summary: you thought you could run forever. four years of hiding, surviving, and avoiding the one you once belonged to… but fate has other plans. when your past catches up, the line between fear and desire blurs, and the home you escaped becomes the place you can never leave.
pairings: figarland shamrock x reader (implied shanks x reader)
🐙: one piece manga spoilers! dark romance. reader used to be a celestial dragon. shamrock as a fiancé (well, ex fiancé lol). shamrock and reader were supposed to get married. pirate! reader. betrayal. angst. mentions of death—though, very light. no happy ending. unrequited love.
📍: 2.3k words.
💌: UGHH.. garling is such a bitch but he’s a gilf so it’s ok ?! i love shanks nd shamrock so much, i can take them both (not in a fight)
the storm had already swallowed the port whole by the time you stepped off the dingy tavern deck. the rain clung to your eyelashes, the smell of salt mixing with the metallic tang of fear—the kind you’d been running from for four years.
and then the world went still.
no thunder. no wind. just… still.
“found you.”
his voice didn’t echo. it didn’t have to. it hit you like a blade to the spine.
you turn slowly, your breath catching—because you knew this day would come, even if a tiny part of you prayed it wouldn’t. shamrock stands at the shadows’ edge, cloak soaked but posture impossibly composed. a holy knight’s silhouette. a celestial dragon’s authority. and your former betrothed—the man you betrayed by running.
lightning flashes behind him, revealing the faintest irritation tugging at his mouth… and something darker burning in his eyes.
“you’re still as predictable as ever,” he says, stepping toward you, boots silent on the wet stone. “same route. same hiding patterns. same… stubborn delusion that you could outrun me.”
he stops only a breath’s distance away.
close enough for you to see that he hasn’t slept. close enough to feel the warmth of his anger under his calm facade.
his gaze drips over your face like a hand he isn’t yet allowing himself to use.
“so,” he murmurs, “four years with my brother wasn’t enough? you didn’t tire of playing pirate?” his tone is polite, terrifyingly polite. “or did you finally realize that shanks can’t protect what was mine long before he ever touched you?”
your pulse spikes. you step back.
he steps forward.
“you don’t need to speak.”
his fingers brush your wrist—light, cold, possessive.
you flinch. he smiles lightly.
“i told you before, didn’t i?” he whispers, leaning in. “you can run anywhere in this world… and i will still take you back.”
a gloved hand lifts your chin.
“no tears. no screaming. no excuses.”
his voice lowers to something almost tender.
“if you wanted freedom, little runaway, you should never have been born mine.”
thunder crashes.
he releases your chin only to slide his hand behind your lower back, guiding you—no, claiming you—as if the last four years were nothing more than a childish tantrum.
“let’s go home,” shamrock says softly, dangerously.
“you’ve tested my patience long enough.”
and with that, the storm starts moving again.
because he has you.
and he is never letting go.
the sail back to mariejois is quiet—not peaceful quiet—the one that makes the hairs on your body rise in fear. a rare feeling, something you haven’t felt in a long time… something you haven’t felt, at least, not for the last four years.
it was supposed to be a normal day for the red-haired pirates, just another new island to dock at—the ship needing supplies, repairs, provisions.
shanks was busy inspecting something on deck. you had been assigned to go out with hongo. though you weren’t sure why, but as soon as you set foot on the island, something felt… wrong. familiar, but wrong.
it was a mistake, really, to go alone. murmuring to hongo, “i’ll be right back… just need to check something,” you slipped away without waiting for a response. you didn’t dare glance back at the ship, knowing it would be too dangerous—not just for you, but for the crew you held so dearly.
you didn’t notice the presence, the shadow watching. how could you have? he was stronger now—far stronger than when you left the holy lands four years ago.
just as the heavens were deciding your fate, you see him. standing there. the face that haunts you, the face that you love… and yet, it belonged to someone else too. the same one you tried to run from four years prior.
he didn’t speak during the ride. he didn’t have to. you knew he was furious, but shamrock had always been calm in his exterior, trained to hide everything. yet you could feel it—the silent pressure, the weight of his gaze, the slow, unrelenting pull of him.
the gates of your once “home,” but not home, opened. the holy land.
shamrock’s hand makes its way to your wrist, not bothering to bind it. his confidence is absolute; you could try to escape, but he knows you cannot.
“it’s good to be back home, is it not?” he says, guiding you off the ship.
“i could not even understand why you’d choose such filth of a ship rather than this.”
you say nothing, and a slight twitch forms on his face.
he looks at you—he takes in the scars, the bruises, the dirt—you are not untouchable, not pristine. all the things that once drew him to you, gone. and yet… even like this, you remain undeniably beautiful. just as you were when you belonged to him. well… you always will.
the gates of the holy land open wider, and he guides you toward a palace you longed never to see again—the pangaea castle.
♡
the doors to pangaea castle do not open for you. they part.
silently. effortlessly. as if the world itself has already decided you are allowed inside.
the air changes the moment you step through.
it’s colder here. not because of temperature—but because nothing in this room is meant to be warm. marble stretches endlessly beneath your feet, polished to the point you can see your own reflection distorted below you. chandeliers hang like frozen stars. every sound you make echoes once too many times.
you are not alone.
you don’t need to look to know that.
the elders sit elevated, their presence pressing down like a weight on your spine. they do not speak. they do not shift. they watch. their silence feels deliberate—like a blade held just above your throat.
and then—a step.
measured. unhurried.
garling stands apart from them, closer. always closer. his cloak falls perfectly over his shoulders, immaculate as ever. age has not softened him. it has sharpened him.
his gaze meets yours.
and he smiles.
not warmly. not kindly.
the smile of a man who finds disappointment entertaining.
“four years,” he says, voice calm, almost conversational. “four years of indulgence.”
he circles you slowly, boots echoing against the marble. you keep your chin lifted. you refuse to bow. refuse to shrink.
good.
he would’ve hated you more if you did.
“you were given everything,” garling continues. “a name. protection. purity. a future carved in stone.” he stops in front of you. looks you over—not as a father, not as family, but as property returned with scratches.
his lip curls.
“and you traded it for survival.”
a pause.
“how poetic.”
you meet his eyes. your voice, when you speak, is steady. refined. trained. even now.
“i traded it for freedom.”
something flashes in his expression.
then he laughs.
a single breath of sound. sharp. amused.
“freedom?” he repeats. “you lived caged in gold and ran toward filth.” his eyes flick briefly—deliberately—to the faint scars on your skin. “you call that freedom?”
you don’t look away.
garling steps closer.
“and of all the places you could have disgraced us,” he murmurs, “you chose pirates.”
his tone shifts then—just slightly. sharper. meaner.
“worse,” he adds, “you chose him.”
your jaw tightens.
he notices.
of course he does.
“my son,” garling says smoothly. “the wrong one.”
his smile widens, cruel and knowing.
“did you think that made it better?” he asks. “that bedding an emperor somehow elevated your treason?” a soft scoff. “if it was his face you wanted so badly, you already had it at home.”
the words land like a slap.
“you were betrothed to a holy knight,” garling continues. “a man groomed for obedience. strength. legacy.” his gaze flicks briefly toward the doorway behind you—where shamrock stands, silent, unmoving. “and you threw him aside… for his brother.”
he leans down, close enough that only you can hear him now.
“how small you made him feel.”
he straightens.
the elders still do not speak.
their silence screams.
“you ran to a pirate and learned to bleed,” garling says, voice hardening. “and now you stand before us and expect mercy because you survived?”
his eyes darken.
“celestial dragons do not survive,” he says quietly. “they rule. or they are erased.”
a beat.
“the only reason you still breathe,” he adds, “is because my son wants you to.”
his gaze drifts, just briefly, to shamrock again.
then back to you.
“do not mistake that for forgiveness.”
the room feels smaller now. tighter. like the walls are leaning in.
“you will remain here,” garling concludes. “you will remember what you are. and you will learn—slowly—what it costs to forget.”
he turns away from you as if you are already decided. already dealt with.
behind you, the doors begin to close.
and for the first time since you were dragged back—you understand.
this isn’t punishment.
it’s where you always belonged.
and no one in this room intends to let you escape again.
♡
the doors of the audience chamber close behind you with a sound that feels final.
not loud. not violent.
just heavy—like stone settling into place.
the corridor beyond is long, lit with gold and torchlight, the walls carved with histories you were never meant to escape. your footsteps echo once. twice. then stop.
the guards peel away without a word.
you realize then that you are no longer being escorted.
you are being returned.
shamrock doesn’t look at you right away.
he stands near the tall window at the end of the hall, hands folded behind his back, cloak draped neatly over his shoulders. the light catches the sharp line of his profile—the same face that once made your heart ache with love.
the same face you ran from.
the same face that belongs to two brothers, and to neither of them in the way you wanted.
the silence stretches.
it is worse than anger.
“they spoke longer than i expected,” he says at last.
his voice is calm. measured. untouched by what was said in that room.
you swallow. “they always enjoy the sound of their own voices.”
a faint exhale leaves him—not quite a laugh.
“you were… defiant,” he adds. not a question.
you lift your chin. “i’ve always been that way.”
this time, he turns—really looks at you. and something shifts behind his eyes. not rage. not disgust.
something wounded. something possessive.
“yes,” he says softly. “that’s what made you unbearable.”
he steps closer. not rushing. not stalking. just… closing the distance as if it’s already his.
“do you know what they wanted me to do?” he asks.
you don’t answer.
he stops a breath away from you.
“they wanted reassurance,” he continues. “that you would not be allowed to embarrass this land again.”
his gaze drops—not to your face, but to your hands. your wrists. the marks where fingers once held you too tightly.
“they wanted to know whether you were still… mine.”
your chest tightens.
“and?” you ask.
his eyes lift back to yours.
“i told them you never stopped being mine.”
the words settle between you like a verdict.
you laugh, sharp and brittle. “you shouldn’t have.”
his hand rises—not touching yet. hovering, as if testing whether you’ll flinch.
“you misunderstand,” he murmurs. “that was not a defense. it was a statement of fact.”
finally, he touches you.
not roughly.
two fingers at your wrist, warm, steady—right where your pulse betrays you.
“four years,” he says quietly. “four years, and they still spoke your name like a possession that had wandered off.”
his thumb presses once.
“did you really think i wouldn’t come for you?”
you look away.
that was always the lie you told yourself.
he exhales slowly.
“you learned how to survive out there,” he says. “i can see it.”
his fingers trail along the faint scars at your wrist, his expression unreadable.
“but surviving is not the same as living.”
you bristle. “don’t—”
“don’t what?” he interrupts gently. “don’t speak like someone who watched you be paraded like a curiosity in that room?”
his voice dips lower.
“don’t speak like someone who listened to my father joke about you choosing my brother’s face over mine?”
your jaw tightens.
“say his name,” you snap. “if you’re going to talk about him.”
his grip tightens—just slightly.
“no,” shamrock says. “i won’t give him that.”
he steps closer still, until the corridor feels too small, until the walls press in.
“you didn’t run toward him,” he says. “you ran away from this place.”
his hand lifts to your chin—not forcing it up, just steadying it.
“and now you’re back.”
his thumb brushes beneath your lip, almost reverent.
“do you know what that means?”
you whisper, “i didn’t choose this.”
his expression softens. that’s what makes it terrifying.
“neither did i,” he replies.
he leans in—not to kiss you, not yet—but close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath.
“but we don’t always get to keep the lives we steal,” he murmurs. “sometimes, we are returned to where we belong.”
his forehead rests briefly against yours.
just a second. just enough.
“you are exhausted,” he says. “they’ll want you presentable by morning.”
he releases you at last, stepping back as if nothing intimate has passed between you at all.
the door behind him opens. his chambers.
familiar. pristine. inescapable.
“rest,” shamrock says, gesturing you inside. “we will speak more… later.”
you hesitate at the threshold.
“and shamrock?” you say.
he pauses.
you meet his eyes.
“if you think this ends with me loving you again,” you say quietly, “you don’t know me at all.”
for the first time—his smile fades. but his voice remains calm.
“no,” he answers. “i know you very well.”
the door closes behind you.
and somewhere beyond it, shamrock remains standing in the corridor—silent, unmoving—already planning a future where love is no longer required.
gojo’s party is too loud, too bright, too everything. you can barely hear your own thoughts over the music.
he’s celebrating his half-birthday (because, naturally, why not find another reason to gather in honour of his existence) and most of jujutsu high students and staff are there.
yuji and panda are playing video games, megumi’s being surprisingly chatty with shoko.
you’re on the couch, your boyfriend kento nanami uncharacteristically glued to your side.
his hand has been on you for the past ten minutes. not obvious enough for anyone else to clock, but enough that you feel it everywhere.
your knee.
your thigh.
your wrist when you reach for your drink.
every touch lingers half a second too long, like he keeps forgetting to let go.
“kento,” you mumble, leaning closer so no one hears, “you’re being weird.”
“am i?” his voice is low, even, but there’s something underneath it. something tight. stretched.
his thumb brushes along the inside of your wrist.
“you’re being so touchy,” you say with a soft smile. “you good?”
his eyes trail over you. over your face, over the tight, pink silk of your dress, his hand squeezing your leg a little more.
across the room, gojo is mid-story, arms flailing like he’s performing for a crowd. nobody is paying attention to you. nobody is paying attention to anything except the chaos.
which makes it worse, because nanami knows that.
his fingers tighten just slightly on your thigh.
“you’ve been ignoring me all night,” he says, like he’s commenting on the weather.
you blink. “i—what? i literally came here with you—”
“you’ve been talking to everyone else.”
you shift, smiling, heat crawling up your neck. “it’s a party, kento.”
“i’m aware.”
his hand slides. higher. slow. deliberate. like he’s testing how much he can get away with.
you inhale sharply.
his gaze drops to your mouth for a second. then back to your eyes. hungry.
oh. you know that look.
“kento,” you whisper, sharper now, “people are here.”
“i need you,” he breathes out, eyes soft with want as he gazes at you. “you—you don’t even know what you’re doing to me, and i can’t think—”
“wh—well, we can’t leave yet, the party’s barely started,” you whisper, looking around the room. everyone else seems caught up in their own conversations and chaos of the party.
he stands suddenly, grabbing onto your hand and ducking into a hallway, quietly moving up the stairs.
you stare up at him. “kento—”
he stops abruptly once you get to the top of the stairs, and you nearly run into him. “please,” he whispers, cupping your face and kissing you gently. “i can’t—i—”
you giggle. so needy.
“…fine, but be quick.”
nanami sighs of relief and pushes the first door he sees open. it’s a large, sleek room, with a king bed, and it’s obviously gojo’s.
absolutely not.
“i’m not having sex in gojo’s bedroom,” you whisper-shout frantically. “kento, are you crazy? i’ll never be able to look him—”
“the bathroom will have to do, then,” nanami mutters, pulling you by the waist into the en suite, shutting the door and hoisting you up on the counter in a swift motion.
“kento—” your eyes widen and you let out an awkward, breathless laugh. “the party’s going on, like, right downstairs..”
“you’ll just have to be quiet, hm?” he says, eyes blown dark as he twists the straps of your dress. his lips are on your collarbone in an instant and he’s pulling your legs around his waist as he works his way down your neck.
your heart’s thumping out of your chest - half nerves, half adrenaline, a sprinkling of wonderment at how needy kento’s being right now. he’s got his hands on the front of your dress, tugging down on it and discarding your bra to let your tits spill free.
he’s kneading them immediately, lips finding yours in a haze as he groans into your mouth. “shit,” he mumbles, fingers deftly pinching at your nipples, and you moan softly, hands locking into his hair.
“have to be quiet,” he repeats, hands fumbling with his slacks, taking out his reddened, leaky cock and brushing it against your panties, dress bunched around your waist.
you shudder, biting your lip as you watch nanami’s nearly pained expression of desperation as he rubs his length along the lace. “any day now,” you whisper, lips curving into a smirk, and with an amused scoff kento pushes your panties to the side and sinks himself in in one shot.
you gasp brokenly, hands bracing the countertop and nanami hisses, hips snapping to yours in sharp, measured thrusts.
“theeere we go,” he grunts, one hand flexing at your waist, the other kneading your tits. “so—so tight, sweetheart—”
your head drops back, lips parting in a silent moan. his cock always fills you just right - thick, long, curved upwards that oh-so-deliciously juts against your g-spot with ease.
he’s got you shaking and babbling in minutes, his pace never slowing. at one point, he grumbles something about angles and flips you on the counter so you’re bent over it, and he’s sliding back in, the wet squelch of your pussy wrapped around his cock and the quick thumps blatantly obvious to anyone if they walked through the upstairs hallway.
“oh—kento—” you splutter incoherently, tits pressed against the cool marble surface, and your boyfriend holds your hands behind your back, gripping your waist steady as he -
well, there’s no other word to put it -
rails into you, rough - such a contrast from his typically sweet, controlled side. the thought makes you wetter, your slick coating his cock as he pummels it, rhythm never faltering.
when he rocks harshly once, twice against that spot that makes your toes curl you moan, and you clamp your hand over your mouth to suppress more noise.
“shh,” he whispers into the crook of your neck, fingers circling over your clit in time with his thrusts.
“ke—kento, ‘m not gonna last,” you slur, and his grip on your wrists tightens, his speed increasing more, and more, and more, until you’re spamming around his cock, sobbing softly onto the counter as your orgasm crashes over you. your pussy clenches, throbbing and oversensitive.
you gargle out a soft moan as nanami lets go of your wrists and brings his hands up to your tits again, squeezing roughly as he groans your name under his breath.
“m—god, darling—” he pants roughly against your neck, choking at the sound of your whimpers, and he comes hard and fast, holding his hips flush against your ass.
you milk him dry, hole fluttering around him desperately, still recovering from your orgasm, and you go limp against him, heaving breaths as nanami presses soft, reverent kisses to the back of your neck.
“so good,” he whispers, watching in awe as his seed drips out of you. he gathers it with two fingers and gently pushes it back into you. you arch softly into his touch, biting back another moan, and nanami carefully helps you pull your dress back on, kissing your shoulders and face.
“was i too rough?” he asks quietly, adjusting his tie, and giving you a soft, caring look.
you blink owlishly, head still foggy. “what? no. was really good,” you mumble, taking a step forward and knees buckling immediately.
nanami grabs onto your waist with ease, holding you close as he helps you walk back down the stairs, muttering soft words into your ear.
you’re met with the blank stares of everybody there as you enter the living room.
like, everyone.
the music’s still playing, but it feels quieter now, like the room itself is leaning in.
“oh,” gojo says, dragging the word out, eyes flicking between you and nanami. “there they are.”
you try to straighten up, to look normal, but your body is not cooperating in the slightest. your grip tightens unconsciously on nanami’s sleeve, and he adjusts without missing a beat, hand firm at your waist, keeping you upright.
“where’d you guys go?” yuji asks, way too curious for his own good.
nanami doesn’t even hesitate. “to get some air.”
there’s a beat.
gojo tilts his head, grin already forming. “inside?”
nanami smooths a hand over his tie, unbothered. “there are windows.”
nobara snorts, not even trying to hide it. “to get air you found a window inside. a window upstairs.”
you let out a small, dazed laugh that you immediately regret because it makes everything feel a little spinny again. your knees threaten to give out again, and nanami’s hand tightens just slightly.
“the fresh air must’ve been life-changing,” megumi says dryly from the couch.
“revolutionary,” nobara adds.
you try to respond. you really do. what comes out is a soft, “yeah. yeah—super air.”
gojo lets out a delighted laugh, like he’s just been handed front row tickets to the most obvious show on earth. “wow. you’re both so convincing.”
“drop it,” nanami says, smooth as ever, though there’s the faintest edge to it now.
“i’m just saying,” gojo continues, completely undeterred, “you disappear for half an hour, come back looking like—” he gestures vaguely at you, “—that, and i’m supposed to believe you were getting fresh air?”
shoko gives you a knowing look and you barely manage a smile in return.
“nanami,” gojo continues, hand over his heart like he’s been personally betrayed, “i didn’t know you had it in you.”
“you don’t know a great many things,” nanami replies coolly.
you tug at nanami’s sleeve gently, soft doe eyes flashing at him. “can we go?” you whisper, voice still slurred around the edges, legs still weak.
nanami’s gaze drops to you immediately. “of course,” he says, voice low.
“already?” gojo perks up. “but you just got back!”
“we’re leaving,” nanami replies simply.
you try to stand a little straighter, like maybe dignity can be willed back into your bones. your grip on nanami tightens instead, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve.
“someone had a great time,” yuji stage-whispers.
“yuji,” megumi says, not even looking up, “stop talking.”
your face burns.
you bury it halfway into nanami’s shoulder for a second, mortified, and he exhales softly, something almost like a fond huff, before his hand shifts just slightly.
“keys,” he mutters, mostly to himself, already guiding you toward the door.
“don’t forget to hydrate!” gojo calls after you, entirely unhelpful. “very important after all that fresh air!”
“goodnight, gojo,” nanami says, cheeks tinting pink. he doesn’t slow as he leads you out, through the hallway, past the noise, until the cool night air finally hits your skin.
and it’s actually air this time.
you let yourself lean into him, all warm and loose-limbed, trusting. your head dips against his shoulder as he starts guiding you down the path.
behind you, through the still-open door, is a chorus of very unsubtle stares.
—-
you wake up the next morning, limbs weak and sore, aching all over.
(you and nanami may or may not have gone a few more rounds once you crashed at his place. the aftershocks may or may not still be affecting your spent, sensitive body.)
you smile softly and pat nanami’s head, fast asleep beside you, and his arm reaches out for your waist, pulling you closer to him.
you reach for your phone, a flurry of notifications meeting your eyes.
your heart sinks to your ass.
gojo: lol is this your bra?
gojo: [1 image attachment]
gojo: what am i saying that’s obviously yours
gojo: nice knowing you had a good fuck in the place i take my morning dumps
The maids and guards make a bet, when will you announce your pregnancy
sorry for any grammictial errors!
WC: 624
------------
You and Zuko fuck like rabbits, it was insane. The day would start off normally and two hours later you’re riding him in his office moaning loudly.
Don’t blame him, he looked hot, with his half bun hair and his body. Gosh his body, the body you would love to ride every chance you got if he didn’t have any royal duties to attend to .
And the wall wasn’t thick enough. The maids and the guards had to suffer, hearing you as Zuko rammed into you.
You had just limped to the kitchen watching the maids greet you and hand your tea.
“Morning” You said your voice was weak since your voice was hoarse. You sit down on a nearby chair
“Morning madam!” They greeted back
“What is on today’s schedule” You said
Your personal maid Hana walks to you “The banquet tasting is coming up… then you have to go for a fitting for the meeting that is happening next week…my lord would be busy so he is going to send some guards to accompany us”
You nod, thanking Hana has she helped you up from the chair
“Please prepare breakfast for Zuko soon” You said leaving the kitchen leaving the maids to giggle to each other
“Did you see the lady’s neck? There’s so many marks!” One said
“It seems like they enjoyed each other”
“She’s limping….surely it can’t be that good”
“II think it was that good…I heard them last night while I passed their room…they kept going for hours! Hours! My husband lasts 2 minutes!”
“I would last hours if I had a husband like that!”
“Or if I had a wife like that! Have you seen the lady! She’s so pretty!”
“Yes yes…they’re a hot couple, master looking at madam with love as she laughs”
“Or as she fuck-”
“Settle down!” Yuki the head maid said, causing each maid to shriek looking ashamed since they got caught.
“Why are we discussing the lord’s and the lady’s sex life in the morning” Yuki asks
None of the maids replied, trying not to look at the glare until one maid looked at Yuki “Did you hear them ma’am?”
Yuki sighs before nodding "Yes…unfortunately" which caused the maids to laugh and giggle among each other
“Ma’am you’ve been working at the palace for years…how does it feel”
Yuki rubs her forehead “I’m happy for him…Master Zuko didn’t have the best parents or childhood, so he doesn’t know how love should be…”
“But…?”
“But I’ll be damned….I’m pissed off. I’m trying to sleep and they…they're loud…too loud…”
The maids giggled as two of the guards enter the kitchen with horror on their face
“What happened?...why are you so scared”
“They’re at it again…”
Yuki turned around with a confused face “What do you mean they’re at it again”
One of the guard sits on the chair putting his hands on his head “The lady came back to the room with Hana…to get ready for the day…master had woken up and given her that look”
“That look?”
“That look…and he carried her on his shoulder, slapping her-”
“So what happened to Hana?”
“She left obviously….”
The kitchen kept quiet before the other guard speaks up “I give it a month”
“You give what a month…”
“A month till madam announces her pregnancy…”
“A month? I give it 3 weeks!”
“More like a week…master can’t keep his hands off madam…”
“To think they had sex the night before and they’re at it again…”
Yuki taps the table “We have duties to do….so let’s leave….this behind…Do not speak about it in front of the generals, the lord, or the lady”
They nod gathering themselves when your moan echoed throughout the palace.
Summary: When one of the servants makes a mistake serving Saint Doflamingo, you try to save her and defuse the situation by shifting his attention to you.
Tags: Female!Reader, Doflamingo's Wife!Reader, Celestial Dragon!Doflamingo, World Noble!Doflamingo, Implied Forced Marriage, Past Dub-Con, Smut with Plot, NSFW, Enthusiastic Consent, Vaginal Sex, Size Difference, Semi-Public Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Spanking (it's one slap), Slavery, Attempted Murder, Sadism, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Possessive Doflamingo, Nudity, Adult Language, They're In Love Your Honour
Word Count: 6k
A/N: Welcome to my 700 followers special! 🥳🥳🥳🎉🎉Guess what number 700 is! The beginning of Dressrosa Arc in the manga (in which Doffy appears) and 700th episode in the anime which is also in Dressrosa Arc! Thank you everyone for following me, I love you all! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🩷🩷
I wrote this within 4 days and have no regrets, the only reason I didn't finish it within a day is because I was sick🤧 I have been wanting to post a Celestial Doffy x Reader for months now, so I'm happy inspiration hit me for a one-shot. I decided to make this a thank you gift to all of you who followed me. Thank you and I hope you keep enjoying my Doffy-obsessed blog! Is this the first ever Celestial Doflamingo x Reader fic on the internet? Maybe, I have NO idea. Send me flowers or sth, idk. This is such filth but I feel 0 shame, none. At first I was gonna write Doffy being kind of an asshole and sorta selfish with Reader but then Soft Celestial Doffy was like "but I love my wife 🥺" and I sighed and let Wife-Lover Celestial Doffy take over and have his fun, he deserves it, he's a good boy. (Sometimes.)
You were sleeping. Until the shattering sound of porcelain breaking with a crash on the floor and liquid spilling startled you out of your slumber. You shot up in the massive bed, disoriented and sleepy.
“Look what you did, slave.”
You felt your heart drop. Shit.
You were up and awake within a second, grabbing the golden silk sleeping robe from the floor, quickly slipping into it.
Doflamingo noticed you.
“Good morning, wife,” greeted Doflamingo, not looking away from the slave, aiming his gun at her. “Sorry, I woke you up.”
“Good morning,” you said, tying the silk belt around your waist, your heart rushing in your chest. “What happened?”
“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed,” said Doflamingo, frowning down at the slave trembling on the floor, silent tears running down her face, too terrified to audibly cry.
It was a sweet gesture for a Celestial Dragon, a World Noble of such high standing, and despite your situation of how you came to marry him, your heart skipped a beat.
“That’s very sweet of you.” you said.
“But this slave ruined it by tripping on the carpet and spilling everything.” said Doflamingo roughly, gesturing his golden gun at the girl. She looked no more than sixteen, and she was shaking from head to toe. “And now I have to wait another thirty minutes for breakfast and my surprise for you is ruined and it's all this slave’s fault!”
By the time Doflamingo finished yelling, veins were outlined on his forehead, furious and angry as he bared his teeth down at the girl.
Your mind was racing for a solution. Doflamingo didn’t forgive slaves for mistakes. One mistake, and he punished them with death for their failure. It was why a lot of the new slaves barely made it past a month, no matter how much the senior slaves aided them and guided them.
Maybe it would have been easier to calm Doflamingo down if the breakfast tray had simply fallen to the floor and only the plates with the buttered toast broke. But it had fell and everything shattered. What was worse, the coffee spilled onto your husband’s silk, golden pajama pants and on the carpet. You were sure the washers would do their best to remove the coffee stain, but it might be ruined for good.
It wasn’t looking good.
And then... An idea popped into your head. A risky one, but one that might save the girl's life.
“How about I make us breakfast?” you asked.
“Huh?” asked Doflamingo, handsome features twisted in pure confusion.
“I’ll make us breakfast,” you repeated, putting on a smile on your face in an attempt to calm down the Celestial. “And coffee, too.”
Doflamingo stared down at you for a moment. You didn’t flinch, didn’t move. You knew to get him to consider the suggestion, you couldn’t look away.
“Fufufu! And what do I get for waiting?” asked Doflamingo with an amused smile.
“If you don’t like it, that means I lose, so you can punish her as you see fit.” you said. “If you like the breakfast, I win, you give her to your parents and they can decide her punishment.”
“So,” Doflamingo said, a dark sort of thrill in his voice and smile. “It’s a game.”
You fought down a tremble.
“Yes,” you said, doing your best to keep your voice even and calm despite the painful banging of your frightened heart in your ribs. “A game. Between you and me.”
Doflamingo smiled. It was the same smile he wore when he saw you the first time. Like a lion finding the most beautiful doe to eat.
He lowered the gun where he’d been pointing it at the terrified girl’s face.
“Alright, wife. Let’s play.”
Your husband was watching you in the same way he watched you when you were making him his morning coffee in the café when he met you.
With incredible, single-minded intensity. His lips were set in a neutral line, his sunglasses staring down from the bridge of his nose at you, his hands in the pockets of his Celestial robe.
You knew by now that it was simply him being overprotective. He didn’t like the thought of you near knives and anything that burned. He didn’t want you to get hurt while cooking.
He would just rather stare than show that, though.
You finished making the toast and coffee within fifteen minutes, and handed them to the servers to serve.
Doflamingo smiled deviously, and offered you his arm. You put your hand on his forearm and let him escort you to the grand dining room.
Doflamingo sat down at the dining table in the grand dining room. It was a long table covered by a golden tablecloth, with golden-framed chairs with pink tufted backrests.
You two sat down, and the servers brought the food and coffee you made. As Doflamingo picked up the toast, you started praying to Nika inside your head.
Doflamingo took a bite. He chewed, and swallowed. Then he ate the sunny side up egg. Then, he took a sip of the coffee. For long moments, everything was silent, and you didn’t breathe.
“You win, wife.” said Doflamingo with a sigh, sounding disappointed his fun got ruined.
Your chest fell in relief, exhaling the breath you’d been holding.
“Get this slave out of my sight,” said Doflamingo, sneering disgustedly at the slave who spilled the breakfast. “Hand her to my parents. They’ll decide what to do with her.” He turned to the slave; the girl flinched, freezing in terror. He gave her a sharp, large, evil smile. “Thank my wife for her mercy.”
The girl turned to you, her eyes full of relieved tears. “T-Thank you, my lady!” She bowed down her head, much to your chagrin.
“You welcome,” you said, feeling awkward about your title as usual.
Doflamingo went back to eating breakfast. Now that the matter was resolved, you set out to eating the food on your plate, too.
“This is really delicious,” said Doflamingo, putting more sunny side eggs onto his spoon and putting them into his mouth, his dimples curving to his ears with his smile as he chewed. “You’re a wonderful cook, my wife.”
“Thank you,” you said, feeling your cheeks flush. You always liked cooking, and you wished your husband would let you cook for him, but for safety reasons and because he insisted you weren’t his cook but his wife, you weren't allowed to make him food.
You wish you could. He looked really happy with breakfast today.
Doflamingo excitedly told you about the tickets to the ballet his father bought for his mother’s birthday. Mrs. Donquixote’s favorite ballet was coming to Sabaody Theatre, and it would be there for a full week. Mr. Donquixote bought them tickets to celebrate her birthday.
“It’s a secret, though, so don’t tell. And definitely don’t tell Rosi, he won’t be able to keep it to himself, fufufufu!”
You nodded, continuing to eat. The breakfast was indeed good. You were glad you didn’t lose your touch.
Once both of you were finished and the plates taken away for cleaning, Doflamingo smiled at you, ravenous and wide.
“It’s time for your reward, querida.” he said huskily.
You chuckled to hide the building nervousness within you. “Reward for what?”
Doflamingo grinned at you, hungry and wide. “For winning our game, of course.”
Doflamingo gestured you to come to him with his fingers. Swallowing down your nervousness, you carefully stood up from the chair, and approached him. He took you by the hand and pulled you on his lap, chuckling when you gasped as you landed on his thick, long thigh.
His long arms wound around your frame, effectively trapping you against his broad frame. Not that you would try to run.
“Out, slaves.” Doflamingo commanded. The servants scrambled away, not wanting to be the last one to obey the order. It left the guards at the doors and flaking the long wall.
Doflamingo parted your sleeping robe, letting the golden silk fall off your shoulders, revealing your naked body. There were hardly times with him through the month where your underwear wasn’t a source of annoyance for him, despite the lace, pearls and gold they were decorated with to invite his attention. It was for pure aesthetic enjoyment. These days, you slept without underwear, as your husband wanted your body available to him at all times, even when you were asleep. There were many mornings you woke with his cum sticking to your thighs.
Heat crept up your neck, flushing your cheeks as he stared down at your bare body like it was a puzzle for him to solve.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, leaning in, resting his face between your breasts. His hands squeezed your ass. Your breath shook out of you.
“Thank you...” you let out, knowing it was the right thing to say to him.
The saint pulled you close with his other hand around your waist, until the massive, thick bulge in his trousers pressed against your bared core and along your stomach. Your thighs quivered.
His mouth distracted you from his cock, placing kisses up to your collarbone. You did your best to breathe, busying your hands with his robe, unbuttoning one golden button each. His large tongue slid out, and you had to bite your tongue as he licked a path down your left breast. Within a moment, the wet muscle licked across your nipple, flicking it torturously while his fingers dug into your flesh. Heat and pleasure sizzled within you, making you arch your back into his mouth with a gasp, your fingers tightening on the pink lapels of his robe.
Doflamingo chuckled, the sound tickling your hardened, wet nipple. He played with your breasts, saliva dribbling down your chest where he suckled on your nipple greedily, pulling more and more sounds from you, his thumb and index finger tending to your other nipple. All the while you had to undress him, slide his hands out of the sleeves of his robe (his hands immediately returned to you once his sleeves flopped down) and down his body. Once you came to the waistline of his pants, Doflamingo hovered up off his seat in the chair, letting you pull his trousers down. His cock sprung free, covered in precum, pressing to the burning, wet lips of your cunt.
You hissed at the contact, the hot friction leaving you speechless, squirming on his thick thigh. Doflamingo sighed in relief, the breath from his nose tickling against your chest.
Another shift of fabric, and then, Doflamingo was bare from head to toe, exposing his tanned, broad torso, the sunlight shining through the curtains bathing him in golden light, tracing across his muscular chest and abdominal muscles.
“You’re such a good wife,” he purred contently, nose nuzzling against your neck, his breath warm on your skin.
His long fingers reached down between your thighs to touch your slit, his index and middle finger swiping over your slick, smearing it further across your pelvis, making you squeak.
Doflamingo laughed giddily. “You’re wet already.”
His thumb smeared your slick across your clit, and you whimpered out a helpless moan of:
“Doffy...”
Your thighs were trembling. Your cunt was desperately empty, and your husband’s continued ministrations of smearing your own arousal across your cunt and clit drove you to the brink of screaming and begging for his cock, your mouth watery and gaze hazy from want.
At the sound of his name, Doflamingo’s entire massive body shifted. He stared down at you, unsmiling, serious.
Before you knew it, his hands grabbed your waist, engulfing your body completely, with ease. He lifted you off his lap and placed you on a solid surface, sitting you down.
Right there, naked, on the table, on the golden tablecloth.
“Spread your legs,” he said, his commanding voice sending goosebumps across your thighs. You wasted no time in obeying, your thighs falling wide open, as wide as you knew to put them, leaving yourself bared to your husband’s gaze.
The shame of being naked with anyone but Doflamingo in the room had gradually faded through these four weeks with him, but it made you no less uncomfortable to know there were guards everywhere in the dining room, watching.
Watching Saint Doflamingo fuck you.
His large, tanned hands pressed down on your hips, his fingers holding your waist tight, digging into your flesh. His thumbs extended down to your pelvis, prying the wet lips of your cunt open on each side.
The sudden cold air against your flesh made you sigh in relief from the heat in you, your sweaty body relaxing beneath his large palms. Doflamingo hummed appraisingly. The sound traveled straight to your cunt, making it clench around nothing.
He leaned down and pressed his large mouth over yours, pressing his lips to yours softly. A sweet, tender kiss. He started trailing kisses down your neck, down your body.
“Good girl,” he praised, deep voice seductive like the appraising devil on the edge of leading you to sin. “Such a pretty -”
He pushed you down, lifted your legs, put your knees atop his shoulders, letting your toes hang down his upper back. The breath was forced out of you at the sudden drag of your body on the table, leaving only your head on the surface. Your entire back was lifted, pressing along his abs, your legs too, ass high up against his broad collarbone. Blood rushed fast through your veins.
“- soaking -”
You whimpered as Doflamingo kissed your swollen clit, rubbed his devious fingers across your inner thighs.
“- pussy.” he said breathlessly, like a hungry tiger craving food.
“Say thank you, wife.” said Doflamingo, his warm breath and voice caressing your bared cunt.
“Thank -”
You couldn’t finish because Doflamingo buried his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your clit slowly.
Fuck. you thought, head thrown backward into the table.
“- you.” you gasped, your thighs trembling on his strong, muscular shoulders.
Doflamingo’s fingers trailed gently over your ankles as his tongue tended to your clit, licking and sucking. Your mind was melting. All you could feel was Doflamingo’s tongue, licking at your clit skillfully, covering you in saliva, tapping at the muscle, prodding with the tip of his tongue.
You couldn’t stop moaning.
When you felt like you were burning from inside out, after another suck and stroke, Doflamingo replaced his tongue on your clit with his thumb, pressing the warm digit against your clit at the same time as he sheathed his tongue inside your cunt.
Doflamingo pushed you down with this, sliding your back right onto the table, rumpling the tablecloth, dishes clattering. The new position returned some form of focus to your vision before you could faint.
You yelled out as his large tongue moved, burying deep inside you, the wet muscle stroking along all the nerves within you. He dipped it and retracted it, making a meal out of you as you bucked your hips into his tongue, arching your back to the point of pain. The large, superior length due to his size helped his tongue reach deep in your cunt. He found the spot inside you that made you moan just right, sweet and loud for him, stars flashing across your vision. Doflamingo started pressing his tongue precisely into that spot, sliding the wet muscle back and forth. You followed him blindly, canting your hips into his face. His thumb pressed against your clit at the same time as his tongue against the spongy, weak place in your cunt.
Another breathless, helpless moan of, “Saint!” escaped your lips when he dipped his tongue in your pussy against your weak spot, and Doflamingo decided that he’d fuck you with his tongue for the next hour just to hear you say his sacred title again like a prayer.
With each moaned “Saint” and “thank you” from your pretty mouth, Doflamingo found his hard cock throb and twitch, leaking more and more precum. If he came untouched, it would be your fault, and you’d have to fix it. You both knew it, and yet, Doflamingo didn’t have the heart to make you stop, not when you were letting go and enjoying it so much — enjoying him so much. It made him happy. The way you shouted his title he gained at birth, the way your voice gasped the syllables and broke at the end like the crashing waves against the Red Mountain...
How could he tell you to stop, when you were showing him love just as he is, when you were willing?
Just a bit more, and you’d come, reach the heaven’s gate. Doflamingo couldn’t wait to lap it all up, lick your cunt clean and bury his cock home inside you. If he was your god, you were his temple. If he was your god, you were his altar. If he was your king, then you were his queen.
“Please,” you gasped as your cunt tightened, the knot in you close to snapping. You were so close, but you held on, wanting - no, needing — to come apart on his cock. Tears welling inside your eyes slipped out as you begged, desperate and pathetic, “Please, Doffy! Please fuck me!”
If you ever fell from Mariejois, you knew you’d be stoned, or beaten, or maybe they’d burn you to a crisp. All for opening your legs willingly for Doflamingo, for kissing him, for hugging him, for holding his hand, for holding him close to your heart.
You didn’t care. You love him.
A few rogue tears slipped down your eyelashes from multiple reasons. From being overwhelmed by his tongue filling you up. From self-loathing that you became like this, that you bowed instantly to him, so quickly accepted your life and him, all not to die, and you liked it. From guilt that there was either the option of trying to find happiness in your situation and accepting his love or be miserable and eventually killed because he wouldn’t be happy if you were unhappy.
Doflamingo wore you down quickly with his adoration. You wanted to give him a chance, with as little prejudice and fear of him as possible, so you let all of that go the moment you told him “Yes.” when he asked you to be his wife.
You still remembered how surprised Doflamingo was that you accepted. You still remembered how he beamed, his smile bright and beautiful, like the sun.
You didn’t act. You couldn’t, and didn’t have the heart for it, not when he was so careful with you, like a wolf in love with a sheep, trying to impress you and convince you to stay, nuzzling your head and curling himself around you at night.
And now you were in love with him. In love with the same man that took you away from your home because he fell in love with you at first sight.
A sharp sting on your ass startled you, making you flinch, your whole body jumping off the table. You looked down at your husband between your thighs, and could feel his heavy gaze on you. It took you a moment to realize what happened. Your husband had slapped you on the ass because you told him to hurry up.
You could feel the leftover weight and force of his large hand across your stinging flesh.
You could do many things, but ordering Doflamingo what to do or when to do it was not one of such things.
“Good wives accept what they’re given,” he said, his voice as heavy as his concealed gaze. “Accept what I give you, and then I’ll give you what you want, darling. Understood?”
“Yes,” you gasped, nodding. Doflamingo called this a reward but the pleasure was too much for you. “Yes, Doffy. I’m sorry.”
Doflamingo smiled, wide and sinister, demonic. It sent a surge of fear down your spine.
“Good,” he said.
Without another word, Doflamingo went back inside you, stroking you with his fingers and fucking you with his tongue. Now, he kept your hips pinned down. You couldn’t buck your hips into his tongue, couldn’t move with him. You lost that privilege for now.
But the pleasure didn’t stop. It was building, exceedingly fast, the sting on your ass turning into an ache as your husband continued devouring you, driving you insane, whining and moaning as the pleasure built up due to his skilled fingers and tongue.
“Doffy —” you gasped. “— can’t — may I —”
All Doflamingo did was moan, continuing his onslaught on your clit and cunt with his thumb and tongue, not letting go of you. He moved his head slightly in a dip without breaking the rhythm. It was clear. You were allowed to cum.
You let go.
A strangled cry of “Doffy!” ripped out of you along with your ecstasy, the springs in your core breaking, the hot sensation exploding within you, an overwhelming pleasure covering your entire body, making you shake from inside out.
Doflamingo carefully lapped up and sucked the fruits of his labor, ignoring your whimpers, letting you handle the overstimulation to your nerves with choked back sobs, tears staining the side of your face and your fingers clenching into the golden tablecloth. The wetness of you stained his chin and lips like the ripe juice of a pomegranate. His mouth parted from your cunt with a smack that made your body burn. A translucent string of your pleasure trailed after his mouth from your core, and your body quivered.
Instead of dragging you to the edge of the table, Doflamingo pulled himself atop it, atop you. You gasped, taking hold of his forearms, fearing his weight would collapse the surface under your back.
He chuckled at your shocked face, leaning down and capturing your lips under his, encouraging you to open your mouth, immediately sliding his tongue inside after you did so.
You tasted the proof of your pleasure on Doflamingo’s tongue as his mouth enveloped yours in a hungry open-mouthed kiss, devouring you, making you submit to his exploration of your mouth. You kissed him desperately, face burning hot as his tongue filled your mouth, both his hands back on your breasts again, massaging them, rubbing your nipples and pinching them.
For someone holding the title of holy, Doflamingo acted the most unholy.
Doflamingo rendered you panting and breathless, your face flushed.
There was no more teasing. His large palms engulfed your upper thighs and pushed them up to your chest, holding them down, his chest bearing down on you. He adjusted himself between your legs, his thick cock smearing precum along the inside of your thigh.
He pressed another kiss to your lips. His cockhead nudged at your cunt’s lips, making you quiver and moan wantonly as you felt the blunt of him at your entrance. You held onto him, positioned like a bowstring.
With a lick of his tongue across his lips, Doflamingo finally sheathed himself into your heat. You bit your lip, the stretch burning due to his size.
“Fuck... wife...” he panted, shuffling on the table, knocking the glassware out the way with his hands, the movement so powerful the glasses flew off the table and crashed to the ground. Your cunt throbbed, and you let out a needy whimper when he bucked his hips, digging another inch inside you.
Doflamingo chuckled. “So needy...” His tongue slipped out, licking along his upper teeth hungrily. His cock twitched inside you. “But I like it.”
His warm hands returned to you, squeezing your breasts, making you yell out as a sharp lunge of pleasure overwhelmed you, rushing straight to your core. Your back arched, your husband’s cock sinking further into you inch by heavenly inch as he stroked his hips back and forth, carefully giving you more and more.
“You’re doing so well,” he praised. You clenched around him, your fingers tight in the skin of his forearms, clinging to him. He caressed your body, deep voice soft and loving. “I’m here, I’m right here, you’re taking me so well, you’re being so good, wife...”
Palming your breasts, knee over the side of your thigh each, torso curved and spine bent like an arc of a circular bridge so you could still see his face, Doflamingo thrust inside you with a single powerful stroke of hips, pushing through the slick walls easing his way in, pressing his hips close to yours, seating the entirety of his cock inside you.
You would have yelled out, if Doflamingo didn’t descend upon you and kiss you, swallowing the sound. The kiss was messy and desperate, hungry and full of need, but you didn’t care. The pain faded quickly, giving into pleasure. Soon, you were happy, your husband rocking his thick, large cock into your body with deep grunts, filling you up. Your hips bucked up into his cock to have the cockhead press all the way into that spongy spot inside you.
You cradled his cheeks, ran your fingers through his short blond hair, and hugged him around the neck. His muscled body shivered under your touch, his cock twitching inside your walls.
Doflamingo started a sensual, deep pace, his cock burying deep inside you each time, pressing hard into that soft spot in you that made you cry out in pleasure before he did it all over again. And you let him. Your hips met his halfway, arching your back into him.
“I love you,” he growled breathlessly, rutting into you, each thrust and movement of his cock inside your sopping, tender walls making you moan and pant. His fingers tightened around your thighs possessively, keeping you spread on the table, his balls slapping against the curve of your ass with each movement of his hips meeting yours, slick with the mix of your pleasure dribbling out of you as he fucked you over and over again. “My wife... Mine, mine, mine...”
Your vision started to blur, your walls clenching, the strings in your pelvis tightening with each stroke of him inside you, each drag of him coming deep in and out.
You were so full. You could feel your orgasm growing closer, the heat and tension in your core rising more and more...
“Doffy!” you cried, your thighs clenching around his hips. “Can I -”
“Yes,” he whispered huskily, cradling your face in his large hand, burying his face in your collarbone, placing a kiss over your breast, over your heart. A warm, gentle thing among the sweat and passion of his hips meeting yours. “Cum for me, wife. Cum on my cock.”
“Doffy!” you cried, coming once again, shaking to your core.
Doflamingo groaned as he felt you clench around him as you reached ecstasy, spilling on his cock, drowning him in your pleasure.
“Fuck… good wife…” he murmured, continuing to move inside you as you slumped down, exhausted, flushed and panting. “Just like that, querida… you feel good, fuck…”
Doflamingo started to pick up the pace, his hips smashing hard into yours. His hands took hold of your legs, holding them tight around his hips until your heels dug into his muscled back, his balls pressing against your ass. The angle was so deep and good you started to feel a quiver inside you. If it wasn’t for the ache of oversensitive nerves, you’d come again.
“Tell me you want me,” he growled, his voice echoing in your ears. He leaned his body down, resting his body atop your small one, his torso completely covering you. His large hands cradled you to him, pressing your face to his chest, filling you with his scent, his face burying into the crown of your head, his cock burying deep inside you. “Beg for my cum, beg me, beg!”
“I want you, Doffy,” you said, clutching onto him tightly, clinging to him desperately, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he moved inside you, basking in the heat of him. “I love you, Doffy. Please cum inside me!”
That sent your husband over the edge.
“Fuck —” he groaned, your name slipping past his lips wantonly.
The next few thrusts made you hold onto him for dear life, his cock pushing your entire body forward in jostling movements. Doflamingo took you savagely, roughly, hard and fast, ramming into you to the point it was too much. He pressed his face into your neck and moaned, loud and deep, then spilled inside you, his cock shooting vicious, hot lashes of cum deep within you. His thrusts stuttered as he rode out his orgasm, huffing and moaning all the while, until all of him was spent and emptied inside you.
Doflamingo caught you in his arms and laid on the table, panting deep against your neck, his hands clutching onto you in the aftermath, your fingers carefully brushing through his short blond hair.
The two of stayed like that for a while, holding onto each other regardless of the sweat and heat of your bodies. Doflamingo slipped out of you with a slick sound, cum dripping down your entrance. He pressed his fingers to your cunt, picking up the spend and putting it back inside you, making you whimper and squirm.
“Shh,” he said gently, his voice settling you down. “Stay like that, wife. It needs to stay in.” He kissed your neck. “Every.” Licked your earlobe. “Single.” Nibbled on your jawline. “Drop.”
All you did was shiver, closing your eyes, catching your breath.
“Thank -” You panted, swallowing. “Thank you.”
Doflamingo hummed. He licked the tears from your face, his wet tongue laving across your skin greedily, lovingly. Like a tiger licking an antelope.
You relaxed your muscles. You felt wrecked in the best of ways.
“I was supposed to be rewarding you, not the other way around.” Doflamingo huffed some more, sweat trailing down his bronze chest and temples. Then, he pouted, rested his elbows on the side of your head, and buried his face in your neck. “That’s unfair.”
You giggled, smile gentle. You reached up and caressed Doflamingo’s blond, sticky hair, basking in the beauty of him, his large cock hanging limp between your legs, covered in the aftermath of his and your pleasure, his broad body completely covering your tiny one from view.
“You reward me every day, my love.” you said.
Doflamingo smiled.
The two of you got showered, dressed and headed to the main manor of the Donquixotes by carriage for brunch with his parents and brother.
Mrs Donquixote was there when Doflamingo helped you out of the carriage.
“I hope my son isn’t being rough with you.” said Mrs. Donquixote.
Doflamingo blushed, which you found extremely adorable. “I’m not, Mother.”
“Good!” chirped Mrs Donquixote, beaming at her son.
“Did the guard deliver the slave?” Doflamingo asked.
“Oh! Yes, he did. Your father and brother are filling her in on her tasks.”
“Do they know she needs to be punished?” asked Doflamingo, leading you up the marble stairs to the large white doors of the manor. “She ruined my breakfast surprise for (Y/N) by dropping it.”
“Oh, that’s not so bad, Doffy -”
“It is!” insisted Doflamingo. “It was supposed to be romantic. For our one month anniversary...”
You blinked. Has it been a full month? You didn’t even notice... Well, you did, but you didn’t think Doflamingo would celebrate it...
“Aww,” said Mrs. Donquixote. “You’re just like your father. He always makes grand romantic gestures for me, even now. Though he trips up sometimes.”
Mrs. Donquixote giggled.
Doflamingo grunted, tilting his head away to hide the pink hue on his face. You, however, were staring at Doflamingo with wide eyes. So that’s why he got that mad... He always had a short fuse, but to think it was because it was a surprise for your one month anniversary of marriage with him. It was supposed to be not only a surprise but a way to celebrate a full month of your marriage.
You felt your heart melt, your eyes swelling with tears at his attentiveness. Your fingers squeezed the white sleeve of his robe.
Doflamingo noticed, and tilted his head to you. His face turned confused and worried when he saw the tears in your eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his deep, strong voice softening with worry. “Are you hurt?”
You smiled. “Nothing,” you said, looking at him lovingly. “I’m happy to be your wife, Doffy.”
Doflamingo’s lips parted. He didn’t seem to know what to say.
A happy voice called your name. A tornado — literal tornado almost three meters tall — of blond hair and lanky arms picked you up off the floor, and you were lifted up high and spun around by Doflamingo’s younger brother, Rosinante.
“How are you?” asked Rosinante. “Are you sleeping okay? Is Doffy being rough with you? Is he feeding you well?”
“I’m good! I’m sleeping fine. He’s not. H-He is!” you gasped, startled by the large gap of height between your feet and the ground.
“Let go of my wife, Rosi!” Doflamingo yelled.
“Hehe, sorry, sorry!” apologized Rosinante, smiling goofily, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
Doflamingo took you — actually took you with his arms — from his brother, scowling at Rosinante like he’d taken his most favourite plush. He rested you on his forearm, cradling you to him possessively while frowning at his brother.
“Doffy, are you going to carry your wife the entire brunch?” asked Mrs. Donquixote as she swept past them both, uncaring for barely reaching to her sons' waist, for her voice gathered both the blonds attention.
“I might,” grumbled Doflamingo with a pout, pulling you close to his chest protectively, his nose nuzzling your temple and brushing the strands of your hair. “If Rosi keeps picking her up.”
“I gotta hug my sister-in-law! And check you aren’t breaking her!” said Rosinante defensively.
“I’m not!” yelled Doflamingo.
“Boys.” said Mrs. Donquixote with a sigh that told you she dealt with this longer than you were alive.
They both stopped arguing and said, “Sorry, mother.” in startling sync.
“Your father is in the welcoming room. Doffy, please put (Y/N) down, she’s not going to up and vanish.”
Doflamingo hesitated for a moment, looking worried you might do exactly that, but relented and put you back on the solid floor.
All of you entered the welcoming room, and there was Doflamingo’s father, Homing, who very much reminded you of Rosinante by personality.
He lit up when he saw you and Doflamingo.
Doflamingo, however, pointed at the slave.
“She needs to be punished, Father.” said Doflamingo, frowning down at the slave, his expression cold and ruthless. “She dropped mine and (Y/N)’s breakfast.”
“Oh,” said Homing. “Um...” The elderly celestial seemed at a complete loss. “She can... wash the dishes... For a week?”
Doflamingo’s veins throbbed on his forehead. “Servants do that already!”
“For a - a - a month!” Homing announced. He heard the words he said and flinched, looking immensely guilty.
Doflamingo looked pleased. He nodded.
“How about we go see the flamingos while your parents and brother prepare for brunch?” you asked your husband.
“Fine,” said Doflamingo. He took your hand and led you out of the room.
Rosinante gave you a thumbs up. You sent the thumbs up back.
A few minutes later, as you sat with Doflamingo on the bench to watch the pink flamingos in the pond, you rested your head against his chest, and said, “I'm surprised you agreed on that game.”
“I didn’t want our month anniversary day to start badly,” said Doflamingo. His long, tanned fingers wound their way between the spaces of your own, intertwining his fingers with yours. “That’s all.”
You found yourself smiling. Genuine, happy. “Thank you, Doffy.”
“De nada.” he murmured.
“So, what other surprise should I expect today, Saint Doflamingo?” you asked teasingly.
Doflamingo laughed. He leaned down, his thumb resting under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his devious, handsome smile. His nose brushed yours. His sunglasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, revealing his pink, breathtaking eyes, looking at you adoringly and sweetly, with a hint of darkness in them.
Your breath froze in your lungs.
“If I told you, it would ruin the surprise.” he whispered, pink eyes full of promises. “You’ll just have to wait and see, fufufu!”
Before you could get another word out, he kissed you. You smiled into it, deciding to let yourself be surprised today by your husband.
A/N: Celestial Doffy, I love you. I love you, Celestial Doffy. That's it, that's my note. What a beautiful, wickedly sexy World Noble Saint Doflamingo is 🤭
Okay, fine, the actual author's note is that since it's a month in the marriage, I decided Reader is still using a mix of titles for CD! Doflamingo. For formal occassions, you refer to him as "Saint Doflamingo" and probably did even on your wedding night call him "Saint" or "Saint Doflamingo" and a bit of "Doffy". Of course, Doflamingo did request you call him "Doffy" in private and with family (or myb only when he's fucking you) but he definitely has a kink for being called "Saint" in the bedroom. He's still a narcissist with a god complex what do you want me to say? So it's a mix of Doffy and "Saint" or "Saint Doflamingo" along with terms of endearment. He likes being called "my love" & "my saint" For the public sex, well, as it's implied, Celestial Doffy is very normal with being nude within the bounds of his home and everyone just has to deal with it, and that leads to him not caring very much for the amount of witnesses there are when he fucks you. If he wants to fuck you, he'll fuck you then and there, and if there are witnesses, oh well. He doesn't care.
Summary: When one of the servants makes a mistake serving Saint Doflamingo, you try to save her and defuse the situation by shifting his attention to you.
Tags: Female!Reader, Doflamingo's Wife!Reader, Celestial Dragon!Doflamingo, World Noble!Doflamingo, Implied Forced Marriage, Past Dub-Con, Smut with Plot, NSFW, Enthusiastic Consent, Vaginal Sex, Size Difference, Semi-Public Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Spanking (it's one slap), Slavery, Attempted Murder, Sadism, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Possessive Doflamingo, Nudity, Adult Language, They're In Love Your Honour
Word Count: 6k
A/N: Welcome to my 700 followers special! 🥳🥳🥳🎉🎉Guess what number 700 is! The beginning of Dressrosa Arc in the manga (in which Doffy appears) and 700th episode in the anime which is also in Dressrosa Arc! Thank you everyone for following me, I love you all! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🩷🩷
I wrote this within 4 days and have no regrets, the only reason I didn't finish it within a day is because I was sick🤧 I have been wanting to post a Celestial Doffy x Reader for months now, so I'm happy inspiration hit me for a one-shot. I decided to make this a thank you gift to all of you who followed me. Thank you and I hope you keep enjoying my Doffy-obsessed blog! Is this the first ever Celestial Doflamingo x Reader fic on the internet? Maybe, I have NO idea. Send me flowers or sth, idk. This is such filth but I feel 0 shame, none. At first I was gonna write Doffy being kind of an asshole and sorta selfish with Reader but then Soft Celestial Doffy was like "but I love my wife 🥺" and I sighed and let Wife-Lover Celestial Doffy take over and have his fun, he deserves it, he's a good boy. (Sometimes.)
You were sleeping. Until the shattering sound of porcelain breaking with a crash on the floor and liquid spilling startled you out of your slumber. You shot up in the massive bed, disoriented and sleepy.
“Look what you did, slave.”
You felt your heart drop. Shit.
You were up and awake within a second, grabbing the golden silk sleeping robe from the floor, quickly slipping into it.
Doflamingo noticed you.
“Good morning, wife,” greeted Doflamingo, not looking away from the slave, aiming his gun at her. “Sorry, I woke you up.”
“Good morning,” you said, tying the silk belt around your waist, your heart rushing in your chest. “What happened?”
“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed,” said Doflamingo, frowning down at the slave trembling on the floor, silent tears running down her face, too terrified to audibly cry.
It was a sweet gesture for a Celestial Dragon, a World Noble of such high standing, and despite your situation of how you came to marry him, your heart skipped a beat.
“That’s very sweet of you.” you said.
“But this slave ruined it by tripping on the carpet and spilling everything.” said Doflamingo roughly, gesturing his golden gun at the girl. She looked no more than sixteen, and she was shaking from head to toe. “And now I have to wait another thirty minutes for breakfast and my surprise for you is ruined and it's all this slave’s fault!”
By the time Doflamingo finished yelling, veins were outlined on his forehead, furious and angry as he bared his teeth down at the girl.
Your mind was racing for a solution. Doflamingo didn’t forgive slaves for mistakes. One mistake, and he punished them with death for their failure. It was why a lot of the new slaves barely made it past a month, no matter how much the senior slaves aided them and guided them.
Maybe it would have been easier to calm Doflamingo down if the breakfast tray had simply fallen to the floor and only the plates with the buttered toast broke. But it had fell and everything shattered. What was worse, the coffee spilled onto your husband’s silk, golden pajama pants and on the carpet. You were sure the washers would do their best to remove the coffee stain, but it might be ruined for good.
It wasn’t looking good.
And then... An idea popped into your head. A risky one, but one that might save the girl's life.
“How about I make us breakfast?” you asked.
“Huh?” asked Doflamingo, handsome features twisted in pure confusion.
“I’ll make us breakfast,” you repeated, putting on a smile on your face in an attempt to calm down the Celestial. “And coffee, too.”
Doflamingo stared down at you for a moment. You didn’t flinch, didn’t move. You knew to get him to consider the suggestion, you couldn’t look away.
“Fufufu! And what do I get for waiting?” asked Doflamingo with an amused smile.
“If you don’t like it, that means I lose, so you can punish her as you see fit.” you said. “If you like the breakfast, I win, you give her to your parents and they can decide her punishment.”
“So,” Doflamingo said, a dark sort of thrill in his voice and smile. “It’s a game.”
You fought down a tremble.
“Yes,” you said, doing your best to keep your voice even and calm despite the painful banging of your frightened heart in your ribs. “A game. Between you and me.”
Doflamingo smiled. It was the same smile he wore when he saw you the first time. Like a lion finding the most beautiful doe to eat.
He lowered the gun where he’d been pointing it at the terrified girl’s face.
“Alright, wife. Let’s play.”
Your husband was watching you in the same way he watched you when you were making him his morning coffee in the café when he met you.
With incredible, single-minded intensity. His lips were set in a neutral line, his sunglasses staring down from the bridge of his nose at you, his hands in the pockets of his Celestial robe.
You knew by now that it was simply him being overprotective. He didn’t like the thought of you near knives and anything that burned. He didn’t want you to get hurt while cooking.
He would just rather stare than show that, though.
You finished making the toast and coffee within fifteen minutes, and handed them to the servers to serve.
Doflamingo smiled deviously, and offered you his arm. You put your hand on his forearm and let him escort you to the grand dining room.
Doflamingo sat down at the dining table in the grand dining room. It was a long table covered by a golden tablecloth, with golden-framed chairs with pink tufted backrests.
You two sat down, and the servers brought the food and coffee you made. As Doflamingo picked up the toast, you started praying to Nika inside your head.
Doflamingo took a bite. He chewed, and swallowed. Then he ate the sunny side up egg. Then, he took a sip of the coffee. For long moments, everything was silent, and you didn’t breathe.
“You win, wife.” said Doflamingo with a sigh, sounding disappointed his fun got ruined.
Your chest fell in relief, exhaling the breath you’d been holding.
“Get this slave out of my sight,” said Doflamingo, sneering disgustedly at the slave who spilled the breakfast. “Hand her to my parents. They’ll decide what to do with her.” He turned to the slave; the girl flinched, freezing in terror. He gave her a sharp, large, evil smile. “Thank my wife for her mercy.”
The girl turned to you, her eyes full of relieved tears. “T-Thank you, my lady!” She bowed down her head, much to your chagrin.
“You welcome,” you said, feeling awkward about your title as usual.
Doflamingo went back to eating breakfast. Now that the matter was resolved, you set out to eating the food on your plate, too.
“This is really delicious,” said Doflamingo, putting more sunny side eggs onto his spoon and putting them into his mouth, his dimples curving to his ears with his smile as he chewed. “You’re a wonderful cook, my wife.”
“Thank you,” you said, feeling your cheeks flush. You always liked cooking, and you wished your husband would let you cook for him, but for safety reasons and because he insisted you weren’t his cook but his wife, you weren't allowed to make him food.
You wish you could. He looked really happy with breakfast today.
Doflamingo excitedly told you about the tickets to the ballet his father bought for his mother’s birthday. Mrs. Donquixote’s favorite ballet was coming to Sabaody Theatre, and it would be there for a full week. Mr. Donquixote bought them tickets to celebrate her birthday.
“It’s a secret, though, so don’t tell. And definitely don’t tell Rosi, he won’t be able to keep it to himself, fufufufu!”
You nodded, continuing to eat. The breakfast was indeed good. You were glad you didn’t lose your touch.
Once both of you were finished and the plates taken away for cleaning, Doflamingo smiled at you, ravenous and wide.
“It’s time for your reward, querida.” he said huskily.
You chuckled to hide the building nervousness within you. “Reward for what?”
Doflamingo grinned at you, hungry and wide. “For winning our game, of course.”
Doflamingo gestured you to come to him with his fingers. Swallowing down your nervousness, you carefully stood up from the chair, and approached him. He took you by the hand and pulled you on his lap, chuckling when you gasped as you landed on his thick, long thigh.
His long arms wound around your frame, effectively trapping you against his broad frame. Not that you would try to run.
“Out, slaves.” Doflamingo commanded. The servants scrambled away, not wanting to be the last one to obey the order. It left the guards at the doors and flaking the long wall.
Doflamingo parted your sleeping robe, letting the golden silk fall off your shoulders, revealing your naked body. There were hardly times with him through the month where your underwear wasn’t a source of annoyance for him, despite the lace, pearls and gold they were decorated with to invite his attention. It was for pure aesthetic enjoyment. These days, you slept without underwear, as your husband wanted your body available to him at all times, even when you were asleep. There were many mornings you woke with his cum sticking to your thighs.
Heat crept up your neck, flushing your cheeks as he stared down at your bare body like it was a puzzle for him to solve.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, leaning in, resting his face between your breasts. His hands squeezed your ass. Your breath shook out of you.
“Thank you...” you let out, knowing it was the right thing to say to him.
The saint pulled you close with his other hand around your waist, until the massive, thick bulge in his trousers pressed against your bared core and along your stomach. Your thighs quivered.
His mouth distracted you from his cock, placing kisses up to your collarbone. You did your best to breathe, busying your hands with his robe, unbuttoning one golden button each. His large tongue slid out, and you had to bite your tongue as he licked a path down your left breast. Within a moment, the wet muscle licked across your nipple, flicking it torturously while his fingers dug into your flesh. Heat and pleasure sizzled within you, making you arch your back into his mouth with a gasp, your fingers tightening on the pink lapels of his robe.
Doflamingo chuckled, the sound tickling your hardened, wet nipple. He played with your breasts, saliva dribbling down your chest where he suckled on your nipple greedily, pulling more and more sounds from you, his thumb and index finger tending to your other nipple. All the while you had to undress him, slide his hands out of the sleeves of his robe (his hands immediately returned to you once his sleeves flopped down) and down his body. Once you came to the waistline of his pants, Doflamingo hovered up off his seat in the chair, letting you pull his trousers down. His cock sprung free, covered in precum, pressing to the burning, wet lips of your cunt.
You hissed at the contact, the hot friction leaving you speechless, squirming on his thick thigh. Doflamingo sighed in relief, the breath from his nose tickling against your chest.
Another shift of fabric, and then, Doflamingo was bare from head to toe, exposing his tanned, broad torso, the sunlight shining through the curtains bathing him in golden light, tracing across his muscular chest and abdominal muscles.
“You’re such a good wife,” he purred contently, nose nuzzling against your neck, his breath warm on your skin.
His long fingers reached down between your thighs to touch your slit, his index and middle finger swiping over your slick, smearing it further across your pelvis, making you squeak.
Doflamingo laughed giddily. “You’re wet already.”
His thumb smeared your slick across your clit, and you whimpered out a helpless moan of:
“Doffy...”
Your thighs were trembling. Your cunt was desperately empty, and your husband’s continued ministrations of smearing your own arousal across your cunt and clit drove you to the brink of screaming and begging for his cock, your mouth watery and gaze hazy from want.
At the sound of his name, Doflamingo’s entire massive body shifted. He stared down at you, unsmiling, serious.
Before you knew it, his hands grabbed your waist, engulfing your body completely, with ease. He lifted you off his lap and placed you on a solid surface, sitting you down.
Right there, naked, on the table, on the golden tablecloth.
“Spread your legs,” he said, his commanding voice sending goosebumps across your thighs. You wasted no time in obeying, your thighs falling wide open, as wide as you knew to put them, leaving yourself bared to your husband’s gaze.
The shame of being naked with anyone but Doflamingo in the room had gradually faded through these four weeks with him, but it made you no less uncomfortable to know there were guards everywhere in the dining room, watching.
Watching Saint Doflamingo fuck you.
His large, tanned hands pressed down on your hips, his fingers holding your waist tight, digging into your flesh. His thumbs extended down to your pelvis, prying the wet lips of your cunt open on each side.
The sudden cold air against your flesh made you sigh in relief from the heat in you, your sweaty body relaxing beneath his large palms. Doflamingo hummed appraisingly. The sound traveled straight to your cunt, making it clench around nothing.
He leaned down and pressed his large mouth over yours, pressing his lips to yours softly. A sweet, tender kiss. He started trailing kisses down your neck, down your body.
“Good girl,” he praised, deep voice seductive like the appraising devil on the edge of leading you to sin. “Such a pretty -”
He pushed you down, lifted your legs, put your knees atop his shoulders, letting your toes hang down his upper back. The breath was forced out of you at the sudden drag of your body on the table, leaving only your head on the surface. Your entire back was lifted, pressing along his abs, your legs too, ass high up against his broad collarbone. Blood rushed fast through your veins.
“- soaking -”
You whimpered as Doflamingo kissed your swollen clit, rubbed his devious fingers across your inner thighs.
“- pussy.” he said breathlessly, like a hungry tiger craving food.
“Say thank you, wife.” said Doflamingo, his warm breath and voice caressing your bared cunt.
“Thank -”
You couldn’t finish because Doflamingo buried his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your clit slowly.
Fuck. you thought, head thrown backward into the table.
“- you.” you gasped, your thighs trembling on his strong, muscular shoulders.
Doflamingo’s fingers trailed gently over your ankles as his tongue tended to your clit, licking and sucking. Your mind was melting. All you could feel was Doflamingo’s tongue, licking at your clit skillfully, covering you in saliva, tapping at the muscle, prodding with the tip of his tongue.
You couldn’t stop moaning.
When you felt like you were burning from inside out, after another suck and stroke, Doflamingo replaced his tongue on your clit with his thumb, pressing the warm digit against your clit at the same time as he sheathed his tongue inside your cunt.
Doflamingo pushed you down with this, sliding your back right onto the table, rumpling the tablecloth, dishes clattering. The new position returned some form of focus to your vision before you could faint.
You yelled out as his large tongue moved, burying deep inside you, the wet muscle stroking along all the nerves within you. He dipped it and retracted it, making a meal out of you as you bucked your hips into his tongue, arching your back to the point of pain. The large, superior length due to his size helped his tongue reach deep in your cunt. He found the spot inside you that made you moan just right, sweet and loud for him, stars flashing across your vision. Doflamingo started pressing his tongue precisely into that spot, sliding the wet muscle back and forth. You followed him blindly, canting your hips into his face. His thumb pressed against your clit at the same time as his tongue against the spongy, weak place in your cunt.
Another breathless, helpless moan of, “Saint!” escaped your lips when he dipped his tongue in your pussy against your weak spot, and Doflamingo decided that he’d fuck you with his tongue for the next hour just to hear you say his sacred title again like a prayer.
With each moaned “Saint” and “thank you” from your pretty mouth, Doflamingo found his hard cock throb and twitch, leaking more and more precum. If he came untouched, it would be your fault, and you’d have to fix it. You both knew it, and yet, Doflamingo didn’t have the heart to make you stop, not when you were letting go and enjoying it so much — enjoying him so much. It made him happy. The way you shouted his title he gained at birth, the way your voice gasped the syllables and broke at the end like the crashing waves against the Red Mountain...
How could he tell you to stop, when you were showing him love just as he is, when you were willing?
Just a bit more, and you’d come, reach the heaven’s gate. Doflamingo couldn’t wait to lap it all up, lick your cunt clean and bury his cock home inside you. If he was your god, you were his temple. If he was your god, you were his altar. If he was your king, then you were his queen.
“Please,” you gasped as your cunt tightened, the knot in you close to snapping. You were so close, but you held on, wanting - no, needing — to come apart on his cock. Tears welling inside your eyes slipped out as you begged, desperate and pathetic, “Please, Doffy! Please fuck me!”
If you ever fell from Mariejois, you knew you’d be stoned, or beaten, or maybe they’d burn you to a crisp. All for opening your legs willingly for Doflamingo, for kissing him, for hugging him, for holding his hand, for holding him close to your heart.
You didn’t care. You love him.
A few rogue tears slipped down your eyelashes from multiple reasons. From being overwhelmed by his tongue filling you up. From self-loathing that you became like this, that you bowed instantly to him, so quickly accepted your life and him, all not to die, and you liked it. From guilt that there was either the option of trying to find happiness in your situation and accepting his love or be miserable and eventually killed because he wouldn’t be happy if you were unhappy.
Doflamingo wore you down quickly with his adoration. You wanted to give him a chance, with as little prejudice and fear of him as possible, so you let all of that go the moment you told him “Yes.” when he asked you to be his wife.
You still remembered how surprised Doflamingo was that you accepted. You still remembered how he beamed, his smile bright and beautiful, like the sun.
You didn’t act. You couldn’t, and didn’t have the heart for it, not when he was so careful with you, like a wolf in love with a sheep, trying to impress you and convince you to stay, nuzzling your head and curling himself around you at night.
And now you were in love with him. In love with the same man that took you away from your home because he fell in love with you at first sight.
A sharp sting on your ass startled you, making you flinch, your whole body jumping off the table. You looked down at your husband between your thighs, and could feel his heavy gaze on you. It took you a moment to realize what happened. Your husband had slapped you on the ass because you told him to hurry up.
You could feel the leftover weight and force of his large hand across your stinging flesh.
You could do many things, but ordering Doflamingo what to do or when to do it was not one of such things.
“Good wives accept what they’re given,” he said, his voice as heavy as his concealed gaze. “Accept what I give you, and then I’ll give you what you want, darling. Understood?”
“Yes,” you gasped, nodding. Doflamingo called this a reward but the pleasure was too much for you. “Yes, Doffy. I’m sorry.”
Doflamingo smiled, wide and sinister, demonic. It sent a surge of fear down your spine.
“Good,” he said.
Without another word, Doflamingo went back inside you, stroking you with his fingers and fucking you with his tongue. Now, he kept your hips pinned down. You couldn’t buck your hips into his tongue, couldn’t move with him. You lost that privilege for now.
But the pleasure didn’t stop. It was building, exceedingly fast, the sting on your ass turning into an ache as your husband continued devouring you, driving you insane, whining and moaning as the pleasure built up due to his skilled fingers and tongue.
“Doffy —” you gasped. “— can’t — may I —”
All Doflamingo did was moan, continuing his onslaught on your clit and cunt with his thumb and tongue, not letting go of you. He moved his head slightly in a dip without breaking the rhythm. It was clear. You were allowed to cum.
You let go.
A strangled cry of “Doffy!” ripped out of you along with your ecstasy, the springs in your core breaking, the hot sensation exploding within you, an overwhelming pleasure covering your entire body, making you shake from inside out.
Doflamingo carefully lapped up and sucked the fruits of his labor, ignoring your whimpers, letting you handle the overstimulation to your nerves with choked back sobs, tears staining the side of your face and your fingers clenching into the golden tablecloth. The wetness of you stained his chin and lips like the ripe juice of a pomegranate. His mouth parted from your cunt with a smack that made your body burn. A translucent string of your pleasure trailed after his mouth from your core, and your body quivered.
Instead of dragging you to the edge of the table, Doflamingo pulled himself atop it, atop you. You gasped, taking hold of his forearms, fearing his weight would collapse the surface under your back.
He chuckled at your shocked face, leaning down and capturing your lips under his, encouraging you to open your mouth, immediately sliding his tongue inside after you did so.
You tasted the proof of your pleasure on Doflamingo’s tongue as his mouth enveloped yours in a hungry open-mouthed kiss, devouring you, making you submit to his exploration of your mouth. You kissed him desperately, face burning hot as his tongue filled your mouth, both his hands back on your breasts again, massaging them, rubbing your nipples and pinching them.
For someone holding the title of holy, Doflamingo acted the most unholy.
Doflamingo rendered you panting and breathless, your face flushed.
There was no more teasing. His large palms engulfed your upper thighs and pushed them up to your chest, holding them down, his chest bearing down on you. He adjusted himself between your legs, his thick cock smearing precum along the inside of your thigh.
He pressed another kiss to your lips. His cockhead nudged at your cunt’s lips, making you quiver and moan wantonly as you felt the blunt of him at your entrance. You held onto him, positioned like a bowstring.
With a lick of his tongue across his lips, Doflamingo finally sheathed himself into your heat. You bit your lip, the stretch burning due to his size.
“Fuck... wife...” he panted, shuffling on the table, knocking the glassware out the way with his hands, the movement so powerful the glasses flew off the table and crashed to the ground. Your cunt throbbed, and you let out a needy whimper when he bucked his hips, digging another inch inside you.
Doflamingo chuckled. “So needy...” His tongue slipped out, licking along his upper teeth hungrily. His cock twitched inside you. “But I like it.”
His warm hands returned to you, squeezing your breasts, making you yell out as a sharp lunge of pleasure overwhelmed you, rushing straight to your core. Your back arched, your husband’s cock sinking further into you inch by heavenly inch as he stroked his hips back and forth, carefully giving you more and more.
“You’re doing so well,” he praised. You clenched around him, your fingers tight in the skin of his forearms, clinging to him. He caressed your body, deep voice soft and loving. “I’m here, I’m right here, you’re taking me so well, you’re being so good, wife...”
Palming your breasts, knee over the side of your thigh each, torso curved and spine bent like an arc of a circular bridge so you could still see his face, Doflamingo thrust inside you with a single powerful stroke of hips, pushing through the slick walls easing his way in, pressing his hips close to yours, seating the entirety of his cock inside you.
You would have yelled out, if Doflamingo didn’t descend upon you and kiss you, swallowing the sound. The kiss was messy and desperate, hungry and full of need, but you didn’t care. The pain faded quickly, giving into pleasure. Soon, you were happy, your husband rocking his thick, large cock into your body with deep grunts, filling you up. Your hips bucked up into his cock to have the cockhead press all the way into that spongy spot inside you.
You cradled his cheeks, ran your fingers through his short blond hair, and hugged him around the neck. His muscled body shivered under your touch, his cock twitching inside your walls.
Doflamingo started a sensual, deep pace, his cock burying deep inside you each time, pressing hard into that soft spot in you that made you cry out in pleasure before he did it all over again. And you let him. Your hips met his halfway, arching your back into him.
“I love you,” he growled breathlessly, rutting into you, each thrust and movement of his cock inside your sopping, tender walls making you moan and pant. His fingers tightened around your thighs possessively, keeping you spread on the table, his balls slapping against the curve of your ass with each movement of his hips meeting yours, slick with the mix of your pleasure dribbling out of you as he fucked you over and over again. “My wife... Mine, mine, mine...”
Your vision started to blur, your walls clenching, the strings in your pelvis tightening with each stroke of him inside you, each drag of him coming deep in and out.
You were so full. You could feel your orgasm growing closer, the heat and tension in your core rising more and more...
“Doffy!” you cried, your thighs clenching around his hips. “Can I -”
“Yes,” he whispered huskily, cradling your face in his large hand, burying his face in your collarbone, placing a kiss over your breast, over your heart. A warm, gentle thing among the sweat and passion of his hips meeting yours. “Cum for me, wife. Cum on my cock.”
“Doffy!” you cried, coming once again, shaking to your core.
Doflamingo groaned as he felt you clench around him as you reached ecstasy, spilling on his cock, drowning him in your pleasure.
“Fuck… good wife…” he murmured, continuing to move inside you as you slumped down, exhausted, flushed and panting. “Just like that, querida… you feel good, fuck…”
Doflamingo started to pick up the pace, his hips smashing hard into yours. His hands took hold of your legs, holding them tight around his hips until your heels dug into his muscled back, his balls pressing against your ass. The angle was so deep and good you started to feel a quiver inside you. If it wasn’t for the ache of oversensitive nerves, you’d come again.
“Tell me you want me,” he growled, his voice echoing in your ears. He leaned his body down, resting his body atop your small one, his torso completely covering you. His large hands cradled you to him, pressing your face to his chest, filling you with his scent, his face burying into the crown of your head, his cock burying deep inside you. “Beg for my cum, beg me, beg!”
“I want you, Doffy,” you said, clutching onto him tightly, clinging to him desperately, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he moved inside you, basking in the heat of him. “I love you, Doffy. Please cum inside me!”
That sent your husband over the edge.
“Fuck —” he groaned, your name slipping past his lips wantonly.
The next few thrusts made you hold onto him for dear life, his cock pushing your entire body forward in jostling movements. Doflamingo took you savagely, roughly, hard and fast, ramming into you to the point it was too much. He pressed his face into your neck and moaned, loud and deep, then spilled inside you, his cock shooting vicious, hot lashes of cum deep within you. His thrusts stuttered as he rode out his orgasm, huffing and moaning all the while, until all of him was spent and emptied inside you.
Doflamingo caught you in his arms and laid on the table, panting deep against your neck, his hands clutching onto you in the aftermath, your fingers carefully brushing through his short blond hair.
The two of stayed like that for a while, holding onto each other regardless of the sweat and heat of your bodies. Doflamingo slipped out of you with a slick sound, cum dripping down your entrance. He pressed his fingers to your cunt, picking up the spend and putting it back inside you, making you whimper and squirm.
“Shh,” he said gently, his voice settling you down. “Stay like that, wife. It needs to stay in.” He kissed your neck. “Every.” Licked your earlobe. “Single.” Nibbled on your jawline. “Drop.”
All you did was shiver, closing your eyes, catching your breath.
“Thank -” You panted, swallowing. “Thank you.”
Doflamingo hummed. He licked the tears from your face, his wet tongue laving across your skin greedily, lovingly. Like a tiger licking an antelope.
You relaxed your muscles. You felt wrecked in the best of ways.
“I was supposed to be rewarding you, not the other way around.” Doflamingo huffed some more, sweat trailing down his bronze chest and temples. Then, he pouted, rested his elbows on the side of your head, and buried his face in your neck. “That’s unfair.”
You giggled, smile gentle. You reached up and caressed Doflamingo’s blond, sticky hair, basking in the beauty of him, his large cock hanging limp between your legs, covered in the aftermath of his and your pleasure, his broad body completely covering your tiny one from view.
“You reward me every day, my love.” you said.
Doflamingo smiled.
The two of you got showered, dressed and headed to the main manor of the Donquixotes by carriage for brunch with his parents and brother.
Mrs Donquixote was there when Doflamingo helped you out of the carriage.
“I hope my son isn’t being rough with you.” said Mrs. Donquixote.
Doflamingo blushed, which you found extremely adorable. “I’m not, Mother.”
“Good!” chirped Mrs Donquixote, beaming at her son.
“Did the guard deliver the slave?” Doflamingo asked.
“Oh! Yes, he did. Your father and brother are filling her in on her tasks.”
“Do they know she needs to be punished?” asked Doflamingo, leading you up the marble stairs to the large white doors of the manor. “She ruined my breakfast surprise for (Y/N) by dropping it.”
“Oh, that’s not so bad, Doffy -”
“It is!” insisted Doflamingo. “It was supposed to be romantic. For our one month anniversary...”
You blinked. Has it been a full month? You didn’t even notice... Well, you did, but you didn’t think Doflamingo would celebrate it...
“Aww,” said Mrs. Donquixote. “You’re just like your father. He always makes grand romantic gestures for me, even now. Though he trips up sometimes.”
Mrs. Donquixote giggled.
Doflamingo grunted, tilting his head away to hide the pink hue on his face. You, however, were staring at Doflamingo with wide eyes. So that’s why he got that mad... He always had a short fuse, but to think it was because it was a surprise for your one month anniversary of marriage with him. It was supposed to be not only a surprise but a way to celebrate a full month of your marriage.
You felt your heart melt, your eyes swelling with tears at his attentiveness. Your fingers squeezed the white sleeve of his robe.
Doflamingo noticed, and tilted his head to you. His face turned confused and worried when he saw the tears in your eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his deep, strong voice softening with worry. “Are you hurt?”
You smiled. “Nothing,” you said, looking at him lovingly. “I’m happy to be your wife, Doffy.”
Doflamingo’s lips parted. He didn’t seem to know what to say.
A happy voice called your name. A tornado — literal tornado almost three meters tall — of blond hair and lanky arms picked you up off the floor, and you were lifted up high and spun around by Doflamingo’s younger brother, Rosinante.
“How are you?” asked Rosinante. “Are you sleeping okay? Is Doffy being rough with you? Is he feeding you well?”
“I’m good! I’m sleeping fine. He’s not. H-He is!” you gasped, startled by the large gap of height between your feet and the ground.
“Let go of my wife, Rosi!” Doflamingo yelled.
“Hehe, sorry, sorry!” apologized Rosinante, smiling goofily, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
Doflamingo took you — actually took you with his arms — from his brother, scowling at Rosinante like he’d taken his most favourite plush. He rested you on his forearm, cradling you to him possessively while frowning at his brother.
“Doffy, are you going to carry your wife the entire brunch?” asked Mrs. Donquixote as she swept past them both, uncaring for barely reaching to her sons' waist, for her voice gathered both the blonds attention.
“I might,” grumbled Doflamingo with a pout, pulling you close to his chest protectively, his nose nuzzling your temple and brushing the strands of your hair. “If Rosi keeps picking her up.”
“I gotta hug my sister-in-law! And check you aren’t breaking her!” said Rosinante defensively.
“I’m not!” yelled Doflamingo.
“Boys.” said Mrs. Donquixote with a sigh that told you she dealt with this longer than you were alive.
They both stopped arguing and said, “Sorry, mother.” in startling sync.
“Your father is in the welcoming room. Doffy, please put (Y/N) down, she’s not going to up and vanish.”
Doflamingo hesitated for a moment, looking worried you might do exactly that, but relented and put you back on the solid floor.
All of you entered the welcoming room, and there was Doflamingo’s father, Homing, who very much reminded you of Rosinante by personality.
He lit up when he saw you and Doflamingo.
Doflamingo, however, pointed at the slave.
“She needs to be punished, Father.” said Doflamingo, frowning down at the slave, his expression cold and ruthless. “She dropped mine and (Y/N)’s breakfast.”
“Oh,” said Homing. “Um...” The elderly celestial seemed at a complete loss. “She can... wash the dishes... For a week?”
Doflamingo’s veins throbbed on his forehead. “Servants do that already!”
“For a - a - a month!” Homing announced. He heard the words he said and flinched, looking immensely guilty.
Doflamingo looked pleased. He nodded.
“How about we go see the flamingos while your parents and brother prepare for brunch?” you asked your husband.
“Fine,” said Doflamingo. He took your hand and led you out of the room.
Rosinante gave you a thumbs up. You sent the thumbs up back.
A few minutes later, as you sat with Doflamingo on the bench to watch the pink flamingos in the pond, you rested your head against his chest, and said, “I'm surprised you agreed on that game.”
“I didn’t want our month anniversary day to start badly,” said Doflamingo. His long, tanned fingers wound their way between the spaces of your own, intertwining his fingers with yours. “That’s all.”
You found yourself smiling. Genuine, happy. “Thank you, Doffy.”
“De nada.” he murmured.
“So, what other surprise should I expect today, Saint Doflamingo?” you asked teasingly.
Doflamingo laughed. He leaned down, his thumb resting under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his devious, handsome smile. His nose brushed yours. His sunglasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, revealing his pink, breathtaking eyes, looking at you adoringly and sweetly, with a hint of darkness in them.
Your breath froze in your lungs.
“If I told you, it would ruin the surprise.” he whispered, pink eyes full of promises. “You’ll just have to wait and see, fufufu!”
Before you could get another word out, he kissed you. You smiled into it, deciding to let yourself be surprised today by your husband.
A/N: Celestial Doffy, I love you. I love you, Celestial Doffy. That's it, that's my note. What a beautiful, wickedly sexy World Noble Saint Doflamingo is 🤭
Okay, fine, the actual author's note is that since it's a month in the marriage, I decided Reader is still using a mix of titles for CD! Doflamingo. For formal occassions, you refer to him as "Saint Doflamingo" and probably did even on your wedding night call him "Saint" or "Saint Doflamingo" and a bit of "Doffy". Of course, Doflamingo did request you call him "Doffy" in private and with family (or myb only when he's fucking you) but he definitely has a kink for being called "Saint" in the bedroom. He's still a narcissist with a god complex what do you want me to say? So it's a mix of Doffy and "Saint" or "Saint Doflamingo" along with terms of endearment. He likes being called "my love" & "my saint" For the public sex, well, as it's implied, Celestial Doffy is very normal with being nude within the bounds of his home and everyone just has to deal with it, and that leads to him not caring very much for the amount of witnesses there are when he fucks you. If he wants to fuck you, he'll fuck you then and there, and if there are witnesses, oh well. He doesn't care.
Not much that Kid said offended you. How could it? He had a foul mouth at the best of times and didn’t think through much before he said it. You got used to it quickly.
But sometimes… Sometimes he really could get to you.
You leaned into his side, the night stretching long and quiet around you, your head dipping every few seconds as sleep pulled at you. The wind bit through your clothes, sharp and persistent, but it barely reached where you were tucked against him. His coat was heavy over your shoulders, feathers brushing your cheek whenever the ship shifted, trapping his warmth around you.
The hull creaked softly, the steady rhythm of waves slapping against the ship lulling you further under. It would have been easy to drift off completely like this, pressed into somebody solid and warm while the rest of the world rocked gently around you.
Kid nudged you. “Oi, you’re on watch. Don’t go falling asleep.”
Rich of him to say. He sounded half asleep himself.
“I can’t help it. You’re so warm.”
“Fall asleep and I’ll throw you overboard.”
“I’ll drag you with me,” you mumbled though there wasn’t a chance you could pull that off.
Still, you moved to sit up and his grip over your arm tightened, dragging you closer to his side before you could get too far. You snuggled closer.
If anybody approached the ship on any night when you were on watch, you feared they’d easily get past you. This was a near constant occurrence any time you weren’t asleep in his room. He claimed he just couldn’t sleep. Nobody believed him.
You had a bed in the women’s quarters. It was just you hadn’t used it in so long that everybody else used it as extra storage.
“What are you daydreaming about now?”
“You,” you hummed. “When we first met, I thought you were a rude bastard.”
Kid laughed, a sharp and barking sound. “I am.”
“True but for a rude bastard, you don’t let me get cold or lonely up here. I might have to start rethinking the title.”
“Only ‘cause you don’t stop whining when you’re cold.”
“If you were asleep in bed, you wouldn’t have to hear it.”
“Not true. You’re loud enough about it.”
You smiled to yourself, turning your head closer to him. “I really do lov – ”
“No.”
The sudden bite in his tone startled you enough to rouse you from your pleasant drifting. You sat up and he didn’t drag you back like usual. The cold air nipped at your shoulders and his gaze remained firmly fixed on the ocean beyond you.
“No?” you repeated.
He finally dragged his eyes to you, his expression far sterner than you’d ever seen aimed toward you before. “We don’t do that shit.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We fuck. That’s it.”
You frowned heavily. That was far from the only thing you did. Not even in the beginning…
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly. I don’t want to hear any of that crap from you again. Else we’re done. Stop getting distracted while you’re on watch.”
Hurt ached deep in your chest but he didn’t give you a second to respond. He stood and left you sitting on the deck alone. You watched him go, unsure if the agitation or the sadness were stronger. Both seemed pretty even.
Instead of dealing with that, you grabbed a coat from behind a few crates – shoved there before he arrived.
After your shift was relieved, you marched back to the women’s quarters with huff enough that Heat gave you a wide berth even half-asleep. You didn’t bother shoving stuff off your bunk and just pulled your pillow a little out, lying next to it.
What was wrong with Kid? You knew your relationship wasn’t just fucking. Everybody knew that. Was he actually losing it now?
Tears tried to force their way up but your agitation kept them at bay.
When the other women woke up in the morning, they offered apologies that you didn’t quite hear and quickly moved their things from your bed. You didn’t give any explanation to them and they didn’t ask.
Because you already knew who you were ranting to about this.
“Your best friend is a dick.”
Killer inclined his helmet toward you. “What did he do?”
“Did you know that we’re just fuck buddies? Because I didn’t!”
“I hear enough to believe it.”
“Fine, yes, we sleep together but there’s more to it too! Enough that when I say ‘I love you’ it shouldn’t be treated like ‘I fucked your sister’.”
“Ah.”
“He could have been nice about a rejection at least.”
“There was minimal yelling so that was as nice as you could have expected.”
You crossed your arms, glaring at him. You knew he’d take Kid’s side but come on, you would have appreciated a little sympathy from the man who had told you so long ago to just make a move. The actual reason you were in this situation in the first place, if you thought about it.
“What was so wrong about what I said?”
“Nothing. He just doesn’t like the word. Never has.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“You can keep trying if you want.”
You rolled your eyes. “Maybe I don’t love him anymore then. After what he did, I may as well just ignore whatever we had.”
“That would make things easier. He’s hasn’t left his workshop.”
“Don’t care.”
You stormed away, aware you were drawing attention but why should you care? Who didn’t like the word love? Who… No, you were being a bit too hurt about this. You forced yourself to take a few deep breaths.
It would be fine. You could just ignore him for a while and then it would all go back to normal.
Habit brought you to his workshop before you even noticed it. The door stood slightly ajar in a way it never had before you started your relationship with him. A silent welcome that everybody knew was for you alone.
You really should try and put it out of your mind and give him some space.
You stepped inside without waiting.
The air was thick with heat and the sharp scent of oil, metal scattered across every surface in half-finished pieces. The ship’s constant sway carried through the room, tools shifting faintly where they hadn’t been secured properly. Kid didn’t look like he had slept. There was a smear of grease along his jaw, his shoulders tight as he worked, like the act of focusing was the only thing keeping him from snapping.
You dropped into your usual seat across from him, the wood creaking under your weight, your foot brushing against his without asking permission.
“You’re a dick,” you told him.
He rolled his eyes. “Did you come looking for a fight or something?”
“No. Just needed to tell you that.”
“Fine.”
You turned your attention over your shoulder purposefully, staring through the window at the sea beyond. He continued working on whatever prototype he was playing with, drawing metal closer to his arm in varying shapes.
But try as you might, you kept looking back at him and whatever he was busy with.
“Need me to hold something?”
“If you’re not going to fucking stab me with it, hold this here.”
You glanced at him in annoyance but picked up the tool he gestured at, his attention clearly anywhere but on what he was doing. You’d seen him pretend to do this while distracted before. He couldn’t fool you. You could see he was getting annoyed with how he kept messing up. Waiting in obvious irritation.
Fine. If he wanted to talk about it but not bring it up.
“You hurt my feelings.”
“You’ll get over it,” he answered gruffly.
You looked at him unimpressed. “Do you know why it hurt as much as it did? It’s because I wasn’t lying to you when I said that I do l – ”
“Stop it.”
You gave him an exasperated look. “Kid.”
“If you’re going to bring sappy shit in here, you can get the fuck out.”
“We are not just fucking and you know that.” You leaned forward slightly without thinking, like getting closer might force him to actually hear you.
His attention snapped onto you. “Not now, we’re not. And not again if you don’t drop this.”
You didn’t back down. “That’s not a threat.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
“I don’t need to say it fully if you know what I meant.”
“Don’t even think about it. Hold this tighter.”
You pressed your weight against it, wondering why you still helped him even when he was trying to push you away. “Why are you like this?”
“If it bothers you so much, you can leave.”
You didn’t but neither did he. You took that as progress.
Two days passed and you kept your spot in the women’s quarters, artfully dodging questions from the rest of the crew about the change. An illness or something. You gave different reasons to everybody and eventually they stopped asking.
“You have like a half a relationship. You’re fighting but still together constantly,” Dive commented.
“We’re not fighting,” you corrected. “He’s just being hard-headed.”
Stubborn enough that the next time you ran into marines, you were both clearly in annoyed moods. Kid’s brutality was on the next level and you were distracted, watching him more than the enemies. For the most part, it was fine. The others more than made up for your distraction but as the fight began to look like an undeniable victory, you heard a soft click.
Sometimes you all underestimated the average marine grunt. A gun was still a gun. One a little too close for your obviously distracted captain.
The shot cracked through the air loudly and you moved without thought.
Your body jerked, breath catching hard in your throat like something had knocked the air clean out of you. Heat bloomed low in your stomach, sharp and wrong, and when you looked down your hands were already there, pressing instinctively against the spreading warmth.
Blood slipped between your fingers, thick and slick, soaking into your skin faster than you could process it.
Kid didn’t turn for the ringing of the shot. He only turned because of your sudden little gasp of air, drawn in tightly through your teeth.
The man who shot you was crushed beneath a metal hand before the pain even hit you.
“Idiot! What the fuck did you do that for?!’
You tried to stop yourself from stumbling but it didn’t quite work. Your back hit the railing and you slid down, gaze flicking to his for just a second before your head drooped forward.
Thank the sea you woke up, because if you hadn’t, Kid probably would have killed you himself.
You woke slowly, awareness coming in pieces. The pounding in your head hit first, then the weight of your body and its pain.
It settled low in your stomach, sharp and heavy, dragging a strained breath from you as everything clicked back into place. The bandages that wrapped around your torso were so thick that it hurt to move and you pressed your palms gently against them.
The door slammed open so hard it rattled against the frame, the sound echoing through the small space and making your head throb. You flinched despite yourself, vision still slightly unfocused, and managed a weak, crooked smile that did nothing to ease the tension already coiled in his shoulders.
“I just woke up,” you said, voice rough. “So save the shouting for later.”
“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” he snapped, stepping fully into the room. “You’re lucky I didn’t let you bleed out for being so goddamn stupid!”
You winced slightly at the volume but held his gaze. “Did you get hurt?”
“Obviously not!”
“Then it worked.”
For a second, it looked like he might actually lose it. Every muscle in his body was pulled tight, jaw clenched hard enough to ache just looking at it. But instead of exploding, he threw his hand up sharply and turned away, storming back out of the room like he couldn’t stand being in it anymore.
The door slammed behind him, leaving the space ringing in his absence.
“He’s really pissed at me, isn’t he?” you asked Heat the same day you left the med bay, able to walk and eat by yourself.
“Yeah, he is. Think you gave him a real fright. You’re not as sturdy as most of us.”
“I don’t know about that. I can take Kid pretty well.”
He gave you a look and you laughed. It was getting easier to do that at least. Sneezing still remained your biggest foe but at least you could laugh.
You tried to talk to Kid for the rest of the day but he really was dedicated to ignoring you. He stormed away from you whenever he got the chance. You found his workshop door locked. That part stung. More than you liked to admit.
You’d been injured before but then he’d acted more like an annoyed guard dog than anything, refusing to let you even move.
Now for this, he left you be?
The next day, you had enough. You made your way to the workshop after dinner, slowly plopped yourself down and waited. Killer stepped over you twice, his helmet tilted down to you curiously.
“Do you want me to tell him that you’re here?”
“Please don’t. I want him to leave the room today.”
You shifted slightly where you sat outside, your back protesting, the dull burn in your stomach flaring every time you moved wrong. Your head dipped forward again, exhaustion dragging at you harder than you wanted to admit.
The door finally wrenched open.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
You blinked up at him, forcing your eyes to focus. “Waiting for you.”
“Move.”
“Can’t really,” you said, your voice slower now, weighed down by fatigue. “Been here too long. Turns out getting shot has consequences.”
He stared at you for a second longer than necessary, irritation flickering across his face before something else cut through it.
“Fine. Stay there.”
You watched him walk away, boots heavy against the floor, each step sharp with lingering frustration. Your eyes drifted closed again. Sleeping wouldn’t be so bad.
Rough hands slid under you without warning, lifting you clean off the ground. The sudden movement pulled a quiet sound from you, pain flaring through your middle, but you didn’t fight it. You folded into him immediately, arms wrapping around his neck as you pressed close.
“Can we go to your room?” you murmured against him.
“You lost that chance when you started sleeping with the women.”
“Kid,” you complained softly, your grip tightening slightly. “I took a bullet for you. Most people would consider that a sign of loyalty.”
“A sign of stupidity,” he muttered, adjusting his hold on you as the ship rocked beneath his feet. “I didn’t ask for that.”
“You’re not meant to ask. That’s just what people do when they lo – ”
“Do you want me to drop you?”
You sighed under your breath, running one hand playing with the back of his hair. “No. I’m just saying what I feel.”
“Stop it then.”
“I can’t just stop. That’s not how feelings work.”
“I have my devil fruit. That fucking bullet wouldn’t have even touched me.”
You hummed. “You wouldn’t move fast enough. He was too close and you were already distracted.”
“You wanna fucking bet? Fine. Tomorrow, try and shoot me and we’ll see what happens.”
You blinked away the sleep from your eyes and lifted your head. What little lights there were in the halls of the Victoria cast deep shadows over his surly expression. He was purposefully not looking at you.
“You’ve gotten hurt for me before. It’s no different.”
“I have not.”
“Kid.”
“What do you fucking want from me?”
“Just talk to me.”
“We’re talking right now. It ain’t getting us nowhere.”
He shouldered open the door to his room. You breathed out a soft sigh of relief at the familiarity. Though you hadn’t been there in a few days, all of your stuff was still exactly where you had left it. Not even the soft blanket you’d found a few islands ago had been moved from the bed – shoved up against the side where he dropped you. Not gently but not with force enough to hurt.
“Go to bed,” he grumbled.
“Make up your mind.”
“The fuck do you mean?”
You tried to sit up but decided against it thanks to the pain in your stomach. “Either push me away or don’t. You can’t just change your mind on me constantly.”
“You’re the one making a problem out of it.”
“Then why bring me here not to my bed?”
His eye twitched, voice snapping louder. “I brought you here so your stupid fucking decisions don’t wake up every one else! Not because of whatever reason you’re making up in your head.”
Poor Killer was probably not getting any sleep next door. You sent him silent sympathies but you weren’t backing down.
“You’re so full of it.”
“Whatever.”
“Why won’t you just let me love you?”
He froze the moment you said the word, finally able to get it out. He stepped close to the bed, looming over you with a glare harsher than you’d seen before.
“Take it back.”
“What? No, I’m not going to – ”
“Can’t you see what all that crap causes?” he asked, interrupting you sharply. “The moment you start with all that love bullshit and you’re getting yourself shot! If you had just listened to me, you’d be fine.”
You paused, confused. “What?”
He leaned in to lightly poke at your bandaged middle. “Love gets you fucked up.”
“I’ve gotten hurt for the crew before,” you said. “So have you. So has everybody else. It has nothing to do with admitting I’m in love with you.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“It just is!”
You caught his arm and pulled him. He let you drag him closer so that he was half on the bed, his glare still harsh. You ran your fingers lightly over his forearm, the gentle contact causing some of the agitation to leave his shoulders.
“You’re being ridiculous,” you said. “I’ve been in love with you for ages. I just chose to say it for once. If I had the choice, you know I would die for you regardless of whether or not you let me say the word.”
“I don’t need people to fucking die for me.”
“That’s not a choice you get to make. Love isn’t some kind of cursed word that if I say it, I’ll just disappear. It’s your fault anyway. You made me fall in love with you.”
“Don’t blame me for your stupid choices.”
“Do you love me too?”
He opened his mouth to bark a denial but then he paused. Pressed his lips closed and chose to glare at you instead. You waited for the answer that you were becoming surer of by the second. Because Kid never held back on telling you things.
Apparently except for this.
“It won’t kill you to have somebody in love with you.”
“I know I’ll be fine,” he snorted. “You’d need a lot more take me out.”
“Then trust that it would take more for me too.”
The bed creaked under his weight as he shifted forward, crowding into your space. His fingers closed tight around the side of your neck as he yanked you closer.
The kiss was rough from the start, bruising pressure and teeth. Not anger but something very close to it. Your nails bit into his arm and his side as you responded in kind. You pulled him down over you, refusing to give him any distance to retreat into.
If this was what he wanted then fine.
A low sound slipped out of you when he pushed your legs apart and pressed in between them, solid and unyielding. You arched up into him without thinking, the heat of it cutting straight through the irritation still buzzing under your skin. Pain flared through your middle at the movement, sharp enough to pull a breath from you, but you didn’t stop.
The bed slammed against the wall as he shifted his weight, his mouth breaking from yours just long enough to latch onto your neck. His teeth sunk in deep enough to make you moan.
Then three sharp knocks on the other side of the wall.
“She’s still injured,” Killer’s voice came through, flat and unimpressed.
Kid jerked back just enough to snarl, slamming his fist against the wall in response. “Didn’t ask!”
You stayed where you were for a second longer, like it might come back if neither of you moved.
Then he exhaled hard and dropped back onto the bed beside you, staring up at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. You turned onto your side and pressed into him, your head still a little light from everything that had just happened.
Killer might be right. You were still very annoyed at him.
The silence thrummed between you and you pressed a gentle hand against your stomach to sooth the ache. All the movement today had done nothing good for it.
“I don’t do that crap,” Kid muttered suddenly. “You’re obviously important to me. What more do you want?”
“Just let me love you,” you responded. “It’s not the strangest request you’ve heard of.”
He scoffed. “You’ve got to be joking. It’s definitely not a normal thing to be in love with somebody like me.”
“Don’t care what other people think is normal. I love you.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Say whatever you want.”
You ignored that, walking your fingers up his chest. “You’re allowed to say it back if you want to.”
“Not a chance.” His arm shifted around you either way and you lifted your head to rest against his bicep.
You shrugged, closing your eyes and drifting off. It was good to be back in your bed again. The ones downstairs were never this comfortable. Though maybe that had something to do with the company.
“If you had died,” he said and you lifted your head. “And I had said that to you…” He trailed off for far too long. “Whatever. Just don’t fucking do something that dumb again.”
“No promises.”
“I’ll lock you in this room and never let you leave.”
“I’ll find a way out. Don’t worry, I love you too.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I know but I read through the lines.”
“Shut up.”
“No.”
He grumbled under his breath. “I’m sleeping now. You better do the same.”
You sighed dramatically. “Fine. Goodnight, Kid.”
“Night.” Then softer, quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear it. “Stop doing stupid shit.”
Best friend! Doflamingo who bullies all your boyfriends to the point no one wants to date you.
°
He knows exactly what he was doing. The man had a reputation to uphold and there was no way he could have you going around with some that was not him. He would practically bully these men. Even going as far as threatening their lives just to get you away from them.
When you throw a hissy fit he gets you into his bed under him. He was letting up on you in the slightest. His thighs slapped against your ass repeatedly, Your legs were thrown over his shoulder, his tongue dragging across your ankle. A smirk grew on his as he swirled his tongue around your big toe causing you to squeal.
Weak hits to his chest meant nothing to him. In fact it only turned him on more. He leaned down in your face, only pushing him deeper inside you.
"Such a crybaby. Did all that complaining about your boyfriend yet you're letting me fuck you."
Your babbles of "shut up" and "I hate you" only fell onto deaf ears. He moved your hand onto his chest. Right where your name lied. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against your own. His glasses were long gone at this point, so his eyes never left yours, making you too keep the connection.
"You not going no where. You know that baby. You too easy f' me. Ain't you? C'mon tell your best friend how much you love him."
"You're such a -mm! Such a dick. Fuck. Love you Doffy. Oh my god."
His smirk widened at your words. Without a second thought he moved on to his knees and lifted you up, keeping your legs over his shoulder, using you as if you were some type of sex doll. Your cum was all over his happy trail at this point making a sticky and creamy mess.
Summary: Your husband’s brother finds you. Life with him and his sham of a family is as cold as the snow your husband was found buried in. You're going to wilt slowly living with Doflamingo, you’re sure. No flower can survive in such snow.
A/N: Sorry for being late, everyone! The entire chapter 9 actually has 21.7k words but I decided to split it because the rest of the parts of the chapter aren't done yet!
Thank you to everyone who leaves comments, reblogs or likes the story! I love reading all your comments & theories and talking to you all! Thank you for all the support on this story! 💕💕🫶🏻🫶🏻❤️🦩
Tags: Doflamingo/Reader, Female!Reader, Rosinante's Wife!Reader, Civilian!Reader, Rosinante x Reader (mentioned through flashbacks), Donquixote Pirates, Kidnapping, Gaslighting, Size Difference, Forced Proximity, Mentions of Fratricide, Violence, Grief, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of Murder, Sexual Objectification of Women, Loss of Autonomy, Controlling Behavior, Forced Hugging, Possessiveness, Post-Minion Island, North Blue Doflamingo, Red Suit Doflamingo, Touch-Starved Doflamingo, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Protective Donquixote Doflamingo, Adult Themes, NSFW, Masturbation (Male Performing), Sexual Innuendos, Implications of Oral Sex (Rosinante/Reader)
Doflamingo crossed the lounge room in three strides, ripping open the doors of his office. Once he was inside his office, he closed the tall door, and locked it from the inside.
He walked to his red armchair, loosening his tie completely from his collar as he went. The sunlight through the windows caught on his shades, the polarized glass reflecting it back to the source.
On his way there, Doflamingo unbuttoned the golden buttons keeping his double-breasted suit jacket closed, pulling it off quickly, revealing his black dress shirt. He tossed the feather coat and the suit jacket on the nearby hanger, making sure they landed properly on the hook by crooking his index finger, sending out a string to guide them.
Sighing, he sat down on the plush, tall wingback armchair, his large body making a heavy sound. He unfastened the tie, and tossed it on the table.
Sweat ran down his forehead, veins visible on his neck and temples. He felt too hot, trapped in his own clothes.
“Damn woman,” he grumbled fondly, smiling up at the ceiling, grin wide and curved. “You really give me a workout...”
Doflamingo loosened the collar around his neck, then unbuttoned the buttons of his dress shirt, freeing his collarbone and chest, stopping above his abs. The sunlight traced over his revealed, tanned skin, casting a soft gold light across his muscular chest.
A relieved sigh left his lips. He extended his legs under the table, stretching them out completely, his stiffened muscles and bones popping in gratitude.
Doflamingo unbuckled his belt. The bulge in his red suit pants was more prominent now, a large tent angling to the right across his right thigh. Doflamingo palmed it over the fabric, readjusting it again, a rush of pleasure running down the thickness of his cock at the touch.
He exhaled, heat running rampant through his body. He needed to get off. The tension was too much to handle.
He pulled his length out. The slit was red and wet with precum, his thick member hard and throbbing in the air, thick veins lining the skin.
His long tongue slipped out, licking his lips hungrily, remembering the taste of your tears, the texture of the skin of your cheek.
Delicious.
He’d nearly done it then. Grabbing you would be easy with how much smaller your body was from his. Freeing his cock, parting that lovely black bathrobe down your shoulders and slipping those black silk pajama pants along with your panties - which panties were you wearing, he wondered. Was it some of the black lace ones, or were they the white lace ones? Fuck. - down your soft thighs for him to slot his cock between them would be easy.
It was quick. Desperate. Violent. Personal. Intimate in its debauchery and want.
Doflamingo grabbed his erect cock and stroked it aggressively fast in his fist, not bothering with slowness, with building up to the pleasure. His hips bucked up, thrusting into his fist with powerful, hard hip thrusts that would make a woman gag and choke on his cock.
He just needed you to hold out that pretty tongue of yours out for him so he can rest the tip of his aching cock there and soak you in the white of his cum.
He imagined it - you, on your knees, here under the table, lips parted, mouth open, tongue out, the head of his cock hovering over your mouth. Your pretty face, flushed, your eyes, needy, staring right up at him.
“Haaaah...”
Panting, heaving, breaths becoming quicker and quicker in a wild staccato without any control, Doflamingo stroked himself faster. Squeezed his cock harder, on the verge of pain, pleasure stringing across his body, balls tightening as he thought of you, you, you... fucking you atop the table with the desserts strewn out and discarded because Doflamingo was having his favourite dessert - you - licking your tears as he fucked you, fucked you. Deep and hard, pushing your entire body across the silk white tablecloth, your cunt squeezing his cock that throbbed in return, pushing deep inside you, bottoming out with each thrust, your desperate mouth forming a breathless, pleasure-filled word -
“Doffy -”
Heat. Pleasure. It all coalesced into a single surge of tension leading to satisfying completion.
Doflamingo cummed within seconds.
He groaned your name when he burst in pleasure, his cock releasing thick, white stains of cum into his fist and over the wood of his office desk.
His tall body bent forward, basking in the sharp, powerful ecstasy as a few more dribbles of cum escaped him. When it was done, he panted, chest rising and falling with each breath. His right knee shook with the final aftershock.
Fuck.
Doflamingo exhaled, tilting his head back, sweaty face and flushed cheeks, blond hair slightly damp, a few strands falling out of arrangement, touching his forehead. He loosened his grip on his softening, stained cock.
His eyes fluttered shut behind his sunglasses, his body basking in the intense, muscle-straining orgasm.
After regaining his breath, Doflamingo looked down on the mess he made of himself, and clicked his tongue. There was cum on the polished cherry wood veneer of the underside and wall of his office table, staining the wood with drippling streaks of white. He opened a drawer, took out some wet wipes, and cleaned out his hands and cock, as well as the underside of the table, but not the walls of his foot space.
Doflamingo wasn’t going to bend over to clean it. The cum there can be cleaned by the maids - that’s what he pays them for, anyway.
He tossed the wet wipes into the trash can beside his desk, filled with discarded papers and shredded letters. He pulled his cock back inside his boxers, but kept his pants unzipped, letting his skin breathe. He leaned back in his chair, his large, tall body slumping into it.
His thoughts wandered to you, the reason of his passion, and the reason for the mess he made of his desk.
He licked his lips hungrily.
Were you sleeping, he wondered. You were less argumentative than yesterday, but the sharpness, anger and raw dislike remained in every word you spoke to him. He didn’t blame you for being tired. He knew the signs of a mind tired by sadness.
Doflamingo chuckled. He’d let you rest. Let you grieve, let you burrow yourself in the silken covers and thick warm furs of his duvets, and be miserable.
He wondered what Giolla would put you in once she got to properly style you. It would be black, he was sure. You’d insist upon it. You’d wear your grief, and you’d wear it well. Stubbornly, even.
Doflamingo was certain that whatever the result, you would look beautiful in the color of grief. Dulled yet elegant, in an unapproachable way. But that’s exactly what a grieving widow is, isn’t it?
Doflamingo had to admit, he’d miss the blue you wore yesterday. It lit you up so wonderfully. Especially your blue dress.
Now, for the next few months, you’d be wearing black.
Grieving. Quiet. In pain.
It was Doflamingo’s fault. He did that to you. He tore you apart, without even knowing you exist.
Guilt should have come. Yet, no guilt came. Instead, he felt relieved. Satisfied, even. Your heartbreak belonged to him, your sorrow was caused by him.
Those parts of you were his, and his alone.
At that thought, Doflamingo’s lips stretched into a sharp, demonic, massive, smug smile.
Later down the line, a year or a bit later from now, other parts of you would become his, too. Doflamingo could wait.
Unlike his clumsy little brother, whose time with you was done and over, Doflamingo had plenty of time with you.
The rest of your life together, in fact.
He smiled, a gruesome expression.
Oh. That’s funny.
After all, isn’t that how you and his brother were supposed to live?
The rest of your lives together?
Doflamingo started chuckling, his broad shoulders shaking, the pink feathers of his coat swaying with the movement of his body.
It’s like Doflamingo got the benefits of the groom instead of the groom himself.
Now that’s funny!
After a few seconds of giggling, Doflamingo burst out laughing, loud and deep, the sound sweeping across the room in a vocal sense of triumph, the laughter turning into a resounding, manic cackle of glee.
The executives and officers were having breakfast in the galley. It was a tradition for the main crew to have the three main meals of the day together despite their busy schedules across the ship, but the most important person was missing.
Their captain wasn’t sitting at the head of the table.
It wasn’t unusual of the captain to miss breakfast and have it in his office, wanting to work through the paperwork while eating, or holding a meeting with his executives over brunch while having tea. However, his absence was noticed today because he shared breakfast with them for the past few months without staying in his office.
Pica was starting to squirm with unease. He leaned over to Diamante, whispering in his ear. “Do you think she stabbed him in the throat while he slept?”
Diamante rolled his eyes at Pica’s worrisome tendencies. He lifted his large red coffee mug with the black diamond symbol on it, taking a few large gulps of his espresso before placing it back on the plate.
“Doffy’s Observation would pick up on her murderous intent. Plus, he had the servants get rid and lock up anything sharp that could be used as a weapon. He even locked away his nail clippers and shaving razors.” Diamante laughed, nasty and arrogant. “Anyway, she’s not the type. Too much honor and nobleness from those marine parents of hers. Doesn’t have the guts for that sort of messy, bloody murder. Far too hands-on. Her fingers would shake.”
Giolla entered the galley through the single doors with a chirpy, “Good morning, everyone!”
“Morning, Giolla,” the crew greeted with various degrees of energy, Dellinger’s happy call of her name being the loudest and happiest.
“Where’s Doffy?” asked Diamante, swallowing an entire piece of large toast into his mouth, chewing, thick lips smacking together, each crunch crunch of the toast audible.
“Young Master is having breakfast together with missus,” said Giolla brightly, proudly announcing this to the crew. She tittered on to her seat, moving like a dancing ballerina, the frilly skirt of her purple dress flowing in all directions.
Baby 5 squealed happily at this reveal.
“As long as Young Master’s alright,” said Gladius, taking a bite of his bread spread with cream cheese.
“Of course he is, in.” said Machvise, ripping apart a large steak with his bare, large hands with the ease of ripping paper. “We were worryin’ for nothin’, in.”
“It’s good they’re spending more time together,” commented Señor Pink, flipping to another page of the morning’s newspaper the News Coo had delivered to the ship.
Lao G placed his cup of green tea down. He formed the letter g with his blue gloved hands and fingers. “Together! There’s the G!”
Diamante snorted. “I bet he’s getting to know her even better…”
Trebol laughed, snot trailing down his nose.
“Diamante-sama,” scolded Giolla, narrowing her eyes. “There are children at the table.”
“My bad, my bad!” Diamante stopped laughing, trailing off. He smirked savagely, and murmured into his red coffee mug with the black diamond symbol, “Doesn’t make it any less true…”
Diamante tipped the cup to his mouth, and sipped on his espresso, the slurping noise filling the galley.
“Why, I’d never -” gasped Giolla, scandalized.
Diamante scoffed. “Oh, stop it with the pearl clutching, Giolla. It’s so obvious a blind man would see it.”
“He’s offering comfort.” Giolla said, giving Diamante a disapproving look. “The Young Master is not a brute.”
“Right,” said Diamante, snickering at both of those sentences. Giolla always had a soft spot for Doffy because of their shared love for bright, colorful fashion. “That’s why he took her to sleep with him in his cabin. For comfort.”
Trebol laughed nasally, snot dripping down his nostrils. “Behehehe! Let Doffy have some fun! He deserves it after everything that happened with Corazón, behehe! What better way to do it than to get comfortable with Corazón’s cute little wife, behe!”
Diamante grinned, his large teeth and spread mouth taking up more than half of his face. “I bet he comforted her with his dick.”
Baby 5 gasped, covering her mouth. A blush bloomed on her cheeks.
“Diamante!” Giolla screeched, reaching with her hands to cover Dellinger’s little ears in an attempt to keep him innocent regarding the means of human reproduction. “There are children present!”
“Their own fault,” said Diamante, unbothered. He tipped his glass of wine to his mouth, taking a sip. “If they don’t want to hear, they should scram.”
The children scowled at him, disgusted. They were ignored.
“Behehehe!” Trebol giggled. “At least Doffy will show her a better time than Corazón, behehe!”
Señor Pink placed his cup of latte down to its plate. “I hope you’ll have fun explaining to Young Master how Baby 5 learned the word dick.”
Diamante’s smile fell quickly, vanishing from his face. Both he and Trebol stopped laughing. Behind his sunglasses, Diamante’s blue eyes were wide and startled.
The reason for the sudden shift went without saying. Their captain didn’t approve of any sexual innuendos or conversations to be done in front of the children, especially around Baby 5.
“They’re having breakfast together,” said Giolla firmly. “Nothing else is happening.”
“I bet he’s eating her for breakfast,” said Diamante, unashamedly sleazy. “Probably covered her mouth, though. Otherwise, we’d hear the screams and crying by now.”
Baby 5 gasped, turning to Giolla in a panic, her dark blue eyes blown wide.
“Is Young Master really eating missus?” asked Baby 5 uncertainly, eyes filled with worry. She liked you a lot. She didn’t want Young Master to eat you! You were very nice to her, and made her feel happy, like Young Master tucking her in bed did.
“No, dearie,” said Giolla gently. She frowned at Diamante, glaring at him for upsetting the children. “Diamante-sama is just joking, zamasu.”
“Sure I am,” laughed Diamante mockingly. “That’s why I won’t try to go in there for the next hour. Because I’m joking.”
“It’s none of our business what Doffy does with her,” said Pica, squealing the words, speaking up for the first time. “Try to show some respect. She’s Doffy’s sister-in-law.”
“You’re saying that because she didn’t laugh at your voice,” said Diamante, rolling his eyes.
Pica opened his mouth to respond, but Gladius beat him to it, speaking up.
“Pica-sama is right. It’s disrespectful to the Young Master.” said Gladius.
“Pica judges people on whether or not they laugh at his voice,” said Diamante, rolling his eyes.
“Doesn’t mean he isn’t right, behehehe! Doffy’ll get mad at ya if he hears you’ve been saying dirty things about Corazón’s little wife, behehe!”
Diamante grunted, putting his long legs up on the table, slouching in his seat with a huff. “You all know I’m right. He’s got that look when he looks at her.”
None of them commented, hardly disagreeing.
Their captain very clearly cared about you. However, you were very clearly not here of your own will, and very clearly did not hold any care for him. You were very much a fish taken out of your tank, put into another tank with new, bigger, more dangerous fish you didn’t know, with their captain being the one fish you did know, but also the fish that scared you the most.
“If you're all done prying into the Young Master’s personal affairs… Look at this.” said Señor Pink.
He put the morning newspapers down on the table.
Diamante, Pica and Trebol all leaned forward in their chairs, covering the length of the width of the table easily with their long torsos. The rest of the crew also leaned around the newspapers along with the kids including Dellinger, making a full circle around the spread page Señor Pink put. They all stared down at the newspapers, their eyes widening as they read the title.
MINION ISLAND MASSACRE
Barrel Pirates Wiped Out
Navy HQ Marine Commander Killed in Action
“Well, shit.” said Diamante, and laughed.
“Cora-san without makeup kinda looks like the Young Master, dasuyan.” commented Buffalo. “Though more moody.”
“Wooks gwumpy,” babbled Dellinger, giving the picture a judgy look with his big brown eyes.
“It doesn’t say anything about the Op-Op Fruit, in.” said Machvise.
“They ain’t gonna make that public, behe! They don’t want the world to know they screwed up, behehehe!” sleazed Trebol, giggling, snot and mucus trailing down his nostrils.
“We need to let Young Master know,” said Gladius, lifting his warm light blue coffee mug with the words PUNK POP on it, taking a careful sip not to burn his tongue. “I doubt he’d want missus to find out.”
Giolla frowned disapprovingly. “She deserves to see it.”
“That’s for Doffy to decide,” said Trebol, giggling, mucus trailing down his slimy coat. “But I think Pink’s right. Doffy probably won’t let her see it. She’d start cryin’ again, behehehe!”
“Is the traitor in the obituary, too?” asked Diamante, snatching the newspapers from the table with his long fingers with ease. Buffalo and Baby 5 whined, since they were still reading the article.
“He is!” crowed Diamante. “Look! In the marine obituary, at that!”
“Body retrieved and buried,” read Diamante. “Shame. Wish he got buried in the snow.”
Señor Pink checked his wristwatch. He finished his coffee, patted his mouth clean with a napkin, and stood up from his seat. “I need to head to the meeting with the Young Master. Excuse me.”
“Gladius, make sure the kids don’t get scarred,” instructed Señor Pink as he walked past the spiky-haired man toward the doors of the galley.
Gladius choked slightly.
“Whysfiwmyfal?” garbled Gladius through a mouthful of scrambled eggs in his mouth, muffling any coherency of his words.
Señor Pink didn’t reply, simply waved to them, opened the doors, and left. He walked down the wooden hallway of the ship, hands in his pockets. He reached the entrance of the captain’s cabin, tried to enter, and when the golden doorknob didn’t budge, he fished out a copy of the key. It didn’t surprise him the Young Master locked the tall double doors. The Young Master couldn’t risk it, even if you were most likely locked in the bedroom separated by their own doors. There was always a possibility of you finding some tool and lockpicking your way out.
Once inside, Señor Pink closed and locked the doors again. He crossed the chessboard-patterned floor, heading toward the right to the tall double doors of his captain’s office. He knocked twice.
“Enter,” came Doflamingo’s muffled, strong voice.
Señor Pink entered into the room. “Good morning, Young Master. I’m here for the budget report.”
Doflamingo’s merlot suit jacket laid on the mahogany hangar beside the doors. The pirate captain had taken it off, leaving himself in his usual black silk dress shirt and red tie. He looked slightly dishevelled. Señor Pink hoped there didn’t come to an altercation between the Young Master and you.
“Yeah,” said Doflamingo. “Take a seat.”
Señor Pink did so, sitting down on one of the chairs.
“How is everyone doing?” asked Doflamingo, his usual curved smile on his face.
“Alright,” replied Señor Pink. As he got ready to continue, he wondered how he should refer to you. He had a feeling calling you Corazón’s wife, for all how correct it was, would displease his captain. “Giolla let us know you were having breakfast with missus.”
Doflamingo leaned back in his armchair, smirking. “Yeah. I was.”
“How was it?” asked Señor Pink, curious.
Doflamingo leaned back in his chair.
“It was nice. I really enjoyed it.” said Doflamingo, a fleeting, amused smile crossing his face. It faded quickly when he thought about how you reacted to the whole event - like a cornered little mouse forced to have breakfast with a lion.
“It didn’t seem as enjoyable for her, though,” said Doflamingo, smiling sharply. He put his left leg atop his knee, resting his arms on the armrest. “She’s very easily frightened. Half the time, she looked at me like I’d attack her. The other half, like she was going to cry, fufufufu! It was interesting.”
“You’re a very hard-boiled man, Young Master.” said Señor Pink. “Your sister-in-law seems like a sunny-side-up. She’s not used to hard-boiled men, and feels uncomfortable around them. Threatened, even. She feels more comfortable with sunny-side-up and over easy men. They show who they are right away, and she likes their open vulnerability. I’m not surprised she married Corazón.”
“That’s a completely different type of egg, isn’t it?” asked Doflamingo, frowning, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not even boiled, but fried.”
Doflamingo didn’t like fried things. The mere word reminded him of the fire trying to fry him when he was a child.
Señor Pink chuckled. “Yeah. I thought your brother was hard-boiled like you, but turned out he was an over-easy one. Fried on both sides, but his center was soft and gooey.”
Doflamingo turned quiet. He never heard a better description of his brother, and of all things, it was his brother being described as an egg.
“Have you read the morning newspapers yet, Young Master?” asked Señor Pink.
“No,” said Doflamingo, smiling his usual smile, sharp but curious. “Anything interesting?”
Señor Pink took out the folded newspapers from the inside of his suit jacket.
“Page fifteen and sixteen,” said Señor Pink, offering the newspapers to Doflamingo.
Doflamingo took the newspapers, and opened them to the mentioned pages. The large title of MINION ISLAND stood atop the page.
Doflamingo stilled, his entire body stiffening.
The right vein above his right eye twitched in annoyance, his mouth pulling downward at the sight. He read through the text to see how much information was shared with the public about the events on Minion and his traitorous brother. There was no mention of Doflamingo or his crew.
The picture of his little brother without makeup in the sailor’s uniform was strange to see - somehow more stranger than seeing him in a Marine commander uniform in pictures with you. In this picture, his little brother looked like any other marine Doflamingo would see on the battlefield. Doflamingo decided he preferred his brother in his Navy commander uniform - Rosinante looked too easily forgettable in the usual marine uniform, getting lost in the crowd of marines with the identical uniform, despite this being the picture that was on Rosinante’s official record, since every marine took a picture in the common uniform when entering the Navy.
It didn’t sit right with Doflamingo. For his brother, to wear such an undistinctive uniform, like he was just another marine, another soldier in the ranks.
He looks stupid, Doflamingo decided, feeling a swell of anger at the marines for not finding a better picture to put in the newspapers — ignoring the fact it was the official picture every marine took. Even Marine Admirals wore the normal marine uniform in their official files.
They should have put a picture of Rosinante in his commander’s uniform. It’d look better. He just looks like another marine fodder…
Is that what you wanted? thought Doflamingo, staring at the image of his younger brother. To disappear in the crowd? You always were like that…
Doflamingo enjoyed the spotlight. Rosinante preferred the back row, as far from the stage as possible.
There was no mention of Law or the Op-Op Fruit. No mention of you disappearing, either. Of course not. Sengoku didn’t let Morgans put that in because he was hoping to cut a deal with Doflamingo this morning, to get you back to Marineford.
Doflamingo smiled ruthlessly.
Too bad. Doflamingo wasn’t his brother. He didn’t let go of things that belonged to him.
“Don’t let my sister-in-law see this,” ordered Doflamingo, chuckling. He handed the newspapers back to his officer, unsmiling. “Once you’ve read it, throw it away. Tell the rest of the Family, too.”
“Yes, sir.”
You were woken out of sleep by a massive hand lightly shaking your side, followed by a rough, deep, commanding voice speaking your name. You grumbled sourly under the duvets and furs, swiping at the arm attempting to pull you out of the serenity of sleep.
It was useless. Your hand met the firm muscle of a man’s forearm. For a moment, you thought it was Rosi, but the voice didn’t match. Rosi’s voice wasn’t like that.
It was the other one. The other brother.
The one you didn’t want to see, little less hear. You never knew you could find someone’s voice so grating on your ears. It was the tone. The tone of someone who never got smacked in the face for anything in his life, the tone of someone who commanded people constantly, the tone of a man who expected to be obeyed as naturally as the sea laps at the shore of an island.
That awful epiphany – that it was Doflamingo stirring you awake, not Rosi – simply caused you to let the hand you used to smack at his forearm with fall limply, tucking it back under the duvets to regain the warmth to it.
“Get up,” repeated Doflamingo. He looked down at you with deep disapproval, the skin of his brow line scrunched. “You’re going to Giolla for a fitting.”
“I already have clothes,” you grumbled, wishing Doflamingo would go away and leave you in peace to sleep.
You sighed, closed your eyes, and turned your back to him, lying your head back down on the pillow. You didn’t want to see Doflamingo’s face or hear his voice for the rest of the day.
“Those are the basics,” said Doflamingo dismissively.
That casual dismissal woke you up. You sat up in bed.
“What?” you whispered, absolutely baffled, unable to conceal the confusion and shock on your face.
You were completely dumbstruck. You had a full wardrobe of clothes - some from very expensive, reputable brands - that would last you a decade, if not more, and he called those ‘the basics’?
You were starting to understand Baby 5’s words from yesterday now. Undoubtedly, her surprisingly high standard for fashion came from Doflamingo’s influence.
“You need fitted clothes,” said Doflamingo. He was at your wardrobe now, sifting through your clothes. Undoubtedly picking something for you to wear. “Dresses and coats, too.”
Those words motivated you to lift your head from the pillow, glaring at his broad, large back. “If you deny me access to T-shirts and blouses, I will cut your dress shirts to shreds, Doflamingo.”
Doflamingo turned his head to you over his right shoulder and smirked, the dimples on his cheeks deep and fond, dangerously charming yet devilish. “Without knowing where the scissors are?”
“I’ll use my teeth,” you said, narrowing your eyes threateningly.
“Kinky,” said Doflamingo delightedly, a grin blooming across his mouth, sharp and frightening.
“Creative,” you corrected, frowning at him, ignoring the way your gut clenched at the sight of his usual curved smile.
Doflamingo put the clothes at the foot of the mattress, atop the covers.
“Ten minutes,” said Doflamingo. “Brush your hair, teeth, and dress. Perfumes are on the vanity. I haven’t bought you any skincare or makeup yet, I’ll do that when I disembark this afternoon. If you have brand preferences, write them down.”
You didn’t want him to get you any makeup. You didn’t intend to wear makeup — not for Doflamingo. Makeup was something you took the time to apply when you wanted to present yourself in a graceful light, be professional, make a good impression at an event, be it job related, or being at a marine ceremony as a marine’s wife. Makeup was something that required time, patience, care and effort. All things you didn’t feel like scrounging up within you at all.
And certainly not for pirates, or your husband’s murderer.
“Can you get me Doro?” you asked.
“Doro?” asked Doflamingo, his smile gone as he tried to remember the brand named that way. “I don’t know that brand.”
He put his gloved hands in his pockets, scowling down at you with another disapproving look. “If it’s a cheap brand, forget it.”
“It’s a shortened name.” you replied.
“For what?” asked Doflamingo with a too large, arrogant smile.
A smile you were going to wipe off his face with your next sentence.
“Serums,” you said casually. “You know, skincare in liquid form. Great for the face. They make very good mouthwash products, too. Makes my skin all smooth and glowy, and cleans my tongue. Tastes great, too.”
“I already have all the skincare including serums in the vanity, you can use mine,” said Doflamingo. “I don’t have any makeup except nail polish.”
For a moment, you were surprised Doflamingo used skincare at all. You didn’t look into the vanity very much in your search for something yesterday - you thought half of the skincare products you saw were left behind by women Doflamingo slept with. You were reluctantly impressed that Doflamingo took skin care seriously.
It still couldn’t help him with those blood vessels popping out on his forehead and neck, though.
“That’s just asking for irritation,” you said.
“Fine,” said Doflamingo, annoyed. “What’s so special about that brand, anyway?”
“Nothing much,” you said casually. “Do is from Donquixote, Ro is from Rosinante.”
Silence.
You smiled sweetly.
Doflamingo looked at you in absolute disbelief. The shocked, surprised look on his face was absolutely worth it. The expression his face made was so funny you almost laughed. It was the look of a man who thought I can’t believe I fell for that.
“You know what, cuñada?” asked Doflamingo, leaning forward to the bed toward you.
Before you could process the threat, Doflamingo climbed atop the bed on all fours. You scrambled back from him, but his long torso easily caught up to your smaller frame, and within a second, his elbows were on each side of your shoulders, his red suit and tie filling your sight. His broad body covered you in his shadow, blocking your sight.
He pinned you without directly having to touch you. There was simply no way out, no escape, not with a man as large as Doflamingo like this above you.
You never used to get scared when Rosinante climbed atop you like this, and he was as broad as Doflamingo was, even if slightly shorter by a few centimeters. Two meters and ninety-two was pretty much three meters to someone like you, who was of normal height.
You were scared now, with Doflamingo above you in the same way; on the bed, on all fours, his legs bent at the knees resting beside your knees, his torso curved down over your body so his head was at the same height as yours, his massive palms resting beside each side of your face.
Caging you in a tight, small cage where you could barely breathe, staring up at him like a wide-eyed doe taken off guard by a tiger.
You liked when Rosinante got atop you. You felt safe when he did that. You felt aroused and hot when Rosinante did that.
It was because you trusted Rosinante. It was because Rosinante never felt threatening to you.
You didn’t trust Doflamingo. He used his size exactly for what it was meant for; to be threatening, menacing. To scare you into submission. To have your instincts as a human being take over and shriek “Nope! Not a chance! I’m not fighting that guy! Lay down and hope he doesn’t notice us!”
And it’s exactly what your body did. It surrendered. Made itself small, hoping Doflamingo wouldn’t notice you.
Except Doflamingo did notice you. Worse, Doflamingo was giving you his full attention.
Doflamingo leaned down to you, his large, dangerous, handsome face entering your vision; a grinning demon bearing down on you, a helpless human. His face was getting uncomfortably close to yours, to the point you leaned your head down into the mattress so your noses don’t touch, your spine lowering from your sitting position to a laying one.
The back of your head hit the red silk of the pillow.
You inhaled sharply, surprised and terrified.
Doflamingo’s gruesome smile merely widened at your reaction, satisfaction clear on his face.
“I have a better idea,” he purred, leaning close to your face, his evil smile filling your sight.
You trembled under his voice, the sound trailing a crawling sensation across your skin that made you fear his strings were climbing up your arms. You held your breath, not daring to breathe, staring into his crimson sunglasses with a mix of stubbornness and terror.
You forced a rigid smile onto your face. It wobbled and shook. “What?”
Doflamingo’s lips twitched at the sides, the gruesome smile curling impossibly wider. He hummed, the sound echoing in your ears, making your legs quiver, trapped under his hovering, massive body.
His large face came to a stop above yours, hovering an inch from you.
“I’m going to get you a Dodo,” decided Doflamingo, grin sly and wicked. “Donquixote Doflamingo.”
Your confidence and smile faded, replaced by absolute horror on your face.
“No,” you mumbled, voice a panicked high pitch.
“Yes,” said Doflamingo, grin turning wider and wider, sharper and sharper, more large white teeth showing with each second.
Doflamingo tapped his chest proudly, resting his large gloved palm on his red suit jacket. “Straight from the source, sweetheart.”
You gagged. Loudly. Truthfully. Honestly. Instinctually.
Veins bulged on Doflamingo’s forehead, and he asked roughly. “Want five minutes to get ready?”
You growled into the silk red pillowcase. Momentarily, you thought of throwing the pillow at him, but thought better of it. You didn’t want to make a man like him angry.
“No,” you said, quiet and docile, exactly how you knew he wanted you to reply to him.
Doflamingo laughed. The sound was short, but dark and resounding, reaching all the way into your ribcage to hollow it out, making you quiver beneath him in complete terror.
“That’s good,” he said, pleased. The sunlight shone on his sunglasses, making them gleam and glint just like eyes would.
Giving you another predatory smile which made the hairs on the back of your nape stand on end, Doflamingo retreated, getting off of you, and off the bed.
The oxygen returned into the air. The thick, suffocating pressure of Doflamingo’s heavy, intimidating presence subsided. You inhaled again, shakily, your chest trembling with the rapid inhales and exhales of air, your body no longer holding its breath.
Now that Doflamingo was no longer pinning you down to the bed with nothing but his body, you slowly sat up, swinging your legs onto the carpet where your slippers were. The cold hit you right away. A surging chill enveloped your body. This time, you trembled because of the lack of heat, not a massive amount of fear.
You rubbed your arms to get some heat back to your body. The worst part about ships in winter - especially winter in North Blue, the coldest of the seas - was the lack of heating. No wonder Doflamingo wore his feather coat all the time, or that everyone wore winter coats indoors. Except Giolla. That woman was built differently, going around in a dress in zero degrees indoors without trembling at all.
It was freezing cold.
“Am I supposed to wear that?” you asked, frowning at the clothes Doflamingo laid out for you.
It was a black long-sleeved silk button-up dress shirt with a v-neck collar with an untied ribbon at the collar, as well as a black knee-length, tight-fitting pencil skirt. On the floor were black four-inch heels.
It took everything in you not to physically recoil at the sight of the heels.
“Perfect, isn’t it?” asked Doflamingo proudly.
“It’s zero degrees here,” you said, staring at the clothes Doflamingo picked out for you, unable to believe what he chose. Did he want you to freeze to death?
“You can wear stockings,” said Doflamingo proudly, smiling wickedly, like he had already intercepted your argument and found the solution. His gloved, brown fingers lifted a pair of thick, black stockings with swirly lace patterns that looked far too much like weaving strings.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you asked, narrowing your eyes menacingly.
Doflamingo’s demonic smile and chuckle told you everything you needed to know about that.
You got up, walked past his legs that were taller than you, and to your closet. You went through the clothes on the hangars, and found a few good pieces. You took them off the hangars, folding them onto your forearm to change into them.
You picked an oversized, black, cable knit turtleneck wool sweater, black jeans, a black belt with a shining silver buckle, and black flat sneakers.
“You’re not going to wear that, are you?” asked Doflamingo with a cruel chuckle, the mockery clear in his voice, gesturing to the clothes.
“Yes,” you said calmly, not bothered by his judgy tone. “I am.”
That reply wiped the smile right off Doflamingo’s face.
“What’s wrong with the clothes I picked?” asked Doflamingo.
You decided not to deign him with an answer, not wanting to waste more of your energy on arguing with him. There was nothing inherently bad about the clothes he picked, but they were far too formal, too fancy. Though, knowing Doflamingo, it shouldn’t have surprised you.
Also, it was about the principle. You didn’t like him picking out your clothes.
You may want to spend your time crying in bed and grieving, but you’d be damned if you didn’t pick out your own clothes. You weren’t going to a ball, or theatre. The easier and faster the clothes can be taken off for Giolla to take measurements of your body, the better. You were going to waste a full ten seconds unbuttoning the black blouse Doflamingo picked out for you, not to mention the stockings and skirt. You’d rather die than walk across a ship in three inch heels, whether the ship was anchored or not.
“Nothing,” you said as calmly as possible. “I just like picking my own.”
“But -” started Doflamingo smoothly, with a smile ready to trick you.
“But what?” you challenged, giving him a pleasant smile that was as sharp and sweet as a sword. “Go on, Doflamingo. Dig yourself a deeper grave.”
Doflamingo’s jaw clenched, and he shut his mouth. He was straining so hard not to speak his face was turning red, veins throbbing on his forehead, neck and temples from the intensity of his frown and held-down rage.
Satisfied, you took the clothes you picked up - along with normal, soft black cotton underwear and an elastic black sports bra, ignoring the black lace panties with a tiny bow at the front and a black lace push-up bra Doflamingo put out for you, the perverted flamingo freak - and headed for the bathroom.
“(Y/N),” Doflamingo called after you, the sound of his powerful voice calling your name freezing you on the spot. It sent shivers down your spine, spreading cold in your bloodstream, your gut sinking with raw fear. “At least wear the underwear I picked for you.”
You whirled, turning a full half-circle, whipping your index finger up at him, pointing it sternly, glaring at him with the most deadly glare you were capable of. A warning every woman used when she’d had enough of a man talking.
Doflamingo, who had been following after you to the bathroom, stopped midway.
The reaper’s curved smile remained large and unflinching on Doflamingo’s face, but you knew the glare worked, regardless of his constant, unflinching, eerie grin. If you didn’t draw the line at this, it would be another thing he’d try to control.
A long, tense silence settled between the two of you as you two stared at each other.
Doflamingo eyed you, still grinning. You could feel his gaze, could feel his curiosity, wondering when you'd back down.
When the staring continued, and your expression remained firm and stern despite his smile, Doflamingo let out a grand, exaggerated sigh, his broad chest and shoulders slumping with the breath.
“Fine,” he grumbled. He threw his hands up in defeat. “Wear what you want.”
You decided not to think about the way the words for now seemed to linger unspoken.
Satisfied, you turned back to head to the bathroom.
“You sure you don’t want to wear a skirt?” started Doflamingo, following after you again with his large strides like a vulture stalking its prey, his spine slouched over you halfway, his long body curved like a bow over your head, casting you in his massive shadow.
You slammed the bathroom doors in his masculine face, locking them from the inside. Doflamingo’s muffled, loud laughter made you shiver.
You undressed and dressed up quickly. You used the white toothbrush and pink toothpaste to wash your teeth. You washed your face with water. Brushed your hair.
When you re-emerged, all dressed in your clothes, Doflamingo hummed. You could hear an argument coming.
It came a few seconds later.
“It’s cute,” he admitted. “But -”
“Please don’t say the word cute,” you interrupted.
Doflamingo grinned, and you realised your mistake too late.
“Cute,” he repeated, just to make you squirm. You did your best not to show it, but by the way his cheeks dimpled at the curve of his smile, he noticed it regardless, taking some sickening pleasure in distressing you.
You grabbed black socks to go with your black sneakers. They were quite elegant sneakers, definitely the expensive, stylish ones.
You headed back to your closet to grab a coat. You had to pass by Doflamingo’s tall leg again. Doflamingo followed after you.
“It’s not exactly screaming widow though, is it?” asked Doflamingo, smooth and deep.
He towered at your back, leaning down again with a deep bend of his spine, his massive face with its devious grin hovering above your right shoulder, next to your face.
“Don’t you want something elegant and inaproachable to tell everyone how beneath you they are?” he asked, his voice deep against your ear, caressing across your earlobe. “How they’re not allowed to even look your way?”
You found a fur coat; a long, black one, reaching down to the knees. You shut the wooden doors of your closet with a soft click.
Only then did you turn your head to him, and were taken off guard by the closeness of his face. Doflamingo’s torso was practically curling over you, bent like a flamingo’s long neck, his face facing your own now.
Doflamingo gave you an innocent, friendly, sweet smile. It was the freakiest smile you saw on him yet. It did nothing to assuage your worries at his excessive proximity. The smell of citrus and sea settled over you, alluring and soothing, another means of luring you into a trap.
“I’m in mourning,” you growled. “Not in a fashion show. I’m not competing to be the best-dressed woman in the world.”
Doflamingo stared at you for a long, silent moment. He looked like he might argue with you on that last comment, as if the mere insinuation of you not wearing the best clothes and not being the ‘best-dressed woman in the world’ wasn’t allowed in his world.
You stared right back at him, firmly keeping your ground, focusing on your determined expression in his sunglasses rather than the rest of his face - especially his sly smile.
“Awww,” he whined. “But you’d look so cute in the clothes I picked, fufufu!”
His gloved fingers reached out to caress your cheek. You slapped at the long, puppeteering digits. Once whacked, Doflamingo pulled them away, pursing his lips at you, pouting like a child who wasn't allowed to grab any more candy.
“I don’t want to be cute,” you snapped, losing your patience, a fire starting in your chest - anger. “Out of the way.”
Doflamingo chuckled, stepping away two steps, straightening up to his full height, giving you space to move again.
“You can be in mourning and still look good while doing it,” said Doflamingo. His browline scrunched slightly, but his unnerving smile remained. He was clearly displeased he wasn’t getting his way, that you weren’t falling for his manipulative words.
“It’s good then,” you said brightly, patting the side of his upper thigh reassuringly, sending a smile up his way; it was rigid and sharp, not reaching your eyes at all. “That you don’t get a say.”
For a moment, Doflamingo didn’t move.
After a moment of tense silence passed, Doflamingo leaned down to you again, encompassing you in his tall body and shadow, his broad frame caging you in without trying.
“You sure like mouthing off to me,” he said, grinning down at you.
You froze for a moment, a surge of fear rooting your feet to the ground, unable to look away from the threatening grimace on his face.
“It comes with the territory.” you replied, standing your ground decisively, ignoring the frantic beat of your frightened heart telling you to run.
Doflamingo stared down at you for a moment longer before his face completely shifted from serious to amused, and he laughed.
“Fufufu! That it does!” he said, grinning.
He stared down at you for a few more seconds. Sweat started gathering at your back.
Doflamingo chuckled. “Try not to overdo it.”
He reached down, settling his large hand atop your head. You froze, breathing in from fear. His massive hand moved, rubbing at your head, mussing up your tidied-up hair.
You gulped. You realised sweat had gathered on your palms. You hated how easily Doflamingo could frighten you.
You huffed, reaching up to fix up your hair. You didn’t like how Doflamingo kept petting your head like you were a cute little dog.
You followed after Doflamingo as he opened the doors of the bedroom for you. The two of you crossed the lounge room where you had your breakfast and tea, toward the final set of tall white doors that would lead you out into the corridor.
Doflamingo opened the doors.
The moment the space to the outside was wide enough, you ran under his arm without having to duck and sprinted for it.
You didn’t get far.
Three running steps in, a large hand grabbed the back of your shirt, long, thick fingers snatching up the fabric covering the middle of your back.
You let out an ear-piercing shriek when the ground vanished beneath your feet, your body hauled upward, higher and higher. An open sense of falling entered your gut, and you screamed.
You didn’t remain airborne for long. The hand deposited you. The underside of your thighs settled on a thick, hot forearm. Your heart nearly lunged out of your ribcage.
Doflamingo adjusted his left arm where you sat. Unlike before, where he cradled you like a kitten, this time was different, but no less embarrassing.
This time, you were sitting on Doflamingo’s forearm, facing the front, your legs dangling down the air, your spine and the back of your head pressed to his chest, your left shoulder brushing against the inner side of his upper arm, letting you feel how muscular and firm his arm was beneath the fabric of his red suit.
Your face burned.
“Put me down!” you demanded, twisting to look up at him.
“If you didn’t want to be carried, you shouldn’t have made a run for it,” said Doflamingo firmly, adjusting your thighs on his forearm so your back pressed against his chest, making you gasp when your spine collided with his muscled chest. Your entire body turned feverishly hot.
Doflamingo grinned at your clear embarrassment.
You fumed, and decided to hop down, since he wasn’t holding you anywhere around your body, giving you free movement.
You looked down. Your stomach dropped at how high and far away from the floor you were. It was more than a two meter jump.
That changed your mind. You leaned backward, your back and head bumping once more into his chest.
Doflamingo exited his cabin, stepped into the hallway with you, and locked the doors.
You covered your face, feeling your cheeks flush in embarrassment. “This is embarrassing...”
Doflamingo chuckled, enjoying in your shame as he carried you like a stuffed toy.
“I think it’s cute,” said Doflamingo, drawing out the syllables of the last word. He smirked down at you. “I like carrying you.”
Your stomach did a sommersault.
“Y-You can’t say stuff like that!” you stuttered, cheeks warm.
“Why?” asked Doflamingo, laughing again.
“It’s not proper,” you said quietly, breaking eye contact, looking away from him. The longer he stared at you, the warmer your face got.
“Fufufu!” Doflamingo tilted his head toward you, wearing a charming smile that made him even more handsome. “I’m a pirate. There’s nothing proper about me.”
For your own well-being, you decided not to reply.
It didn’t take long for Doflamingo to cross the hallway and reach the entrance to the spiral stairs he’d carried you down on. He descended down, and exited on the next floor below. The hallway didn’t have a carpet here, but everything else was well maintained.
If your evil brother-in-law was useful for anything, it was covering long distances in a few strides. If you didn’t think about how weird and frightening it felt to be carried like this, you might admit it was a good way of transportation. You didn’t need to do anything, simply sit, lean back into Doflamingo and the left side of his broad torso. The ride wasn’t bumpy, either.
Doflamingo came to a stop in front of wooden doors with painted handprints of all sizes and colors. You bet a thousand berri the large pink handprint was from Doflamingo’s hand.
You squirmed, trying to get down again, to which he clicked his tongue at you for, like you were a misbehaving kitten trying to squeeze out of his hands. You grumbled, settling down.
Doflamingo knocked on the doors, rapping on them with his gloved knuckle.
“Come in!” came Giolla’s voice, muffled through the wood.
Doflamingo opened the doors, ducked his head, and entered into the room.
The reality didn’t make any sense. You must be dreaming. There was no way a room like this existed in the world.
You blinked owlishly, numerous times. When the view remained the same, you reached up with your palms and rubbed at your gawking eyes.
Upon opening them again, the room before you remained.
“Welcome to my humble abode, zamasu!” chirped Giolla, tittering excitedly on her heels, full of vigor and energy. “Come in, come in!”
Humble was a severe understatement. Everywhere you looked, there were fabrics of all colors and types in rolls. All types of clothes hung on hangers. The walls were covered in colorful, abstract paintings, as well as framed sketches of clothes. There were two work benches, both covered in materials. One was a painting desk, covered by paints, glasses of brushes. The other was a sewing desk, covered by accessories, fabric, and a grand sewing machine. A massive orange settee rested against the wall. On the other wall was a tall, large mirror in front of a short podium. In the far right corner of the room was a section with a surrounding orange curtain.
“How did you like the cakes, missus?” asked Giolla excitedly. She reminded you of a swan - a very colorful swan.
You were too busy gawking at the room to hear the question. Doflamingo placed you down on the solid, flat ground. You were still gawking, barely registering your feet were back on the floor and that you were standing.
“Oh, don’t go calling me a mermaid, Young Master!” said Giolla, putting a hand on her cheek as she blushed, flattered.
“Fufufufu!”
You tugged at the red suit sleeve of Doflamingo’s left arm twice to get his attention. Doflamingo hummed, leaned to the left, bending down low, curving his spine down to you, leaning his ear next to your head.
“Is she a mermaid?” you whispered to Doflamingo stealthily.
Doflamingo chuckled, and gave you a sly grin. “Who knows.”
You gulped. Giolla was definitely past thirty, and some species of mermaids grew legs after that age and were able to live both in water and on the surface. If Giolla was a mermaid, could she still drown because of her Devil Fruit paralyzing her?
Doflamingo chuckled at your face. “I do love teasing you.”
That still didn’t answer your question.
Doflamingo went back up to his own height.
“Don’t touch the abstract paintings of people or animals,” said Doflamingo, walking past you, the pink feathers of his coat brushing over your right shoulder. He took a seat on the orange settee, legs spread, curved smile gleeful and malicious. “Some of them are people.”
Your eyes widened.
“Well, were, fufufufu! They die after an hour if Giolla doesn’t revert them back.” Doflamingo leaned back on the settee, crossing his right leg over his left, wearing a villainous smile. “Now they’re just art.”
“I can’t wait to get started. With missus here in front of me, the font of my imagination is just bubbling over, zamasu!” squealed Giolla.
Giolla was a bit too much — energy wise. It was overwhelming. You weren’t sure you could handle it.
The doors of the room opened abruptly. You let out a startled shriek at the sight of Diamante, who ducked his head and five-meter tall body under the doors. You stumbled backward, tripped on one of the floorboards, and crashed on your butt.
You fell right between Doflamingo’s spread, long legs, your spine pressed at the foot of the settee, the soft pink feathers of his coat cushioning your spine. His legs caged you in from either side, just like his arms would when he was standing.
“Hey, Giolla, have you seen Doffy -” started Diamante.
“Oh,” said Diamante, casting his eyes down to you. You met his blue gaze firmly, but stealthily shifted closer to Doflamingo's right leg, used to the movement from all the years of sticking by Rosi's leg.
Diamante tipped his hat to you and Giolla. “Hello, ladies.”
“Hello, Diamante!” said Giolla. She offered the tall, lanky man an orange plate of massive cookies. “Cookies?”
“Sure,” said Diamante, reaching down to the massive cookies on the plate, taking two into his massive hand.
“Sorry to interrupt, Doffy,” said Diamante, smirking. “We need you at the port.”
Diamante tossed both cookies into his large mouth, chewing through them.
Doflamingo hummed. It came from behind you, at an elevated level.
Before you could properly react to the realisation of how wrong you looked sitting at the foot of Doflamingo’s legs, Doflamingo's long arms reached down to you, his large palms grabbing you under your armpits, his long fingers grabbing onto your upper arms.
You let out a panicked shriek of a puppy who thought it was going to be eaten by a bear as you were lifted off the floor into the air.
When Doflamingo put you back on your feet, you stopped screaming. You blinked rapidly, confused.
Doflamingo chuckled at you. Giolla and Diamante stared at you like you were the weirdo.
“It’s fine,” said Doflamingo, chuckling. He stood up from his seat on the orange settee. His full height overtook the room, making you shiver. You stepped to the side, out of his way. “It’s better if we’re all there to check the loot.”
What loot? you thought instantly, worry starting to gnaw at you. Was Doflamingo about to raid the island he anchored at while you were stuck trying on extravagant clothes?
The juxtaposition of carnage and extravagance didn’t miss you. It made you feel sick.
Doflamingo put his hand on your shoulder. His palm completely covered your shoulder, his long, gloved fingers resting on your collarbone, his thumb brushing against the space where your shoulder curved into your neck.
You froze up, body stiffening.
“Be nice with Giolla,” Doflamingo advised you, voice firm and smooth at the same time, careful in its croon. “If you two aren’t done by lunch, the servants will bring the food here.”
By some miracle, despite your clenching stomach filled with fear upon the enveloping contact of his massive gloved hand around your shoulder, you managed to process the words, and nodded.
“Wait…” You blinked, whipping your head up at him, nearly giving yourself a muscle cramp in your neck. “Done by lunch? Isn’t lunch five hours away?”
Doflamingo merely chuckled in response to your question, which didn’t bode anything good.
“Yeah,” he said. Then, he moved, and what he did next surprised you.
Doflamingo squatted down to be at your height. His legs were spread open, surrounding you from both left and right. His long arms rested across the length of his legs, his hands hanging loosely down his knees. One moment, your surroundings were open. Now, you were surrounded by Doflamingo from all sides except from behind.
His face was still taller than you, but only a few inches now. At this amount of closeness, you truly realised how big and wide his body was. You were completely enveloped by Doflamingo’s body without his body touching yours, barring anyone from seeing you over his shoulder.
You blinked, baffled and confused. You’d never experienced this sort of position. Not even Rosinante squatted to be at your height during your marriage and relationship, so seeing Doflamingo this way shocked you.
He looked friendly from this height, and completely non-threatening. He gave you a smug smile.
Forget it. He is threatening.
“So I’m going to need something to keep me going,” he said. His large hand reached out, and your body flinched on instinct. Doflamingo ignored it, cupping your chin between his thumb and index finger.
Your heart sunk at his expectant look and sharp, large smile. From that look, you knew what he wanted. He wanted you to kiss his cheeks again. Not only that… with the intent look on his face, he was probably going to reciprocate at the same time and kiss you on the cheeks.
In front of people.
You swallowed heavily.
You took a bracing breath, and leaned toward him. When Doflamingo leaned right in, you felt a spike of anxiety in your gut.
Your lips landed on his large right cheek, while his own much larger mouth pressed to your right cheek. Your lips landed on his left cheek, and his own on your left cheek, too, his massive mouth covering your entire cheek.
After that was done, Doflamingo wrapped his long arms around your back, and pulled you to him, hugging you.
You croaked like a frog being suffocated, gasping. Your breasts pressed against Doflamingo’s broad chest. You felt the smooth fabric of his merlot suit, and were enveloped by the alluring, pleasant smell of sandalwood from his cologne. Your head rested awkwardly on his thick, muscular shoulder.
“Hm?” asked Diamante, mouth full of chocolate chips cookies from the orange plate he held in his large palm. “Oh, sure…”
Giolla sighed wistfully.
Emboldened by Giolla’s comments, Doflamingo pressed a few more kisses at the top of your head, which made Giolla squeal about how cute the two of you are - again.
You rolled your eyes.
After Doflamingo was done, and still after another ten seconds didn’t release you from his arms, you started squirming in his coddling hug, trying to get free.
In return to that, Doflamingo simply pulled you closer to himself, tighter, until the entire warmth of his body enveloped you like hot weather on a summer day.
“Let go…” you whispered quietly to him, “this is embarrassing…”
In return, Doflamingo hugged you tighter, your breasts pressing even further into his chest. Your cheeks flushed a deeper red, the blush spreading across your face.
Now Doflamingo was just doing it to embarrass you.
“Come on, Doflamingo… let go…” you whispered, growing more and more desperate and ashamed by the closeness by the passing second.
“Not until you hug me back,” said Doflamingo simply, not bothering to whisper like you were. You could feel the smile on his face in his smug, pleased voice.
You restrained a sigh.
“Doflamingo -” you started, ready to argue.
“Hug,” insisted the three-meter tall pink menace of your life stubbornly, his warm breath caressing your neck, the fluffy spikes of his hair tickling your cheek and ear.
You sighed, long and exhausted. You lifted your arms, and wrapped them around the middle of his massive back, feeling the firm muscles beneath your palms under his red suit. You pressed your hands flat across his back, and gave him a squeeze, leaning into him.
Doflamingo squeezed you closer to him, resting his cheek on your shoulder, his heavy head a straining weight on your shoulder.
After giving you another squeeze in his massive, enveloping arms and hands, Doflamingo let you go. You let him go, stepping away from him.
Grinning and satisfied, Doflamingo stood back up, and turned to Giolla.
“I leave my sister-in-law in your skilled hands, Giolla.” Doflamingo said, smiling.
“Don’t you worry, Young Master!” assured Giolla. “I’ll take care of missus!”
Doflamingo chuckled. “Glad to hear it.”
You tried to sneakily back away into the exit, but you bumped into Diamante’s leg. You flinched like a cat. Diamante tapped you on the shoulder with his knee. To him, it was a tap. To you, it was a shove.
You stumbled forward, away from the only exit. You whirled to glare at Diamante. Much like with Doflamingo, you had to crane your neck back to do it. In return to your glare, Diamante merely gave you an arrogant, ugly smile, and tossed another large chocolate chip cookie into his massive, ugly mouth.
You wished he would choke on it.
“As much as I’d love to stick around and watch you try out Giolla’s designs, work calls.” said Doflamingo, putting his gloved hands in his pockets, leaning over you with another of his arrogant smiles that made you want to punch him. “So I’ll see you later.”
Doflamingo chuckled at your frowning face. He turned away from you, clearly done with you for now.
“Let’s go, Diamante.” commanded Doflamingo, sauntering to the doors, the pink feathers of his coat swaying with his every move.
“Have fun, ladies.” said Diamante.
He tipped his hat to you and Giolla, then strutted off after Doflamingo, closing the doors behind himself. After a moment, you heard his and Doflamingo’s laughter through the closed doors down the hallway.
Bastards.
“Alright!” said Giolla energetically, clapping her nail-polished fingers together with a loud clap, making you jump, startled. “Let's get to work, zamasu!”
“Wait -” you went to argue, but Giola's tall figure rendered you numb as she took a grasp of your shoulders and steered you forward. “Uwah!”
“Young Master already picked the designs and fabrics! He has such a wonderful sense of fashion!”
“Great,” you said after a moment. “Right. Great.”
Twenty-four hours into your new life with your brother-in-law, and you were already ready for a vacation from him and his ‘family’ both.
You watched Giolla grab rolls of black fabrics.
“Are those all…” you started, unsure.
“Indeed!” confirmed Giolla brightly. “Young Master mentioned you’d want black clothes, so he requested for quite a batch.”
The words shocked you. Your eyes widened, your lips parting. There were so many rolls of black fabric hung on the wall, as thick as Pica’s arms, that you were blinded by them. All were different in texture; cotton, velvet, satin, silk, furs. Varying shades of black you didn’t know existed.
You reached your hand forward, touching a long meter of unfolded black satin. You nearly flinched your hand back at the surprising softness of it, fearing you’d ruin the incredible textile quality with your probing touch. They were all high quality. And high-quality fabric was expensive. It was hard to imagine how much money Doflamingo spent.
And all of these fabrics were for you?
“You look surprised,” said Giolla, giggling, taking your horrifying disbelief for a positive reaction. “Young Master isn’t as callous as you think of him, zamasu. He’s quite the emotional man.”
“First, let’s take your measurements,” said Giolla. At your paled face, she waved off your worries. “We’re both women, dear. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
You gulped.
Not wanting to risk getting Giolla mad, you went into the changing room and stripped down to your underwear. You stepped out, and Giolla took you by the hand gently and led you to a small raised platform in front of a tall mirror.
Much to your relief, Giolla didn’t take much time to take your measurements, and didn’t comment on anything. At her instruction, you stepped down from the platform, your bare feet touching the thick fur of the colorful carpet spread across the floor. Giolla went to one of the hanging poles from which many dresses of all colors, length, fabrics and style hung, each on their own hanger.
Giolla picked out at least twenty of them.
“You have twenty finished designs to try!” announced Giolla happily, while your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. “Come on, missus! To the changing room, zamasu!”
Much like a deer in the headlights, all you managed to do was take the first two dresses Giolla gave you, and headed back to the changing room.
You started thinking that with all the ideas Giolla had, you might need a bigger closet.
Over the next hour, you changed between dresses and stood still for Giolla to make adjustments to the finished dresses and other clothing you started trying out, using you as her perfect mannequin. You didn’t argue, and didn’t talk very much. Giolla had no problem with that. She talked enough for the both of you, telling you about the fabrics of the clothing you wore, talking about some of the paintings on the walls, and her favorite books.
It helped you to relax a little, the anxious clench in your gut and the tension in your shoulders dissipating slightly.
After that first hour. Giolla must have noticed you were growing tired of all the standing and constant changing, so she instructed you to take a seat on a red couch while she made some finishing touches to another dress.
You were currently in a long, dark purple silk dress with a slit on the right leg, comfortable on the plush couch you were sure was a couch you saw in a designer magazine. It all felt rather extravagant yet ridiculous.
“Are there any jackets you’re making me?” you asked, resting your face on your hand. Not to look elegant, but to try to rest in some way before having to stand again.
“Of course!” said Giolla brightly. “Leather jackets, denim jackets, shearling jackets, coats. There’s even -”
Giolla stopped herself with a gasp, hovering her manicured hand over her mouth. “Oh, but I will not say! I must not say! I’ll ruin it for you! Young Master will be very displeased if I do that!”
“Ooooookay,” you said slowly, more confused than curious. Whatever jacket or coat Doflamingo had Giolla working on for you, you simply hoped it wasn’t your own feather coat. Knowing Doflamingo, he’d get you a tri-colored feather coat or something.
“Is there something… low profile I can wear?” you asked.
“What for, zamasu?” asked Giolla, confused.
It didn’t surprise you that the Donquixote Pirates didn’t think much of low profile outfits. They liked wearing whatever they wanted. If their outfits didn’t turn heads and make people whisper, then they probably weren’t good enough.
They wore such over-the-top, colorful clothing that normal people would think they’re a circus. Except a circus can’t burn your town to the ground, steal everything you own and kill you.
Then again, many people in the world wear clothes that make no sense. On a summer day, you saw Vice Admiral Garp off duty once; he was wearing blue summer shorts with colorful fish patterns, and a short-sleeved button-up shirt that nearly blinded your eyes with all the colors on it.
Rosinante once bought blue capri pants with red hearts all over them. They were the worst thing you ever saw in your life. It wasn’t that you didn’t like capri pants. Rosinante could definitely pull them off and look good in them.
That is, as long as they’re a single, solid color.
You burned those atrocious pants the next day. If you didn’t, you would start thinking of divorcing him.
A shudder of fear went down your spine when you remembered seeing a few capri pants in Doflamingo’s closet. You wouldn’t be surprised if Rosinante got the idea by watching Doflamingo wear capri pants.
“Just...” you said, choosing your words carefully. “Something casual, you know. I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Missus,” said Giolla in a careful, yet firm tone. “You aren’t very good at lying.”
Were you that obvious? Pretending and faking facial expressions was your husband’s secret skill, not yours. You were always told you were far too easily readable, even when the emotions weren’t on your face. You were too honest for your own good.
“I just... want something normal.” you confessed.
“The dresses I have in the closet, and the dresses you showed me... They’re all so...” You didn’t want to say over the top, dramatic, or anything like that. Despite the fact that was exactly what the dresses were. “Elegant.”
“How often do you dress formally, missus?” asked Giolla.
“For work, usually,” you said honestly. “I can barely walk in very high heels, though.”
“What do you usually wear when you’re relaxing?” asked Giolla.
“Shirts and pants,” you said promptly, not thinking very much of it.
When Giolla gave you an expectant look, you realised that was far too vague for her — she wanted to know the specifics.
You rubbed at your cheek with your finger awkwardly, feeling like you’d been rather rude by not being more specific. Giolla was a stylist and a clothes designer; vague terms weren’t going to be enough for her to get a proper image of your go-to clothes.
“Uh... Blouses and summer dresses sometimes...” you said. “I thought… maybe I could get a normal jacket. A windbreaker with a hoodie or… something.”
Giolla stared at you for a moment. “This feels a bit much for you, doesn’t it, zamasu?”
You smiled, but fought not to cry. For some reason, a swell of emotion descended on you upon those words. Not because they hurt, or offended you, but because they reminded you of what you’d lost - normalcy. Your right to pick your own clothes.
“You could -” you started, voice cracking. You paused, swallowed down, and started over. “You could say that.”
Or maybe, what was normal for you was absolutely unacceptable for Doflamingo. It was very clear he held high standards for things he bought. It was clear in everything around you: the carpets, the furniture, the wood, the decorations, the lighting, the jewelry, the hygiene products, the food, the hired help, the rooms and... The clothes.
“I don’t think a windbreaker would be out of reason,” said Giolla. Your eyes widened. “I’m already designing you more winter jackets and coats. I might as well add another one to the design sheet.”
“Really?” you asked, eyes widening. A smile bloomed across your face, and you beamed with hope.
“Well, look at that! What a beautiful smile you have, missus!” said Giolla, delighted by your smile. “Now I simply have to do it! Let me get my sketchbook!”
Giolla got off the podium, humming a song as she went to one of the shelves, searching through thick sketchbooks.
“There it is!” she said happily, taking an orange sketchbook from the pile. She placed it on the table, took a quill and a bottle of ink from one of the cups, opened the first empty page of the sketchbook (which was close to the end), and started drawing, much to your surprise and awe.
Within minutes, Giolla was done, and she walked over to you excitedly.
“How about this, missus?” asked Giolla, turning the sketchbook towards you to show you the sketch.
It was a detailed sketch of a windbreaker jacket, with a hoodie.
“That looks amazing!” you said, smiling. Your smile fell slightly when you saw the outline of Doflamingo’s jolly roger on the left side of the jacket’s chest.
“It’s a very… simple jacket.” Giolla said mindfully. It was clear she caught on that you didn’t like the symbol being on the jacket, but tried her best to explain her reasoning to you. “Young Master is more likely to approve it if it has a bit of style. He has very high standards.”
By simple, you knew what Giolla meant to say without saying it, mindful of hurting your feelings. The jacket was ordinary. Something commoners wore during winter seasons. Something you’d see people wearing while going on a hike. It didn’t stand out, didn’t show the wealth of the wearer or intended to make jaws drop at the sheer style and fashion of it. It didn’t make people move out of the way.
But… you liked it.
It wasn’t ideal, and you were sure the rest of your outfit would be put over the jacket to conceal its “boring” factor. But if that was what it took for you to get to wear it, then that was a sacrifice you were willing to make.
Doflamingo can put as many of his symbols on the cloth of the clothes you wear as he wants. But it will never reach your heart.
You tried about ten more dresses and were starting to gather up a sweat.
“How about we take a break, zamasu?” suggested Giolla.
“Yeah,” you said, silently relieved. You felt like you were about to pass out.
“You can have some cookies and lay down on the sofa if you want, missus. I’ll have some drinks brought in. What would you like?”
“Water,” you rasped, walking to the orange sofa and collapsing on it in the most polite way possible.
Giolla chuckled. “Water it is, zamasu.”
You grabbed some of the large chocolate chip cookies from the orange plate - the cookies were the size of your palm. Once you bit into them, you were surprised how delicious they were.
Within minutes, the servants delivered a large jug of water with two glasses and some sandwiches. You thanked them as they served the drinks on the coffee table.
You poured your glass fully and gulped it all down.
Giolla handed you the sketchbook, insisting you look at the other designs she made for you. It started somewhere in the middle. You started flipping through the pages, amazed by Giolla’s skills.
You liked the design of the shearling coat. It was simple, with black skin, a grey sheepskin lining on the collar, along the zipper and cuffs. There was another similar one, except this one was a black sheepskin coat, covering the area of your upper thighs. It was a double-breasted one, with deep front pockets.
You turned to the next page, nibbling absentmindedly on the chocolate chip cookie, careful not to get crumbs on the couch. There were designs for springwear and summer wear, too.
And dresses.
So many dresses.
“Jeez, Giolla, this is a lot of clothes…” you whispered in awe.
“Not at all, zamasu. Some are designs I made with Baby 5 a while ago. She likes clothes, the sweet thing. If only she’d be as firm with people as she is with picking clothes.” Giolla shook her head disappointedly, giving an overly dramatic sigh. “She’s too good to strangers.”
At one point, you came to the end of the sketchbook. You noticed through all the designs of the winter clothes that there were no coats longer than knee-length. You wanted at least one coat that would completely cover your legs.
“Giolla, can I sketch one?” you asked.
Giolla lit up. “Of course, zamasu! Let me get you a quill and some ink.”
“Thank you,” you said.
Giolla returned with a bottle of full ink and a quill. It was nice to hold a quill again. Most of your job consisted of writing down translations on the parchment, and having the sense of familiarity by holding the quill soothed you.
You dipped the quill into the ink bottle, and started sketching out an outline of a long coat with wiggly lines. It took you about fifteen minutes, and it was nowhere as good as the other sketches Giolla made, but it was good enough.
“What about this?” you asked, showing it to Giolla, who was delighted to look at what you designed.
“What an interesting coat, zamasu!” said Giolla.
You’d sketched out a long winter coat that reached all the way down to the shoes, with a slightly fluffy outline resembling sheep skin. It had a high collar, and you were satisfied with how warm it looked, exactly how you imagined it. You circled the spots where Doflamingo’s jolly roger could be placed: on the hem, on the left breast, and on the side of the shoulder on the left sleeve. You even sketched out a pattern of strings on the bottom reaching to the would-be jolly roger on the bottom. You refused to draw Doflamingo’s jolly roger. It was only a sketch, anyway.
“What’s the material?” asked Giolla.
“Fleece,” you replied.
“I do love how it looks like sheep wool. And the high collar.” said Giolla. “Very mysterious.”
“Yeah. And it’s very fluffy. My dad had one like it. Marine-issued, I think.” You chuckled fondly at the memory. “It was so cool. He carried Kikoku on his right shoulder all the time with it, too.”
Giolla hummed. “May I make it for you?”
For the second time that day, your eyes lit up with hope and happiness.
“Really?” you asked.
“Of course! It’d be a shame not to! It’s a wonderful design, missus!” said Giolla. “How about we add some primrose petals to it? Give it a bit of your touch, too.”
Giolla took the quill from your hands, and what took you minutes, she did in seconds, with far more precision and detail.
She showed you the result.
Petals of primroses floated in between the outline of the strings shaped like large tiger stripes coming toward the circle representing the jolly roger on the hem of the coat. It looked like they were being carried by the wind with the strings. It looked beautiful.
“We’ll make the jolly roger and the strings cerise, and the petals yellow. You want the coat to be oil black, or perhaps a charcoal black? Oooh, maybe a dark brown? Of course, we’ll need heavyweight fleece for the cold weather…”
You smiled, fighting off tears. It was nice to know you got to pick at least one thing you’d wear.
“Some dark brown with a shade of black,” you said, taking another chocolate chip cookie from the orange plate on the coffee table in front of the settee. “I’ll let you decide. You’re better at colors.”
You stretched out your legs across the floor, along with stretching your arms high over your head, arching your spine, stretching your back to its full capacity. “I think I’m ready to get back to trying on clothes. What’s the next one?”
Giolla beamed. “This next one is the Young Master’s favorite! It’s wonderful, missus! He has excellent taste!”
You immediately felt slightly apprehensive. Knowing Doflamingo, this dress was going to be extremely revealing and sexy.
You decided not to despair too much about it. Giolla handed the merlot red dress - of course it’s merlot - to you and you headed to the changing room. The silk was luxurious, soft and smooth under your fingers. It had halter straps rising over each breast and wrapping around the back of the neck, leaving your shoulders, arms, collarbone and upper back bare. The front neckline was completely revealing, the deep, plunging V-neckline extending down the center of your décolletage, stretching across your stomach and ending slightly above your waist.
The sight of your own body in such a revealing front made you flush as red as the dress.
Yeah. Pervert. The only thing keeping this dress up on your body are hopes, prayers, and your breasts. Despite it all, it was beautiful. Gorgeous.
You wished Rosinante could have seen you in it. Your poor husband would probably pass out.
Your face paled when you saw the outline of your breasts when you turned for Giolla to make more measurements.
“You can see my breasts if you look at an angle!” you cried. That made Giolla burst out into giggles.
To make your point, you turned at an angle, and saw the curve of your breasts. You shrieked in a panic, pressing down on the silk, on the edge of tears. “See! You can see the curve! What am I, an escort?!”
Giolla continued giggling. “You look beautiful, missus.”
“I look like I can fuck Sir Crocodile and boast about it.” you said in disbelief, blinking at your own reflection, wondering how you got here.
“Don’t say that in front of the Young Master,” said Giolla, giggling harder. “He’ll get worried.”
“Crocodile isn’t even my type!” you cried defensively. “This dress is way out of my league!”
“Nonsense, missus.” said Giolla sternly. “It is very much in your league, you merely have to get used to wearing it. It fits you perfectly. We’ll shorten the neckline straps so they can’t actually see your nipples from an angle, but we’ll leave the curves. Their own imagination will ruin them.”
Your face turned white. “They can see my -”
You let out a squeak, and pressed your hands over the silk on your breasts, firmly pressing it to your skin.
“Yes, missus. Unless you want to start a war in the ballroom and that Young Master has to kill a few hundred men to defend your honor, I’d say we do tighten that part, as you say.” Giolla giggled like a schoolgirl. “Unless you’d like to start a fight to the death, zamasu! That would be fun for the Young Master!”
You huffed, unsurprised by how much Doflamingo enjoyed violence. “Of course it would…”
You didn’t like the thought of Doflamingo killing people.
When you turned and saw the back of the dress, your face paled again.
“That’s… the back…?” you asked hoarsely.
The back might as well not exist, much like the front. It was a deep V-shape, revealing all of your upper and middle back, starting to narrow the amount of revealed skin as it descended, ending right above your waist.
“What you wear reflects on the Young Master’s reputation and image,” said Giolla, fixing up the merlot dress, taking more measurements with the measuring tape, placing a few pins at the waistline. “What a woman wears shows how well the man cares and provides for her.”
Cares, huh… you thought, staring at the tall mirror in front of you as Giolla made the adjustments to the dress to better fit your body. The longer you looked at yourself in the mirror, the more you wanted to scoff at the ridiculousness of it all. What a joke.
You didn’t need to be cared for by a man like Doflamingo. You were perfectly cared for by Rosinante, and even without Rosinante, you weren’t a helpless child who needed help with everything. You could take care of yourself.
So what if Doflamingo had more money? What if Doflamingo bought you more stylish, expensive clothes? You didn’t care about such things. You weren’t impressed by such things. You were happy in your casual summer dresses, shirts, pants and blouses. You were happy with the two silk dresses for formal events in your wardrobe in yours and Rosinante’s house.
Of course, as a wife of a marine, whenever you went out in public with Rosinante — especially if it was a formal event in Marineford he attended as a marine commander — you put effort into your appearance, dressing yourself up to a standard for a ball or a gala. The last thing you wanted to do was give a bad impression, or embarrass Rosinante — not that he much cared about looks. However, he was always openly grateful for the effort you put in on those nights, verbally expressing it. Whenever you two attended a more formal event and you dressed up, he continuously flattered you the entire night, making you blush over and over again with his open gawking.
You wanted to put effort into your looks for those special moments. You wanted to wear dresses for those events, not only for yourself, but for Rosinante.
Because you loved him. Because you cared about him. You cared about your image when seen with him, and you cared about his image to his supervisors, too. Rosinante might not have been able to spend half a billion berries for a one-of-a-kind, personally designed dress, but his care shone through with the gowns he did buy you, which were the height of beautiful in your eyes. Because they were bought with your preferences in mind. Because Rosinante spent six months saving up for them. Because Rosinante cared about you, in the truest sense of the word.
Objectively, all the dresses you were trying on now were hundreds, thousands times more beautiful than the two beautiful dresses you did own. They were the sort noble women wore. The sort of dress royal women wore. The sort of women who didn’t blink when they spent 100,000,000 berries on it, because maybe the money came from another’s pocket.
Yet… none of these dresses were beautiful to you the way the blue dress — the only clothing item Doflamingo let you keep from your actual wardrobe, the one Rosinante gifted you — was.
This wasn’t about care. This was about making a statement. Sending a message woven in silk, colored in deep merlot.
“You’re mine now. I decide what you wear. You get to wear black not because you want to, but because I’m allowing you.”
You were like jewelry. Jewelry Doflamingo likes showing off. Jewelry only Doflamingo can have.
Like a… like a…
Pet.
A pet human.
You smiled bitterly.
Doflamingo really is a Celestial Dragon.
Finished with the pins, Giolla stepped back, looking at you expectantly, with no little amount of bubbling excitement.
“What do you think, missus?” she asked.
You looked at the mirror; you looked gorgeous. Beautiful. Breathtaking. Like a noble woman from a rich country. Any other woman would be flattered and flustered at the mere extravagance of the clothes.
“I think I’m going to put barbeque sauce in my brother-in-law’s pancakes,” you said calmly, smiling menacingly.
Giolla laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes, zamasu!”
A small chuckle escaped you. Even if Giolla was a pirate, she was definitely better company than your brother-in-law.
A/N: Thank you for reading! 💕❤️🫶🏻🦩
Art in the chapter:
1) Doflamingo reading the newspapers
2) Doflamingo kneeling in front of Reader
Reader's Merlot Dress: Front Style + Shape + Straps, Color + Back +Trail, Another Angle Pic
Poll results will determine the proper title name.
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
It was another random day on the ground, a storm just pasted over, and some people liked to look through the freshly fallen trash, hoping to find something valuable or useful. It was mostly merchants who did this, dug about in what Shpererites called trash, they called it hidden treasures. One said merchant was digging through the trash, looking for something to add to his collection so that he could sell it for a quick buck. He wore a cloak and a gas mask, his face covered as he dug quietly.
He suddenly pauses, a startled gasps coming through his mask, his hands shaking at his unbelievable fortune, in a random trash bag, laid a Shpererite child, curled up tightly, a few fresh tear drops on its soft cheeks. He assumes the child was dead, like most sphererites they found, but as he touched it, the child slightly twitched, his eyes bucked out of his head. He's truly hit the mother load. He looked around, seeing that no one was watching. He quickly snatched the child up, wrapping it up in his cloak before he stalked off to his wagon.
He already knew where to sell the child. It was usually to the trafficking sector. However, he's seen flyers and heard news of a man looking for anything related to sphererites, anything from clothes to symbols and certain books, documents, and even humans. Though, he was very specific about the human part. "Make sure they are alive. Male or female, child or adult, young or old. I don't care. Just make sure it's alive." It was a very high demand, but he was willing to pay extreamly handsomely.
So that's where he set out to, a specific meet-up place, where the man said he would be waiting. He didn't see the man in that spot often, a small little pocket between two buildings in an alley. It was only after a storm had passed by, would he see him, shrouded in shadows by a black cloak. He'd sit there and wait for merchnats to flock to him. They always do. They never had an actual Shpererite, but they'd have items, and just as promised, he'd pay them handsomely. He, however, had a living sphererite child. He packed the child onto his wagon, making sure to place a mask over its face and cover it with items.
Then, he set out, going to the place where the man always sat after a storm. The walk was long but not tiresome. It took him 40 minutes to arrive in the city, once in, he made his way to the man, just as always, he was there. Shrouded in darkness under his cloak. The merchant left his wagon and approached the man. Once he was close enough, the man spoke. "Have you found any sphererite items?" The man asked him. The merchant nodded, a smirk coming onto his face. "I found many sphererite items. However, none can compare to the greatest treasure among them all." The merchant said.
The man didn't seem moved nor convinced. "What did you find?" He simply asked, sure that it was another everyday item. The merchant chuckled before he leaned in closer. "I found a living sphererite." He whispered. The cloaked man's head raised. "Are you certain?" He asked. He sounds more interested now. The Merchant nodded. "Yes, it twitched when I touched it. It's most definitely alive." He said in confidence. That seemed to be a deal sealer for the man. As he stood up, the merchant backed up, giving him room. "Show me" was all he said, and the merchant's smirk blossomed. "Of course." He said in glee as he led the man to his wagon.
The man followed. Once at the wagon, the merchant began moving items, revealing the child. The cloaked man made a noise of wonderment as he gazed on at the child, its Sphererite clothes sealing the deal, it was real. The man reached for the child, brushing his finger along its cheek, its eyes squinted, and it just barely shifted. Satisfyed, he turned to the merchant. "How much do you want?" Was his simple question, the merchants smirk widen. The deal was made, and the child was sold, wrapped up in the man's cloak.
He walked back to where he came from, holding the child with one arm. He snapped his fingers, and a portal opened immediately. He walked through it, vanishing as he did. A moment later, multiple pairs of hands came through, cleaning up his waiting station, making the small pocket seem like nothing was ever there to begin with.
The cloaked man walked through the darken building, and other shadows could be seen within the darkness moving around, curious as to what the man was holding, they spoke in hushed whisperes. "Is it a living sphererite?" One asked. "It must be, he wouldn't have closed up shop if it wasn't." Another replied. "The boss seems happy, it's gonna be a good day indeed." Another said through a gleeful giggle. The man walked until he was in the center of the room, where a broken-down couch sat, He laid the child down gently, and a bright overhead light turned on, creating a spotlight over the duo
Everyone slowly crowded around it, leaving the shadows as they came into the light. "How ridiculous... All they could manage was a child?" A woman snared as she combed through her long blonde hair. "Eh, it could've been worse. it could've been nothing but a babbling baby." Said a man with a cowboy hat on. "Man!! I don't see an issue with it. Either way, we finally got one. We couldn't get Rudo, so this the next best thang." Said another young man with long dreads as he gave a careless shrug.
"Hmph." The woman said as she continued to comb her hair. "Chtoni... Check on the child... we must keep it alive." The cloaked man ordered, a woman with blue-green hair emerged, a large manhole cover on her back as she walked up to the child. "Aye!! What am I? Chopped liver!?" The young man with dreads said as he threw his hands up. Chtoni rolled her eyes. "We want the child alive, not traumatized." She said in an annoyed voice.
"Tch, whaaaa!?" He said in disbelief as he stalked over to the couch. He leaned over the back of it as he stared down at the child. "I ain't gonna do nothin' I was just gonna poke it!" He said, a devious grin on his face. Chtoni rolled her eyes. "Excatly my point." She said as she began checking the child. Everyone stood around, watching as she worked. "Soooo, whose gonna babysit?" The man with the cowboy hat asked, he immediately placed his finger on his nose, the woman scoffed as she rolled her eyes, another who hasn't spoke yet, was a young boy, also placed his finger on his nose. The young man with dreads spoke up, his finger on his nose too.
"Damn, Chtoni~ looks like you gonna be busy~." He said in a teasing voice. Without looking up, she spoke. "Shut the hell up, Jabber, you know I can't." She said irritatedly. The cloaked man spoke up. "I will assign roles, and whatever you get, you will like it." He said, everyone groaned, he gave them all a pointed stare, and they all quieted. Chtoni finally pulled back from the child, catching the cloaked man's attention. "Healthy, strong pulse, eyes are reactive and glossy, saliva glans are full. It's good to go." She said. The cloaked man nodded.
He raised his hands to his hood, lowering it. He was young, with a duo hair color and dull eyes. He seemed tired yet full of ambition. "Excellent. Now, we must wait for the child to awaken." He said. Everyone quickly found a place to lounge at, getting lost in their own worlds. The young boy stayed near the child, looking down at it with a curious gaze. He always kind of wondered what the Sphere was like... He suppose it wasn't too much of a difference. Taking in the child's outfit, he could deduce that they were extremely clean, more clean than he ever imagined. Its clothes were pure white, and the gold seemed to gleam under the light.
Most times when he saw sphererite clothing, it had a yellowed tent to it, dirtied from the trash they were found in, but surprisingly, this child's clothes were extremely clean... he's never seen pure white clothes before... it was pretty yet almost blinding. You began to stir, making the young boy flinch as he stepped back. Your small noises caught the attention of everyone. They all gathered around, curious as to what to you'll say, or how you'll react. Your eyes gently fluttered open, the bright light over head making you hide your face away, you heard voices, all making comments on your actions. You then tried again, and you looked around curiously, taking in blurry images.
You could just faintly make out people. "Mommy?" You lightly asked when you saw a woman figure. "'Mommy'!? Damn girl, you getting old!!! AHAHAH-" Came a young man's teasing voice. SMACK!! "UUHHOWW!!!... Bitch." He whined. The voices made you try again, they were unfamiliar. "That's what you get, jackass." Said an annoyed woman. "Tch. Damn girl, take a joke." A young man said. He sounded hurt, but you could hear the amusement in his tone. "Jabber, shut up." Came a young woman's voice. Your eyes finally adjusted. "Tch, why am I getting picked on? What is this Jabber hate??" The same young man complained, your vision came in, and the first thing you noticed was trash.
Mountains of it, it was horrifying, the smell was putrid and you quickly covered your nose, pinching it. You made a face as you sat up, seeing your surroundings, everything was trash, you stared on in horror and confusion at the sight. Your eyes then locked on to the people in the room. They were all dressed the same, wearing what looks to be rags. You noticed their clothing wasn't anything you've ever seen before... They were dirtied, dark, and looked to be stitched together.
You made a slightly disgusted face. "I must've ended up on the other side." You said to yourself, your words caught the duo hair colored man's attention. "Other side?" He asked, his voice steady and clam. You looked over at him, noticing his clothes were the most different. They were black... an odd color, something you've never seen. "Why are your clothes black?" You innocently asked. They all looked at one another. They knew nothing about the sphere, so hearing you ask that question was already a major step to their goal. The man didn't seem offended. instead, he seemed curious.
"And why are your clothes white?" He asked, answering your question with a question. You looked down at your clothes before you looked up at him in confusion. "What kind of silly question is that? Everyone wears white. Unless you're from the other side, then that means you're poor. Are you poor?? You must be poorer than poor then if your clothes are black. My mommy and daddy say that I'm not supposed to talk to the poor people on the other side of the wall.. They'll get me in trouble." You said as you turned your nose up at him, showing him that you don't want anything to do with him or his... friends.
They all looked at one another, Jabber shrugged. They never knew that the Sphere was divided up into halves. One poor and the other rich, they just assumed it was all one place. "The poor side?... The wall?... The shpere is divided in halves?" The man asked as he crouched down in front of you. You arched a brow at him. "The Shpere?? What are you talking about?" You asked him. "You mean, the other side of the wall?? You call my side the sphere... right?" You asked as you pointed at yourself.
The man stared at you, taking you in. He then explained. "You're from a place, we call the 'sphere' it's where your kind is from, whether they're from the other side or not...Where I'm from, we call it the 'ground'. You are what we call a sphererite and I am what we call groundlings." His voice was steady, controlled, and leveled. You stared at him with growing perplexing thoughts on what he was saying. "What??... The ground?? Groundling?? Shpererite?? WHAT IS GOING ON!! Last thing I remember, I was at home with Mommy... I want my mommy!!! I WANNA GO HOME!!!" You said, grabbing your head as you curled up in a ball. Warm tears started to form, you were confused, you were lost, strange people were around you, and you were surrounded by trash, and it stunk.
They all watched you with somewhat pitiful eyes as you balled up, your small sobs sounding out as you shook lightly. They didn't like sphererites, they hated them with a burning passion... but right now... you looked like any lost child, scared, alone, confused. They all stayed silent, not knowing what to say. "U-uhm.... Don't cry... Look, sometimes... I'm scared, too... and I want to cry... b-but crying doesn't get me anywhere." The young boy said, his voice wavering and held no confidence, but he was trying. You continued to cry. You didn't want to hear any of that weak shit. You wanted to go home. You wanted your mother.
Thoughts of your mother clouded your mind, but your last memory of your mother was cloudy. You remember seeing her crying in her room, hunched over her dresser as she sobbed violently, her shoulders shook, and then blackness. You couldn't remember what happened after that... nothing would connect. The boy felt defeated. He tried to give you a pep talk, but it sounds like he just made it worse. Jabber suddenly landed a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Damn, man, looks like you just made her crying worse!! Way to go, Fu!!" He teased sarcastically, Fu shrunk in on himself as his fingers twiddling together. "I didn't mean to." He said in a quiet voice. The man stared down at you with an empty stare. He didn't know how to feel. In a way, he felt superior, watching a sphererite fall apart at the seams, watching them slowly realize that they had been called lower than trash and have been cast away as such.... However, on the other hand, he felt sad for you. The pure despair in your sobs, the way you looked so small and helpless... It reminded him of himself from his own childhood...
"Stop crying... It won't help... You'll have to carve your own path now... You're alone, and the world is cruel. Nobody will care, and nobody will come to your aid... You must become your own support now, because if you don't, you'll die... it's rough down here, on the ground... You'll find no immediate support from the people... So dry your tears and stand tall. From now on, you call your own shots." The man said, and everyone listened, silently agreeing with his words.
You held your legs tighter to yourself, not wanting to listen, you didn't want to be on your own, you didn't want to make your own decisions... you wanted to go home. The man held his hand out to you, even if you were unaware. "My name is Zodyl Typhon, I'm the leader of this group. We are known as 'Raiders'. You may choose to rely on us, and we'll keep you safe, fed, and sheltered. In return, you tell us all about your life, and I promise you'll never be left alone." He said, his tone was still the same, though it had a bit of a gentle tune to it.
You peaked up over your arms, your tear filled eyes locking onto his hand before you looked up at him. You locked eyes with him for a moment before you pulled your head up completely, your cheeks wet. You sniffle. "Will you help me get home to my mommy?" You asked, you sounded small and helpless. It made Zodyl's brow slightly twitch... You were like any other stray child... and for a moment, he looked past your differences. "I promise you... As soon as we find a way into the sphere, we'll reunite you with your mother." He said with seriousness. You sniffle once more before you timidly place your small hand into his larger one.
His skin was rough and thick while yours was soft and tender. He gripped your hend gently as he stood up with you. You whipped your eyes and cheeks with your free hand, cleaning yourself up. You then looked up at him. "My name is (Y/N), and I'll help you get to the sphere, Mr. Zodyl. " You said, agreeing to his terms. You still didn't really understand it all, but if it meant he'll help you get back home, you'll do your best. He nodded down at you, accepting your words. He then looked up at his crew with a pointed stare.
"Now then... which of you will be (Y/N's) caretaker?" He asked, he'd give them a chance to pick themselves. Nobody moved an inch. "Fine then... I'll just choose someone." He said, everyone groaned. He ignored their protests, his eyes scanning everyone.
Who should Zodyl pick to be Reader's Caretaker?? Whomever you pick is who Reader will bond with and form a possible friendship with.
synopsis ✿ hakari is bad at answering your texts, so you decide to send his phone's notifications something better: fraud alerts as you max out all his credit cards
✿ BEFORE YOU READ ── female reader ; established relationship ; reader is a lil bit bratty ok but he likes it ; financially irresponsible reader LOL ; reader calls him kin-chan ; oral (fem receiving) ; edging ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read pls forgive typos and errors ok say u still love me :,)
꒰ word count ꒱ 4.1k words — ur telling me my first fic of 2026 is hakari smut . bro ur fucking lying to me HELP
꒰ commentary ꒱ yeah . so . i wanna be that ex that maxed out his cards SOBS. though i do not fancy being an ex so i think we will stay together thanks
It started out as a petty fight.
You hiss, you never answer my texts, Kinji!—and Hakari hisses back, don’t text me so many times when I’m busy, then!
And you decide he deserves it after that. He does. He never wants to check his stupid phone that’s in his stupid hand most of the time, so you give him a reason to check his fucking phone. You give him a reason to pay attention to the notifications that pop up on his screen, one after the other, because he deserves it. He does.
He deserves it when you charge his card. Once. Twice. Ten times. Even more.
If he won’t answer texts, you think, he’ll surely answer transaction alerts.
You start small at first—an overpriced jacket you don’t need (not when you always wear his, anyway). Then a pair of shoes. Then you decide your living room could use some remodeling, too—that couch could use a replacement. You get a sick thrill in it, imagining his screen lighting up with a message as you make one large, concerning purchase after another.
FRAUD ALERT.
A charge was made to your VISA credit card ending in 3467
Reply YES to confirm or NO to report fraud
You picture his eyebrow twitching. It makes you grin smugly at the idea. By the time you’re done, you’ve hit all three cards—and he seems to have let you, too. Not a single purchase gets canceled as a fraudulent transaction. You hit the limit on the third and hum in satisfaction to yourself.
Your phone buzzes immediately.
Kinji ♡:
What the hell are you doing?
You stare at the message. Let it sit. Let him feel ignored the same way he ignored you. Your phone buzzes again.
Kinji ♡:
Did you just max three cards in twenty minutes?
You ignore him yet again. And then, he actually calls you—and you stare at his contact photo with petty resolve as you let it ring until the call is missed. He doesn’t let that stop him, though, and sends another message.
Kinji ♡:
Pick up my call woman
He calls again, and you don’t listen to his demand. The call rings out again before you type back: Wow. So you do know how to look at your phone huh?
The typing bubble appears instantly.
Kinji ♡:
Don’t start
You scoff as you start anyway. Your thumbs type furiously before sending: I wouldn’t start anything if you didn’t fucking ignore me.
There’s a pause this time. A long one. You imagine him running a hand over his face in irritation, jaw tight, eyes sharp in that way they get when he’s trying not to snap. He’s good about not snapping at you, for as moody as he tends to be. He’s good about keeping himself patient when it’s you. Usually.
But your phone rings. You decline it. It rings again. Decline. Rings one more time. Decline. You can practically see the steam coming out of his ears, and you’re almost giddy by the image in your head.
He calls yet again—this time, it’s a FaceTime. You answer at the last second just to be petty.
“What,” you say flatly as soon as his face pops up onto the screen.
“What,” he echoes, incredulous. “That’s it? S’all you got’ta say? Are you out of your mind?”
“You said don’t text you so many times,” you shrug. “So I found another way.”
His eyes narrow. “So you maxed out my cards?”
“You weren’t answering.”
“Was this s’posed to make me answer?”
“It made you call me, didn’t it?” you grin cheekily, giving him an annoyingly victorious look.
His mouth opens. Closes. His gaze flickers, eyes narrowing at you. Annoyed—he’s thoroughly annoyed. Still, underneath it, something else. Something warmer. Something that looks…dare you say, a little too much like amusement.
“You think this shit is funny?” he asks.
“I think you finally responded. Just like I wanted.”
There’s a beat of silence. He’s studying you with a look that makes you shiver slightly, even if he’s only looking through a screen. Then he leans forward, closer to the camera. His voice drops.
“You need my attention that bad, huh?”
Your stomach flips despite yourself. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need your attention—you’re supposed to answer me when I talk to you. That’s the principle of things.”
“Yeah? So makin’ stupid purchases is the principle of shit, too? S’that it?”
“Yeah,” you say stubbornly, “it is, actually.”
He studies you. Over it—he’s so over you and your petty drama and the schemes you always seem to have pulled out of nowhere to give him a migraine. He’s over it. But he’s also not—because then he gives you a sharp snort. “You’re lucky I can afford your fuckin’ nonsense.”
“I know,” you snap in return. “That’s why I used your cards.”
For a second, you think he’s going to yell when his face twists in surprise at your audacity. But then, instead, he laughs. It’s loud, obnoxious. A cackle more than a laugh, and your eyes narrow at the fact that he is not taking you as seriously as he should. Not when you could do some serious damage to his credit score.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’re a damn, spoiled brat. I ought’ta teach you some appreciation for hard-earned money.”
“You hardly earn anything,” you shoot back. “You gamble it. Like everything else—one of these days you’re not going to gamble wisely how long I’ll put up with your shit.”
That wipes the grin from his face. The line goes quiet.
“Don’t antagonize me, woman.”
“I can’t antagonize you when you’re ignoring me,” you reply smartly. He doesn’t seem to like that.
“I’m not ignoring you,” he counters, “I’m out here makin’ money that you just tossed down the drain like a damn brat.”
“You’ll make it back.”
His eyes flash. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“The point,” he says, rolling his eyes, “is that you’re fucking spoiled.”
You shrug. Yeah, you’re a bit spoiled. You are. So what? He makes you spoiled. He gives you his cards, and he lets you spend on them as you like, and he pays good attention to you when you’re there. You’re spoiled because what else would you be? He makes you this way, and then he complains like it’s your fault.
But it’s not. And you make sure to tell him.
“That’s on you,” you say flatly. “Not on me.”
And that, as you expected, is his final straw. “Stay there,” he hisses.
“What?” you flutter your lashes innocently, “what’s that mean?”
“It means. Stay. There.”
And then he hangs up, and you lean back in your bed with a ghost of a smug smile on your face.
Twenty minutes later, your door is swung open, and an agitated Hakari is walking into your shared room with a look on his face that has you clenching your thighs together. He’s not happy. Unhappy Hakari means he’ll fuck you right—fuck you hard and good and proper until he’s no longer unhappy.
“You need’ta learn to be patient,” he grits.
“You need to learn to answer your texts.”
He clicks his teeth in irritation. You always talk back—way more than you should. Way more than you used to before you learned he lets you get away with pushing his buttons like that.
“Next time,” he says, crowding into your space as he leans down to hover over you, “if you want my attention—” his hand hooks around your waist, pulling you flush against him, “—you ask. Nicely. With manners.”
Your heart is pounding too loudly. Too filled with anticipation. There’s a distinct ache between your legs, and you’d be a little embarrassed if you weren’t so excited by it.
“You didn’t answer when I asked,” you huff.
His thumb tilts your chin up. His gaze is piercing as he scoffs at your stubbornness. “So then you be patient. But it’s okay,” he adds, eyes glinting again, “you’re paying me back.”
Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“In installments,” he says smoothly, giving you a hungry grin. “Starting now.”
And then he kisses you. Hard.
It’s a rough kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, and relentless in that way that steals the air straight from your lungs. You hardly have a moment to take a breath in between, and he doesn’t pause to let you have one, either. But your body wants him even if your lungs protest—your hands fist into his jacket automatically, pulling him closer like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment since he pissed you off to start with.
He makes a low sound against your mouth—satisfied. Hakari is satisfied when you melt into his touch. He’s satisfied when you can’t help but let whatever snarky sentence it is you’re about to say die off in your throat as he keeps that mouth of yours occupied.
“Installment one,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling away.
“You’re insufferable,” you breathe.
He slides a hand under your shirt, thoroughly pleased to find no bra there to serve as an obstacle in his wandering palm’s path. His hand squeezes around a tit, and you gasp against his lips as his thumb teases over your nipple.
“Installment two,” he gives you a cocky look. “Installment three is a little pricier, you know.”
“I can afford anything,” you shrug easily.
He raises a brow. “Yeah? Is that why you use my card?”
“That’s exactly why I can afford anything,” you grin, and it’s a cheeky little thing that you flash him.
He gives you an irritated look at that—there’s no real heat behind it, though. You know you’re right. Hakari can afford it. That’s why he gave you his cards in the first place. But you like that look on his face when you talk a little too much and sound a little too smart for your own good.
He doesn’t say anything else. Just moves to hover between your legs as he slowly pulls your sweats and your panties off in one swift movement. You’re already dripping—that much gives him a bubbling sense of pride. It makes him scoff to himself a little, too. You’d go through any lengths just to get a little attention from him, wouldn’t you? he thinks to himself. And he likes it, a little. Likes that you need him and want him so passionately, so fervently. So desperately.
“I’m taking my payment now,” he mumbles, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your thighs. He grins as you shiver. Feels himself hardening between his own legs when you try to spread your legs wider and make more room for him in anticipation.
“Your payment is to reward me?” you ask, giving him an amused look.
He snorts, giving you a look in return that’s even more thoroughly entertained. “You keep hoping, baby.”
With that, he’s buried in your cunt. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue licks a stripe along your entrance, and you gasp at the sensation. He dips his tongue past your folds, groaning at the taste of you, and the vibrations against your heat make your eyes flutter shut as you whine. You grind yourself down into him more, trying to feel the pressure against your clit and feel him press deeper past your folds, but his large hands keep a firm grip on your waist, holding you in place.
“K-kin,” you moan, “s’not enough—”
“This is my payment, not yours,” he grunts, “keep quiet.”
That shuts you up because, well, you know, brattiness will do you no favors right now. You display a rare moment of restraint, and he takes what he wants with his tongue, tasting you slowly, deliberately. Maybe even a little cruelly, with how achingly long it takes for him to give you what you need.
“Please,” you gasp, voice shaky, “p-please, Kin.”
“Say you’re sorry, then,” he says.
You lift your head up and stare at him in disbelief. Sorry? He wants you to say sorry for being ignored? After he caused this petty argument and your petty show of defiance? You press your lips together in a firm line before letting out a huff that tells him all he needs to know.
You’re not apologizing. And he doesn’t seem to be bothered. If anything, he seems excited—his pupils dilate as he watches your stubborn behavior.
Maybe because you’re so stubborn is why Hakari likes you so much. Maybe because you’re firm and resolute and…passionate about what you want and how you’ll get it is why he’s so enamored by you. You don’t stop. Never know when to quit. Never know when a limit is a limit and when a boundary is a boundary. All you know is when to cross them. When to push them. When to be in a fever-induced state of your desires, and you don’t break the fever until they’re yours.
“Not gonna say it, huh?” he mumbles, “okay. Suit yourself, brat.”
Then his fingers sink into you—and your arch your back at the intrusion with a soft cry. His fingers are thick. Thicker than yours and longer, too—that’s why you always need him so badly. He can give you better attention than you can give yourself. He likes the idea of that, even if it does tend to make you even more demanding of his time.
His tongue moves to lap at your clit, dragging back and forth along the sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers work in and out of you, stretching you open and coating his digits in your arousal. Your head falls back against the pillow, and you let out a sharp cry of pleasure when his fingertips brush along your sweet spot.
He knows you. Knows your body. Spent a good, long amount of love-filled labor to learn it so well. Burned himself hot and bothered getting to know it better than he knows himself. He paints quick circles along your clit with his tongue while his fingers work slow and deep into your folds, every thrust of his wrist taking its sweet time to fill you with the pressure of his touch.
“M’close, Kin,” you breathe after a bit, voice strained as it comes alongside labored pants.
He raises a brow. “Yeah? Is that right?”
“Uh-huh,” you nod.
Sweet little thing you are. You look so pretty and fucked out just from this—he takes a moment to stare at it a little longer before he pulls away completely.
Your body jerks at the sudden stop, and your head lifts as you stare at him in pure disbelief. It aches—right between your legs, at the apex of your thighs, there’s a sharp, uncomfortable pressure that makes itself painfully noticeable. You can feel the deliberate throb of dissatisfaction he leaves you with, and you’re not happy.
“Hey!” you hiss, “I was…I was gonna—”
“Cum?” he interrupts, “is that it? You thought I was gonna let that happen so easily? No, baby—you gotta work for it. So you know it ain’t easy earning your payments.”
You’re about to argue, but he’s already stripping out of his own clothes, and that gets you relaxed instantly. He’s going to take you now—which means he’ll fuck you good. Fuck you right. You have enough reason to let his act of cruelty slide when you can look forward to that. His shirt comes off, and you can now stare at the hard planes of muscle along tanned skin, and if that view isn’t enough, the sight of his stiff, leaking cock is when he’s kicking off his boxers.
He smears the pre cum dripping from his tip before his fist wraps around himself and he strokes once, twice, then a third time, and he groans low and deep at that. His eyes pinch shut, and his teeth press into his bottom lip as he curses under his breath before pulling away from his length. Instead, he takes to hovering over you, giving you an expectant look as he lines himself up with your pussy, but doesn’t quite give it to you, just yet.
“Say you’re sorry,” he hums, tip nudging just past your folds, but not quite pressing into you just yet. You give him a defiant glare, but he only grins, “C’mon, baby. You know how to use your words—I taught you that much, at least.”
“M’not sorry for anything,” you huff.
“Hm,” he chuckles, “that’s a shame.”
The thick head of his cock pulls out, tapping against your clit. It’s coated in you. Coated in a mix of your slick and the pre cum that spills from his slit—it’s filthy. Messy. You’re fucking aching to feel him fill you up and make things even messier.
But Hakari is taking his sweet time. He has enough restraint for now that you’re positive you won’t get what you want until he makes a lesson out of this. A lesson you are unwilling to learn so easily.
“Stop fucking teasing me, you asshole,” you hiss, angling your hips to try and press into him. He pulls away, chuckling as he gives you a cocky, amused look.
“You have’ta say you’re sorry, baby,” he insists, “that’s the only way you’re gettin’ what you want. I can’t have you spoiled more than you already are—I’d be making more trouble for myself.”
You glare, and he seems to relish the feeling of pulling that look from you. The tip of his cock presses back into your folds, making you gasp as you buck into him desperately. He’s fast, though. Pulls his hips back just enough to make up for the little bit of distance you managed to bridge between the two of you as you attempt to sink down on him. He’s pulled away enough that he’s still just barely pressed into your cunt, just the tip teasing your entrance while he grabs your hips and keeps you still.
“Kin,” you whine, “s’not fair!”
“Course it is, baby,” he snorts, “you did some serious damage to my bank. Got all the shit you wanted. You think I’m giving you what you want again?”
“You should,” you huff, “I deserve it.”
“You will once you say you’re sorry,” he corrects. “Now say you’re sorry like a good girl—you know you like being good for me.”
That much is very true. He’s right. You love being his good girl—the one who gets to slide next to him on the couch when he’s drinking at some shady club, the one who gets to curl up on his lap when he’s in a crappy mood, the one who gets to feel his rough hands turn oddly gentle when you need him close.
You like being his good girl. His girl. You like being his.
You huff through a pout as you ask, “I can still keep all my things, right?”
He rolls his eyes at your question. But you’re spoiled by his own doing, after all, and Hakari has a habit of giving to you just as often as you take. So, he grunts, “Course you can.”
You beam. His eyes soften just a fraction. “Fine,” you murmur, “I’m sorry, Kin-chan.”
Kin-chan.
His pupils all but dilate when you call him that. They always do—it’s cute, you think. Cute that he cares what you call him. Cute that you mean enough to him that he wants it to be something laced with familiarity.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning down as his hands move to grab yours. They lace with your fingers before he lifts them to pin each hand over your head. “You’re sorry, huh?”
“Mhm,” you nod, gasping as his cock pushes into you deeper, slowly, inch by inch. “Yeah, I am.”
“Sorry for what, hm?”
He’s halfway pressed into you. He’s taking his sweet time. Pushing the thickness of his length little by little so you can really feel him stretch you out. Carve you to fit him. Mold you so only he can sink into your cunt and take you this way.
“S-sorry that I—hah—used your money,” your voice shakes as the last of him sinks in with a deep thrust of his hips. He hums at the sound of your words, lips hot and searing against your jaw as he presses kisses along the angle of it.
You shiver as you feel the vibrations of his voice along your skin, hands squeezing his as he murmurs, “No, you’re not,” he snorts, “but that’s okay, baby—you know I like it when you push my buttons.”
You do. When you push Kin-chan’s buttons, Kin-chan fucks you like he means it. When you give Kin-chan a reason to give it to you hard, he fucks you with passion. Burns hot with it as he snaps his hips into you and pulls you closer, pulls you flush against him. When you act spoiled rotten with Kin-chan, that’s when Kin-chan knows he’s loved you good. Loved you hard. Loved you hot with fever.
“And I like it when you fuck me,” you whine, “so maybe you should get on tha—oh.” You break off with a soft moan.
“You’re always so fuckin’ spoiled,” he grunts as he makes you cut yourself off with that sharp, unpunishing thrust of his hips. You know what that means. He’s had enough of waiting.
He pulls his hips back so that his cock has almost slipped out completely before slamming into you again. You gasp, arching into him. You can feel the sweet reward of friction—every ridge and every vein dragging along your slick walls before the blunt head of his cock presses against a particular spot in the back that makes your eyes see white.
You are spoiled. Because Kin-chan turned you spoiled. And a spoiled you makes Kin-chan excited, try as he might to act like it doesn’t. It’s just the way things happen. How you both just are. How that cycle always tends to just go.
You burn hottest when you want something, and he burns hottest when he gets to give it to you.
“Don’t you love me when I’m spoiled?” You give him a pouty look. It doesn’t last too long, though, because he rolls his hips and your face scrunches with pleasure.
He gives you a throaty laugh, his hand grabbing the ankle hooked on his shoulder before he turns his head and gives your calf a soft kiss. “You know I do, you crazy fucking thing,” he mumbles. You clench around him at that, and he laughs again. “You know I love you.”
“Then don’t ignore me,” you warn.
“Yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes.
He leans forward, all but bending you in half as he snaps his hips faster, bullying past your folds with a sloppier pace as he starts to get closer and closer to his own high. His lips find yours, pulling you into a hot, breathy kiss. Your hands wrap around him, clinging to him as your nails dig into his skin. He likes that. Gives you a low grunt of approval as the sting makes itself known.
“C-close,” you whimper, “m’so close—fuck!”
“That’s it,” he hums in satisfaction, “cum for me, then.”
A few more punctuated thrusts of his hips and you do. You feel that familiar coil in the pit of your belly snap, and that build-up of pressure break free between your legs. He works you through it—makes sure to drag his cock along your sensitive walls hard and fast as they flutter around him and squeeze him in.
“Kin!” you gasp through the height of your pleasure. Your ears are ringing, but you can just barely make out the satisfied sound he makes when you say his name, so you slur it a few more times just for him.
He groans as you squeeze around him with every spasm of your walls, muttering, “S’so fuckin’ tight,” under his breath before he’s claiming your mouth again, kissing you so you can swallow his own sounds as he follows right after you.
You feel him twitch before he’s filling you up—hot, thick ropes of his seed pumping into you while he stills for a moment and shivers. When you’ve both come down from your highs, he slumps down beside you on the bed, pulling you against his chest, where you happily curl up.
“Learn your lesson?” he grumbles. He follows it with a delicate kiss to your forehead because, of course, he does.
“Yup,” you hum happily.
“And what’d you learn?”
“Kin-chan loves me so much, he’ll let me buy whatever I want and fuck me for it,” you smile. Still so cheeky. Still so smug.
It burns him with excitement just looking at that defiant little spark in your eyes. “Yeah?” he laughs, “well alright, then. Guess I just have to teach you a little harder.”
Content Warnings: jealous kirara (poor baby), hakari is his own warning tbh, kissing, reader IS DOWN BAD. fem!reader, mentions of blood and cuts, they're lowkey looking at you for a third.
cw: 1k
I had so much fun writing this! based off this lovely request!! thank you so much for this idea, you will forever be cherish 🥰
Hakari always gives you the best scripts. You were his top fighter after all, no way in hell he wouldn’t give you something you didn’t win. Yeah, you tried to shy away from it… especially with how his girlfriend would stare at you when you’d talked to him. But it’s Hakari Kinji we’re talking about.
And suddenly, he’s inviting you to the monitoring room after a fight.
“You got kinda roughed up there, Y/N,” Kinji chuckles, pouring you a drink you don’t think you’ll like. “She looks fine to me.” Kirara butts in before you can say anything, “There was probably no reason to invite her up here, Kin-Chan.” She argues, and you just purse your lips, looking away, I mean… Kirara was probably right, you were fine, maybe a bruise here ‘nd there. “Okay? What if she wanted a drink?” Kinji rebuts Kirara, and you can’t help but look down, feeling like a kid whose parents start fighting in the middle of dinner. “It’s really no big deal, like I wasn’t hurt and-”
Yeah, he still invites you up after that, offering a drink, a cigarette, money, whatever. But it’s especially after one fight, he personally goes to check on you.
And Kirara hates that.
I mean, who exactly were you?
Some sorcerer, who fought well? Okay, that wasn’t new.
But what was new, was him patching your face up after a rough fight. He made a mental note to remember the dude who went off-script as he’s dabbing cotton on your face.
“I’ve told you, I can patch myself up, Hakari.” You state, but Hakari shakes his head, “First of all, you’re a friend,” Hakari mumbles, grabbing your face to get a closer look, “And second, you’re the reason why I’m getting money, so shut up.”
It’s quiet, too quiet that you realize how close and intimate this is, and your heart drops, “How is Kirara?” You ask, but suddenly you feel like that’s a personal question, “She’s good, jealous of you though.” He laughs, making your eyes widen, grabbing his wrist and pulling away, “Whoa- what?” Hakari doesn’t say anything but shrugs, wearing that fuckass smile. “Thinks you’re gonna steal me away from her,” Getting closer to your ear, “My personal opinion? I would like to see you both be my girls.”
He leaves after that; the only thing you can hear is your heartbeat and the buzz of fluorescent lights.
It’s like Hakari purposefully planted that seed in your head, because now?
The last thing you’re seeing as you fall asleep is Kirara Hoshi's eyes.
It starts small, warm smiles here, waving at her, but she doesn’t budge, telling Hakari when they’re alone, “She keeps smiling at me, the fuck is she smiling at me for?”, and don’t get her started when she saw you pat his arm after a fight.
“Why did you let her touch you?” Kirara interrogated, and Hakari just shrugged, smirking at her when she pouted at him.
“Give her a chance,” Kinji suggested, “She’s nice, and you’d probably like her.” However, Kirara isn’t hearing any of it. “You’re just trying to make me jealous.” Kirara whines, pouting at him, “Is it working?”
Days had passed, silently trying to get Kirara on your side, and you almost started praying at one point. Trying to think of a moment or a day, you could get her alone, but that was impossible; she was always at Hakari's side, and it was starting to piss you off. Because why did his greedy ass always get to have her by his side? It was like Hakari was doing it on purpose, especially when he invited you up, smirking at you whenever he slid his hand down her waist.
Fuck ass Kinji Hakari.
It was late, and Hakari decided he needed more of whatever he was drinking, and left you two to be alone; however, not leaving without a wink to both of you.
It’s awkward, and suddenly the floor looks more interesting.
But alas, you swallow your pride and look at her, “I really-uh- like your piercings, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“Did you dye your own hair? Or… yeah, okay… never mind.” You mumbled off, looking at your hands, mentally cursing yourself. What else could you say? Would she even listen?
“I think a pink strip would look nice on you,” Kirara mumbled, snapping your head up, surprised she even answered. “Your hair, that is, you have pretty hair.”
Definitely a start.
“Yeah? I don’t think it would be as good as yours. What dye do you use?” Kirara doesn’t notice, but you’re definitely flirting with her.
After that night, she started to open up more, small talk, compliments here and there.
“Your ‘Kin-Chan’ is a very lucky man, yknow.” You state, one night, as Kirara decided to patch you up one night, “I know he is.” She shoots back, a small smile on her face. “You’re very beautiful, Kirara. I seriously mean it when he’s a lucky man.”
Her body freezes, and suddenly she forgets how to clean up a cut, “Oh, well, thank you. In a way, he’s lucky to have you as a fighter, yknow.” Kirara responded, moving to dab that nasty cut across your nose, “You think so, Kirara?” “I know so.”
“All done.” She whispers, backing away from you, buzzing from the fluorescent lights was the only sound, and both of you are quiet. You wanna say something so bad, get closer to her, talk to her more, and before she opens the bathroom door, you’re jumping off from the counter, grabbing your wrist, “You’re the most gorgeous person I think I’ve seen, like ever. Fuck, it makes me angry that Hakari gets you all to yourself and mmf-”
She’s kissing you.
And you really don’t care about Hakari; in fact, you’re sure he sent her down here, and you’re lucky he did. (And so will he, later on.)
She’s pulling back before you can even kiss her back. “You think I’m gorgeous?” Kirara quite literally giggles, and you’re nodding your head, “Fuck, yes, I do, who wouldn’t?”
This time, you do get to kiss her back, hands grabbing at her waist, finally making up for all the times Hakari did just that. Biting her bottom lip, for more access, and she gives you just that, moaning as you suck on her tongue, it’s like she’s luring out every moan and whimper in your body, and you feel like you’re in heaven.
You pull back this time, both breathing hard, hands on each other, “I think you’re pretty too, y/n.”
Hakari isn’t dumb; he sent his girl down there for a reason, and he’s not dumb when he sees Kirara with a dazed expression and now glossy lips.
“Have fun?” He asked, taking Kirara under his shoulder, “Told you, she was nice.”
Kirara is swatting his hand off her shoulder.
Friday nights are your favorite, not just because you’re fighting, but because now you’re on that couch with both of them, sitting beside Kirara, as she cuddles in on your side, “You did so well! Kin-Chan and me could see the fever within you.” She laughs, fingers going up and down your side, “I think it’s hot when you’re amped up, n/n.”
Hakari's lips tug at a smile, before he slides you and Kirara to him, you now in the middle of the two. “I think it’s hot too, y/n, seeing the passionate drip off you while you fight.”
All you can do is hum, skin heating up, brain overloading from their compliments, “Oh! I almost forgot!” Kirara shoots up, grabbing a bag from the corner, shoving it into your lap, “You asked what hair dye I use, that’s it.” As you’re opening the bag, seeing the materials you need, and it's pink hair dye.
Hakari was wondering what the bleach and pink dye were for, and now it made sense.
‘You dying your strip pink?” He asked, as Kirara bent down to choose a bubblegum pink, ‘I’m not.’ ‘Then what for?’
“I’ll dye it, if you want, I do still think pink would suit you.” Kirara smiles, going back to your side like she didn’t just make your entire week. “Come over tomorrow, it’s a reset day anyway.” Hakari smiles, feeling like his heart may actually jump out of his chest and ruin his whole tough guy act.
And yet you can’t help but think you may not be ever leaving their side, especially when weeks later, Hakari pulls you aside, “You make Kirara a happy girl, hope you know you’re not leaving us now.”
a/n: i had too much fun writing this i fear…. i love me some kirara hoshi… oh and hakari ig…. 😛
I do not own anything, do not copy or feed my works to A.I
the first mistake was that the dorm room door wasn’t locked. the second mistake was assuming anyone would ever see 𝓨𝓾𝓳𝓲 𝓘𝓽𝓪𝓭𝓸𝓻𝓲 like this.
to the world, especially to people like nobara and gojo, yuji was sunshine incarnate. a sweet golden retriever with fists. he was so earnest and loud. the type of person who blushes at dirty jokes and apologizes more than finding excuses.
right now he was nothing like that.
you were beneath him, pressed into the mattress of his bed. his large frame loomed over you while his cock stretched your pussy wide open. his thrusts were unrelenting and unforgiving. you couldn’t think. you could barely breathe, also because his large hand was wrapped around your throat - tight enough to remind you who was in charge.
your pulse fluttered under his palm as you gasped his name. his warm eyes had turned dark with intent as he fucked you into submission.
“eyes on me,” he ordered.
you knew when he used that voice that he meant business. so, you obeyed. as a reward his thumb shifted to your windpipe, and applied pressure. heat coiled low in your stomach at how effortlessly he controlled the pace, the rhythm, even your breathing.
you were so close, and then— the door swung open.
“yuji, have you heard—”
you didn’t need to turn your head to know who it was. the sheer stunned vacuum of energy gave it away. yuji didn’t move, nor flinch, his hand still rested on your throat.
there was a long, fragile pause.
“what. the. hell. am i looking at?” nobara shrieked.
gojo, for once, didn’t have a witty comment ready. his blindfold hid his eyes, but the tilt of his head screamed theatrical disbelief. “yuji?” he drawled slowly. “is that you? or did sukuna finally decide to redecorate your personality?”
you were frozen and expected fully that yuji would scramble off and turn red. he did no such thing. his gaze flicked lazily toward the door, utterly unimpressed. “we’re busy.”
nobara made a strangled noise. “busy?!”
it felt almost grounding when yuji’s fingers tightened around your throat. even now he was protective as his body shielded yours completely.
“close the door,” he added calmly. “and knock next time.”
gojo’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again theatrically. nobara looked like she had just watched a puppy grow fangs. “since when do you—” she started.
yuji didn’t raise his voice when he held their gaze with an intensity that made even gojo pause. “out.”
there was something in his expression that said this wasn’t a joke, wasn’t a performance. this was his space and his girl.
gojo slowly pushed the door closed with one long finger. “fascinating,” he muttered. “our little golden retriever bites.”
the door clicked shut and the silence returned. yuji exhaled softly, gaze immediately returning to you. the hardness in his eyes melted a fraction. but his dominance stayed.
“sorry,” he murmured, brushing his thumb gently along your jaw now. “where were we?” you swallowed as your pussy clenched tightly around his swollen cock. he smiled slightly. “right,” he whispered as he leaned down. “i was about to show you who owns this body.”
