#doffy x reader

[bittercandysweetrain]

New story!!!!!

New story Modern Doflamingo x chubby reader

Degrade me.

Doflamingo is a Mafioso who has fallen for a chubby pole dancer. He can't help but buy her wanting her for personal reasons however he comes to find he was never truly in charge.

[candycandy00]

Pay the Devil His Dues - A Doflamingo x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Your desperate, starving parents trade you to the ruthless new town Lord, Doflamingo, to cover their taxes.

Part One | Part Two

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. AU. Age Difference. Size Difference. Dubcon. Innocent Reader. Slightly Rough Sex (will be rougher next chapter). Biting/Marking. Oral Sex. Doffy’s Monstrously Huge Dick. 

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear!

Any feedback/comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated!

You vividly remember the day Donquixote Doflamingo arrived in your town. He was the new Lord sent to reign over the locals after the last one was executed for lining his own pockets with money meant for the emperor, Kaido. 

The first thing he did was order all the citizens to gather in the town square, where he introduced himself and explained how things were going to be from then on. 

“Everyone will pay their taxes,” he said firmly, an unnatural grin on his face. “On time. Every time. And to make it clear just how serious I am, we’re going to have a little show today!”

All the townspeople glanced at each other nervously. Something about this man put everyone on edge. Maybe it was his freakish height. He stood far above every other man there. Or maybe it was the strangely casual state of his attire. He wore the crisp military uniform of the empire in a way no one had ever seen before. The shirt was left unbuttoned and open, displaying his tanned, chiseled torso. The pants hung low on his hips, almost scandalously so, and the long coat was draped loosely over his shoulders. 

No, you think it must have been the demonic grin that seemed to be etched onto his otherwise handsome face. It was made more eerie by the blood red lenses of his glasses that completely obscured his eyes. 

Doflamingo snapped his fingers and another soldier stepped forward, holding a scroll. The man opened it and called out a name. “William Smith. Step forward please.”

The crowd looked around. The name wasn’t familiar to you, but you certainly didn’t know every person in town. Finally you noticed some sort of commotion taking place several yards away. A man had broken into a run and was fleeing the square. 

He didn’t make it very far. 

Two soldiers ran after him, tackling him to the ground. He struggled and screamed as they bodily dragged him to Doflamingo, who was standing in the center of the town square, still grinning. 

As the soldiers held the man in place, Doflamingo addressed the townsfolk. 

“Mr. Smith here failed to pay his taxes the past two months in a row. The last time he did pay, he was a week late and only paid half. So let this be a lesson to all of you!”

So quickly you could barely process what was happening, Doflamingo pulled a large knife from the pocket of his pants and strode over to the now panicking William Smith. While everyone looked on in horror, the new Lord of the town plunged the knife into William’s belly, then ripped it across his abdomen. 

Innards began to spill out, guts and organs, still steaming, hitting the ground with a wet “splat”. For a few moments, William just stared down at his own entrails with shock, as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing. Then, he fell forward, landing in the pile of his own guts. 

Horrified silence loomed over the crowd as they looked at the now dead body with wide eyes. Until Doflamingo began to laugh. 

In the months that passed since then, the town has become poorer and desolate. The people, like your parents, work hard day and night and still have barely enough resources to survive. All the money goes to taxes. 

Occasionally someone will not have enough. Depending on how much they still owe, different punishments are handed out with ruthless efficiency. 

Not paying the taxes at all results in swift execution. Paying half or less results in public lashings or, in severe cases, the chopping off of a limb. And paying close to the full amount but being a bit short results in the soldiers raiding your home to take anything of value you might have, including livestock and food rations. 

It didn’t take long for everyone to figure out Doflamingo is just as corrupt as the last Lord. He’s probably just smarter about it. He accepts trades of things he personally wants, like wine, food, and of course, women. 

Generally, it’s the women who voluntarily offer themselves. Some seem to view it as a humiliating but necessary evil they must do to survive or protect their families. But some seem to actually like going to Doflamingo every month. 

At first, you couldn’t believe it. He’s a monster who is terrorizing your town. You’ve all witnessed his violence, his brutality. But the more you see of him, from a distance with your mother as your father pays the taxes, the more you understand. 

There’s a certain magnetism to Doflamingo, a charisma you can’t help but notice. He’s handsome, well spoken, strong, and has a powerful position in the empire. It’s not that surprising that some women would want to sleep with him. 

But you could never do such a thing, primarily because he terrifies you. He is not a man who would show mercy under any circumstances, not even to a frightened girl who has never been touched by a man. The word “gentle” could never apply to him. 

There’s also the fact that he would never be interested in you to begin with. He’s never even glanced in your direction. Why would he? You’re an impoverished peasant girl who owns exactly two stained dresses. He’s a wealthy Lord and high ranking soldier. 

You’ll probably never even speak to the man. 

Tomorrow is the first day of the month, the day taxes are collected. Your parents have been strangely quiet the past few days, whereas they normally fret and complain this time of the month. 

Maybe it’s because tomorrow is also your birthday. You’ll finally be of age, an adult. You’ll be able to accept suitors, if anyone is interested, and possibly even marry. 

You go to sleep with these thoughts in your head, and end up having a bizarre dream about marrying Doflamingo. It’s both scary and exciting. 

The next day your parents don’t even mention your birthday, which is unusual in itself, but they also barely speak to you at all as they prepare to go to the square. 

A huge crowd is gathered, most of the men lined up in single file to pay their dues. Ordinarily, most women and children wait on the sidelines, aside from the women who have come to offer themselves in lieu of payment. 

To your surprise, your mother lines up with your father and pulls you along with her. What is going on? She isn’t planning to offer herself, is she?!

“Mother, what are you doing?” you ask.

“Shush. We don’t have the money this month. We’re going to try to appeal to his pity.”

Oh no. This will end terribly! Several families have attempted such a thing, but at best it only turns a severe punishment for one into a lesser punishment for many. One man who would have been sentenced to having his arm cut off only had to give up his pinky finger, while his wife and adult son endured public lashings. 

Is that what will happen to you? The thought of being tied up in the square and whipped in front of everyone was beyond horrifying. Will that be how Doflamingo will see you for the first time? You can scarcely imagine the humiliation. 

As the three of you move along the line, your heart races with worry and your mind clouds with dread. By the time you reach the front, your body is trembling with fright and you’re fighting to hold back tears. 

Doflamingo sits in a high backed chair on a raised platform, looking like a king on a throne. One long leg is draped over the arm of the chair and you can see his lean muscles flexing beneath the skin of his abdomen as he talks casually with the other soldiers standing around him.  

When he looks up at you and your parents, it’s obvious he notices the new faces. He probably already knows that your father can’t pay and has come to beg for leniency, but he says nothing.

He simply watches and waits for your father to begin his pleas. 

To your shock, it is your mother who speaks first. And what she says shocks you even more. 

“My Lord, we’ve come to offer a trade,” she says. Then she pulls you forward be the arm. “Our daughter came of age today. We give her to you as payment for our taxes.”

What?! You look at your parents frantically, not believing what you heard. Surely your father would never agree to such a thing! But he’s looking at the ground, avoiding your eyes. 

Doflamingo’s face turns slightly toward you as that terrible grin spreads over it. “Oh? And how many months of taxes do you think she’s worth?”

Your mother looks firm and resolute. “Twelve, my Lord.”

Doflamingo stands up and steps closer. Being directly in front of his full height makes you realize just how frighteningly tall he is, and how small and insignificant you are. 

All at once he reaches forward and rips your pitiful dress open, tearing it off your body as if it’s made of paper and leaving you in your thin white shift. 

You shriek in alarm, curling in on yourself to protect your modesty. Your parents turn their faces away. 

“Don’t look away now,” Doflamingo says to them. “You’re the ones who brought this sweet little lamb to be slaughtered.”

You tremble before him, using your arms to shield yourself from his gaze as much as you can. You can’t see his eyes, but you can feel them burning into you. 

After a few moments, he says, “Six months.”

Your father looks stunned. “Only six? But my Lord, she is our only daughter…”

Doflamingo returns to his seat. “I’ll make it eight, if she pleases me.” Then his attention shifts back to you. “Today is your birthday?” he asks. 

You nod, too afraid to speak. 

He laughs. “What cruel parents you have.”

You look back at them. Are they cruel for doing this? Or just desperate and starving? Neither of them will meet your gaze. 

The deal finalized, your parents are shooed away and two soldiers drag you in the opposite direction, toward Doflamingo’s base. One of them throws a long military coat over your shoulders, a kindness you didn’t expect. While your shift does cover most of your body, it is by design extremely thin and clinging to your curves. For a young woman to be seen in public this way would be a scandal you could never live down. 

When you arrive at the huge house reserved for the Lord of the town, you see mostly soldiers moving about, patrolling, or just taking breaks. A few servants can be spotted doing chores. You’re relieved to see that a few of them are women. 

None of the soldiers seem to pay you any mind. No one leers at you or tries to take the coat away. They simply lead you down a hallway and hand you off to some women who are doing laundry. Dozens of military uniforms are folded into near stacks, and three women are scrubbing sheets. 

“See that she’s taken care of,” one of the soldiers tells the women, before leaving the room. 

The three women look at you in confusion, as if they have no idea why you’re there. Haven’t any other daughters been handed over to Doflamingo before? 

One of them, who looks old enough to be your mother, steps forward. “Are you a new servant?” she asks, her eyes clearly drawn to your state of undress beneath the coat. 

You begin explaining what happened, but you only get halfway through the story before you start crying. Maybe your parents are cruel after all. 

All three women rush forward and hug you. “It’s alright,” one of them is saying, “we’ll look after you!”

“It’s not so bad here,” another offers, clearly trying to console you. “As long as you don’t anger the Lord, he won’t do anything terrible to you.”

The oldest, who looks positively ancient, gives you a grin. “And if he does mistreat you, come tell me! I’ll give him a good whacking!”

The others laugh. “Don’t mention it in front of the Lord, but he’s weak to grandmas!”

You wipe your eyes and try to smile. At least there are nice people here. They help you clean up, bathe, and even give you a dress to wear. The youngest among them, still a good six years older than you by your guess, brought the dress from her own closet. It doesn’t fit perfectly, but well enough, and it’s far nicer than any dress you’ve ever owned. 

“There, pretty as a princess,” the motherly one says, looking you over. 

You bow your head slightly to show respect. “Thank you, all of you.”

With nothing else to do, you help them with their chores until the end of the day, when the tax collection is over. When Doflamingo walks into the base, flanked by soldiers, he barely gives you a passing glance. 

You’re a little disappointed. You’re dressed up for the first time in your life, and some small part of you hoped he would notice. 

It’s late in the evening before he calls for you, summoning you to his quarters. Once the soldiers escort you there and leave, Doflamingo stands up from the desk he’d been sitting at. Across it are scrolls and books filled with names and numbers. This must be where he manages the taxes collected. 

He walks around the desk to stand in front of you, looming over your far smaller frame. 

“I’m going to give you a choice. Consider it a birthday gift,” he adds, that ever present grin widening.

You have to crane your neck to look up at him, but you nod. 

“You can stay here and use your body to pay your family’s taxes. It won’t be pleasant. I won’t treat you gently. I’ll wring every drop of value from you,” he says, his voice deep and powerful. 

The words are scary, but somehow, deep down, there’s an inexplicable thrill to them. 

“Or,” he continues, “you can officially separate yourself from your parents and walk away. Of course you’ll have to pay your own taxes starting next month.”

What? You can just… leave? You hesitate, then ask, “What will happen to my parents if I do that?”

The grin widens again. “They’ll be executed immediately. Not that you should care. They threw you to the wolves and abandoned you.”

The two options dance around in your mind. It’s true your parents betrayed you, but they were facing execution otherwise. And they’re still the people who raised you. 

But to stay means to give yourself to a brutal and violent man who terrifies you, to let him do as he pleases with your body. Even if you have been feeling a spark of excitement at the thought of being touched by him, it doesn’t overcome your fear of him. 

Doflamingo steps closer, so close you can practically feel him. “Choose,” he says. “I’m not a patient man.”

You stare up at him, seeing the reflection of your wide, frightened eyes in his sunglasses. You know there’s only one choice you can live with. 

“I’ll stay,” you say in a shaky voice, your lips quivering.  

A low, rumbling laugh emanates from him as he reaches one hand toward you. Reflexively, you flinch. You’ve seen the level of cruelty and violence his hands are capable of. You feel his hand on your head, and it slides down to your neck, then to the front buttons of your dress.  

“W-wait!” you cry, and he pauses. “This is a borrowed dress, my Lord,” you say quickly. “One of the women who work here let me wear it. If possible, I’d like to return it to her.”

You glance up, prepared to face his wrath, but instead he’s looking at you with amusement as he withdraws his hand. “If you don’t want it ripped apart, take the dress off yourself,” he says. 

“Alright,” you say, reaching up to your buttons with trembling fingers. You unfasten them slowly but steadily, trying to drag this out without making him angry. He returns to his desk and sits on it, watching you as if you’re putting on a show for him. 

Once the buttons are undone, you carefully untie the belt at your waist and then slide the dress off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor before quickly picking it up and holding it in front of you. 

The shift given to you is a bit smaller than the one you wore in, showing a little more of your thighs. You stand there holding the dress awkwardly. “Um, where should I…?”

He gestures toward a chair in the corner. “Leave it there.”

You gingerly step over to the chair and gently drape the dress over the back of it, trying to leave it as smooth as possible. When you walk back to your previous spot, in front of Doflamingo, you can feel your face burning. 

All this time, you’ve secretly wanted him to look at you, to notice you. Of course you imagined it very differently. In your forbidden daydreams, you pictured him spotting you in the crowd on collection day, and then being so enamored with you that he immediately stopped the collection and stepped into the crowd to approach you. He’d take you back to his base to be his bride, and be so happy with you, so touched by your love, that he’d change his ways and become a kind, noble Lord. 

Such childish fantasies. 

He steps away from the desk and approaches you again, slowly. His huge hands land on your shoulders, then slide down your arms, pulling the thin straps of your shift with them. As the silky fabric slips down over your breasts, revealing them to the cool air of the room, you close your eyes. It’s too embarrassing to look at him. 

The shift continues sliding down, eventually pooling around your feet. You’re completely exposed now, totally bare before a merciless tyrant. You’re afraid, naturally, but you can’t manage to tamp down the electric current running through you, the thrill of finally being perceived by Doflamingo. 

You gather your courage and open your eyes, only to see his red glasses leering down at you. Your first instinct is to shrink away, but before you can even have that reaction, he suddenly pulls you to him, your delicate body crashing against his. You can feel his smooth, hard chest, the heat of his skin where his open shirt bares it. 

His hand moves to your chin, lifting it up so that your face is tilted skyward. He bends down and kisses you. It’s not the sweet, romantic kiss you daydreamed about. It is rough and dominant, his tongue pressing into your mouth and filling it while his hand holds your face still. It’s suffocating, but the heat of it, the taste of his mouth, is somehow intoxicating. 

You’re not sure what to do. You’ve never done anything like this, but be reflex you raise your hands to his toned abdomen and rub across it, relishing the feel of it. 

He breaks the kiss and looks down at you, at your hands, then laughs. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You pull them away, shyly dropping them to your sides. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so brazen. 

He takes your hands and places them back on his body. “I don’t mind a needy woman,” he says, pulling his shirt off his shoulders. Your eyes roam over him, taking in the absolutely sinful sight. Your hands, carefully and hesitantly, move across his muscled torso. 

Seemingly amused by your wandering hands and staring eyes, he unbuttons his pants and pushes them down, giving you more to see and touch. When your eyes fall upon the absolute beast between his thighs, you gasp and draw back a step. 

You’ve never seen one up close before, but is it normal for a cock to be the size of your arm? It’s as terrifying as it is mesmerizing. He takes one of your hands and pulls it toward the shocking organ, guiding your fingers to wrap around it as best they can. It’s hot and heavy in your soft grip, and as you watch, it grows and stiffens, like magic. 

He sits on his desk, spreading his thighs, and ushers you to your knees before him. You’ve heard enough stories from village women to know what he wants, what he expects of you. 

Looking up, you tilt your face to get the angle right, then you hold the massive cock up with both hands. You start by licking it, running your tongue along the underside, hoping you’re doing this right. Then you lick the tip of it, as you would a sweet treat. 

His hand appears on your head. “Open your mouth,” he says, and you obey. You feel it slide into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat almost immediately. Your body’s reflex demands you pull away, but his hand is holding you in place. “Breathe through your nose,” he tells you. “Relax your throat.”

You do as he said, trying to will your body to calm down and accept the huge cock in your mouth. It’s not even halfway in, and already you’re choking. He pulls your head back, enough to let you breathe, before pulling it back down. He moves your head slowly, but firmly, establishing a rhythm as well as his complete control. 

Doing your best to please him, fighting back your urge to panic, you keep your tongue moving as he continues moving your head. There’s something scary about surrendering control of yourself to someone else, especially someone you’ve seen murder numerous people. But you can’t deny the slick dampness between your thighs. He’s looking at you! He’s paying attention to you! 

After a while, he pushes your head down and holds it there. “Don’t spill any,” is the only warning he gives you before a massive load of cum floods your mouth. You swallow it down as fast as you can, barely tasting it before it disappears down your throat. 

When finished, he releases you, and you pull away to take several deep breaths. He only gives you a few moments of reprieve before he pulls you up to your feet, not hard enough to hurt but firmly enough to let you know he has little patience. 

He stands from the desk, then lifts you onto it, pushing you onto your back and spreading your legs. As shameful as this position is, you still feel a hint of exhilaration when you think about his eyes upon you. His huge hands begin to roam freely over your body, heating every inch of your skin with his touch. 

You feel something hard and heavy against your thigh. You look down and see that, surprisingly, he’s already hard again. For a man over twice your age, he sure has plenty of stamina. 

Thinking you’re not quite ready to have that monster shoved inside you, you close your eyes again. The next thing you feel is his long fingers between your legs, spreading open your soft folds. They slowly rub over your clit, then his thumb draws circles around it. 

Your back arches off the desk as you moan, and you hear him laugh again. At this point you feel too good to be humiliated, so you ignore his amusement. You’re dripping wet as one of his fingers slides inside you. It stings a bit, but it fills you up nicely. When he curls his finger, he touches something deep within you that makes you gasp. 

He withdraws his hand and climbs onto the desk, his arms on either side of you, caging you in with his massive frame. You imagine you must look like a tiny mouse to him, gazing up at him with glassy eyes. That terrible grin is still plastered on his face as he reaches down and positions himself at your entrance. It feels like he’s moving in slow motion, letting both the dread and the excitement build. 

Then, he pushes in. 

He won’t fit. Not without seriously hurting you, but he’s splitting you open regardless. It hurts, and you whimper as you tremble beneath him, trying not to cry or disappoint him. You have to please him to keep your parents alive. 

And… there’s that small hidden part of you that wants to please him for your own satisfaction. 

He begins moving, and you’re certain he’s no more than halfway in. Maybe he doesn’t want to break his new toy too quickly. His thrusts are slow and shallow at first, then become faster and harsher, making you cry out in both pain and pleasure. 

You look up at him, at the reflection of your tear stained face in his glasses, wishing you could cling to him. Would that anger him? 

“M-my Lord… May I please…?”

 “Hmm? What is it you want?” he asks, never pausing his movements, his cock stirring the deepest parts of you. 

You wince at the sting. “May I please… hold you?”

He stops for the briefest moment, seemingly staring at you from behind his sunglasses. Then he grins again. “Do as you please.”

Your hands creep up his shoulders and hook around his neck, holding onto him for dear life as he continues wrecking you. 

His tip repeatedly hits that spot. The one that took your breath away, the one that makes you want to feel him even deeper. Soon, you’re shuddering and crying as your first orgasm washes over you. Your arms weaken and fall away from his neck, and in response, he leans down and kisses your throat. You feel his long, wet tongue glide over the tender skin, then, out of nowhere, you feel his teeth bite down. You cry out, your hands instinctively trying to push him away, but you’re powerless against him. 

The pain of the bite subsides, and his tongue laps at the wound. It must not have been very deep. Your struggling arms go still. 

In the next moment, you feel his cock bulge inside you. Then, as suddenly as he did in your mouth, he spills his entire load in your virgin pussy. 

He holds you under him for a few moments more, still gently licking the spot on your neck where he bit, his cock still lodged inside you. Then he pulls away and stands up. He pulls on his clothes, drapes his own military coat over you, and leaves you lying on the desk. 

[physics-of-one-piece]

Merlot & Primroses

(Doflamingo x Reader)

Chapter 9

AO3

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.

Merlot & Primroses Masterlist

Chapter Navigation: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 [1/2], 6 [2/2], 7, 8, 9 (you're here)

Word Count: 15k

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)

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @moonbaby26 @daydreamer-in-training @queenmimi2817 @dummyduck44 @pinejayy @tellynojelly @capycapy-bara @dilf-destroyer-04 @yataidiot @orioncipher @isabeauwolf @r-amenegg @skullfacedlady @wrennyx @yan-love-reader @caldrien @rujellyroll @bonzaibaby @emilyfeetumbrella @ghostiequill @pipsterz @graceland321 @panthorastormheart @thesmolestsage @thesaltycrisp @hurricanebrownie @heroinicyfingers @t-sarah @aganhim @smol-flower-kiddo @bigbeardrifter @sagyunaro @froggiewrites @doffyslittledove @7wanne @ohnomyhooves @tinycreature21 @fruity0salad @strangerdcd @xblackxjackx @hime44444 @ripndips @shanalikeanna @multifandomgirl2018 @shirayuki-ayumi @misaneeragoni @anime-fan-isa-art @rat-quing @maxxy-swann

Chapter 9

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.

“She liked it,” replied Doflamingo, chuckling. “Especially the cakes. Thanks, Giolla.”

“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.

Doflamingo pressed a kiss atop your head.

“So sweet, zamasu!” squealed Giolla, watching Doflamingo hug you. “Aren’t they adorable, Diamante?”

“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

[moldychefboyardeecan]

GUYS PLEASE IF YOU CAN PLS DM ME IF YOU WANNA LOOK AT A FIC IM WRITING

ITS A DOFFY X READER LEGAL DRAMA

[sptoastaddict]

[physics-of-one-piece]

Shoulder Kiss

Doflamingo tucked his smiling face into your exposed, bare right shoulder, his soft lips pressing a warm, adoring kiss to your skin, the heat of his lips lingering. The gesture sent butterflies flying around your stomach despite how hard you tried not to let them free.

A/N: I had to write it, damn it! 🥺 Art from Pinterest (can't find the artist so if anyone knows pls let me know cus this is the best realistic Red Suit Doffy I ever saw and I'm in love with him)

@fanaticsnail @moonbaby26 @ohnomyhooves @wrennyx @gav-san @igiulss @pandora-writes-one-piece @mandiemegatron @doffyslittledove @shanalikeanna @oddmawd @itachan912 @magnoliandew @skullfacedlady @froggiewrites @animelover20 @whirlybirdjnr @morvydyvrom @doffuwanishusband @oatslove12

[lilacfairys-world]

i'm trying to cook something here ✍️ i'll post the whole one shot when it's done if anyone is interested 😶‍🌫️

[kotonoba]

Simp!Doflamingo HCs (Doflamingo/F!Reader)

a/n: I tried to keep it SFW to the point one of my IRL friends was like "this is too vanilla for my liking."

Warning(s): doffy kinda insane & I love that about him, yandere, possessive, ooc, stalking, toxic, slightly nsfw (like 1 paragraph)

Posted on AO3

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Simp!Doflamingo treats you like the queen you are, ensuring all your needs are met without needing to ask or lift a finger. One look at him, a breath out your pretty little mouth, and you would have the world at your fingertips if you wish.

Simp!Doflamingo worships the ground you walk on. He would gravel at the ground, kiss it as you walk, pave the road in gold so the pavement doesn’t dirty your feet or hurt them slightly.

Simp!Doflamingo carries you everywhere. Not because he doesn’t think you can catch up to him when he walks. He still has an image to uphold in public; he can’t be caught kissing the ground you walk on unless it’s in private.

Simp!Doflamingo cares for you so much, you just don’t know it. He’s oh so gentle with you, especially behind closed doors. Picking out what you should wear and what you should eat because he knows you so well. Picking out who you should talk to because he simply understands you better than anyone else.

Simp!Doflamingo loves anything you do for him. He appreciates you praising him when he gets anything right; he appreciates you wanting to go on dates with him; he appreciates you trying to help him with his work; he enjoys the way you talk to him; he appreciates you trying to take him in bed, the way you squirm at his size, the way your eyes roll back, the way you dig your nails possessively into his back when he bottoms out.

Most importantly, Simp!Doflamingo loves you so much that he spends hours upon hours thinking about you, stalking you, obsessing over you, and fantasizing over you, even while in your presence. He loves the way you look at him with curiosity, trying to pry into his thoughts.

Simp!Doflamingo knows everything about you; he knows your schedule, your friends, your favorite food, what you like to do in your free time, your occupation, and even details about you that you may not be aware of. Most importantly, he knows you love him as much as he loves and adores you.

Simp!Doflamingo, even now, walks extremely close behind you. He’s just trying to protect you, making sure no one walks too close to you; making sure you don’t accidentally trip and fall - if you do, he’ll be there to catch you.

Simp!Doflamingo is so loving that he becomes possessive over you. He knows it scares you a little to see him so controlling over your life. But he wants you to know it’s because he loves you so much, and he hopes you wouldn’t mind and would understand him.

Simp!Doflamingo obsesses over you; he’s just worried! He’s oh so protective over you for the sake of your safety. Someone accidentally bumps your shoulder with? They’re never heard of again. Someone tried to scam you? They’re never heard of again. You argue with your friends? They’re never heard from again. You ask him where they went, and he says he has no idea. Oblivious, you choose to trust him.

Simp!Doflamingo fantasizes over you; you have no idea how much. He thinks about you every waking moment, even while he’s dealing with his brokerage work or minuscule issues brought to his desk. He fantasizes about you in specific clothing (no clothing works great too); he fantasizes you taking control of what you want; he fantasizes about your malice; and most importantly, he fantasizes about being forever yours. Where you two never parted.

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