Loose Threads
Alpha!Doflamingo x Omega!Reader
Masterlist
Summary: Omegas are a luxury. A status symbol. And there’s nothing Doflamingo values more than status.
Warnings: Drugging, Assault, Discrimination, Manhunts, not proofread
A/N: Got this in my head and couldn't get it out.
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One out of ten thousand.
That was the odds of presenting as an Omega. Of having the genetic mutation that only 0.01% of the population had. And you somehow managed to draw the lucky number that would catapult you into popularity. Because with the rarity came an exclusivity.
Could you really consider yourself part of the upper echelon of society if you didn’t have one?
They weren’t even sold on auction markets because as soon as there was even a whiff they were snatched up and given to only the most exclusive, people waiting years on a list to receive one.
Entire islands were destroyed just for one person if any resistance was shown. It became standard procedure for Marines and hunters to show up on islands after getting a tip-off about someone possibly being an Omega, all too eager for the reward and to get rid of someone who could easily cause mass destruction just with their very presence.
Was it really a surprise when Omegas went into hiding, retreating to the most remote and dangerous places they could find in an attempt to be able to live a relatively normal life.
As an unfortunate result they developed a reputation; lack of contact with other left them with less robust immune systems. They were shy and nervous in nature, junky at the slightest sound. The desolate places hey hid often having a lack of resources-of the low-profile jobs they were forced to work leaving them well below the poverty line- malnutrition and exposure leaving them weak and insinuating they needed protection.
There were no physical differences between Omegas and other presentations apart from the size of canines. It was almost like nature was mocking you with the pitifully small fangs you were given, only distinguishable by the pointed end. Like someone had taken a file to the end of a normal tooth. Meanwhile it wasn’t uncommon for alphas to have them so large they would protrude from their mouth. Betas lacked the lower teeth to make room as well, even if their canines weren’t large.
That had been one of the hardest things to do, pulling out your own teeth. You couldn’t go to any normal dentist or even underground doctor, and this was far before you learned how to make contact with any other Omegas while having the certainty they truly were what they said.
All you had was a pair of pliers and a bottle of whisky, crossing your fingers and hoping you didn’t pull the wrong one.
Entire jobs were dedicated to rooting out hidden Omegas and discovering havens. The world government themselves had entire divisions dedicated to the task, chock full of Alphas and Betas with a nose that could smell someone opening a can of soup three miles away.
Solitude and secrecy became a hallmark of any free Omega. A life of constantly looking over your shoulder and shying away from anything that could draw attention.
Which is exactly why you lived the opposite.
Dressrossa was a dangerous place to be for anyone. While the city flourished and the occupants didn’t have the struggles of other poorer islands, the golden rule was to never go poking around where you weren’t supposed to. Marines hardly ever snooped around and bounty hunters had a hard time tracking anyone down in the maze of the city.
It was bright and loud with constantly moving crowds and an endless number of people with a variety of backgrounds. So many eyes and ears that everyone knew someone for something. The complete opposite of where anyone would expect to find an Omega.
It was perfect.
While nobody noteworthy you weren’t unknown. You had friends and associates, making a decent living in your tailor shop in a respectable but affordable part of the city, inherited from your predecessor. A kind Alpha who had been a tad eccentric about embroidery.
They didn’t care that you had no references or previous experience, only excited to share their fixation with someone who was willing to listen to them ramble about threads and minute differences of shades that could only be seen in the light. Even more grateful when you proved good enough to take over the majority of the tailoring side of the business while they were able to work on the embroidery orders.
Finally they had retired to a summer island known for its fine silks and threads due to the spider population, leaving the shop to you to spend their days doing what they loved.
You were sad to see them go, having been the first friend you made after coming to Dressrosa. They had even let you stay above the hop for free when you hadn’t been able to afford rent. The life of an Omega wasn’t one of trust, but they were something close. More so than you’d let anyone else get.
While you enjoyed the work well enough, the initial reason you had been drawn to the shop was its neighbor.
Side to side with your own humble business on the crowded streets was a perfume shop, everything made in house and of high quality. Not only did it draw wealthier clients who often spilled over into your shop, but the overwhelming scent acted as a plausible cover. It would be too obvious if you yourself owned it, and closer to your heats when you couldn’t completely cover your scent it was inevitable that a special agent from the Government would come around, claiming they had gotten a tip about the scent of an Omega in the area.
You felt a bit guilty each time you watched them cart the owner off, a rather agreeable young Beta, especially when he would come back complaining that all they had fed him as they held him in questioning for hours while being assaulted by scent triggers was the same bitter drink.
In your defense it wasn’t always your own scent that drew them there. He did strive to make perfume as close to the scent of an Omega as he could. All perfume makers did. But as close as they could get, it would always fall short of the real thing.
One of the primary reasons the government hunted Omegas as they did, apart from giving them to the Celestial dragons of course. Where they could be ‘properly’ taken care of.
Omega scent was a highly valued item. Even more than some devil fruits with just a few ounces going for a million berri. Not only did it lure all in the area, it acts as a calming agent more effective than any sedative. A defense mechanism from Mother Nature, the small mercy turned into a curse, and those who hunted Omegas had to wear masks in order to not be distracted.
In highly concentrated doses it was essentially a truth serum that none could resist. Highly valued by the world government, criminals, and pirates alike. Even Omegas themselves had to be careful, the scent working as a dual-edged blade. It could just as easily drive someone into a frenzy as it could calm them depending on their demeanor.
The extraction process was painful from what you heard. Even if the conditions Omegas were kept in were nothing short of luxurious, they were paid for with their unique evolutionary defense and squeezed for every last drop.
You had once heard a Marine call it a mercy compared to what the rest of the world would do to them, five drinks in and stumbling over his own words. As if he knew what mercy was. As if he had ever stooped so low as to ask an Omega their opinion.
It's not as big of a worry to you, the perfume samples you got in exchange for lining the boxes of his more affluent clients orders with plush silk acting as the perfect cover along with the general scent that tends to hang in the air. Indeed, you sometimes thought you were the one who brought him more business with the whispers of scent that hung in the air, drawing customers.
You were content, and had no intention of changing anything. With little threat to your peaceful life why would you? So when the door chimed you thought nothing of it and greeted them as any other customer.
To your surprise it was a girl looking much too young to be wandering around on her own. It wasn’t uncommon for children to get separated from their parents in the busy streets and more than once you had seen someone running by in a tizzy as they called out.
“Hello there.” You say, crouching a bit to get closer to her height.
Despite being lost she doesn’t seem overly concerned, her eyes locked on to the display window where a number of dresses and suits sat on mannequins.
“That one.” She points to one of the displays. A deep purple dress that hits at the knee, the sleeves with a rounded cap. “I want that one.”
“Oh. Okay?” You try not to sound too surprised, taken aback by her blunt, confident nature. If she wandered in here then it meant her guardian was likely somewhere close by so why not keep her a bit entertained until they found her. It’s not like you were particularly busy at the moment, and there were no pressing orders to be completed for the day.
Sugar, as you learned her name was, wasn’t crying as you had seen many lost children do. Instead she seemed content to look around the store, standing still as you made a few simple alterations to the dress she now wore. Her previous clothes sat on the counter, neatly folded, though she refused to take off her crown. Her smile only seemed to grow as she watched the mirror, entirely focused on herself as you stepped around her.
“What do you think?” She wasn’t asking you but the doll she carried with her, holding the thing out in front of her, its limbs limp as it stared back impassively.
“I think you’re right. It’s pretty.”
“Would you like me to make a matching one for them?” You ask, still a bit on edge.
From the ease of which she ordered you around and seemed content to largely ignore your presence, you could tell she was used to getting things and likely came from a wealthy family. If you played your cards right you could get another regular customer, even if it did mean giving up some fabric for free. That color wasn’t particularly popular in any case, and you had made the dress in a last-ditch effort to use it up and free up some space for other bolts in the back.
Sugar agreed, seeming to find true interest in you for the first time as you gathered your supplies and headed to your sewing machine. She seemed hesitant when you went to take measurements for the doll, almost aggressive, but quickly calmed when you assured her she could still hold it.
The garment wasn’t large, but the smaller size actually made things a bit more difficult and required more hand sewing to ensure the stitches were the right tension.
It took about forty minutes to complete, absorbed in your work as you made a flawless replica of the dress Sugar currently wore. Once it was done and slipped on the doll, she inspected it with a keen eye.
Apparently whatever she had been deciding on was good enough, smiling nice again as she tossed the doll lightly up into the air, going back to ignoring you.
She was an odd one, you decided as you put away your materials. Bet then so were most of the people in Dressrosa. It was practically a requirement to survive here for any length of time while still maintaining your sanity.
The bell rang once again, and when you looked up this time, expecting another customer or even the girl’s parents, your pulse jumped.
There in the doorway stood a man who looked as if he could be melting, so massive that he had to bend nearly in half to fit through. His cloak brushed the edges of the frame, a persistent mucus left on everything he touched.
You found yourself cringing and hoping he wouldn’t touch any of the fabrics, though you didn’t dare to speak the words out loud. It was Trebol after all, and even your own nature of staying out of anyone’s business had left you with knowledge of some of the key players of Dressrosa. Namely the ones who tended to be more prone to violence, and Trebol was on the top of that list.
“Sugar! There you are.” He walked further into the shop, attention locked firmly on the girl as your heart dropped. You knew there were more members of the Donquixote family, and that they were all dangerous, but this little girl was one of them? You’d never seen her out and about with the other members of the family whenever there were bigger events they decided to go to.
“What are you wearing?” Trebol’s eyes scanned her over quickly, betraying the slight panic he held.
“That lady gave me this dress, and she made one for Polly.” Sugar held up her doll. “Don’t you think we look pretty?”
Trebol’s head snapped to you, as if noticing the presence of another for the first time. Swallowing thickly, you tilted your head in submission out of fear disguised as respect, unsure if you would be able to properly keep the disgust from your face.
“She wandered in here, sir. I thought it would be best to keep her in one place until her guardian could find her.”
Your voice held strong despite the slight tremble of your legs, hoping that the man wouldn’t lose his temper.
It was no secret that Trebol wasn’t shy on doling out punishment and had in fact been a reason why he was one of the most prominently known Donquiote family members among the general populace.
Maybe it was just his ire at being a Beta surrounded by so many Alphas in a position of power, feeling the need to raise himself to their level somehow. A good guess, as you spot the fang enlargers capping his normal ones. His devil fruit must make it difficult to keep them properly in place with the connection. They were hard enough to make look natural without a slippery body moving them about, your own requiring the strongest sealant you could find and even then having to be reapplied twice a week.
Except while his were for aesthetic and ego, your were survival, the sharp juts nearly nonexistent in comparison to some of the Alphas that nearly poked out their mouth.
His scent, like that of glue fresh from the bottle, was awful enough as is and you didn’t even want to think about how much stronger it would be if he were an Alpha.
Entire families and shops wiped out for a perceived slight as small as looking at them wrong. And here you were with a kid who was apparently a part of that family. It would be all too easy to call it a kidnapping, and in fact you’d heard of such an attempt before. It didn’t end well for them.
“Can we get lunch? I’m hungry.” Sugar interrupted, cutting the tension. Trebol’s attention was drawn back to the young girl, apparently no longer interested in you. Any dismissal was preferable to being perceived by someone like him.
“The chefs should have something prepared.” He said as he grabs her clothes from the counter and leads her out, neither of them paying you any mind, or for the clothes. But you couldn’t help but feel relief in place of anger, collapsing against the counter the moment they were gone, body unable to accept your survival of the encounter.
At least it was over, and you never had to see any of that wretched family again.
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A week later you receive a summons from the castle. Well, not so much a summons as an escort, guards showing up and hauling you away without even the chance to lock your doors as your neighbors look on. Of course none of them would step in, and you didn’t expect them to. It would be useless to try and the scene wasn’t uncommon.
You’d never been to the castle, only having seen it from a distance. There was never a desire to be closer, but it seemed there was no choice, not only getting a good look of the delicate moldings along the walls that rose high above, but an up close and personal sight of the interior as you were dragged through the halls. No matter how hard you dug your heels in, the two toy soldiers continued on, relentless and unwavering in their strength as they carried you up the stairs and to the top floor.
The only reason you could come up with was the visit of Sugar and Trebol the week before. Maybe he had finally remembered you and decided that he was angry about it. Or it could be that Sugar decided she didn’t like the dress after all, and that was reason enough to drag you here.
They finally stopped in front of a rather ornate door, knocking with a heavy fist.
“Enter!”
With the doors pushed open you were once again carried inside. Any struggle you had was put on hold as you spotted the man behind the desk.
Donqioute Doflamingo.
He looked just as he did in his pictures that were scattered generously through the kingdom. Once there had been an event at which you had seen him address the crowd from a podium, and even then he had cut an intimidating figure despite his apparent easy nature. Something about him set your nerves on edge and you were quick to make yourself scarce, the feeling following you the rest of the day.
He was even more so now, a towering man even when sitting. You couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses he wore but could still feel the way his gaze fixed upon you as you were sat in the chair across from him. The guards kept their hands firmly on your shoulders until he waved them off, to which they left without hesitation, leaving only you and Doflamingo in the room.
The scent of Alpha permeated the room, a near nauseating mix of rose and iron. It was impossible to tell which was his natural scent and which was an addition. Neither were pleasant.
Doflamingo stared at you with his head tilted back, legs crossed and elbows resting on the arms of his chair as his hands traced the papers on the desk in front of him.
Chancing a quick glance as the movement drew your attention- as well as the fact you were sure meeting his eye would be taken as an insult- you found yourself wishing you hadn’t, feeling your body go cold as you saw your name at the top in bold letters. It was filled with lines upon lines of information and a few dozen photos of you, one being your citizen registration photo taken in a headshot while the others depicted you clearly unaware of the camera.
Silence stretches, and the longer anything goes unspoken the less feeling you have in your legs.
Is he trying to bait you into speaking first? Given the situation it didn’t seem right considering he was the only one who knew why you were here. While it wouldn’t be proper manners to speak first it was also rude of him not to say anything, but the majority of your energy was spent on not letting the scent of your panic raise too high.
Sunlight streams in through the open windows, the pleasant weather f the island allowing a gentle breeze to carry in the smell of the ocean and cut through his overwhelming scent. It was obnoxious and inconsiderate to have it lay so heavily with others in the room, but then who did he have to be considerate of? Who would complain if they valued their life?
“So,” Doflamingo finally speaks. You jump at the volume after the deafening silence. “You’re the tailor I’ve heard about. Sugar has been quite happy with your work.”
Ah, so there was at least that scenario you could cross off your list. Must be a kidnapping charge then, though if Sugar liked the dress then maybe it wouldn’t be as harsh. You preferred loosing a limb over imprisonment. One you could live without, find a new profession if you had to. A prison sentence proved a whole number of issues, and any end result wouldn’t look good for you.
Discovery would be inevitable.
Doflamingo flicks through the papers, humming as he reads the information with an air of performance.
“A Beta who moved here eight years ago and took over the shop of an established business. No family to speak of, though your neighbors seem to think you’re a sweet little thing, if not a bit reserved.”
He pauses, expectant, silence prompting you to speak even if you wish for nothing more than to stay silent in a vain hope you can delay whatever inevitable end he’s getting at.
“I don’t see the need to poke my nose where it doesn’t belong, sir.” You hesitantly tack on the last part, unsure of how to address him. Certainly not by his name or designation. That would be far too personal, and your majesty seemed ostentatious. Then again nearly everything about him was.
It seems an acceptable answer from the way he grins, and though it’s undoubtedly one of joy, it’s not the warm kind of happiness that comes with it but instead a biting malice waiting to be let out.
“Smart girl.” He produces a familiar purple fabric from his pocket. Much too small for even a child, but perfect for a doll. “But still, I can’t help but wonder why I caught traces of Omega on the fabric.”
You swallow thickly, doing your best to remain calm while feeling as if the floor had dropped from under you, nails digging into your palms.
The fabric storage was always hot and humid, your scent thicker there than anywhere else with it located right below your bedroom on the second floor. Not a pressing concern considering you were the only one to ever go in there, and the lingering scent helped to sell more clothes.
Customers were drawn to the goods even if they didn’t know why.
You didn’t know exactly what constituted an Omega scent, how it was any more indistinguishable from others in the variety that swarmed together. Your neighbor explained, after asking under the guise of professional curiosity, that it was supposed to have a unique light sweetness to it, though you could never detect what he was saying when you tried to pick it up in your own scent.
Normally nobody had a good enough nose to pick up exactly what it was and on the off chance they did you gave the same explanation you did now.
“My shop is located next to a perfume store. The scents often travel over from there and Omega scented perfumes are very popular.”
You do your best to smile, though it comes out more pained than anything else.
”I’m sure he would be overjoyed to hear your compliments of his work.”
Instead of responding, Doflamingo gets up from his desk and quickly rounds the end to where you sit.
Your first instinct is to put as much distance between you as possible, only to find yourself unable to move, though not through a lack of trying. As if being physically restrained, and the harder you pull the more painful it becomes.
“No need to run off.” Doflamingo practically purrs, placing himself behind you. His hands settle on your shoulders, large enough to wrap around your arms with ease as he leans down.
You hear him inhale deeply, as if huffing the air, skin prickling at the sound. It’s all you can do to hope that he doesn’t pick up your true scent, hidden beneath layers of body oil crafted to mimic the scent of Betas, as well as the skin peeling scrub you give yourself every other day.
Your only worry was the suppressants you took to top it all off had been late, arriving only that morning. They weren’t anything you would find even on the black market, specially crafted by one Omega who had come up with a concoction some years early that could suppress scents to near nothing by accumulating in the glands and inhibit the enzymes that trigger the release in the first place. Sure the areas were a bit tender to the touch and itched, and you were more prone to migraines, but that was a small price to pay.
Doflamingo stands, body tense, before pulling away with a growl that makes your stomach flutter. A natural reaction that only serves to put you further on edge.
It’s likely he’s trying to get your scent to go out further, to allow the trace of Omega to peek through everything else, but you’re not about to let eight years of secrecy go down the drain. You didn’t get this far by being that easy to find and is one of the biggest differences between you and what someone may consider a ‘wild Omega’ living in one of the safe havens.
Scent control is a fickle thing. Hard for all presentations, though Omegas simply because they put off so much scent, and Betas due to their muted abilities to do so. Alphas are never taught a majority of the time.
Unlike others you’ve spent years perfecting it, hardly a trace getting out even under duress.
The one time you’d been taken in for questioning- during your time of high travel, and had been one of your reasons for settling down in Dressrosa, wary of the ship checks that could be spring out of nowhere- they’d quickly released you, putting in your record that you were confirmed Beta when they didn’t pick up the sweet scent after you were repeatedly dunked in cold water and blasted in the face with the scent from an Alpha in rut.
No apologies of course, and it had triggered you to go into heat only a week later with barely enough time to hide yourself away.
It seems Doflamingo can detect just as much as them, looking less than pleased as he returns to his seat. It’s bth concerning and a relief as you’re saved from him discovering you but also not wanting to increase his ire anymore.
He seems to contemplate as his tongue runs over his fangs in thought before reaching to the drawer beside him. For a moment you think he’s about to pull a gun and shoot you. Odd, given the carpet looks expensive and getting blood on it would be a shame when he could easily strangle you with a singular hand. But maybe he’s just so rich it doesn’t matter. He could have a copy made and in place by the end of the day.
Instead of a weapon he pulls out something much more baffling; a bowl of fruit. It seemed all too innocent settled between you on the rich dark wood of the dark. The bright red skin seems almost artificial. Like a warning sign to stay away.
“How rude of me not to offer you anything after coming all the way here.” He gestures to the bowl in a display of faux-affability. A gracious host. “Please, enjoy.”
You eye the fruit, unsure of what he’s getting at, but it’s clear you’re not leaving without accepting at least one.
Your hand hovers- relieved to find that you can move your arms once again- carefully selecting the smallest without trying to be too obvious. It’s hardly larger than a grape, and subtly rolling it between your fingers you’re satisfied with the slight give. It doesn’t seem hard enough to pose any threat to disturbing your fang enlargers.
It has to be poison. There’s no other explanation for the way Doflamingo’s smile widens as you bring it to your mouth, not even the slightest scent detectable. The thought should terrify you more. It’ll likely be painful knowing his reputation, but no more so than if you had been discovered by him off all people. Death would be preferable. A mercy even. You heard of many who took the same path when discovered, and any transport of Omegas was considered high security both inside and out, guards only allowed to carry non-leathal weapons and keeping watch constantly.
You maintain a calm exterior as you eat, the honeyed taste popping in your mouth as your teeth bite through the skin. So sweet it makes your jaw hurt, tongue tingling. There’s a small pit in the center, of which you carefully work around and store in your cheek as subtly as possible as you would any other fruit.
Doflamingo seems to be waiting for the poison to hit, sitting forward eagerly. But as seconds pass, then minutes, nothing happens.
Frowning, the man across from you pushed the bowl closer, prompting you to eat more. But with each one you swallow he seems to become increasingly puzzled, the crease between his brows growing deeper as you ate until your stomach hurt and half the bowl was gone, feeling like a chipmunk with the seeds hidden in the sides of your mouth, hoping it wasn’t obvious.
Doflamingo gets up suddenly, pacing the floor in front of one of the many tall windows. His hand rubs at his chin, occasionally stealing a glance to where you still sit, wondering what he could be mumbling to himself. While he’s busy you take the chance to spit the mouthful of seeds into your hand, hiding them within your pocket.
Finally he stops and turns, stomping over and grabbing the front of your shirt. He was none too gentle as he pulls you up, held above the ground at eye level.
“You will be my new personal tailor. I don’t care where you are or what you’re doing. Anytime you’re called upon you come, got it?” He practically seethes.
Even as your stomach drops you quickly nod, grasping at the fabric of your shirt as it slowly cuts off your oxygen. He holds you there a moment longer before dropping you, heading back to his seat and kicking his legs up as you gasp, knees now bruised but alive.
Before you know it you're escorts are back, once again seizing you in their grasp and carrying you away.
“One more thing.” Doflamingo called after you, the toy soldiers halting long enough for you to look over your shoulder. The same sadistic smirk was back on his face, showing of the respectable canines that lay hidden.
His hands gathered the papers on the desk. The dozens of photos taken while you remained oblivious.
The message was clear.
He would be watching.
_____________ oOo𝛀oOo _____________
You don’t attempt to run. Not because of the warning, but because you know it would seem too suspicious. And any time you got close to the marina you felt as if you were being watched, even as you simply enjoyed watching the ships come and go.
Sure, being so close to the royal family wasn’t ideal for anyone who valued their life, but to try and escape would be practically admitting your secret.
Doflamingo had the suspicion you were an Omega. Or at the very least you knew where one was. It seemed to be the center of topics whenever you were called upon for one thing or another. A button that had come off or a jacket with sleeves just long enough to bother. Things that could easily be fixed in your shop but instead forced you to trek up to the castle, closing your shop for a good chunk of the day.
He would comment upon any news he had heard of Omegas being found or simply his opinions. It was blatantly antagonistic, though you wouldn’t expect anything else from him. He seemed to relish in the discomfort and the game of cat and mouse he would play with others, his patience surprising for his temper. As long as he was the cat that is.
“Such stupid little creatures.” He remarked as you took his measurements, the man insisting he had to be in his clothes as you hand sewed the alterations. Suspicions told you it was on the chance you accidentally prick him with a needle and he could punish you. Or maybe he wanted it to happen because he was a masochist. Both were equally likely, though he seemed to enjoy inflicting pain much more than receiving. “Pathetic really. They should be grateful to have so many willing to look after them. What do you think?”
He looks down as you hem his pants, trying to hold your scowl for more than his words as you stare at the pinned fabric. It seemed he was allergic to having anything within three inches of his shin. A fashion atrocity.
“I wouldn’t know sir. I’ve never met one.”
It wasn’t a lie. The underground organization that delivered your medication was never done face to face. Only little paper creatures that seemed to be the work of a devil fruit user.
You couldn’t remember either of your parents, dropped off at an orphanage around five. There were a few vague memories, but nothing you could confirm wasn’t part of some dream or hallucination. Sometimes you wonder if they would regret not keeping you if they found out what you were and the money you could have brought them.
Doflamingo stares a moment longer, mouth set in a firm line, before stepping off the stand he had been on. In the process of which he steps on your foot, his weight and the intentional force behind it enough to nearly have a distressed chirp escaping. Something that only Omegas do. An Alpha or Beta would growl or yelp. A warning to not do such a thing again. An Omega chirp would alert pain, and any others close by that there was danger.
Instead you swallow it down, doing your best not to put weight on the appendage. The pain mixed with the heavy layering of his scent over what felt like every inch of the room into a dreadful concoction, counting down the seconds until you could leave.
His attempt at getting a reaction out of you wouldn’t work, just as it hadn’t the past five months. At this rate his suspicions should be all but cleared, and in ways it seemed they had, much to your own smugness.
Omegas go into heat roughly four times a year. Those first three months he seemed to always be looming, calling upon you at least once a week to come to the palace and even keeping you confined for multiple days with what you could only describe as busy work. Endless hemming and adjustments. And realistically how many suits did one man need? Especially when he seemed content to lounge in whatever he wanted, normally being those dreadful flood pants and shirts he never bothered to button, giving a generous view of his chest. Of which he walked around puffed out like a peacock, seeming all the more bird-like with his feathered coat.
All the while you were kept in what was by all means a luxurious room. Much nicer than your own or any place you had ever stayed, the sheets like water as they flowed over the bed. The pillows were stuffed with feathers instead of cotton, and the rug felt like walking on a cloud.
The enjoyment was undercut by Doflamingo’s scent that seemed to permeate every inch of the place, like he came in and scented it while you were gone. Though you wouldn’t put it past him. As such the comforting bedspread and pillows were chucked to the floor, the mattress still comfortable without them.
But as one bleeds into another, three full months, then four, Doflamingo’s temper only seemed to get worse. His jovial mask began to slip more and more as his temper spiked. He lashed out more. At you, servants, and even other family members. No doubt pissed he hadn’t found a shred of evidence against you. It seemed he had a difficult time accepting he was wrong, or at least having all the facts pointing that way.
You would give it to him, he was a persistent bastard, determined to get what he wanted. Unfortunately you were equally so, and just clever enough to stay one step ahead. One loose thread could unravel your entire life.
It would be easier if he came outright and said it, but it seemed that would only take the fun out of his game. Still, you couldn't go a single place without feeling as if you were being watched, his threat of surveillance holding true as you had spotted someone trailing you more than once.
They could follow all they wanted, but would never catch you. At least you didn’t feel as threatened walking alone at night, knowing you already had a stalker who was under orders of the most deranged person in Dressrosa already.
But all this wouldn’t be your issue for much longer. Because as summer rolled around so did your vacation time, offering an escape from his increasing efforts to get you to expose yourself.
Well, vacation time was the cover. Really it was when you would go to a deserted island and spend your time alone and in peace. It was like a super power you had, the cycle only coming around every six months. A large contributor to your continued success in secrecy. An abnormality within the abnormalities, though likely due to the heavy medication use.
You had little care to how it was potentially affecting you as long as it wasn’t actively killing, only content with the fact you only had to lock yourself away twice a year. Two perfectly normal vacation times that plenty of others took.
Of which you had no intention of telling Doflamingo of until he brought it up himself.
”You’re traveling away from the island.” He said, pushing a plate towards you, laden with the fruit.
You look over the choices before selecting the same one he had given you at your initial meeting. They had been all he offered during your first visits, though even when others were offered you found yourself drawn to them.
The pits were annoying to work around, but they were small enough to hide between your cheek and teeth until you got the opportunity to spit them out. It was a shame this was the only place you could get them, and made a few attempts to grow them yourself but none had been successful.
They weren’t poisonous in any case. You surmised such after seeing him eat a handful once, though his face soured. Despite having looked for them in the market you came up short. Likely an expensive import and his attempt to woo you with his money and long speeches on how Omegas needed to be well-kept.
Apparently his family had one, but it was stolen away by his brother, and he often lamented the fact he wasn’t able to find them after they had grown to maturity, too well hidden.
They were well lavished as he liked to tell you, wanting for nothing, nearly the world at their beck and call. But you wouldn’t trade all the comfort in the world for having to spend any more time around him. You only hoped that the Omega he spoke of was living free and safe today.
”Yes. I’m visiting the previous owner of my shop and mentor. Their island has a great influx of fabric this time of year as the spiders molt.”
Your mentor’s island would only be the first stop, though according to any logs that were kept it was your only one. They had already given the all clear to borrow their own personal boat for what they thought was some sight seeing while you were there. Normally you would return it after riding out your heat on the perfect little island you’d found, and take a ship back to spend a few days cooling off, making it appear as if you were on the same island the entire time.
Except this time you weren’t coming back.
Doflamingo had gotten far too close for your liking, and the desire of other Omegas to be away from the world made far more sense now. To live in society like this was freeing, but also brought havoc to your nervous system. It would be nice to be truly free for a little while before moving on. Maybe you could find a haven of Omegas to spend some time around, though they were near impossible to find without a contact.
Alabastia was a growing market from what you heard. With a new name and identity, starting over there would be a dream, especially considering your current change of fortunes in Dresserosa.
“I will be unable to attend to your needs for those two weeks, but I’m sure the place on Seraph street will be able to help you.”
Doflamingo sighs, throwing his head back dramatically and throwing an arm over his face.
________________________________
You’re in the middle of double checking your luggage, prepared to leave before first light the next morning, when you receive a summons once again.
This time it’s Pica, waiting outside your shop to guide you to the castle. It had become an unnerving thing to have guards appear once a week, but this was a new development and for a moment you thought he was here to prevent you from leaving.
Despite your time spent in the castle you didn’t see the other members of the Donquixote family very often. They seemed quite scarce apart from when they dropped by to talk to Doflamingo. Trebol had lingered once longer than needed, his eyes watching as you worked. It made your skin crawl, twitching and attempting to use Doflamingo as a buffer between you.
The Warlord seemed to note your shift, growling at his staff officer.
Since then, you rarely saw any of the others. Which is why you were so surprised to see Pica now.
Apparently something had happened to remove a good chunk of the normal pink feathers adorning Doflamingo’s coat and he needed it to be repaired before you left. A little part of you died inside, hands already cramping at the thought of having to hand sew all the feathers back into place.
Even though you wanted to toss caution to the wind and finally tell the pompous Alpha where he could shove his feathers, you instead complied as always and allowed yourself to be taken to the palace once again.
Upon arriving you were led to his office as always, finding him relaxing at leisure on his couch out on the balcony, a servant standing close by.
“I’m glad to have caught you.” He seems in an oddly cheery mood, dampened only slightly as you decline the bowl of fruit offered. Normally you would allow yourself to indulge- a small reward in return for being dragged here- but are in no mood.
“I’m told your coat needs repairs?”
He snaps his fingers, another servant quickly bringing the garment forward. It's definitely seen better days.
What looks like a large portion of the back has been nearly plucked clean, revealing the pink fabric beneath. It reminds you of a plucked bird, wondering how the damage had even happened in the first place. It would take hours, and while not impossible, time consuming and annoying.
When you turn to set your tools up, only to be redirected to another spot out on the balcony near Doflamingo, a chair and table with a mannequin already set up. Internally you groan, but know you should have expected something of the sort.
As you work, the sun beats down harshly, punishing under its rays. Doflamingo seems unbothered, reclined as he soaks in the warmth like a big pampered cat. His size is only fractionally diminished by the absence of his fluffy coat, still as broad as ever.
You can feel him watching as you work, eyes drilling holes into the back of your head as you pointedly look away from him under the guise of having your back to the sun to see your work better.
It’s hot, especially for being the tailend of summer, and you quickly realize your fault of not spending more time outside, body unused to the heat when you kept your store cool. The needle gets increasingly more difficult to work with, hands clammy as the sharp metal slips.
“Feel a bit warm there?” Doflamingo calls out, resting on his side with his head propped up by an arm. He’s abandoned his shirt at this point in favor of escaping tan lines, the pretentious man he is.
“No sir. Perfectly fine.” You grit out, swearing under your breath as you prick your finger as the needle slips.
Didn't he have anything better to do with his time? How was the kingdom even being run at this point, or did he schedule out time just to be an annoyance.
He leans over, whispering to the servant. They disappear with a bow, returning minutes later with a glass promptly forced into your hand.
Resisting the urge to glare at the man behind you, instead thanking the servant and taking a long drink.
It was cool and refreshing, irritatingly perfect for the weather with the fruity flavor, though it was impossible to guess what had all been tossed in there. It was almost unbearably sweet, as if half of it was made of sugar.
On the rim of the glass sat a pink paper umbrella, the sight of which made your teeth grind so hard you could hear them squeak in protest. When you made it to Alabastia there wouldn’t be a single scrap of pink fabric anywhere near you.
Downing the rest of the drink, you put your head down and get back to work, moving even quicker to attach the loose feathers.
Doflamingo goes uncharacteristically silent behind you, and when you chance a look over your shoulder you find him staring in your direction. He could be looking at the city behind you, though it’s impossible to tell with those glasses he never takes off. A part of you wonders how prominent the tan line under them must be and the image conjured almost makes you laugh, barely concealing it with a cough.
The sun is setting by the time you finish, hands aching from the dozens of feathers sewn in as you try to fight the ever-growing headache that had set itself upon you. When was the last time you’d been out in the sun so much?
Doflamingo slips the coat on, inspecting the repaired section.
“Such attention to detail. Is that just for me?”
“You are the king. I always make sure to take great care with your clothes.”
Either that or risk losing your life. You’re grateful to be faced away as you pack your things, allowing you to roll your eyes. One last silent little rebellion before you never have to see him again.
As you put your things away, a bobbin falls from your case. But when you go to pick it up you notice your hands have begun to shake. Not the normal nerves that accompany you here. Something out of your control that won’t still no matter how many deep breaths you take.
You fumble the same bobbin once more, clattering to the ground and rolling across smooth marble all the way to a pair of pointy black shoes, polished to perfection. Much closer than you expected them to be.
“What’s this? Not feeling well?” Doflamingo clicks as he grabs the thread, looking comically small as he holds it between two fingers. “It would be a real shame to miss out on your trip. Especially since you haven’t for the past eight years. At least that’s what the travel logs say.”
His words are creeping, peeling your nerves with their own self satisfaction, hair standing on end.
“It’s the slow season. I don’t know what other time I would take it.” You say, trying to keep your voice even. Forget the bobbin. You have plenty of others. Consider it a farewell present.
“Mm, that might be. But your predecessor's logs indicate that their slow season starts two weeks later than others. I guess everyone still needs clothes in the winter, even in Dresserosa.”
“I like to avoid the crowds.” You counter, gripping your case tighter as a headache begins to creep up on you.
You’re cornered, back to the wall with nowhere to go as Doflamingo leans over you. His arms cage you in, unable to escape as he presses closer until you’re practically suffocating in his scent.
Instinct is what guides you, not logic. If it were the later you may have tried to talk your way out of the situation, play it off. But with your blood pounding in your ears and a thousand years of evolution and instinct pushing adrenaline through every inch of your body, your body moves on its own.
Teeth sink into flesh, the tang of blood hitting your tongue before common sense your brain. The sharp tang, while intoxicating in its own right at the success of having wounded your opponent, is also unfamiliar enough to draw you back.
Fuck.
You just bit an Alpha. A direct challenge. And not just any Alpha; Donquixote Doflamingo.
He’s going to kill you. Forget about finding a new identity. Your existence was going to be ended right here on this pristine marble floor, blood staining the expensive carpet. And when it was rolled away, likely with your body tucked in it, any trace of your existence would be wiped away with the murder.
A deep rumble traveled through your teeth, prompting you to quickly retract and press as far back as possible even as your fangs remained bared, unable to cower completely without a fight.
You must look a mess, panting with blood staining your mouth and teeth. BUt the sight doesn’t turn Doflamingo away in the slightest. In fact he seems to be laughing, not growling as you initially had thought, body morphing from light trembles to full-blown laughter that shook his shoulders.
You attempt to duck away while he’s distracted, only to be grabbed and pinned back against the wall by those ridiculously large hands.
His tongue drags up your face, collecting the small trickle of blood that pools at the corner of your mouth.
“I knew there was something wrong with these.”
Still holding you with one hand, a string appears between his fingers on the other, and which are promptly brought to your mouth.
He grips your jaw and force your mouth open, your hands rendered immoble at your sides when you try to lift them as you realize what he’s doing.
In a last ditch effort you attempt to use your tongue to fend off the intruding digits, only to have his ring finger easily hold the muscle down, drool pooling in your mouth and mixing with the blood as it slides dangerously back, nearly triggering your gag reflex.
Between the two he’s able to hold you still enough as the string skillfully works between the near non-existent gap between your canines and the false ones overtop. They clatter to the floor. First the right, then the left. Worked off with such ease despite the pain it caused, the near industrial glue fighting to keep them on.
“Lots of Betas use fang enlargers.” You growl as soon as his hand leaves your mouth, the taste of rose-scented lotion left behind and laying like a thick coat over your tongue.
“Oh, I know. Trebol has quite a few pairs.” Doflamingo grins, leaning down to bring his face close. “Beta may be vain, but I’ve never met any susceptible to Koja fruit.”
The heat, which you had blamed on the Dressrosa sun, had only gotten worse. But long gone was the sun, now dipped beyond the horizon and leaving the room cast in a twilight as the lights of the city below began to glow.
Your head swam too much, body breaking out in a cold sweat even as you shivered, the air in the room sweltering. No, this wasn’t a normal heat.
This was a heat heat.
But that shouldn't be. You were still two weeks out and it never came early, keeping obsessive track of your cycle and none of the early warning signs had been there. You hadn’t even gotten the urge to nest yet!
But it didn’t seem to matter, the familiar sparks curling low in your stomach, stoked further by the scent of an Alpha quite literally on top of you. It lays like a layer of slime in your throat, suffocating as your lungs tighten.
"It's harmless to most, if not terribly bitter. But Omega’s? They can’t seem to get enough of it. It’s like ambrosia to them. To you.” He was too close, nose tracing your skin as he spoke, practically huffing the air as you realized it had become laced with your scent. Not the muted Beta scent you normally carried, but that of a true Omega, sweet and alluring as it broke through all your safeguards as your heat settled in to stay.
“They were created by Vegapunk for the government to induce heat in Omegas already close enough. You can hide your scent, but not your nature.”
Your mind flew back to all the times he had offered you the fruit, thinking he was so giddy each time you accepted the fruit and even sought it out among others on the plate. How it seemed odd that such an unknown fruit that was clearly imported and held a certain level of rarity went untouched by him.
“I like bitter foods.” You grit out, attempting to hold onto any last defense you could even if your body had long ago given up the facade.
“They’re not cheap mind you.” He continued on as if he hadn’t heard you, and in all likelihood he hadn’t, his own ego practically oozing with satisfaction.
His own breathing was becoming more labored, overwhelmed at the scent of an Omega so close, not to mention going into heat. Even if he spent his blood money on the finest imitations it was a pale comparison.
“Do you know how many you ate before I figured out it was the seeds that contained the important part? I just had to make sure you were eating them.”
Your mind swirled, wondering when he had done so before remembering the drink he had served you. The pink umbrella.
The sweetness was all too familiar, only unrecognizable due to its high concentration, but now seeming stupidly obvious. No, it wasn’t a poison as you had initially thought, but now you wished it had been.
“I’d almost doubted myself. You made me think I was wrong. One more thing to punish you for.” He sounds absolutely delighted by the prospect. “I’ve waited so patiently for you to break, to come crawling to me like a proper Omega.”
As your heat burns brighter, hormones rising, so do all your other emotions. Another heat. The heat of anger. Anger at yourself for being careless enough to be caught, as well as Doflamingo for putting you in this situation. But above all at the universe for making you this way.
He wants an Omega so bad? Fine. You’ll show him an Omega.
“Get. Back!”
Your scent has the equivalent impact of a cannonball. No, more than that. It wouldn’t have nearly the impact on Doflamingo as your scent did, sending him stumbling back and landing flat on his back. He proceeds to lay there gasping as he stares up the ceiling, shudders wracking his body, fingers digging into the plush rug beneath him.
His brain must be working overtime with the endorphins released at such a high concentration and you yourself even feel a bit giddy at the relief it brought. Like a stopper on a drain had been pulled as the scent always kept bottled up oozed out.
Your body nearly collapses without his support, barely managing to catch yourself, sleeve pressed over your nose in an attempt to block out his own overwhelming scent in response to your own.
There’s no time for a breather, stumbling towards the door before he can gather himself.
There would be no time to stop by your apartment and gather your things. It was late enough that the marina should be relatively abandoned. No way would you be getting on a boat with others in this condition, but staying in Dressrosa wasn’t an option either. Doflamingo would turn the place upside down looking for you, so stealing a boat and getting as far away as quickly as possible was your only option. Head out to sea and hope you didn’t happen upon any wayward ships.
You stumble to the door, shaky hands finding the nob and attempting to reef it open, but no matter how hard you pull it refuses to budge.
Locked. When had he done that?
There’s no time to find the key and you’re not even close to strong enough to be able to bust the heavy wooden slab down.
Eyes darting around, you finally land on the balcony, the soft breeze still fluttering in and setting the curtains in motion, as if beckoning you closer with the promise of fresh air and freedom.
Running past Doflamingo, who has now recovered enough to get on his hands and knees, though his palms still remain clenched over his face as his senses are overwhelmed, attempting to block some of the scent.
He tries to grab you as you pass, his movement too sluggish to catch you as his clawed hands tremble. No doubt if you could see his eyes behind those glasses they would be fully blown out.
You make it to the balcony, ready to jump the railing and hope that the trees below are enough to cushion your fall.
The moon gleams overhead, the light of the perfect sphere shining down. It’s at the last moment that you notice it as the light catches at just the right angle, skidding to a stop just before you run into it full force. The sudden stop skins your knee, but the pain is miniscule, too absorbed by the sight before you as you tentatively reach out.
It’s nearly invisible, as delicate and intricate as a spider’s web and just as dangerous, waiting to catch and reel you in.
You attempt to move it aside, hissing as all you receive is a cut for your efforts, fingers bleeding freely from the paper-thin slice. You turn, ready to jump out a window, only to discover the same nearly translucent threads crossing the panes as well. Every single one of them, all covered in a web of crossing lines too small to squeeze through.
You were trapped. Nowhere else to go. No other ways to escape.
Except one.
Doflamingo kept a gun in the drawer. He didn’t bother to hide the fact, often twirling it around his finger carelessly in a way that had you thinking it wasn’t loaded for your own peace of mind. If you could get to it then you could use it. Preferably on Doflamingo.
Racing to the desk, you jerk the drawer open and spot the familiar gleam of metal, shining like a lifeline as you reach for it.
How many other people has he killed with this exact weapon, not even caring enough to kill them with his devil fruit abilities? How much blood has been spilled by a madman without a single care as he takes what he views as rightfully his? A fitting end then, for the same weapon to be turned in its owner. Poetic in a way you could only appreciate later when you were rid of him.
But the heavy weight never hits your hands, body jerked back, reeled in like a fish on a hook. A snarl of rage and frustration tears from your throat as lanky arms close around you, forcing you against a broad chest with skin that feels just as sweltering as your own. Pink feathers dance at the edge of your vision, cutting off everything else as you’re pulled closer.
In a last ditch attempt to escape your teeth sink into his arm once again, doing much less damage than they had with the enlargers on. In fact they hardly even did any damage at all, barely making it through skin and much less impressive as your head is forcibly jerked back.
It’s like a common housecat fighting a tiger, your tenacity and fury lacking the ability to overcompensate for the sheer strength presented.
Doflamingo’s scent is cloying, no longer able to push it out of your head as it consumes your thoughts. Like a rose garden that’s been the scene of a fight, elegance and beauty marred by the stench of blood. But it’s not normal, laced with something stronger, now underlayed with a scent of spicy musk.
Your stomach drops.
Yes, your attempt had gotten him away from you, but it seems it had also proved to be too much for him in more ways than one. The other danger that came with an Omega putting so much of their scent out.
It had sent him into a rut.
“Was this your plan all along?” Doflamingo laughs, ignoring the way you try to squirm away from his touch, nails tearing at any skin you could reach. The heels of your shoes squeak against the marble floor, head snapping back the moment you feel him shift.
Lips ghost over the shell of your ear, his much larger canines dragging along the cartilage and nipping just enough to not draw blood, red marks welling regardless.
Your stomach churns, not with arousal as it normally did during your heat, but disgust, knowing what’s coming next. Years of evolution playing out in real time, no longer relegated to your nightmares. Even knowing there’s nothing you can do to properly brace yourself, only able to hold back tears, refusing to cry. To give him the satisfaction.
Fangs sink into your neck, much longer and thicker than your own, powerless to stop him. The sensation brings your struggles to a cold stop, adrenaline replaced by euphoria as your brain becomes further clouded.
The fog closes in, impenetrable and suffocating until you’re cornered into a dark recess of your own mind. More of a passenger than anything else as his tongue laps up the dribble of blood, the saliva providing a balm to the wound and staunching the bleeding.
The entire time you can’t help but think how stupid you were. To think that you could live a life of relative freedom when the world was intent on seeing you caged, unable to look past one genetic deviance.
For the first time in years you chirp, the small sound of distress the final nail in the coffin, now drowning in the evidence of your biology as you reach the highest levels of stress conceivable. Because for you? This is the end of the world. Of your world. Of everything you had carefully built and crafted for yourself.
Doflamingo reacts in kind, his chest rumbling with purrs meant to put you at ease, yet only increases your distress, of which he seems to relish in.
“I’ve got you.” He groans into your ear as his cheek presses against your head, the taste of your blood lingering on his tongue like the finest of wines. It’s nearly just as intoxicating as your scent.
“I have everything you could ever need.”
No. You needed your freedom. You needed to be away from him, not stay here for whatever he had planned.
He wouldn’t sell you, if the bite on your neck was anything to go by. But even beyond that you knew he wouldn’t trade all the money in the world for you, the Omega he caught himself.
But with the way his arms tighten around your waist, drawing you closer as he huffs your scent like it’s the most addictive thing in all the seas, you know it’s but a pipe dream.
“You’re mine. Forever.”
