Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Buggy always knew he would never marry for love.

It just isn’t what nobility does. Marriage is just a means to an end, be that children or alliances or you owe someone a favor and promising that your spawn will one day marry their spawn was the best way to go about things. That’s the luck of the draw his siblings landed in at least. All were still trying to comprehend that their father didn’t disappear from existence as he hid behind his hands when their own hands in marriage were sold off. All except Buggy.

In that regard, he counts himself lucky. And as long as his luck continues, his finger will remain blissfully ring free for as long as possible.

“You’ll be pleased to hear we’ve received and accepted a proposition for your hand in marriage.”

Credit where credit is due, Buggy does not spit out his drink across the breakfast table at his mother’s oh so casual declaration. He does, however, begin to choke.

“Oh stop with the dramatics,” his father calls, not bothering to look up from his reports. “It’s unbecoming of a prince.”

If a potato wasn’t lodged down his windpipe, Buggy would show his father real dramatics . A flipped table, smashed glasses, the works. Hell, he could always do a callback to the viscount's soiree two summers ago? Last he heard, they had to completely re-do their east wing and were still finding leftover paint to this day. How would that be for dramatics? Hmm father? How about that?

Unfortunately, a potato is lodged in his windpipe, and so all Buggy manages is a garbled wheeze before Cabaji mercifully comes over, slams a hand on his back, and returns to his position with the other guards as the chunk pitifully bounces across the table. After a gasping breath of air, Buggy manages to choke out, “Marriage? Are you-” He coughs. “You’re joking?”

With a practiced grace, Buggy’s mother wipes a speck of spittle off her cheek and levels him a cool look. “While you may joke, I most certainly do not. Which on the subject, there will be none of that jester nonsense going forward into this marriage. All that juggling and acrobatics and such will not be tolerated. Your new husbands thankfully take the nature of their positions seriously.”

Buggy blinks. 

“Husb- I’ll be marrying a man?”

“Two men,” his father corrects. “You should be thankful. Not many are wed to those who align with their preferences. Let alone two.”

This actually succeeds in giving Buggy pause. While it was never out of the question that he could end up marrying another man, it was always unlikely. Too many things would need to line up to allow it. Honestly he had always thought that he would be forced to marry a woman, and his unlucky bride would join him in closing her eyes and pretending that the marriage bed was shared with someone they could actually stomach. So to be wed to not one, but two men? People he actually has a good chance of being attracted to? Buggy feels a grin spreading across his face. “Well why didn’t you open with that? Now my husbands-to-be, do you know what prompted their proposal? My stunning looks? Flashy personality? I’m sure my sense of humor drew them in, but what else?”

“It was expressed in their missive that your propensity for the spoken word, specifically in your ability to rally troops and the masses alike, caught their eye.”

At his mother’s explanation, Buggy cannot help but clap his hands together in delight. Truly, it is no surprise that his public speaking enraptured his betrothed. He can make even the tallest of mountains seem like mole hills, or when it pleases him, vice versa, with the right turn of phrase, the perfect amount of emphasis, and of course no shortage of theatrics. He is proud of his way with words, and so to have his betrothed already see his talent, well it bodes well for a long and happy marriage in Buggy’s book. Truly, if Buggy is happy, then so too will his husbands be and they best not forget it.

“So who are these men? Don’t think I haven’t noticed how coy you’ve been with the details. So come on now,” Buggy leans forward in his chair, plainly ignoring his father’s warnings to remove his elbows from the table. “Who are they?”

“Well,” his mother begins not meeting his eye. “The two of them are already wed to the other, though I am of the mind to see this as a boon rather than bane. Hopefully it indicates a solid foundation into which you will be entering. What else? Oh, one was once a knight. Isn’t that nice? I remember how you used to run around the halls swearing to anyone who would listen that one day your knight in shining armor would come and sweep you off your feet, seems that you were right.”

Buggy cannot help the red that rises to the heights of his cheeks. “Mother,” he hisses, glancing back to where his knights thankfully have kept a straight face. “Please. Just- Who will I be marrying?”

“The other is an avid swordsman,” she continues as if she hadn’t heard him. “In fact he-”

Before his mother can continue dawdling, Buggy’s father finally looks up from his reports to interrupt. “You’re to marry Dracule Mihawk and Sir Crocodile. That is final.”

There is a singular moment where Buggy’s brain has yet to process the stated names, and in that singular moment, Buggy knows peace. However, as the second passes, that peace is violently ripped away and Buggy fears he will never know it again.

“Are you insane?” Buggy screeches, scrambling back from the table as his chair crashes to the ground. “They’ll kill me! They’re warlords!”

“They are stepping away from that delineation,” his mother corrects, tone never straying from polite but firm. “Besides, upon your marriage, they will be elevated to a royal status. In fact, the three of you will be kings in their land. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

Buggy takes a step back, hand coming up to where his heart punches against his rib cage. Oh gods he’s going to pass out. Or vomit. Perhaps vomit and then pass out. He isn’t picky. Being king? Oh sure Buggy wants that. But what use is there in being king if he’s dead! And from what he’s heard of Mihawk and Crocodile, mostly words like ruthless, cruel, bloodthirsty, etcetera etcetera, he most certainly will be killed! Probably in some gruesome fashion. 

“How can you- They’re- I’m not-” Buggy heaves in an aching breath. “Didn’t Crocodile try to take over Arabasta? Won’t me, oh I don’t know, marrying the bastard possibly jeopardize our relationship with them?” His voice ticks up a few octaves at the end, but he doesn’t care. He can’t be the only one who can see what an awful idea this is! And Buggy is the king- no pun intended because fuck he doesn’t have the capacity for puns right now- of turning bad ideas into fantastic ideas. But this? 

Fuck this.

“Diplomats are journeying to Arabasta as we speak.” His father says. “I have the utmost faith that they will smooth the matter over with Princess Nefertari Vivi. She is a reasonable woman. I am sure she has seen the tides shifting from our favor.” He pauses for a moment, shuffling his papers before bringing one to the top. “The so-called World Government becomes bolder by the day, bringing more and more nations under its heel. If we want to have the barest hope of pushing them back, alliances must be forged. Even with those of ill repute.” He practically spits the last word, and there is an odd sort of comfort in knowing Buggy’s father at least sees these men for what they are. However, it makes the fact that he is willing to marry Buggy off to them even worse. “I had assumed you of all people would understand the threat they pose.”

Buggy cannot hide how he flinches at the memories this simple sentence conjures.

The clang of his mother’s spoon against the side of her teacup sounds as loud as church bells at a funeral. “Truly Buggy, you should be pleased. Do you know how difficult it has been to find you a match with your-” She pauses, taking a sip of her tea. However, the slide of her gaze above the cup’s rim to his nose is unmistakable. 

“Don’t you say anything about my nose!” Buggy yells though no one even blinks at the outburst. “It’s your genes,” he points an accusing finger between his parents as he continues his tirade. “That caused this! So not one fucking word about it!”

Gently, his mother sets down her cup. “-Temper. I was going to say, with your temper.”

They all know she’s lying, but Buggy feels the fight leave him anyway. It is no secret amongst the family that his red nose had sent many running, either from the idea of having him pass it on to potential children, or simply because it ‘ruined the aesthetic of royalty’ as it had been aptly put to him.

Buggy can’t tell if it's a good or bad sign that Mihawk and Crocodile wish to marry him regardless.

“Well, if you’re done with your little tantrum, you should begin preparations for your journey. A ship will be arriving by tomorrow evening to take you to their stronghold on Kuraigana island and delays will not be tolerated.”

“Tomorrow? You-” Buggy’s lip curls, knuckles turning white. “You’ve known about this for months, haven’t you! And, and what? You thought to just spring this on me at the last minute? That’d I just go along with it? Well you can fuck off! I’m not-”

For the first time the whole morning, his father finally looks up at him, fire in his eyes. “ You will do as you are told. You will board their boat tomorrow, even if I have to drag you there myself. And you will marry Sir Crocodile and Dracule Mihawk. Do I make myself clear?”

The scratch of cutlery against porcelain is the only sound in the room.

Despite his trembling lip, Buggy holds his head high and stares his father down. “Fine. But if you think I’ll let you drag me down to the docks, you’re mistaken. Unlike some, I have far more dignity and grace than that.”

And true to his word, Buggy’s father does not force him to the awaiting ship,

The guards do.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you!” Buggy screeches as gauntlets grip his wrists.

Off to the side of the spectacle, his father sighs. “It should not be this hard to get a hold of him.”

One of the guards steps in front of him, his mistake, and Buggy uses the men holding his arms as leverage to high kick him in the chin, sending the man sprawling backwards in a heap of chainmail. 

“Oh my god he bit me!” A guard squeals.

“Yeah he does that,” Cabaji murmurs as he stands at attention, though not assisting in this display. In fact, none of Buggy’s personal guards are involved. He appreciates it. Buggy would have felt a little guilty if he had to stab any of them. 

However, despite his best efforts, the guards do manage to drag him all the way out to the courtyard, and to his credit, Buggy knows when he’s beat.

“Alright! Alright!” He stops struggling, attempting to stand up straight. “I’ll walk the rest of the way, at least give me that.”

There’s a pause as the guards look to the king, and with a slight nod, they all let go. Quickly brushing himself off and fixing his hair, Buggy chances a look at the courtyard exits, only to find them all affixed with at least two guards. Maybe he could make it past the ones on the left, they don’t look all that bad. But actually getting out of the kingdom after that? Unlikely. Despite his best attempts, this is happening. Buggy is getting married.

After a moment of silence, he sighs. “May I have a word with my knights before we go?”

His mother nods. “You may. Though please do make your goodbyes quick. We do not want to keep the ship waiting.”

Buggy stumbles. “Goodbyes? They’re coming with me though, right?”

And this, out of every joke and pun and riddle Buggy has ever said, is the first thing to actually make his father laugh. “Oh come now, you didn’t think we would let them accompany you? Your little band of freaks you’ve acquired would be sure to help in whatever inane scheme you would come up with to weasel out of this marriage. Let alone, the lion! Don’t think we have forgotten about when you sicced the beast on the duchess’ son. We’re not going to let you do the same to your new husbands. No. They will all be remaining here. Reassigned to fit their unique . . .” His father scans over the gathered group. “ . . . Talents. ”

Buggy doesn’t respond. His gaze fixed firmly to the ground, watching a beetle scuttle past. So small and insignificant, scurrying to safety before its trampled underfoot. Wings shimmer a metallic turquoise in the sun, like a jewel atop a crown. Beautiful and free and-

With nothing but a caw as warning, a bird swoops down and swallows the beetle whole. 

-And dead. Beautiful and dead.

“Um, Buggy?”

He blinks and looks up, only to find the courtyard emptied of all but his own guard. 

“You still with us?” Alvida asks, leaning up against the wall as she looks over at him. “King didn’t give us long, you know.”

Buggy doesn’t, but he keeps that to himself as he straightens up and plasters on a grin. “Course I’m still with you. What? Trying to get rid of me early?”

He laughs. 

No one else does.

No one else even cracks a smile. Mohji looks on the verge of tears as he runs his hands through Richie’s mane. Meanwhile Cabaji has practically buried himself in his scarf. For Alvida’s part, she plays the part of non-affected perfectly, though Buggy can still see the way she picks at her fingernails. As for the others, they’re all in various states of dismay and despair. Truly a dismal send-off party.

“Oh please, what’s everyone acting so upset for?” Buggy calls, immediately gaining the attention of his knights. “Sure I may be going away, but remember that I’m going away to be a king! And I think we can all agree that my rightful place has been, and always will be the throne!” This actually garners a few cheers. “Besides, what do I have to be afraid of? A couple of wannabe lords? Please, I’ll have those two wrapped around my finger before the week is out! And if they think they can stop me from being my flashy fantastic self, they’ve got another thing coming!”

His gathered knights whoop and holler, coming up and patting him on the back, letting him know that they’ll hold down the fort here while he’s gone, and although they may be reassigned, they will always be Buggy’s Knights, no matter what!

“Alright Richie, you be a good boy,” Buggy coos as he scratches beneath the lion's chin. “You take care of them.”

While Richie simply cocks his head, Mojhi bursts into tears. 

“Okay Cabaji, you-” but before Buggy can finish the sentence, he looks up to see that Cabaji is too crying. 

Buggy sighs. “Alvida?”

“Yeah don’t worry, I got it,” she says, walking over, thankfully tear free. “Now c’mon, you should go before the king comes back and has all our heads.”

“Eh, not mine though. This head’s too important.” He winks. “Gotta use it to go kiss some warlords.”

He tries to put on a convincing smile, lips, eyes the whole package! However, from Alvida’s own face, it doesn’t succeed. “Buggy, this marriage- Just, don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Don’t call me stupid!”

This earns him a smack to the back of his head. “I wasn’t calling you stupid, idiot. I’m just saying, Crocodile and Mihawk, they’re not ones to mess with. We . . . We all want to see you again. Just, make sure it’s not at your funeral.”

There’s a quip on the edge of Buggy’s tongue, but when he sees the look in Alvida’s eyes, it dies there too. “Hey, I’ll be fine. No need to worry,” Buggy lies. “I’ll write to you all when I can, and then you’ll see that I have the whole thing under control.”

Alvida just nods, and as she opens her mouth, the sound of footsteps on the cobblestone interrupts her. 

“Prince Buggy?” A guard calls. “Your presence is requested at the docks.”

He almost laughs. Requested? As if he can just say ‘Oh no thank you. I’m rather busy at the moment!’ and that will be that. Honestly his father seems ready to hogtie him up and throw him on the ship if that’s what it takes.

With one last final farewell to his knights, Buggy adjusts his crown and strides towards the docks, hoping that his husbands-to-be will chalk up any tears in his eyes to the setting sun.

“Now presenting, His Royal Highness, the Prince of Karai Bari.”

At the announcement, Buggy steps onto the docks and into the shadow of the colossal ship anchored there. Though furled, its sails appear a deep black, the same as the lacquered wood making up the hull. At the bow, a curving crocodile serves as the figurehead, seeming poised to strike at any moment. Then, standing imposing at the end of the gang plank, is a single figure. 

“Prince Buggy,” the man calls out, bowing his head slightly and honestly Buggy is impressed with how his intricately coiffed hair doesn’t move a, well a hair’s breadth, as he leans forward. “I’m Galdino, one of Sir Crocodile’s courtiers and it is an-” Underneath the man’s glasses, his eyes quickly scan Buggy up and down, a smirk forming on his lips. “- Honor to have you aboard. However, I must regretfully inform you that Lords Mihawk and Crocodile were unable to make the journey. Running a country is busy work, as I’m sure you can imagine .”

Buggy makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry, I have enough imagination for the both of us.” He turns back to his parents before Galdino has a chance to respond. “Well. I suppose this is it, hmm?”

Nodding, his mother offers a smile. “This will be good for us, you’ll see.”

Behind them, the servants finish unloading the last of the crates from Kuraigana. No doubt filled with swords and silks and spices and all other manner of finery the court will surely fawn over.

“Right,” Buggy says, not meeting his mother’s eyes. “Us.”

He gives a slight bow to his parents, finishing off with a polite goodbye to appease them. Turning back to Galdino, Buggy simply says, “Well come on then. Best not to keep my husbands-to-be waiting, hmm?”

Before Galdino can school his face back into the calm cockiness he’s been sporting, there’s a flash of something else- Eyes wide, hands clenching, mouth stretched wide. “Ah yes, of course,” he quickly states. “No need to get on their bad side.”

The desire to jump into the sea, keep swimming until he finds some deserted island and live the rest of his life sleeping on a hammock between two palm trees far away from even the thought of Mihawk and Crocodile, suddenly becomes very appealing to Buggy. Alas, his coconut dreams are squashed as he finds himself walking up the gangplank, legs seemingly moving of their own accord.

With no further fuss or fanfare, the ship sails off from the docks, from Karai Bari, from any semblance of freedom Buggy ever had. Still, he keeps a stiff upper lip in the face of this adversity. These people are soon to be his subjects! He’s not going to show weakness in front of them! Everything is fine. Everything will be fine.

And then from the dwindling speck on the horizon, Buggy hears what is unmistakably the roar of a lion and he can’t help but bite his lip until it bleeds. 

After weeks at sea, the sight of land should send Buggy into an entire song and dance number. However, the shadows of jagged cliffs looming in the mist look far too similar to a corpse’s curled fingers jutting from the grave for Buggy’s comfort, and so instead, he simply stands on deck and stares.

“Gloomy, isn’t it?” Galdino chuckles as he comes to stand next to him.

Buggy hums in response.

“It’s not always this bad,” Galdino continues on, either trying to make Buggy feel better or oblivious to how badly his stomach is tied in knots. “When the sun comes out, it can actually be quite nice.”

Galdino keeps prattling on until they dock, something about monkeys and greenhouses and forests. Not that Buggy is paying attention. Every ounce of his focus is set towards scanning the port for his husbands-to-be. Now sure, he doesn’t actually know what they look like, but Buggy feels like its a safe bet to be on the lookout for anyone with blood dripping from their mouth, a cloak bedazzled with human teeth, and/or socks with sandals, you know, signs of pure evil. 

However, no one really stands out, with sweat stained shirts and well-worn boots being the norm. Nothing that a warlord would wear. Or future King for that matter. 

Next to Buggy, Galdino spends a moment talking with a young woman before turning back to him. “It seems your presence is already requested, please, follow me.”

Buggy takes a step back onto the gangplank. “By whom? Mihawk and Crocodile? They want to see me? Now?”

Galdino has the audacity to laugh. “Who else here would want to see you?”

Having no time to be offended, Buggy takes another step back. “I just- Maybe I should go freshen up first? It’s been a long trip, my hair’s a mess, I smell of seaweed, and you know what they say about first impressions, hmm?” Buggy titters. “So let’s just delay this meeting. I think I could pencil them in for some time next week? Or next month if that works better?”

Instead of immediately responding, Galdino removes a small cloth from his coat followed by his glasses. “I’ve found that making the two of them wait is never a good idea,” he says casually as he begins to wipe the lenses. “They have quite the temper, you know. I certainly wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of it. Now,” he puts his glasses back in place, the sun glaring off them in such a way that Buggy can’t see his eyes. “Are you coming?”

Buggy just nods and finally, takes his first steps onto Kuraigana island. 

Like the sky, it seems everything here is the same shade of dull gray, making Buggy stand out like a bruised thumb. Even the inside of the castle is so monochrome it almost hurts. A part of him wants to say something, anything, to break the awful silence, so he won’t have to hear his own echoing footsteps off the stone. However, the thought of his voice booming down the halls, drawing the attention of everyone here? Well for once Buggy actually wants to keep his mouth shut.

As they turn a corner, a large black metal door comes into view. Most of it is covered in an intricate design of flowers and swirling stems made out of the same metal as the door. However, just as Buggy opens his mouth to comment on its beauty, he spies the other design on the door: A large bird of prey settled in the flowers, its talons puncturing a bleeding heart.

Buggy swears his own heart stops beating then and there.

And as the cherry on top, Galdino stops outside this particular nightmare door and knocks.

There’s a beat of silence and then a deep voice calls, “Come in.”

Okay this time his heart absolutely does stop.

Before Buggy can flee, the massive double doors swing inward and there’s barely time to blink before he comprehends what he’s seeing as the guards step out of the way.

A giant war table takes up the majority of the room, covered in maps and letters and most alarmingly, the largest sword Buggy’s ever seen in his fucking life. The beast of a thing looks bigger than him! There’s no way that thing is usable. This has to be some sort of power-play. Some prop they pull out to scare the shit out of guests. And hey, it’s fucking working!

But then, Buggy’s gaze is drawn up from the sword to the man sitting behind it and his breath stutters. Yellow eyes seemingly sharper than the sword on the table stare directly at Buggy, probably through him, inside of him, picking apart every aspect of him in a millisecond. There’s nowhere to hide from that gaze, and if that’s not the man the tales call Hawkeyes, Buggy will chop off his own hand. However, Mihawk doesn’t bother saying anything to him. Just keeps staring, looking if anything, bored.

“So this is the little prince, huh?” Another voice asks and Buggy nearly gets dizzy at the speed he whips his head around to the other occupant of the room. Leaning over the table, palm splayed across the wood, is almost certainly Sir Crocodile. Smoke curls from his cigar across the sharp planes of his face, only slightly obscuring the scar cutting across it. And as he stands straight, Buggy realizes that the size of the, surely a joke, sword is nothing compared to how massive the man in front of him is. Really, if Crocodile wasn’t surely going to murder him, Buggy would actually be impressed. Maybe even a little horny. However, they most certainly are going to murder him, so terror is really all he can muster up at the moment. Still, first impressions are important, and maybe being cordial will delay his inevitable death.

“Prince Buggy of Karai Bari,” he says with a slight bow. “It is an honor-”

“We know who you are,” Mihawk interrupts, voice low and drawling. “No need to waste time with introductions.”

Through a too wide grin, Buggy manages out a small “mhmm”.

Across the table, Crocodile shuffles a stack of papers. “Here, sign this,” he orders as he slides one of the pieces towards Buggy, who is already grabbing a quill before it even reaches him. 

With a hastily scrawled scribble of his name, Buggy looks back up at his fiancé's and desperately tries to think of any of the lines he practiced in his cabin. Lovely weather? That’s absolutely out. Pleasure to meet you both? No, there’s no way he could get through that one without his teeth chattering. “I’m looking forward to our wedding,” Buggy finally settles on, because it’s at least partially true. He can never pass up a good party, and if the pitcher of wine on the table is any indication, he’ll be able to down enough alcohol to make it through the vows without instinctively trying to bolt.

And then Crocodile laughs, this deep, short thing that makes Buggy’s hair stand straight. “Wedding?” He grinds the end of his cigar into a tray. “You think we’re going to waste resources on some idiotic party?” 

“I ah- I just thought you know, we’d have a ceremony to exchange the rings? Sign the papers? All of that . . .”

Mihawk actually scoffs at this. “You mean those papers?”

Slowly, Buggy drags his gaze down back to the papers he just signed, now actually taking the moment to scan over them. 

Oh.

His fingers curl slightly over the edge of the marriage agreement. “Ah so we’re- We’re already married.”

Mihawk mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “So he is literate,” but Buggy tries to tell himself that he must have misheard.

Too many thoughts are running through Buggy’s head. He’s a king now. Finally, an actual king. But also Mihawk and Crocodile are kings now too. So has his usefulness already expired? Are they going to kill him with the comically large sword? Or maybe they’ll make it look like an accident? Push him down the stairs perhaps? Or say Buggy ran himself through on the sword so they still get to use the monstrosity? Or perhaps they’ll push him down the stairs and then run him through with the sword-

“Galdino, show him to his room,” Crocodile commands with a wave of his hook before going back to looking over the maps on the table. 

And that’s- That’s it. Neither man says anything else as Galdino walks away, beckoning him to follow. All Buggy can do is blankly walk behind him, offering a short and stuttered “goodbye” as the doors close with a resounding thud, leaving him with a single thought repeating over and over and over again in his head:

What the fuck was that?

Chapter Text

As a child, Buggy had briefly loved hide and go seek. Back then, there were four distinct stages during the game. First, there was the adrenaline filled mad-dash to find the perfect hiding spot. Next came elation at knowing no one would ever discover him. After a while the third stage would start, the creeping feeling settling over him like dust that no one was looking for him at all. And at least for Buggy, the fourth stage was almost always realizing that in fact, no one was looking for him, either having forgotten, or worse, were never looking for him in the first place. Then when he crawled out, red in the face and yelling, it only served to prove his playmates right- that Buggy was better out of everyone’s way.

Living on Kuraigana island is oddly similar to those childhood games of hide and go seek.

“I just don’t understand! It’s been a month and what do I get from them? Nothing! Nada! Zip! Zilch!” Buggy slouches in his chair. “Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled at first when I managed to avoid them. But now? Now it’s like they don’t even care about me! Can you believe that? Me? I’m a delight! Who wouldn’t care about me?”

“Your majesty, please don’t move.”

Sighing, Buggy slumps farther down. “Do you think they’re planning something? Lulling me into a false sense of security so they can, I don’t know, behead me? Throw me in the dungeon?

From behind her easel the court artist, Marianne, pokes her head out. “Not that I’m unsympathetic, but if I mess up your portrait because you won’t sit still, you’re gonna have a lot more problems than the kings ignoring you.”

Buggy is halfway through the thought of flipping the girl off, but stops himself. The last thing he needs on this miserable island is to be immortalized by some teenager with a stain on his shirt or spinach in his teeth. Still, he mutters “I’m king too, you know,” as he re-positions himself. “And do you really think they’re ignoring me?”

“Honestly, with those two? Who knows.” Marianne pauses as she applies more paint to the canvas. “They’re both very private people. The fact that they married you was surprising.”

Just as Buggy opens his mouth to protest that he’s a catch, Marianne holds up a finger. “Shush, I wasn’t finished,” she says. “It would have been surprising had they married anyone, not just you. Rumor has it that some king proposed a marriage between the three of them just a year ago.” Marianne agonizingly pauses her story as she glances between Buggy and the canvas, before finally applying a single stroke. “A handsome king at that.”

“Okay but-”

“Strong too! Just an amazing fighter.”

“Can you-”

“Not to mention confident.”

“Well that’s not-”

“Oh and very tall.”

“I’m tall!”

Marianne finally pauses at Buggy’s outburst. She peeks out from the easel, looks him over, and then ducks back behind it. “Of course your majesty,” she placates, though Buggy swears she’s smirking back there. “Anyway,” she continues. “Despite it being a good alliance, they declined. Caused a whole ordeal too.”

Frowning, Buggy doesn’t immediately respond. 

“At the time, everyone just assumed they didn’t want to wed again, but, well, you know how that went.”

The rest of the session goes by in relative silence, save for Buggy ordering the servants to place Marianne’s paints approximately six inches closer to her as the girl downright refused to get up and get them, and no, Buggy would not be fine with green hair just because she was too lazy to grab the blue, thank you very much! However, even as he leaves to head back to his room, Buggy remains quiet. Why would Crocodile and Mihawk turn down a marriage that would bring them a good alliance, only to turn around and marry Buggy? As loath as he is to admit, Karai Bari is not the strongest in terms of military nor trade. There is a good chance that another marriage would have been stronger. Yet they declined? Oh sure, Buggy is positive that he’s far flashier than whatever king proposed to them, but if they’re just going to ignore him anyways, what’s the point? 

Why is he even here?

“I will pen a response today,” A deep and monotonous voice carries down the hall, and despite only having heard the speaker a handful of times, Buggy immediately recognizes it as Mihawk. “I’m sure I can convince them our presence will be beneficial.”

“Shouldn’t have to convince them of shit,” Comes the reply from Crocodile, accompanied by ever increasingly loud footsteps. “We have as much right to be there as all those idiots, and if we went with my plan, they would remember not to question that.”

Really, Buggy should already be running in the opposite direction of those two, back to the safety of his room which is, thankfully, far away from whatever wing of the castle Mihawk and Crocodile . . . Well he can’t imagine the two of them actually sleeping. Maybe sitting silently in the dark for twelve hours not blinking? Giving birth control to endangered birds? However, curiosity barely outweighs cowardice and Buggy finds himself creeping close to the walls, hoping to catch another snippet of conversation. 

“That may be so, but there is a specific saying against that type of action.”

Crocodile actually laughs at this. But it's not the type of laugh Buggy heard before, the type that could easily be replaced with the phrase ‘you’re beneath me’ and the meaning would be the same. This laugh is softer, more breathy, betraying fondness that Buggy didn’t think Crocodile was capable of. “Eh, that’s against shooting the messenger, says nothing about gutting them.”

“I would argue it’s within the same spirit, dear.”

Dear.

Dracule Mihawk, best swordsman in the world, scourge of the world government, uses pet names. And based on the fact that Buggy does not presently hear the tell-tale spatter and gurgle of someone getting their throat slit, Crocodile has no qualms about this. Honestly, Buggy had been assuming theirs was a marriage of convenience, nothing more. But now . . .

“What are you doing?”

A screech echoes through the halls as Buggy flails and jumps back from where Crocodile and Mihawk tower above him. “Oh! Uh, hello! How are-” He leans against a wall in a fleeting attempt to act casual, but misjudges the distance and more or less falls against it. “How are you both doing?” He asks, breathless.

Both men stare at him like he’s a rather disgusting bug they’ve come across and are debating whether to squish him or tear off his legs one by one. Finally though, Mihawk deigns to speak to him. “Again, what are you doing?”

“Me? Ah well, I was just-” Eavesdropping. He was just eavesdropping but he can’t tell them that. “I got lost. On my way to my room. I was sitting for my portrait, you see. But got lost on the way back. Big castle and all. And all the halls look the same. So I was standing here to try and remember what way it was. But I’m good now!” He trails off in a chuckle that his husbands do not share. In fact, the two of them begin to walk away without even a courtesy goodbye, or apology for scaring him, or even a teensy-tiny declaration of love in which they admit that they were just so intimated of how awe-inspiring Buggy is and that’s why they ignored him and won’t he ever forgive them?

Really, he’s not asking for much.

And maybe it's that sting of being ignored yet again that makes Buggy call after them, “Will we be sitting for a portrait together? All three of us?”

Neither even bothers to stop walking as Mihawk calls behind him, “No”, thus officially ending the longest conversation Buggy has had with his husbands since his first day on Kuraigana.

Buggy sorely wishes he hadn’t listened in on Crocodile and Mihawk’s conversation. It’s been a week, and he can’t stop thinking about it. And oh how he’s tried to stop thinking about it, even going so far as to claim one of the weapons workshops on the island for himself. There he could get lost in his formulas and equations, the smell of sulfur and charcoal lulling him into familiar routine as he measures out saltpeter and ash. 

Really, it’s a better setup than he even had on Karai Bari, as at least here, Buggy doesn’t have to worry about his mother bursting in to scold him, telling him that princes should not dirty themselves with weapon-making. Still, he finds himself far more distracted than he was back then.

Dear.

The word keeps bouncing around his head as he precipitates his latest solution. It was said so casually, so easily. Mihawk must use it often. Does Crocodile have some fond name for Mihawk? Do they have jokes just between the two of them, eliciting that same sort of laughter Buggy heard before?

A part of him, a cruel self-sabotaging part of him, wonders what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such an endearment, but he quickly quashes that line of thinking. Unfortunately, like a cockroach, the damn thing just won’t die. They are his husbands afterall. He’s to spend the rest of his, hopefully very long, life with them. Surely Crocodile and Mihawk wouldn’t have picked him if they found him unappealing. Perhaps he just needs to take the initiative? Really, if anyone is going to break through their walls, it would be none other than Buggy in all his spectacular, stunning glory. 

With one last quick jot of notes of today’s progress, Buggy removes his goggles and rushes back to his chambers, making sure to flag down a servant with the orders to let kings Crocodile and Mihawk know that he is requesting their presence in the dining hall for this evening’s meal. 

That night, despite his nerves, Buggy’s hands don’t shake even a millimeter as clasps a golden brooch around the curve of his head, the matching earrings already in position. It’s not exactly the stylings of his home court, far more dazzling than anything they wore at Karai Bari. But it is extremely Buggy, and that’s what he needs tonight. His husbands need to see him for who he really is, that being smart and handsome and charming and everything a good King should be. This should lay the groundwork for more conversation, more interactions, which then should all lead to Buggy actually understanding the two men he is wed to. 

Perhaps one day, they may even call him dear.

With one last check that everything is in place, Buggy leaves his chambers and heads to the dining room, head held high. When the guards open the doors, Buggy is only slightly disappointed that, besides the servants, he is the first one here. Although he is early after all. So really no need to worry. Despite his time here, he’s never actually taken any meals outside his room, so perhaps his husbands come late to dinner often. Truly Buggy wouldn’t know. So as plates begin to pour out from the kitchen, Buggy stands by the roaring fireplace, hoping at least some of the perpetual chill of the island will finally seep out from his bones. 

Ten minutes pass.

Buggy is still cold.

Crocodile and Mihawk are still absent.

“Your majesty,” a servant calls. “Dinner is served if you are ready to eat?”

He waves them off. “No, I’ll wait for Mihawk and Crocodile.”

There’s a pregnant pause. “Of course, your majesty.”

A quarter of an hour comes and goes before the first fracture in his resolve begins to form. “You there,” Buggy calls to the first guard in his line of sight. “Go see what delays the kings. Now.”

The clang of metal on metal grows faint as the guard leaves. For men who are apparently so particular about others not leaving them waiting, they sure have no issue doing the same to Buggy. Still, he clings to the shreds of his patience he has left. He won’t let his temper get the best of him. The night is young after all! No need to ruin it due to tardiness.

Sooner than Buggy expected, the guard returns. “Your majesty,” he greets with a bow. “I come with apologies from the kings. A matter came up which they must see too, and so neither will be able to join you for dinner.”

Like a balloon burst, Buggy deflates, and suddenly the clasp in his hair is digging into his scalp, his shoes are too tight, and his makeup feels far too heavy on his face. The servants are all certainly looking at him, and while he would usually love the attention, it now feels oppressive. Still, he has appearances to keep. “That’s . . . That’s alright. It was a last minute request anyway.” He takes a deep breath. “Please inform the king’s secretary that I would like to attend dinner with them in one week’s time.

A quick nod and a bow is the only response he gets, and with no one now to wait for, Buggy sits with his back to the fire and eats his dinner alone, his only solace being that this time next week, he would finally be having a proper conversation with his husbands.

Except no. No he does not have dinner with his husbands that next week, as again, a matter had come up they had to see to. 

But this week, this week Buggy has a good feeling about his chances. Partially because he’s had a servant update him every hour on the hour if any news had come in, if anything new had been penciled into the king’s calendars, or if anyone even looked like they were going to have a problem they would need to cancel the dinner for. This time everything would be perfect. Buggy even has good news to share over their meal! He’s been making great progress on what he is calling the Buggy Ball and has been working with the master-at-arms on setting up a test soon. Neither Crocodile and Mihawk know of it, so it should be a wonderful surprise. 

‘Wow Buggy!’ they’ll surely exclaim. ‘What a wonderful invention you’ve created! Let us talk about it in detail! In fact, let's have breakfast together too so we can clue you in on what’s been happening in this kingdom we rule together. By the way, are those pearls in your hair?’

And of course, Buggy will reply that it’s really nothing, but yes they are real pearls from the waters of Karai Bari and if they’re so inclined, they can run their fingers through his hair as he has been using a new conditioner which makes it exquisitely soft.

As he pictures the perfect dinner he’s about to have, the doors to the dining hall swing open in time to the clock striking seven and Buggy is quick to rise. “Thank you for-” he stops himself as he sees who stands in the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Buggy,” Galdino says as he closes the doors behind him. “Marianne tells me she’s nearly done with your portrait. Honestly, I was surprised the kingdom had enough red paint to portray your-”

A knife sinking into the wall next to Galdino stops him in his tracks. “Not another fucking word,” Buggy hisses, grabbing a second knife for good measure. “Got it?”

“You could have hit me!” Galdino shrieks, looking between where the knife is embedded in the seams of the wood and Buggy. “I could have died!”

Rolling his eyes, Buggy falls back into his chair. “Give me more credit than that.” He stabs through a piece of meat with his fork. “If I had wanted to hit you, I would have. Now leave. Crocodile and Mihawk will be here any minute now and I don’t want the fact that you reek of wax to ruin our appetites.”

Buggy expects a quip back, as has been the standard between the two of them since he arrived, but is instead met with an awkward silence. When Buggy turns back to him, Galdino is very purposefully looking anywhere but at him. “About that . . . Well, they’re uh . . . They’re not coming. An important matter-”

“What is it?”

Galdino falters. “Pardon?”

“ What is it? ” Buggy repeats, practically grinding the words between his teeth. “What’s this important matter, hmm? Because when I checked ten fucking minutes ago, all was well in the castle. So go on. What happened?”

“I- Well, they ah- They didn’t say.”

That’s all Buggy needs to hear as he abruptly stands and stalks out of the room, heading straight for his husband’s offices.

“Your majesty!” Galdino cries as he runs after him. “I really don’t think you should disturb them! They’re very busy people!”

“I’m sure they are,” Buggy replies, his hair fanning out around him as he strides through the halls. “And once they explain what exactly has them so busy that they can’t spare even a single evening to have dinner with me, I’ll leave them to it.”

Despite Galdino’s protests, Buggy soon enough finds himself standing outside that same metal door once more, and without hesitation, he barges in-

-And immediately stops dead.

From where he sits, Crocodile glances up at the door, making no attempt to hide his sigh. “What are you doing here?” Before Buggy even really processes what was said, Crocodile looks behind him to Galdino. “Thought we told you to tell him we were busy.”

“I did your majesty! I promise! He wouldn’t listen though.”

There’s some threat about throwing Galdino into a pit, but Buggy doesn’t really comprehend it as he just stares at the table.

“If you’re quite finished interrupting us, please see yourselves out.”

Instead of following Mihawk’s request, Buggy manages to get four words out from his sandpaper throat.

“Are you . . . having dinner?”

As spread out on the table aren’t battle plans or trade agreements, but plates and half-filled wine glasses and little side dishes, all brimming with roasted potatoes and parsnips, fresh mint sauce and lamb. Mihawk and Crocodile sit on either side of one of the table corners, their legs surely brushing underneath.

Yellow eyes glare at him. “What an idiotic question. What else do you imagine us doing with this food?”

“But-” Buggy tries to gather his wits, which have basically been tossed on the floor. “You said- You declined to have dinner with me. You said you were busy.”

“We are busy,” comes the all too quick reply from Crocodile. “Busy having dinner. Which you’re interrupting.”

His breath is coming faster now. “You were too busy to eat with me because you were already eating? Why not just tell me you take your dinner here? I could have joined you instead of asking for you each week like an idiot!”

Swirling his glass of wine, Mihawk raises an eyebrow. “And why would we want to have dinner with you?”

“Because I’m your husband!” Buggy snaps, knuckles turning white. “At the bare fucking minimum you should have to have dinner with me!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Buggy just catches a glimpse of Galdino backtracking out the door. 

Instead of immediately replying, Crocodile stands and crosses the room, returning with a scroll of parchment in his hand. “If making us eat with you was your priority-,” Crocodile tosses the scroll to Buggy. “Should have put it in the contract.”

He glances between the papers and his husbands. “W-what?”

“The marriage contract,” Crocodile explains as he takes his seat again. “Draws up the required duties in the marriage. Having some stupid tea party with you isn’t one of them. In fact, outside of keeping your spoiled royal ass fed, clothed, and sheltered, only other thing we have to do is keep you from harm. Says nothing about having to be near you. Trust me, I made sure of it.”

“But,” his breath stutters. “But you proposed this marriage. Why- Why would you do that if you don’t even want to see me?”

Mihawk sets down his glass. “Ah, I see the miscommunication. You seem to be under the impression that this marriage has anything to do with feelings. Let me assure you it is not.”

Buggy feels his lip start to tremble.

“Requesting your hand in marriage was solely to do with the advantages such an alliance would bring. You grant us royal status, something that others of your class find as a necessary prerequisite to doing business, even as a common enemy breathes down our necks. You also make a serviceable spokesperson for the kingdom. Our reputation precedes us, making rallying anything but fear in both troops and people alike difficult. You seemed adept enough at appealing to a wide enough audience to-” He pauses and turns to Crocodile. “How did you put it again?”

“Improve our image.”

“Ah yes, thank you,” Mihawk turns back to Buggy and dear gods he hopes the other man doesn’t hear his quiet sniffling. “And finally, out of everyone we inquired upon, you seemed the least likely to try and cause us trouble.”

A coward. 

A bunch of fancy words to call him a spineless coward who would be easy to keep under their thumb. 

His father almost certainly used that as a selling point.

“Really, you got a good deal out of this,” Crocodile says, but there’s no kindness behind his voice. “All you're obligated to do is give some speeches, attend some functions, and that’s it. Besides that, we really don’t care what you do. Hell, fuck whoever you want. Hire some prostitutes. Makes no difference to us. Just stay out of our way.”

In that moment, a realization seeps into Buggy like rain into his clothes during an unexpected storm: This truly is like those childhood games of hide and go seek. No one was ever looking for him. All that time of hiding away, thinking he was so brilliant at not getting caught, it was all for people who never wanted to find him. In fact, that was what they had wanted all along. For Buggy to pack himself away, out of sight and out of mind.

“Are you crying? ”

Buggy opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. He furiously wipes his face with his sleeve to dash away any tears, but it comes back covered in snot and makeup.

Crocodile sighs. “And now you’ve ruined my appetite. Great.”

He wants to say something. Wants to scream or beg. Just anything rather than standing in front of Mihawk and Crocodile in silence. However, when every attempt at a word ends in a choked gasp, Buggy finds the only option is to flee the room, followed by a comment he’s sure Crocodile meant for him to hear.

“That was pathetic.”

Rushing back to his quarters, humiliation coursing through him, Buggy slams the door behind him as soon as steps inside. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why did he expect anything more from warlords? As if they of all people would want him as anything other than a tool to use! Bastards! Complete and utter bastards!

As he clenches his fist, the realization that he still holds the marriage contract in his hand dawns on him, and just as quickly, he crumples the thing into a ball and hurls it across the room. 

Stomping over to his vanity, the face that greets him makes Buggy recoil. Eyes bloodshot, mascara streaking down his puffy, red face, and to top it all off, lipstick smeared around his mouth. 

The face of a king. 

Honestly, Buggy isn’t sure how long he sits in front of his mirror staring at what he’s become. What Mihawk and Crocodile have made him become. He could have been back home, with his knights- his friends. But no, instead he’s here. With two husbands who want nothing to do with him, who will never show him an ounce of affection. The rest of his life will be empty dining tables and cold beds. There will be no excited retellings of his day, no inside jokes between the three of them, no casual darlings or dears. They have taken from him any hope of a happy ending just because they had to have Buggy of all people be their contractually obligated royal mouthpiece. Sure all he has to do is give speeches and attend functions but at that point, what is he but a trained dog, only good for barking on command, and nothing more . . .

Wait.

Nothing more.

Buggy stops, an idea forming.

In the mirror, the crumpled contract draws his gaze.

Slowly, as if the thing could be spooked away, Buggy approaches the wadded up scroll, gingerly picking it up and flattening it back out against the side of his vanity. He quickly scans the document. Sits down. Reads it slowly this time. Then once more for good measure.

And for the first time that night, Buggy smiles.

Perhaps Crocodile was right.

Maybe he did get a good deal out of this.

Chapter Text

The almost ever-present overcast that keeps Kuraigana cold and gray isn’t something Crocodile finds himself fond of, but it is something he’s come to tolerate. He far prefers the heat, the sweat dripping down his spine as opposed to pathetically shivering, the energizing warmth instead of the draining cold. 

Truly, the only benefit to the island’s dismal weather is that it makes stepping into his husband’s greenhouse all the better.

“Hawkeyes,” Crocodile calls out, though he is only greeted in kind by a blast of warm air to the face. Quickly shutting the door behind him to avoid Mihawk chiding him about letting in the cold air, again , he scans over the layers of leaves and towering tree trunks for any sign of his husband. Yet, nothing. Sighing, Crocodile starts down the stone pathways in search of Mihawk. Calling out again would be pointless. If his guess is right, and it absolutely is, Mihawk can hear him perfectly fine wherever in the maze of greenery he is. The issue lies in the fact that Mihawk is not listening . 

Honestly, for a man with senses so honed, he can truly be oblivious. 

Rounding a bend, Crocodile finally spies his husband kneeling amongst the dirt, shears in hand. Every ounce of his focus is dedicated to the plant in front of him, yellow eyes wide, head tilted just slightly, lips barely parted. Then, fast enough that Crocodile would have missed it had he blinked, Mihawk’s hand darts out to make a single cut to a single branch, retreating back to his side just as quickly. 

Interrupting him now would be easy, a little funny too if he’s being honest. Mihawk’s brows will furrow together, forming that small wrinkle on the bridge of his nose and he’ll end up looking more like he’s pouting than anything resembling real menace. ‘I most certainly was aware of your presence’ his husband will claim. ‘I had just not realized you have the patience of a child and could not wait but a few minutes’. Or something like that, all said in that same tone of his. However, should Crocodile actually interrupt him now, Mihawk will be off all day. Whatever demonstration the master at arms has insisted they attend will be overshadowed by his husband’s need to finish what he has started, and Crocodile just knows he’ll wake up to an empty bed in the middle of the night because Mihawk couldn’t sleep knowing his whole system has been thrown off schedule. 

And so instead of drawing Mihawk’s attention, Crocodile sits on one of the retaining walls, watching and waiting. There’s honestly a beauty to when Mihawk gets like this, so intense, so focused, each cut precise and decisive. In a way, it’s not unlike his swordsmanship. On the battlefield, that same dedication is ever present, his gaze ever-watchful for a weakness that he can exploit. Death for the sake of life. 

As he enjoys the silence, or well, silence occasionally interrupted by the snap of a branch, Crocodile spies a young tomato plant, its fruits still green and unripe, but no less alluring. With one last glance to ensure Mihawk is still engrossed in his plants, he reaches out towards the largest tomato, fingers barely brushing against the soft skin.

“Leave them. They’re not yet ripe.”

Snapping his head back, yellow eyes lock with his. “Oh now you notice I’m here? When your plants are in danger?”

Mihawk turns back to the shrub, giving a few snips in quick succession. “Perhaps if you were not prone to taking them all too early then complaining when there are no tomatoes left later in the season, my constant vigilance over them would not be necessary.” Cutting one last branch, Mihawk stands as he brushes the dirt from his pants. “Though on that note, the next shipment of supplies to Kuraigana should include a new seed variety said to produce fruits later into the season than the ones I currently grow.”

Grinning, Crocodile presses a quick kiss to Mihawk’s temple as he passes, faintly tasting the sweat beading there. “Knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

“I will endeavor to remember that my usefulness to you begins and ends with tomatoes,” Mihawk comments. “Especially the next time you beg me to fuck you.”

Crocodile’s lip curls. “I do not beg.”

“Ah yes of course.” Mihawk stores the last of his tools and begins to idly count on his fingers. “Harder, more, faster, don’t stop- they’re more commands than pleading I suppose. Though what was it you said the other day? ‘Please I’ll do anything just-’”

Before Mihawk can get out another word, Crocodile pushes him up against the glass walls of the greenhouse, caging his husband in against his own body. By the faint upturn of his lips, this is exactly what Mihawk wanted. The bastard. “You want to start this now, Hawkeyes? Because I have no qualms fucking you right here with the guards just outside. Hell, I don’t give a damn if we show up to this meeting with my cum covering your face. At least then the people will see how depraved their king truly is.”

Mihawk’s pupils are slowly overtaking the yellow as he looks up at Crocodile, the glass creaking as he presses against it. “We have an hour yet before our presence is required. I can think of worse ways to pass the time than to bring you to heel.”

Crocodile knows he’s being baited, knows he’s doing exactly what Mihawk wants him to do, and yet he knows the outcome will be no less satisfying because of it.

Barely a second passes before Crocodile descends on Mihawk’s neck, sucking a punishing bruise on his pulse point and reveling in the noises he forces from the other man’s mouth. Inelegantly, Crocodile shoves his knee between his husband’s legs. “Go on then, let's hear you beg,” he says, voice low as he tilts his head down so his lips just barely brush against the shell of Mihawk’s ear. “Beg to rut against my leg like a bitch in heat.”

“Crocodile,” Mihawk pants, breath almost cooling in the heat of the greenhouse. “Please, I-”

And then Mihawk stops, standing up straight like he had been struck. 

“What time is it?”

“I- What?”

“The time? What’s the time?”

Groaning, Crocodile steps back and flips open his pocket watch. “A quarter to three. Now are you-”

“A quarter to three?” Mihawk interrupts, eyes narrowing to slits. “So we have fifteen minutes until we are needed at the docks, and you were under the impression we had time for sex?”

Crocodile shrugs. “What are they going to do? Start without us? We’re the kings, it starts whenever we say it does.”

“You are truly incorrigible.” Mihawk easily ducks under Crocodile’s arms and heads over to his trunk stashed away in the corner. “And I don’t know if it reflects more poorly on you or I that you thought this would be nearly enough time for either of us to be satisfied.”

“Not my fault you lost track of time.” Crocodile says, enjoying watching Mihawk as he bends over to grab a change of clothes. “Besides, you don’t even want to attend this meeting. You hate Gem.”

“As true as that may be,” Mihawk turns around, a grimace on his face at the mere mention of the master at arms. “It is still important for us to lead by example, and I’ve seen you kill men for far less than being late.”

On instinct Crocodile wants to argue, but as he knows his husband is right, he instead huffs, crossing his arms as he waits for Mihawk to get changed. “Fine. But if we arrive on time and they’re not ready yet, I’m divorcing you.”

“Oh go right ahead. I am sure you and that fool will be very happy together on your own.” The corner of Mihawk’s lips barely draws up into a smile. “I’ll do my best to send my congratulations on your anniversaries.”

Crocodile has to fight back a reflexive gag at the thought. “Fucking hell Hawkeyes, going to make me lose my lunch.”    

Honestly, Crocodile has no idea how long it's been since that fool of a prince arrived on Kuraigana. Thinking of his life in any terms related to that idiot is far too depressing, even for him. He doesn’t even like thinking about it via how many days it's been since he last saw Buggy. It's far too similar to thinking about how many days it's been since he was last ill. All it does is remind him that sooner than he would prefer, the counter will be reset to zero and he’ll have to hear that whiny, irritating voice again. 

Buttoning up his own shirt, Mihawk hums. “I don’t believe he’s shown himself since his tantrum last week. Unless he’s been visiting you?”

“Hell no. And if he has any sense in that damn blue head of his, he’ll keep it that way.”

“True as that may be, his presence will unfortunately be required during the upcoming delegation to Sphinx.” Mihawk pulls on his coat and effortlessly links his arm with Crocodile’s in one fluid motion. “Perhaps have one of your men speak to him soon about the needed preparations. They seem to be able to tolerate his presence the most of anyone on the island.

Crocodile just nods as the two of them step out of the greenhouse and head towards the docks, guards silently falling in step behind them. He’ll make Galdino do it. The courtier has spent the most time with the fool, and this way, he keeps contact with Buggy contained. He's like lice, or maybe the plague- minimizing his exposure to just one person will save more people in the end.

After giving confirmation to Mihawk that he’ll handle it, the conversation turns casual until the docks come into view. The sight of Gem’s silhouette against the gray sky and even darker seas, cannons poised at the ready amongst the gathered soldiers, well it comes close to instilling something as near to pride in Crocodile as possible. Only close though, as Gem, seemingly unaware of their presence, has his finger stuck in his ear.

“Utterly disgusting.”

At Mihawk’s words, Gem spins around and thankfully withdraws his finger. “Your majesties,” Gem greets as he wipes his hand down his coat.”Thank you for coming, I assure you this demonstration will be well worth your time.”

“It better be.”

Gem yells a few quick orders and his men start to scramble around like spiders beneath a magnifying glass. A few moments pass before one of the cannons is wheeled into position and armed.

“A cannon?” Mihawk drawls. “You’ve brought us out here for a test of a mere cannon? Could this have not simply been a report?”

If he wasn’t also annoyed over this waste of time, Crocodile might have actually laughed at the look of disgust on his husband’s face. Inelegant. Weak. Boring. All words Mihawk has used to describe the use of cannons in the past. And though Crocodile can see their use, he also finds cannonfire to be mostly inane. Nowadays, they’re building sturdier ships and a cannonball barely makes a dent. The cost is far too high for the low reward. How Gem ever thought that this little demonstration would be a good idea speaks ill of his state of mind.

Gem’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, Crocodile mourns the fact that he’ll have to kill his usually rather competent master at arms for daring to yell at his kings. However, with a deep breath, Gem’s face smooths and his words are level as he says, “Your majesties, I would not waste your time on just a cannon. Please, let me demonstrate.”

Sighing, Crocodile waves his hook. “Alright. Go on then.”

There’s a few more moments of preparation as Gem points out a sea of buoys set up in the harbor’s waters, stretching as far as Crocodile can see before the horizon swallows them. 

“Do you think they have gone to the trouble of setting up so many targets so they are more likely to hit at least one?” Mihawk asks as he leans over, making no attempt to stop the master at arms from hearing him. 

“Almost certainly.”

Nearby, Gem’s knuckles turn white, but he’s at least wise enough to not let the tension get to his voice. “Alright men. Ready?” He raises a hand, the one that had been in his ear Crocodile notes with disgust, while the other holds the trigger line. 

The soldiers all take a step back.

Mihawk yawns.

Some men cover their ears.

God Crocodile wishes he had a cigar right now.

“Fire!”

With no further preamble, Gem pulls the trigger line-

-And the sky itself explodes.

Gone is the gray of the sky and sea. Everything is red. The heat rushes in like the tide taking everyone under. The smell of smoke, such a comfort, now overwhelming and acrid. Someone’s screaming. Or maybe that’s the ringing in his ears. If not for the constant presence of Mihawk’s hand on his arm, Crocodile might have thought that he had died.

Then it's over. The waves collapse in on themselves, quickly filling the space carved out by the cannon, no longer supporting even a single buoy on the bay

Crocodile blinks. 

“What was that?”

Gem grins.

As the water becomes murky with ash and splinters, the future before them becomes crystal clear. With their ships equipped with these bombs, the world government won’t even be history. They’ll be forgotten. Not even a footnote in the most obscure of tomes. 

The fight will finally be over. 

“I’ll admit, you’ve managed to impress me,” Crocodile nods towards Gem. “Equip every ship we have these bombs and send word to our allies that we have a new weapon in the fight against the world government that they will certainly be interested in, for a cost of course.”

While he expects Gem to jump into action, he instead seemingly pales under Crocodile’s gaze.

“Well ah, your majesty, the issue of production is actually what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, in regards to the schematics and formulas, well there’s been a slight issue that we were hoping-

“Spit it out,” Mihawk says, staring the man down.

“We can’t make any more.”

“What do you mean you can't make more?” Crocodile takes a step forward, looming over the other man. “What? You threw out the instructions? Didn’t write them down? How do you make the most powerful explosives I’ve ever seen and not be able to make any fucking more?”

Gem swallows. “Well, I didn’t design it. Nor did my men. It was . . . It was your husband, your majesty. He designed and built the bomb. So we were hoping you might be able to talk some sense into him” Crocodile glances towards Mihawk and Gem quickly cuts in. “Your other husband. King Buggy.”

The first splatters of rain land on Crocodile’s skin.

“That idiot designed this bomb? By himself?”

“Mhmm, even this test was his idea. He was completely on board until suddenly, he backed out. Said he wouldn’t be making any more or handing over the designs. Stubborn bastard.”

There’s so much red in Crocodile’s vision he could be convinced the soldiers had set off another bomb. That imbecile has the audacity to try and make fools of them, of their kingdom. He should have expected as much from a spoiled rich noble. Gods how are they supposed to garner respect if people thought they couldn’t even keep their own idiot husband under control? Oh Crocodile is going to ring every drop of blue blood from his dear husband's neck.

“Where is Buggy at the current moment?” Mihawk gets out through gritted teeth to the captain of the guard. “We need to have a discussion with him.”

There are a few murmurings amongst the guard before they get their answer: One of the old weapon’s workshops. And so without even as much as a goodbye to master at arms, Crocodile and Mihawk stalk across the castle grounds.

“I’m going to kill him,” Crocodile says. “I swear I’m going to kill that little pest.”

Mihawk, working slightly harder to keep pace with Crocodile’s giant strides, sighs. “That unfortunately won’t be an option. He’s still needed.”

“Then I’ll make him wish he was dead.”

“Fine by me.”

The smoke wafting up from the chimney of the workshop is the only sign of life as they approach. Mihawk is quick to command the guards to not to disturb them during this little marital spat, and it's as soon as they’re alone that Crocodile flings the door open, sending cracks cascading up the wall as they smash together.

“Is this some kind of stupid fucking game to you?” Crocodile snarls, stalking forward to where Buggy sits at one of the workbenches building a card tower of all pointless things. 

“Croc! Hawky!” Buggy calls, having the audacity to add another two cards to the tower as he does. “Nice of you to visit me! And I would say it's more of a pastime than a game, don’t you agree?” He nods towards the card tower. “Or even a hobby?”

With one sweep of his hook, the stupid tower topples to the ground, cards raining down around them. Yet, Buggy doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he maintains eye contact as he tuts. “Rude! What was that for?”

“Give us the damn schematics for the bombs.” Crocodile isn’t doing this song and dance with him. He’s walking out of here with what he wants and he’s not letting this idiot prince get in the way of that.

Buggy smiles at him, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes Crocodile wasn’t expecting. “No.”

He can feel the vein on his temple bulging. “Wrong answer.”

“Correct answer actually.” Buggy turns back to the work table and starts to gather the cards back up. “You see, Karai Bari is such a warm island, I’m far more used to the heat than this dreary cold. And I had run out of kindling, soooo . . .” His eyes slide over to the fire simmering in the chimney, and as Crocodile follows his gaze he sees small pieces of paper curling and turning black in the flames.

“You utter bastard.”

“Ah ah ah,” Buggy practically sings and it takes all of Crocodile’s willpower to not gut him then and there. “Not a bastard I assure you. Royals are far too concerned with bloodlines for that to happen.”

That Crocodile actually believes. If there was any chance his family could sever this idiot from their pedigree, they would have done it in a heartbeat. The fact he’s still waltzing around with the royal last name must mean they’re damn sure he’s a full bred noble bitch.

From behind him, Mihawk comes to the table and slides a sheet of paper and a quill across it. “You’re still in possession of hands,” He comments, an unsaid ‘For now’ practically dripping off his tongue. “Write the schematics down again and they will be passed along. You will not even need to be the one making the weapons.”

“No thank you,” Buggy says, picking up a joker and a King of hearts card only for them to immediately fall apart as he leans them up against one another. “Honestly, if having me make weapons for you was a priority well . . .” He looks up at them and grins. “You should have put it in the contract.”

The fire crackles and spits in the silence.

“Is that what this is about? Us not wanting to have fucking dinner with you?” Crocodile snarls.

“Perhaps.” Another two cards go up. “Either way, I’m not making you jack shit. Funny thing too is that you can’t make me no matter how much you grumble and scowl. See, I believe it's paragraph four, maybe five, well anyways, it specifically states that I am under no obligation to do any activities that are not stated in the contract.” The pompous idiot glances towards Mihawk. “Looks like I am literate after all.”

Crocodile knows exactly what fucking section he’s talking about. It’s paragraph five. They put it in the marital contract as a sign of goodwill, a show to the royals that they’re not complete monsters, despite what they’ve no doubt heard. Seeing as they only wanted Buggy for their image and a ticket into noble gatherings, it was no skin off their back. 

If this is what he gets for being nice, then fine. 

Crocodile simply won’t be nice.

Surging forward, Crocodile slams his hand on the back of Buggy’s chair to tip the front two legs off the floor, earning him a screech. Even better, that smug grin finally leaves the bastard's face, replaced with a far more fitting look of pathetic fear as his eyes go wide and face pales, making the gaudy makeup standout all the more. “I’ll make you a deal- Hand over the schematics now,” he tilts the spoiled noble’s chin up with the point of his hook. “-Or hand them over after a few weeks in an infirmary. Your choice.”

“You- You can’t.” The fool stutters. “You can’t harm me. It’s in the contract.”

Crocodile shrugs. “You really think your family will care that much if you get roughed up? Hell, knowing you, they’ve probably been dying to do it themselves if just to shut you up.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Well mostly, but that’s not important!” He seems to get some of his spine back, but at the very least his teeth are still chattering. “Karai Bari wouldn’t stand to see a couple of nobody warlords defy them. You’d have an armada at your doorstep to wipe this island from the map before the bruises even turned blue. All just to send a message. A message that if you think you’re better than them, you’re better off dead.”

And despite the fear still clinging to him, there’s a hard glint in Buggy’s eyes that forces its way through. The idiot isn’t bluffing. He had this all figured out, every possibility expected and calculated. Honestly, there’s no way the coward would have gone through with any of this if there was a chance it could end badly for him. Not like Crocodile and Mihawk at all. Sure they evaluate a situation, but they also take calculated risks. Victory is not always assured and god does that make it all the sweeter when they do succeed. Buggy would never put his neck on the line like that. And yet, he’s beat them all the same. 

For a moment, Crocodile wants to take one of those calculated risks and pierce the idiot's tongue.

Instead, he lets the chair go and takes at least a bit of satisfaction when Buggy screams and scrambles as he falls to the floor in a heap. 

“Anyways,” Mihawk begins, making no move to help the idiot off the floor. “Let us end this pointless posturing. You obviously want something in return for the schematics. Should it be within reason, amendments can be made to the contract.”

From the floor, Buggy puts on a manic grin. “What do I want?” He laughs. “I don’t want anything from you. Just knowing that I have something you want, but will never fucking give you, well I couldn’t be happier.” Finally standing, Buggy has the nerve to sit back in his chair, facing away from the pair. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a card tower to build.”

A hook right through his skull. 

It would be so easy.

Feel so good.

Damn the consequences.

However, before thought turns to action, Mihawk’s hand finds his and starts to pull him away. “Come dear,” he murmurs. “There is nothing to be done. For now.”

Crocodile pauses only a moment, staring at that stupid blue head, before following Mihawk out of the workshop and into the rain. He doesn’t bother to close the door and takes just a miniscule amount of pleasure in the fact that Buggy no doubt hears him speaking to Mihawk as they walk back to the castle.

“I fucking hate him.”

Chapter Text

There is a delicate balance between routine and novelty that Mihawk must keep in order to remain functional in his day to day life. Practicing his swordsmanship is a staple he cannot go without, and should he fail to tend to his garden on schedule the consequences can ripple for months on end. However, monotony too can take its toll. Without the occasional thrill of the unexpected- whether a battle where the World Government actually deploys somewhat competent combatants or simply Crocodile surprising him with a new book- Mihawk will grow listless. 

However, as he wakes to a cold bed and an absent husband, Mihawk finds his tolerance for surprises has already been surpassed for today. Unless there is an emergency, in which case Mihawk would also be awoken, Crocodile always remains in bed to read reports, drink his coffee, and provide a source of heat for Mihawk to curl against. So the fact that his husband has seen fit to abandon him this morning is disquieting.

After getting up, Mihawk dresses and goes to find Crocodile. Though not before first making the bed, he’s not an animal. Luckily, he finds he need not look far as once he steps out of their bedroom, he is quickly greeted by the sight of Crocodile pacing near the front entrance to their quarters.

“You weren’t in bed.”

Pausing his pacing, Crocodile turns to him and grins. “Your powers of perception are as keen as ever, Hawkeyes.”

“Why weren’t you in bed?”

“Because,” Crocodile begins as he walks over, seemingly not off-put by Mihawk’s refusal to engage in his joke. “I think I’ve solved our little clown problem, and unfortunately it couldn’t be done from the comfort of bed.”

Quickly looking him up and down, Mihawk notes that Crocodile is wearing one of his nicer outfits, dark green velvet accented in gold, crisp lines drawing the eye to Crocodile’s broad shoulders, and a pair of earrings that stand out amongst the black of his hair. Although notably missing are splatterings of blood or clumps of viscera clinging to his hook, which eliminates Mihawk’s first guess. Though his next is still a strong possibility.

“If you’ve sent one of your men to kill the fool, you best hope they fail or we’ll both need to become far more familiar with the feeling of waking up alone.”

“First off, my men wouldn’t fail.” Crocodile states, prideful as ever. “Second, no. That idiot unfortunately gets to live another day. I’ve decided that a . . . Softer approach may be needed.”

Immediately, Mihawk’s opinion towards the new tips back into the positive. While he more than anyone is personally aware that Crocodile has his softer moments, the idea of him making that fact public is in itself intriguing. Especially to a man Crocodile can barely stand to be in the same room with. However, insteading of saying any of that, Mihawk instead raises an eyebrow and utters a quiet, “Oh?” which Crocodile should know by now means far more than the single syllable superficially portrays.

“This whole ordeal began because that fool thought that we’d bother with courting him,” Crocodile explains. “Nobles like him need the world to revolve around them, for people to kiss the very fucking ground they walk on. So, I’ll just make him think we do.”

From the hall outside their quarters, faint footsteps slowly grow louder and it only takes Crocodile an extra few seconds to hear them after Mihawk does. Immediately his husband quiets. However, as the steps come and go without fanfare, Crocodile finally tears his eyes from the door. 

“Anyways, I sent Drophy to gather flowers from the grounds to go with an apology Bentham is writing. If Galdino did his job right, it all should have been delivered to the brat’s room by now with the message that I am to thank for the gift. I expect Buggy should be by anytime, fawning over the attention and more than ready to hand over the schematics.”

Mihawk blinks.

Crocodile just sighs.

“You have no idea who any of those I just named are, do you?”

Keeping his head high, Mihawk’s expression remains neutral as he responds. “I don’t have time to learn the names of every new subordinate you bring aboard. Perhaps if we were able to keep staff for more than a fortnight I would be inclined to remember them.”

“Drophy, Bentham, and Galdino have worked here for years,” Crocodile states, a teasing smile on his face. “You’ve met all of them before, Hawkeyes.”

He refuses to let anything even close to a flush rise on his cheeks. “Well then I don’t see how I am at fault for your men not leaving more lasting impressions.”

Crocodile opens his mouth, almost certainly to continue his ribbing, however, a series of rhythmic knocks on the door stops them both. With a quick grin and a wink, Crocodile straightens his cravat, takes a breath, and then leisurely walks to the door. He’s slow to open it, and for a moment Mihawk cannot see who waits on the other side. Then there Buggy stands. His hands are clasped behind his back, face far more schooled than his usual array of exaggerated expressions. Although the loud make-up remains ever present. 

“Ah Buggy, this is a surprise,” Crocodile begins, the pretense of incredulity coating his words well executed in Mihawk’s opinion. “What brings you here so early?”

He raises a blue eyebrow. “You’re one to talk of surprises. Care to explain the bouquet and note I recieved this morning? Because it was signed by you, and let me just say, that was certainly a surprise.”

If Mihawk didn’t already know this was all a facade on his husband’s part, this statement in itself would have given the game away. Before he and Crocodile began any sort of serious courting, Mihawk would sometimes come across small gifts that had been left for him. A bottle of wine. A new whetstone. Once there was even a small handkerchief embroidered with the most delicate of peonies dancing along the edges. And with each and every gift, there was no indicator of the sender. Even asking Crocodile directly did not prompt any admissions. Only when their courting had carried on for some time did Mihawk finally get the confirmation that the gifts had been from Crocodile. 

So hearing that he signed his name off on this little stunt? It spells out the inauthenticity, just in a language that Buggy doesn’t understand.

In faux-embarrassment, Crocodile rubs the back of his head. “I. . . Look, I had been thinking about the other day in the workshop and I realized that- Well we don’t really know you.”

“An understatement but go on.”

Mihawk is in the perfect position to see the muscles tighten in the back of Crocodile’s neck. However, he quickly relaxes and even manages out a convincing chuckle. “Yes, well, I want to start over. I know that won’t be easy, but I thought the least I could do is apologize and gather flowers for you.”

Hands still held behind his back, Buggy smiles, though it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes. “I didn’t take you as the apologizing type.”

“Seems like we all need to get to know one another better then.” And although Mihawk can’t see it, he knows there’s a fake smile plastered on his face. 

“I honestly agree,” Buggy says. “I imagine if we did know each other a little better, you would know that my quarters overlook the gardens.” The smile drops from the fool’s face in an instant. “So maybe next time, pick your phoney fucking apology flowers yourself instead of making your lackey do it right outside my goddamn window!”

As soon as he finishes, Buggy brings his hands out from behind his back and there’s only a second to react before Crocodile is covered in a shower of shredded paper and petals and stems and thorns. Then before either of them can even get a word out, Buggy storms back down the hallway.

A second passes before Crocodile reacts.

Pitching himself out the doorway, Crocodile’s voice booms after the fool as he flees. “You’ll give us those fucking schematics if I have to wring them out of you!”

From down the hall, Buggy’s voice screeches. “I also knew the note wasn’t from you because the handwriting wasn’t fucking awful!”

Instead of responding, Crocodile slams the door, leaving him just standing there, heaving and seething. 

In the following silence, the sound of the fool’s footsteps echoing off into the distance is the only thing they can hear.

“Well that was certainly a valiant effort,” Mihawk finally says as he approaches his husband. “If it's any consolation, I thought your performance was rather convincing.”

“That insolent little pest,” Crocodile hisses. “He’s lucky to still have his head.”

Mihawk hums and starts to pick the thorns and petals off of Crocodile’s coat. “Knowing we cannot harm him without consequence has certainly increased his boldness. However, after your- Noble attempt, I think I’ll try my own hand at convincing him to see things from our perspective.”

“And what makes you believe you’ll succeed where I failed? If anything he’ll-” Crocodile pauses as Mihawk motions for him to lean down, continuing to talk as Mihawk runs his fingers through his hair to get the remaining bits of stem stuck in there. “If anything, he’ll be more resistant now. So go on, what’s your big plan?”

“I simply intend to sit down and discuss things like adults over dinner.” Mihawk examines one of the pieces of petals he took from his husband’s hair. The tear is too clean to have been done by hand. He can just imagine the prince in his room, taking a blade to piles of petals he meticulously plucked from the bouquet. “As emotional as he may be, I believe I can get him to see reason.”

Crocodile makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Well by all means, be my guest. But when that ingrate comes back and throws it all in your face, it won’t be on me.” He pauses. “My handwriting isn’t actually bad, is it?”

With the last piece of paper out of Crocodile’s hair, Mihawk gives him a kiss and goes to throw out the remnants of the flowers and the note. “We all have our strong suits, my dear,” he calls behind him.

There’s a resounding, “Fuck you” that follows after him, but Mihawk just smiles.

It takes some time, but Mihawk is finally able to gather all the ingredients needed for the meal he has planned. None of it is what he nor Crocodile normally partake in, especially the main course of peacock, however his own tastes don’t matter tonight. This is all a show of goodwill, a demonstration that things can be better for them all if Buggy cooperates. So filling his plate with all the delicacies nobles like him are accustomed to is key. 

“Your majesty?” One of the serving girls squeaks out. Ever since he took over the kitchen that morning, the servants have been scurrying around him like frightened mice. No matter how many times he tells them that he doesn’t require assistance, they still insist on hovering about as if he’ll snap at them at any moment to get back to work. It’s honestly exhausting. Mihawk had not even dismissed the staff from their duties in the kitchen due to any perceived incompetence. He simply does not want to stumble into the same pitfall as Crocodile had. Yet, they refuse to leave him alone.

Mihawk sighs, not looking up from placing the final garnishes on the scallops. “I do not require any assistance.”

Another squeak. “Ah no, your majesty. I just wanted to inform you that King Buggy is on his way to dinner, sir. Shall I let him know you will be dining with him?”

“No,” Mihawk is quick to say. “Let me know once he has been seated and served. Only then will I come and partake with him.”

There’s a quick nod, a bow, and then off she goes out the kitchen doors, leaving Mihawk in the blissful quiet to finish plating their meals. Sauces elegantly swirl across the porcelain, mallow flowers dot the roasts, and a few of the peacock feathers serve as decor, even if Mihawk finds it . . . Distasteful. 

Finally though, a servant comes back and actually does something helpful in taking Buggy’s plate into the dining room. All there is to do now is wait. If Mihawk’s assessment of the fool is correct, he’ll be far less likely to throw a fit and stomp out of the room if there’s food in front of him. As an added bonus, if Buggy’s mouth is stuffed full of the fancy fare he’s used to, that’s less time Mihawk will have to hear him speak. Honestly, should everything go well, he may be able to join Crocodile in time for their usual nightcap.

“Um, pardon me, your majesty? There’s- Well there’s a problem.”

Mihawk’s eyes lock onto the serving girl. “What?”

“Ah so, the issue is . . .” She trails off, fingers playing with the hem of her apron. “His Majesty King Buggy has said- Well he has said that he is not in the mood for tonight’s meal, but to send his compliments to the chef nonetheless.”

“What did he actually say?”

She pales. “I ah- I didn’t, it was just that-”

Holding up a hand, Mihawk stops the rambling before it can continue. “They are his words. Not yours. You will not be punished for it. Now, tell me. What did he say?”

“Well, I don’t- I don’t remember exactly,” she begins, finally looking at him. “But in general, sir, he said the food was disgusting, that this must have been- Well he said those damn bastards, but I believe he was referring to you and his majesty King Crocodile, and said this must have been your doing. That’s when he sent me back to the kitchen to find him something ‘actually edible to eat’ as he put it. As I was leaving, I heard him saying that it would take more than terrible food to make him crack.” She coughs, averting her eyes. “At least that’s what he said to my recollection, your majesty.”

A single piece of hair falls into Mihawk’s face

“Thank you.”

His skin pulls taut over his knuckles.

“You are excused.”

Quick footsteps shuffle across the stone.

Hours. So many hours of planning and preparing. Time he could have used to train or plan their defenses against the encroaching world government. All of it wasted on an imbecile who couldn’t even appreciate the effort Mihawk put into making foods he would be more accustomed to. He almost certainly didn’t even bother trying any of the dishes. Simply refusing the food out of spite.

In an instant, Mihawk stalks out of the kitchen and into the dining hall.

“Oh I knew it!” Buggy’s voice immediately graces and grates his ears. Still, Mihawk strides forward. “I knew you were behind this! Ha, you’ve got another thing coming if you think some gross food is gonna make me roll over!”

Mihawk makes no move to stop, and only when he’s close enough to see Buggy’s pupils take over his irises does he finally utter a single word.

“Why?”

Buggy grins, but there’s still flecks of fear swimming in the blue of his eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific there, husband dearest .”

“Why do you insist on acting like this?” Mihawk asks, ignoring the obvious taunt. “I had fully intended to sit down and speak with you like adults about the situation we find ourselves in, but now I see I fooled myself into believing you were capable of such a thing.”

Buggy laughs, loud and fake and oh so fitting for the buffoon. “Capable? Oh I’m fully capable. Willing though? No. Not a fucking chance.” The chair squeals as Buggy pushes back from the table and makes for the door. “Not for you. Not for Crocodile. Not for anyone on this godforsaken island. So really, save your breath and leave me alone.”

Mihawk speaks before the door even has a chance to creak. “You forget yourself,” he calls, keeping his voice steady and cool as always. “The marriage contract may save you from providing the schematics, but you do still have obligations to us. Obligations-” Mihawk continues, “-in which you will behave as someone actually befitting of your station. You’ve been made aware of the upcoming delegation to Sphynx, correct?”

Although he doesn’t move from the doorway, Buggy does still mutter out an answer. “Galdino mentioned it.”

“Good.” At least one of Crocodile’s men is competent. Should Mihawk remember which one Galdino is, he’ll give him a polite nod the next time they pass in the halls as thanks. “We will be departing before the end of the month, and once we arrive, the time to prove your usefulness will be upon you. Nobles from across the seas will be in attendance to discuss how we will deal with the world government. Your task will be in forging relationships with them, making introductions, providing guidance where necessary, and overall, showing the world that although the Kuraigana Kingdom may not trace her origins through blue blood stained pedigree, we are not to be dismissed.”

Mihawk doesn’t take a step forward, but Buggy shrinks back like he had.

“And if you think that acting a fool during this delegation will somehow free you of this partnership, let me remind you that although we did not exchange vows, this marriage is very much til death.” Mihawk raises his eyebrow. “Am I clear?”

Buggy works his jaw, looking like someone trying to decide whether to swallow down a bite of food or to spit it out onto the table. By the way he finally looks away, jaw going slack as he sighs, Mihawk guesses he chose to swallow. 

“Crystal,” he finally spits out.

With that, Buggy leaves the dining room, the peacock not even having the chance to have cooled before the conversation ended. Crocodile is absolutely going to rub this resounding failure in his face. And Mihawk will deserve it. To have been bested by such a buffoon, it’s embarrassing. It’s unbecoming. 

Mihawk will not let it happen again.

Grabbing the untouched plate, Mihawk returns to the kitchen, letting the staff know they can have any of what he cooked. However, as he too goes to leave, one last question nags at him.

“You,” he calls to the closest servant. “Come here.”

The man, already halfway through a stalk of white asparagus, chokes for a moment before hurrying over. “Yes your-” he coughs. “Yes, your majesty?”

“When,” he pauses, not wanting to use the title for someone so undeserving, but also not wanting to delve into the familiarity of using just his first name. In the end, he goes for the lesser of two evils. “When King Buggy comes here to dine, what food does he request most often?”

Mihawk must know. Then at least he can go back to Crocodile and tell him that this plan failed on no part of his own, but simply due to the stubbornness of their idiotic husband.

“Oh! Ah yes, he usually requests sausage and bread, your majesty.”

Mihawk tilts his head a fraction. “Pardon?”

“Sausage and bread,” the servant repeats. “Alongside chopped onions and mustards on occasion, your majesty.”

He’s quick to order the recipe be brought to him at once, but as Mihawk scans the precise handwriting, more questions begin to arise. The sausage is made of meat scraps- The worst cuts left over after butchering. The bread isn’t much better, being over all rather plain. He can imagine it being a favorite amongst the peasantry, but the nobility? Most he’s had the misfortune of meeting would truly rather be caught with poison down their throats than something so common. And from what he knows of Karai Bari, the nation has not suffered any sort of turmoil in recent history that would require the royal family to switch out their usual fare for a poor man’s meal. 

To have this be a prince’s favorite food is unexpected to say the least.

And although he is loath to admit it, Mihawk can’t help but feel a small thrill at wondering how the fool will surprise him next. 

Chapter Text

Overall, the boat ride to Sphinx really wasn’t that bad in Buggy’s book. Oh sure the weather was awful, his ceiling leaked, and he had to spend the majority of the time brushing up on royal houses and treaties and noble names all the while trying to remember if he had, as a random example, ever set a smoke bomb off in any of their banquet halls. Not that Buggy ever did that, thank you very much! And even if he had, no one could prove anything and the lung damage was minimal. 

But anyways, what really made the trip tolerable was the simple fact that Mihawk and Crocodile were on a different boat than him. So through every damp night and gray morning, Buggy simply reminded himself that he could instead be suffering through those same exact damp nights and gray mornings while his husbands drone on and on about how many puppies they’ve murdered, or whatever it is they talk about when not harking about ‘how important the trip is’ and how ‘he better not embarrass them’ or they’ll ‘make his life a living hell’ as if Buggy isn’t already there.

Unfortunately, good things never last.

“The carriage will take you the rest of the way to the castle, your majesties,” A worker explains as they depart from the docks. He keeps prattling on about guards and servants, but Buggy tunes him out, too focused on the fact that it will just be him, Mihawk, and Crocodile all crammed together in one carriage. He won’t even be able to tuck and roll right out there should things get bad; Sphinx seems entirely made up of rolling hills and steep cliffs, all perfectly placed to prevent any princely escapes. Honestly his best bet will probably be to just pretend to be asleep and hope Crocodile and Mihawk remember his usefulness for long enough that they don’t push him out before they reach the castle. 

With a polite smile, Buggy steps into the carriage and takes his seat. Simple right? Impossible to mess up? Well apparently no, as when Crocodile comes to join him, his eyes narrow.

“Move.”

Buggy blinks. “What?”

Nodding towards the other side of the carriage, Crocodile scowls. “Move seats. Now.”

Honestly, Buggy truly has no preference for where he sits, but knowing that Crocodile wants his seat? Well fuck it, this is his new favorite spot. Give him a few minutes and he’ll embroider his name on the goddamn thing if that’s what it takes. So crossing his arms, one knee over the other, Buggy matches Crocodile’s scowl. “No.”

A blood vessel on his temple bulges, and Buggy shrinks back on instinct in anticipation of the shouting that is sure to come. However, before any of that can actually happen, Crocodile glances towards the Sphinx servants surrounding them. A moment passes. Then, releasing a slow breath, Crocodile wordlessly climbs into the carriage, sitting opposite of Buggy with Mihawk quick to follow behind.

The footmen close the door, the driver urges the horses forward, and then it's just the three of them sitting there as the carriage bumbles along. 

Buggy tries to keep his composure, he really does. Honest! But it’s hard not to crack a smile as he looks across at Crocodile, this intimidating mountain of a man, who is, for lack of a better word, sulking because he didn’t get the seat he wanted. His eyes are closed, jaw tight, slowly breathing through his nose and slightly hunched over. Crocodile looks less like a king and more like a-

Realization dawns on him like a glorious sunrise after a stormy night, and Buggy does his best to stifle his laughter, but some still manages to sneak through.

“Something humorous?” 

Ignoring Mihawk, Buggy looks straight at Crocodile and grins. “Are you actually getting travel sickness? From sitting backwards ?”

Crocodile’s eyes fly open in an instant, fury and fire and a little bit of nauseousness all mixed together in there. “Shut up,” he mutters, but some of the heat is lost from the fact that he doesn’t open his mouth too much, like he’s worried if he does he’ll vomit.

This time, there’s no stopping the cackle that erupts from Buggy. “Oh this is just too good! Fierce warlord turned king brought low by an upset stomach? I hope that-”

Before he can utter another word, Mihawk’s gaze snaps to him- a predator locking onto prey- and Buggy is quick to tamp down on any other comments before Mihawk tamps him down instead. Still, Buggy counts this as another win. Really, if he can just keep this pace for the rest of the delegation, he’ll have no issues running circles around his husbands. 

There’s a murmur across the carriage that Buggy doesn’t catch, more the shape of words than anything concrete, and then Mihawk presses something into the palm of Crocodile’s hand. It’s gone before Buggy can catch a glimpse of what it is, but only a few seconds pass before the answer hits him.

Just barely there, subtle enough to be mistaken for something on the breeze, is the spicy smell of ginger.

Buggy’s breath catches in his throat.

Ginger. Mihawk brought ginger with him for Crocodile. To help relieve the nauseous bounce of the carriage. He must have known his husband, his . . . Dear . . . Was prone to travel sickness. Honestly, Mihawk probably takes it with him every trip they go on. Not because he has to. Not because some contract tells him he must. But because he wants to. Because he knows Crocodile so well. Because he loves him.

What must that be like? 

To be seen so thoroughly? 

To be loved like that?

With the sinking feeling that he has in fact, lost, Buggy doesn’t say another word the rest of the carriage ride. Even as they climb hills and descend valleys, passing through a waterfall at one point, he remains silent. Not that Crocodile and Mihawk make any attempt to talk with him anyways. So at least one half of the carriage is happy.

Finally though, the castle appears in the distance, giving Buggy something to focus on other than how easily his husband’s sit together, leg’s brushing against one another as the carriage jostles. Honestly, the castle isn’t even that grand in the scheme of things. As gloomy as Kuraigana’s own castle is, at least it’s got some personality. Meanwhile this thing is all function over form- Compact and boring and lacking even a single gargoyle! 

Still, when they arrive and the door opens, he is nothing but smiles and pleasantries. King Newgate may not be meeting them here, but Buggy knows enough about Sphinx that he’s sure the staff will be reporting everything back to him. So he thanks the footmen, comments how beautiful the country is, and is subtle when he rolls his eyes at the head of staff’s comment about how delighted the kingdom is for Kuraigana’s presence. 

They aren’t. If they were, the king would have at least sent someone of nobility to greet them, a duke at the least, maybe even one of his son’s if he truly liked them. But it’s fine. Expected even. If the other nobles across the seas liked Crocodile and Mihawk, Buggy wouldn’t even be here to play dignitary.

Maybe he’d even still be on Karai Bari. Or out patrolling her waters with his knights. They would anchor the boat off that remote cove on the south side of the island and spend the day drinking and floating amongst the waves. Then, like always, he would return to the castle, shoulder’s pink underneath his tunic, and happily report to his parents that the seas remain safe due to the hard work of him and his knights. 

But the other nobles do hate Crocodile and Mihawk. 

So here Buggy is.

The sudden urge to scream claws its way up his throat, but Buggy is quick to push it back down to the depths of his lungs.

“Discussions will officially begin tomorrow,” the head of staff explains as they walk through the equally boring castle interior. Even the kingdom’s banner is plain, nothing but a white whale. God he always hated that thing. “Until then, allow me to show you to your room. I imagine you all must be in need of rest after your travels.”

“Of course, and please, do send our thanks to our host.” Buggy puts on a smile as they come to a stop outside what must be their quarters. “Your king is gracious indeed to arrange this delegation and I’m sure that through it, we’ll be able to devise a plan against the world government.”

The head of staff beams at the compliment to his King, giving his thanks and the keys to their room in turn. Only when he bows and takes his leave does Buggy let the smile drop from his face. 

“Well?” Crocodile starts. “You going to open the door?”

Buggy waves him off. “Give me a second, for fuck’s sake.” With that, he unlocks their quarters and steps inside. Although still as dull as everything else here, the rooms at least have the benefit of being big. There’s a parlor room upon entering, a few chairs and a chaise lounge providing the bulk of the decor. Peaking into the next room is the bathroom, which leaves the third room for the-

Buggy stops in the doorway, simply staring.

There’s only one bed.

Oh sure, it’s massive- Easily able to fit four full grown men.

But still.

There’s only One.

“What are you dawdling at?” Mihawk asks as he moves past him into the room, immediately getting to work on finding a place for his sword because of course he brought it and of course he wouldn’t let the servants carry it for him.

“The bed. There’s one bed.”

Mihawk doesn’t bother looking at him when he speaks. “Of course there’s only one bed. We’re married. To provide accommodations with multiple beds could be seen as a slight upon us.” He pauses, taking the sword off his back and placing it near the bed. “Although that would be fitting for them, I suppose.”

Rocking on his heels, Buggy looks back and forth between Mihawk and Crocodile who, for the record, are taking this way too casually! Sure it makes sense for there to be one bed, but they don’t have to act so calm about it! “Soooooo,” he trails off. “What’s the- How are . . . How are we doing this?”

Crocodile takes out one of his cigars and clips the end. “Doing what?”

“You know! The- The bed situation!” Buggy’s voice goes a little shrill and he tries to tone it down. “Should we, I don’t know, make a line of pillows down the middle? You two stay on your side. I stay on mine. Everyone’s happy.”

This time Buggy has to wait for Crocodile to light the cigar, pull a long slow breath and then exhale a deep cloud of smoke that has the barest hint of ginger on the end before he answers. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll be taking the bed. You can sleep on the couch or the floor. Your choice.”

“I’m not sleeping on the fucking floor!” Buggy shrieks, looking for any sign that this is Crocodile’s idea of a joke. Unfortunately, he finds nothing but that same derision seemingly always present on the man’s face.

“Couch it is then.”

“Although,” Mihawk says before Buggy can start arguing. “Perhaps we could come to an agreement? I’m sure sleeping arrangements during travels could easily be amended into the marriage contract in exchange for, say, your schematics.”

Oh fuck him.

Buggy raises his chin, lip curling. “You can go fuck yourselves if you think I would give in that easily.” He spins on his heel, stomping out of the room to go make himself comfy on the chaise lounge. It’s just as he starts taking in that his feet will definitely hang off the edge of the thing does one last thought come to mind. 

“And I better not hear you two fucking in there either!”

Whether Mihawk and Crocodile actually had the decency not to have sex in the next room over from him, or they were just quiet about it, Buggy doesn’t know. All he knows is that he wakes up cold with a crick in his neck and his hip aching from the stupid fucking couch. Not that he’ll let that little secret slip. To his husbands, he had a great night of sleep, best he’s gotten since being shipped off to their gloomy shit-stain of an island even! He feels so refreshed and ready to make them as many allies as needed! Everything is great!

“Alright,” he says, stopping them before they leave their quarters. “Now before we go down to be introduced, please remember that the other nobles need to think we at least like each other, okay?”

Mihawk raises an eyebrow, and honestly, Buggy’s pretty sure all the muscles that were supposed to go towards allowing the man to smile were instead all put up near his brows so he can accurately portray the three emotions he knows: Disgust, Disdain, and Disappointment. Well, four if you count being a Dick as an emotion, which Buggy does.

“It is no secret amongst many of the nobility that enjoying the company of one’s spouse can be rare. Why would we be expected to behave differently?”

“Because for most of them, as soon as they’ve popped out an heir, they’re golden,” Buggy explains, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “Sure they may hate each other’s guts, but having a kid running around solidifies that partnership, so you can feel safe allying with them without worrying that they’ll go divorce. We,” Buggy gestures to the three of them, “-do not have that luxury. So instead, the other nobles, at least the ones who cling to tradition, will need to be assured that we can actually stand each other and that this marriage will last. Got it?”

Rolling his eyes, Crocodile sighs. “I’m not kissing you.”

“I didn’t ask you to kiss me you big fucking oaf!” Buggy shouts, though at the glare Crocodile gives him, hook raised and gleaming, he quickly cools down. “Ha ha, anyways- No, no kissing required. Just you know, no yelling, berating, anything like that. At least not in public.”

He expects more resistance, more questions. Instead though, Crocodile nods as Mihawk simply says, “Understandable,” and then they’re off, the three of them striding down the hallway, the closest to looking like a united front they’ve ever been. Sure it’s all an act, but Buggy always did have a knack for performance.

Soon, they reach the grand double doors right outside the ballroom where most of the talks will be taking place. There are a few nobles in front of them, each taking their turn to be introduced to the court. Luckily, while Buggy recognizes their insignias, he doesn’t know any of them personally. The last thing he needs right now is to have any old . . . Acquaintances show up and cause a stir.

Being the tallest, Crocodile takes up the middle as they prepare for their introduction. Mihawk doesn’t hesitate in going to his right side, leaving Buggy on the left- Crocodile’s hook far closer to him than he really prefers. 

But then the doors are opening and the three of them step forward together as a booming voice announces them.

“And now presenting- His majesty, King Buggy of Kuraigana and her territories, son of the King and Queen of Karai Bari, and eleventh in line for their throne.” As his titles are announced, Buggy can’t help but preen. All eyes are on him, as they should be, and literally all he has to do is smile and walk. Truly, no way to mess this up. “Accompanying his majesty are his two consorts.”

Hmm.

Fuck.

Smile still plastered to his face, Buggy’s eyes go wide and he has to stop himself from tripping down the stairs. Desperately, he waits for the announcer to continue. A quick ‘apologies I was reading off the wrong card’ followed by Crocodile and Mihawk’s proper titles. That’s all Buggy needs. He’s not asking for much. Truly. He doesn’t even need them to do their little walk down the stairs again. Just dear God please let there be a correction.

They reach the bottom of the stairs.

There is no correction. 

The next noble is announced

Everyone thinks Crocodile and Mihawk are his consorts .

Oh he is so fucked.

He tries to keep calm, focusing on making pleasantries with the nobles who come to speak to them, all the while doing his best to not look over to his husbands, who are both deathly silent. Why yes the country is beautiful, and no Buggy is sure he would remember if he was present at a ball where a fire broke out, they must be thinking of someone else. Is he fine? Oh of course he is! Why wouldn’t he be? Everything is great! 

Everything is great.

He makes it through a quarter of an hour like this before the jig is up. “Buggy,” Crocodile says, smiling sickly sweet as both his and Mihawk’s eyes bore holes in Buggy’s head. “We’ve forgotten something in the room. You should come back with us.”

Tittering, Buggy gestures to the many, many potential witnesses he currently has and would very much like to keep. “Oh that’s- That’s a shame! I’m always telling him he would forget his head if it wasn’t attached!” Buggy’s joke earns a few laughs from the other guests. Notably none from his husbands though. “You know, why don’t you two go without me? I’ll even grab us some drinks! What will it be? A good glass of red? Or something stronger? Here, I’ll go check on what they have and will meet up with you two later-”

Before he can slip away into the crowd, Mihawk’s hand curls around his waist, tight enough that there’s no room between his fingertips for arguments or escapes. “We insist.”

And that’s that.

They lead him through the crowd and down a hallway that most certainly doesn’t lead back to their quarters, a fact that Mihawk and Crocodile most certainly don’t care about. Only when they’re far away from the ball, and worryingly far from where the guards are posted, do they drag him into a random room, the door not even shutting all the way before Crocodile speaks.

“What, the fuck, was that?”  Crocodile snarls as he looms over him.

“That wasn’t my fault!” Buggy pleads. “It’s not like I told them to do that!”

As if Buggy hadn’t even spoken, Crocodile continues. “Now they all think that you’re in charge, that you hold status over us, that we’re not kings, but that we’re-” He actually scoffs in disgust. “-We’re your husbands.”

“I mean, well, you are my husbands . . .”

Buggy doesn’t have time to flinch before Crocodile swings his hook, dragging it along the stone wall with such speed that a spark flies out and lands next to Buggy’s shoe, the hook itself a mere inch from his face. Stepping forward, Crocodile crushes the spark underfoot, the two of them nose to nose. “We are Kings,” he gets out through gritted teeth. “Through blood and sacrifice and strength, we clawed our way up. We have more than earned our right to be taken seriously, to be heard, to carve out a piece of this damned place for ourselves, and I won’t have the world government come take that away because a bunch of noble bastards think we shouldn’t have a seat at the table. And I certainly won’t let us be reduced to just some idiot’s husbands.”

There’s so many things that Buggy wants to say. That he didn’t ask for this. That he wishes the nobility wasn’t like this. That, again, this isn’t his fault. But he also knows that none of it would make a shred of difference. 

“I’ll have a word with the head of staff,” Mihawk comments far too casually considering the circumstances. “Should the servants use our proper titles, the other guests may follow suit.”

They won’t. Buggy knows they won’t. This is a power play. A show of status. Even Buggy’s own smooth-talk won’t fix it. His husbands are outsiders and they won’t be allowed to forget it.

Crocodile turns to Mihawk, already talking strategies and how they’ll move forward, but Buggy doesn’t care about anything other than getting out of there.

“I’ll head back to the ballroom,” he mutters, and luckily with their anger somewhat sated, neither Mihawk or Crocodile stops him. 

And then it’s just Buggy. It’s always just him in the end, isn’t it? Oh sure Crocodile and Mihawk are ostracized by the whole affair, but at least they’re ostracized together. Buggy has no one. Not even the impersonal footsteps of guards beside him.

How nice it would be to have someone.

And before the thought has any time to morph into memories of smiling kings and red-haired bastards, Buggy is wrenched backward, feet flying from the floor as he’s pulled out of the hallway and into a closet.

Curses fly from his lips before he even has the sense to see who the hell just grabbed him. He whirls around, red in the face. “Who the fuck do you think you are you damn asshole! Thinking you can just-”

A hand shoots out to grip his neck, slamming Buggy against the wall. Through wheezing gasps and a pulsing pain, he looks up at his attacker. For a moment, he sees nothing but his own red and panicked face staring back at him from the mirror-finish of a pair of glasses. 

It only takes a second more for Buggy to realize exactly who he faces. Though Buggy had never met him in person, the stories alone painted a good enough picture that he would be a fool to doubt that the very same man stands towering above him. 

The King of Dressrosa. 

Donquixote Doflamingo.