something so casually!” he complained, the contents of the envelope crumpling a bit in his fingers. “I’m going to defeat him, even if he butters me up! I’m …”
His voice trails off as he stares at the paper in his hand. Impatiently you walk over next to him, peering over his shoulder. It’s a sloppily drawn picture, with “CONGRADS” written across the top. Pictured is what you guess is meant to be Buggy, and a tinier version of Buggy floating in the air beside him. It only narrowly resembles a human form, however, and his red nose is drawn much too large. There’s a moment of silence, but then you burst into laughter despite yourself.
Buggy makes a shrill noise, and before you can stop him he rips the picture to shreds, grumbling obscenities all aimed at Strawhat Luffy and his crew.
As you collect yourself, you feel another hard kick from inside you. Your hands clutch your stomach and you grimace a bit against the weird sensation. Buggy looks at you, that strange uncomfortable look on his face once more.
You smile at him weakly, reaching out a hand. “The baby has been kicking a lot lately! You should feel it.”
Buggy backs away, hands up and waving in dissent. “I’m good! I’m good! Don’t wanna!”
You sigh. “You’re such a kid, sometimes. Our child is going to surpass you in maturity before you know it!”
He frowns deeply, eyebrows furrowing and creating creases in his face-paint. You realize you may have actually hurt his feelings, so you quickly smile and wave it off.
“Oh, listen to me, running my mouth! Must be the stress on my body,” you laugh and start working to lower yourself into a nearby chair. With a huff of effort, you continue. “You don’t have to concern yourself with any part of the pregnancy! I meant what I said when we found out, I’m happy to raise our child alone! You don’t need to be nervous, you’ll always be free to live as you please. That’s how I like you best!”
Buggy continues to look at you, and you realize with annoyance you can’t quite read him. He’s usually such an open book, and that was part of what you loved about him. His joy, his shyness, his competitiveness, his greediness- you could watch the process of his brain play out across his features. It was so endearing, so comfortable. It had drawn you to him, and then captured your heart completely. You wanted to see every face he could make, relish in the dynamics of his boisterous words, support and guide him towards his every dream.
But now a worry crept into your heart, making a fuzzy sound in your ears. Maybe you were delusional, and all his fuss and bravado were his true feelings. Maybe allowing yourself to carry this baby was nothing but an annoyance to him. Maybe you’ve been reading him wrong all along.
Buggy walks closer, looking determined. He leans over, placing two firm palms on either side of your stomach. The warmth of his hands brings you out of your anxieties, and you find yourself smiling and placing your own hands on top of his gently. When he speaks, it’s uncharacteristically soft and deep.
“You’re always saying things like that. I don’t need to be around, I don’t need to give you money,” he pauses and his eyes drift from your belly to your face. “You don’t think much of me as a man, do you?”
You feel your face flush, and curl your fingers between his defensively. “Th-that’s not it! I just-“
You take a moment to collect your thoughts, feeling hot under the attentive gaze of your captain, the father of your child.
“More than anything, I want you to be free. I don’t want to hold you back,” you say, your voice sweetly soft. “I want to be someone who brings you nothing but happiness.”
“Idiot.”
You flick your eyes at him, upset- but his face is beaming red and flustered. He looks to the side, voice raising back up to its typical rasp.
“I’m gonna be the one to make you happy! Our child too!” You feel his hands press a little tighter against the taught skin of your growing belly. “I’ll be King of Pirates, King of the World! And I’ll keep you both by my side and flashily protect you, spoil you, show you off!”
You stare back at him in awe, heart thumping so violently you can feel it in your extremities. You love him so much, you don’t know what to do or say. The future he speaks of, you want it so much, and you can’t begin to fathom how you got so lucky. That the future you wanted most, was a future the man of your dreams wanted as well. You try to think of something to say, but he leans forward and kisses you warmly.
You love his kisses- they’re so gentle and honest. You lean into it, closing your eyes and letting yourself slip into this private, blissful moment the two of you have created.
Then you feel another shift from inside, and a hard kick that makes you gasp into Buggy’s mouth. It came up right against one of Buggy’s hands, and he startles, head moving back and eyes wide.
“Th-they! They kicked! I felt it! Our baby!”
You peck him on the nose. “Yes, our baby!”
Then another kick came, and this time Buggy made a gasp of his own.
“It feels kind of creepy!”
“Don’t say that!” you laugh, and move one of your hands to playfully bonk him on the forehead.
Then, you hear a voice calling from the hall. It sounds like one of the crew, and urgent.
“Captain Buggy! Captain Buggy!”
He gives you a tired glance, but stands up straight and adjusts his hat.
“I better go check that out, but I’ll come back later. Don’t go running around showing that stupid ring off in the meantime! You’re supposed to be resting, or something!”
You look down at your hand, giddy. “Sure, sure!” you answer playfully , not intending to mind his order one bit. He bends and leaves a loving kiss on your forehead, then to your surprise and delight leans even further down and plants a loud kiss on your tummy.
You watch him turn towards the door with a burning, flustered expression of your own. As he starts to leave, he turns to you quickly to say one last thing.
“A beach wedding … does sound nice.”