#;ଓ heavenly thoughts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soleilnomoon · 2 years ago

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hi hi hellooo is the milestone event still open..... im a new follower and just saw it (if requests are alr closed it's alright!) may i request blood root, bleeding heart, and calla lily for doffy or law: first kisses, slowly kissing down the body with 36, 53, 58 as themes? thank you!!!

so sorry this took so long, i had too many ideas bouncing around haha ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡ i hope you enjoy!

4.6k words, fem reader, nsfw - 18+ mdni, angst angst babey, fluff if you pretend hard enough (it's doflamingo, pls), smut obviously; cute stuff includes fingering, a little degradation, doffy being a bastard, oral (f receiving), etc. etc. etc. y/n is a baker and doffy is an absolute menace and the worst kind of obnoxious client.

💖☁️ la vie est drôle ☁️💖

starring: "heavenly demon" donquixote doflamingo x reader.

blood root (fluff), bleeding heart (angst), & calla lily (smut) with first kiss & slowly kissing down the body; #36, 53, & 58 (blush, masquerade, & denial).

a light dusting of powdered sugar floats slowly through the air —magic you once told a young customer on a particularly cold morning — landing on various surfaces in the kitchen, the heat from the oven forcing sweat to pool at your temples. your aunt’s voice wafts in from the front desk, no doubt she’s trying to entice a new customer with some discount she makes up on the fly. after washing your hands, you head up front, a teasing smile on your lips, words knocking against your teeth before you freeze, arms dropping to your sides.

your aunt glances over her shoulder at you, a stern look on her round face, almost as if she’s telling you to get it together. you blink a few times and adopt an amiable, pleasant smile. normally, this wouldn’t be difficult for you — but you recognize the man’s uniform; he’s from the palace, which means that a particular, pain-in-your-ass monarch is making an outrageous order. one that’ll have you baking for days. your eyebrow twitches at the thought, but you remain calm and assist your aunt with his order.

as you suspected, he’s given you an impossible deadline; at first, you refuse and pull your aunt aside to tell her as much.

“there’s no way we can make that much in four days, he’s being ridiculous.” you glance down at the list and roll your eyes again. 300 macarons. 300 cupcakes. 300 cookies. 300 strawberry sponge cakes. crumbling the paper in your hand, his messy scrawl pissing you off — he’s doing this on purpose, you know he is — you sigh loudly, ready to pull your hair out and maybe your aunt’s too.

“oh, stop that,” she chides, tutting her tongue at you like you’re a child, “we’ll just close up early and work in shifts. your brother can help.” you want to laugh at that, but you refrain, press your lips together and just hum in agreement. “wonderful!” she claps her hands together and scurries back up front, collecting the hefty payment from the man before locking the front door. because of your aunt’s blind loyalty towards him, she’ll never take notice of any of his nefarious ploys — no matter how small.

but, you know better than to burst her bubble, so you choke back your comments and tie your hair up. it’ll take a miracle for you to make it through this ordeal in one piece.

after three days of tirelessly working, of pestering relatives and friends for assistance, you finish the order. you’re exhausted as you quadruple check the quality of the baked goods; everything is neatly packed into cute boxes, pretty ribbons wrapped securely around them. you help load everything into the carriage and offer to ride with the order to the palace in your aunt’s stead — her exhaustion is more noticeable than yours, so you sacrifice your rest for her.

she kisses your cheeks sweetly before you go and urges you to mind your tongue in doflamingo’s presence. you make no promises, the man actively works hard to piss you off whenever he can. you have no doubt that if you run into him again, it won’t end as smoothly as you want it to. still, you’ll try — at least for your aunt’s sake and her bakery’s reputation.

donquixote doflamingo is every bit as enigmatic as he is persuasive, often finding himself charming others without really meaning to — but not really caring about it, either. it comes with the territory, he’s often told. and now, he sits, bored out of his mind, while trebol takes over in their morning meeting. a grave mistake on doflamingo’s part; he should’ve told everyone to get out while he had the chance. now if he does it, he’ll come off as an even bigger asshole than he would’ve before. comically enough, this isn’t something that should’ve ever crossed his mind as marginally relevant, but a certain someone’s voice pops back into his head with a vengeance, setting off his irritation all over again.

as someone who prides themselves on having self control, he’s doing a pretty damn shitty job of appearing aloof. he should’ve ordered 3,000 macarons, instead.

the thought is equal parts comforting and irrelevant; and he refuses to dwell on it.

casting a glance trebol’s way, the meeting is concluded prematurely — doflamingo is the first to leave the room, his long legs carrying him up the winding staircase and to his office. he pinches the space between his eyes, right above the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply through his nostrils and trying not to do something reckless.

the palace always gives you an eerie vibe, but you can’t really complain too much, since they pay well whenever they make large orders like this. you can’t imagine living on such an impressive estate, and every time you visit, you’re reminded of the vast difference in the normalcy of your world versus the extravagance of his.

shaking the thought away, you chalk it up to your overactive imagination getting the best of you; the trip takes longer than you thought it would — or, maybe it’s because you’re eager to get back to bed — but when you do finally arrive, you hop out of the carriage swift as ever, giving instructions on how to carefully carry the boxes. you refuse to let doflamingo find a reason to criticize all the hard work you put in.

you’re whisked off to an office off to the side of the main foyer, waiting for the man of the hour to appear so he can sign off on the contract that you brought with you. after ten minutes, you lose whatever’s left of your patience. they told you he’d be down soon — with him soon could mean anything; but you don’t have the same luxury as he does to play around with time.

it’s a terrible idea, snooping around, allowing your anger to dictate your movements as you tug on a forbidden memory. on a hunch, your feet carry you up a staircase and after losing your bearings, you end up in a corridor that may or may not be familiar to you.

“shit,” you mumble to yourself, clutching the envelope in your hand tightly as you think of what to do next. “this is stupid, i’ll just leave it in the office downstairs and fucking leave.”

in the near future, both of you will reflect on this moment and come to the agreement — begrudgingly, at that — that there were better ways to handle things. because he’s keen and hyperaware of his surroundings at all times, he yanks the door open rather quickly, startling you.

eyes wide as you stare up at him, his height every bit as imposing and fearsome as you remember, the envelope slips from your fingers and lands on the stone floor with a soft thud. on his face are his infamous red sunglasses, so you’re not exactly certain, but you’re sure he’s narrowing his eyes at you. he lifts a brow, his broad frame taking up so much space you almost want to ask him if he’s real.

“trespassing is a punishable offense,” he says with a tilt of his head, mouth curving into a wicked grin, “i thought i made that abundantly clear the last time.” you swallow hard, throat drying at the memory and drop low to pick up the envelope off the floor. his words prompt your hands to shake, so it takes longer than necessary for you to grab it. you told yourself sternly that you wouldn’t be alone with him again, and yet, here you are, trapped in his infuriating orbit.

“and i thought i made it clear,” you stand up and shoot him an irritated look, “that you can’t intimidate me the way you do the others.”

a tight smile forms on his lips, your attitude has yet to improve, he realizes — which only makes him laugh, openly mocking you, enjoying the way your face morphs from confusion to understanding. you promised your aunt you’d stay out of trouble, and there you go, doing the one thing you promised you wouldn’t do. stupid, foolish, pitiful.

you berate yourself when he wraps a large hand around your forearm and unceremoniously pulls you into the room with him. your brows slope downward as your mouth is on autopilot once again, cementing your place at the top of his shit list for the day.

“what is wrong with you?” you place the envelope onto his desk and put some distance between you; not that it matters, it never matters with him. “honestly? don’t answer that, i don’t care. just please sign those papers, i have things to do.” you don’t have anything else to take care of today; you just want to go to sleep and forget any of this happened.

“you’re a shitty liar,” he remarks carefully before making his way to his large desk chair, plopping down carelessly, legs spread as he watches you pace around his office — a skittish creature trapped with nowhere else to go. “i told you to get better at it or don’t bother lying to me at all.” he didn’t actually mean it; he has an uncanny ability to sniff out bullshit without even trying, and since people were usually too afraid to go against his commands, they rarely were dishonest. and if they were, it’s because he let them be.

pressing your lips together, you consider your words, but your anger boils over and you’re taking fast strides to get closer — you won’t back down, there’s too much at stake. your pride, for one — and you know if you let him see how easily he rattles you, you’ll never hear the end of it. your presumptuous attitude is hilarious, but he keeps that opinion to himself as he watches you, the way your eyes narrow at him sharply, the way your plump bottom lip juts out slightly, the way you’re moving your hands around animatedly as you talk.

he barely hears a word you say — something about him needing to humble himself or another — instead, he focuses on the shape of your mouth, the curve of your cupid’s bow, the roundness of your flushed cheeks, and on how he’s sure you’d look even better on your knees in front of him, putting that pretty mouth to good use by sucking his cock.

choices, choices; there were simply too many choices. he really doesn’t have time to waste — he was warned earlier, and with the masquerade party in less than twenty-four hours, he still had things to take care of — but he finds it terrifyingly impossible to leave your side right now.

“are you even listening?” you ask after a moment, chest rising as you inhale deeply.

doflamingo fixes you with a steely glare, “no.” because why the fuck would he need to? you weren’t saying anything remotely worth listening to, and he was tired of you acting like he wasn’t the one currently in control. you scoff at his blase attitude, but you were more annoyed with yourself. getting riled up so easily, letting him derail you from your mission.

“figures,” you mumble, unsure of why you’re even bothering in the first place, but those thoughts are interrupted when he pulls you onto his lap, annoyance evident on his face. he can’t believe he let you run your mouth like that for that long, and for what? for him to remain frustrated, still? ridiculous. he refuses d to let you carry on like this.

you straddle his leg, hands landing on his chest as your eyes widen in shock. foolish, foolish, foolish. your tongue darts out and briefly runs along your bottom lip. all of your logic disappears, your dress riding up your thighs, exposing more of your skin. you’re not thinking when you scoot closer; you’re not thinking when you inhale sharply, enjoying the warm scent of his cologne more than you’d like to admit; and you’re definitely not thinking when he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking hard, where you respond with a pleading whimper.

you’re reminded of another time, where you’d delivered yet another rush order, and he insisted on having you near him while he sampled the pastries. before you left, he offered to triple his payment if you fed him one of the tiny strawberry pastries. you considered telling him off, but the idea of taking more money from him tempted you terribly. so you agreed; what you didn’t count on, was him licking powdered sugar off of your fingers, nor did you anticipate him licking the inside of your wrist. it happened so fast, your mind spun around several times over, and then his lips were on yours. a man like doflamingo takes, and takes, and takes. and in that moment, you were okay with it, and kissed him back like it made all the sense in the world.

you never imagined he’d have his hands on you again, especially when you tried so hard to avoid him as much as you could; but you’re much more pliant than you normally are, back arching when his lips drag down the length of your neck. there are a lot of things you want to tell him, but your mind goes blank; all of your resolve dissipates, and now all you can think about is kissing him again. it’s maddening, that desire, creeping through you at an alarming rate, making you roll your hips forward and rub against his erection.

a pain in his ass, that’s what you are; especially now. he bites you in warning, leaving behind a reddish mark on your exposed shoulder. you’re well aware by now just how effective he is at doling out punishments for disobedience. not that you ever really know, his whims are notorious for being deadly, unpredictable, and inescapable. so it shouldn’t surprise you when he grabs your chin roughly, or when he lifts you onto his desk, or when he pushes you down, your back hitting the wooden surface hard enough to make you gasp, while his large hand holds your hip tightly.

“i think you’re misunderstanding your predicament, here,” he drawls, his voice deep and husky, curling around you wickedly. he hadn’t anticipated he’d take things this far, but if he let you go without teaching you a lesson, he’d never forgive himself. “what did i tell you the last time i caught you?”

lips trembling, thighs rubbing together, you say nothing; and how can you? a flurry of images infiltrate your mind — scenes from a memory, tucked safely into a dark corner of your heart, out of order and sporadic; a dream that easily turns into a nightmare whenever you think about it too hard. as if on cue, his hands coast along the curves of your legs, the softness of your thighs — unmarred, like a blank canvas waiting to be conquered — tempt him; he yanks up your dress, annoyed that you’re laying there acting as if you don’t know what to do.

when he manages to tug it up high enough, bunching up the fabric around your waist, you, at the very least, have the sense to pull it off of you. it’s the least you can do, to make up for your sluggish movements from earlier.

you still haven’t answered him, even as he spreads your legs apart, even as his long fingers tease you through your panties and pinch your clit mercilessly. the yelp you let out is melodious and hypnotic; he wants to hear you do it again.

“what’s the matter?” he asks, faux-concern lacing each word, but you know better than to trust that, “you were so eager to run your fucking mouth earlier.” doflamingo grabs your face with his hand, fingers sinking into your skin roughly, your lips parting but, again, words fail you. it’s then that it occurs to him that maybe you want to get under his skin as much as he wants to get under yourself.

well, so be it.

his mouth latches onto your throat, tongue licking down the length of it, your skin burning the longer he touches you. your whimpers aren’t enough, he wants to hear you lose yourself, writhe underneath him, and beg him to fuck you — if he bides his time, he knows you’ll get to that point. he just has to break you in a bit, first.

you’re not sure why you’re letting him dictate the pace of things; maybe it’s because you know that in the end, you covet the obsessive quality of his focus whenever he’s around you; maybe you don’t actually dislike him, and maybe you like the rough way he handles you. his teeth graze your skin as he continues kissing and sucking on your skin, your soft pants and moans aren’t enough — he wants more, more more. your hips lift up to meet his again as he trails kisses onto the curves of your breasts; he means to ask where your bra is, your nipples harden under his tough, fingers rough against the soft nubs, your thighs shaking as you feel the front of your panties dampen.

it’s all so embarrassing, but you’re too far gone to let that stop you. it’s when you deliberately rub yourself against his erection again — his cock stiff, precum leaking out of his slit angrily, the liquid seeping into the fabric of his underwear — that you realize you’re not the only one suffering from arousal. it’s aggravating, the way his body reacts to you — you don’t have to do much, and that’s a damn problem that he needs to rid himself of. quickly.

because he has no tact or decorum, doflamingo doesn’t think twice before biting you over and over again, leaving bruising marks down your stomach, tongue savoring the taste of your skin. your panties are torn off of you before you can protest, and he steps back to admire you, that devilish grin returning when he sees how eager you are for him to continue.

“pathetic,” he remarks callously, an idea popping into his mind as he instructs you to hold onto the backs of your thighs. once you follow his command, his fingers twitch and you feel thin strings — practically invisible to the untrained eye — dig into your skin; they wrap around your wrists, securely binding each hand to your thigh. “much better,” he actually sounds pleased with himself and you for cooperating.

he spreads you apart again, your cunt bare, exposed, dripping and aching with need; he knows what you want, he just doesn’t know if he wants to give it to you.

“tell me,” he says slowly, his fingers slipping between the folds of your pussy, your slick clinging onto his skin, “should i leave you here, like this?” on his desk, unfulfilled, as he carries on with his day. you can’t spend your day cooped up in his office, so you shake your head, curls bouncing everywhere. panic fills you when gives you the sort of smile that makes you think he’s absolutely considering doing just that. when his fingers tease your entrance, you can’t take it anymore.

“please,” you whisper, face flushed, heart beating out of control, debilitating and desperate. “i…please.”

again, he tilts his head at you, his confusion isn’t real, neither is his curiosity — doflamingo is mocking you, but you don’t seem to care.

“‘please’ what?” whatever patience he pretended to have earlier is completely gone, his own breathing much too loud in his ears, his cock obnoxiously reminding him that it’s still very much hard and if he doesn’t do something about it now, he’ll live to regret it later.

you hate that he’s going to make you say it; shame eats at you, makes your face grow hot, your eyes shutting as you muster courage. “d-do something.” you don’t know what you want him to do, honestly; but you know that if he doesn’t help you alleviate that ache, you might actually die today.

“why should i?” his voice is calm as his fingers plunge inside of you recklessly, filling your pussy without remorse, the intrusion a welcomed distraction, even as your hands tug on your restraints foolishly. he reminds himself that he really should get going, that he has another meeting to attend, but instead he hovers over you, a menacing presence that won’t go away, his wrist flicking as he thrusts his thick fingers in and out of you, admiring the way your wetness spills onto his palm, your moans encouraging him to keep going.

“answer me,” he halts his movements, your hips bucking against his hand, silently begging as you swallow hard.

“doflamingo,” you say his name like a curse, like you’re angry that it’s his fault you’re out of breath and panting like that; you say his name again when he resumes fucking you with his fingers, your pussy clenching around him, the squelching noises making you tremble like a fragile animal. you’re so annoyed at yourself, at the way you crave his touch so much, at how you don’t want him to stop anytime soon. he extracts his fingers and runs his tongue along the inside of your thigh, mouth and teeth leaving behind more marks — love bites, he’ll say later — before he gives your pussy the sort of lick that has you stuttering around the syllables of his name.

again, he only means to tease you — a lie he keeps telling himself — so it’s really not his fault that he finds it difficult to ignore the way your cunt keeps calling out to him. each swipe of his tongue brings out more lewd sounds from you; breathy moans, loud whimpering, your cries put him in an unshakeable trance as his tongue slips into you. hips bucking up against his face, he pauses and tells you to behave before carrying on again, eating your pussy like he’s a man possessed. your taste is something he couldn’t get off of his mind for months before, and now? he’s sure he’s on a path to a different level of madness; ridiculous thoughts bouncing around his mind as he considers whether or not to keep you here with him, where he can play with you as he pleases.

you want to touch him too, but he won’t let you, almost as if touching him is a privilege that you won’t acquire anytime soon. in reality, it��s because he knows if he lets you free, he might not have the upper hand anymore. and he can’t have that. doflamingo slurps your pussy messily, your moans turning into high pitched cries, and even though you know he wants you to keep still, you just can’t. especially when his tongue glides up higher and flicks against your sensitive clit repeatedly — and your body reacts accordingly, back arching off of the desk, the papers you’re laying on are stained from your slick, but you can’t think about that now.

all you can think about is how his mouth is hot against your pussy, how his teeth bring about a bit of pain that you can’t get enough of, and how he still refuses to kiss you. instead, he kisses your pussy sloppily, tongue lapping at your wetness as an orgasm builds inside of you, threatening to make you implode at the rate he’s going. you feel so helpless, like a doll, commanded by his tongue, hips jerking up as your ride his mouth, a feverish desire overwhelming you immediately. your vision blurs, you can hardly keep up, and doflamingo takes pleasure in ripping an orgasm out of you, one that has you thrashing against him wildly, your body convulsing, crying out his name until your voice grows hoarse.

a loud knock on the door has you clamp your mouth shut, making him laugh and laugh, lips glistening with your arousal as he smiles slyly at you. you’re absolutely perfect like this, he wishes he could capture this moment so he could revisit it later. the knocking persists, making him grunt in annoyance, and you watch him, through your eyelashes, lids lowering before your eyes widen at the impact of his slap — your pussy throbs incessantly, the pain too good to ignore.

it only takes a few strides before he’s prying the door open, fingers coated with your wetness. the event planner asks him unnecessary questions, her eyes darting to his hand before moving back up to his face; his body blocks the sight of you, for some reason he feels possessive — protective, even — although he doesn’t bother hiding the fact that he enjoyed eating your pussy, taking his time to lick his fingers in front of the woman, making her take a half step back, face flushed in embarrassment.

he doesn’t get her apprehension and discomfort. “you’re interrupting my meal,” is all he says, which prompts her to apologize profusely. you hate how you still want him to fuck you, even as he more or less keeps you bound like that for longer than you want to be, even as he reminds the stupid woman that she’s wasting his time, going so far as to say his food will spoil if she doesn’t wrap things up. you hate the way your pussy clenches around nothing, at how you’ve found yourself in an impossible situation all over again. he has half a mind to leave you like that, the thought getting stronger with each passing second, but that wouldn’t do; too many people bother him throughout the day and he refuses to let anyone else see you like this.

his benevolence knows no bounds when he slams the door in the woman’s face, cutting off their conversation after he tells her — rudely — to figure things out for herself, knowing damn well that he’ll have her head if his party isn’t perfect. you shift around, papers rustling underneath your body, ink bleeding through a few of the pages — and if you knew, you’d never be able to look at doflamingo ever again.

“we’ll have to pick this conversation up another time, kitten,” he says suddenly, all hints of playfulness now gone. he releases you from you from your bindings, your wrists an angry shade of red, the indentations from the string visible enough to anyone who cares to look closely. “i’ve got a party, and you have…things to bake.” or whatever it is that commoners do with their free time.

teeth clenched, you quickly hop off of the desk, legs wobbly but you refuse to let him see you stumble around. you pull your dress back on, fix your hair as best as you can, and glare at him sharply over your shoulder.

“whatever it is you want to say,” he cuts you off, a frown settling on his lips, “save it. you don’t want me to get angry, do you?” you don’t, and you know better. so you sigh bitterly and leave; walking as fast as you can, your thighs wet from your cum, you know there will be questions when you get back home, but you don’t care. you need to get far away from him, you need to forget about him, about the way he caressed your skin last time, and forget about the way he kissed you — like he couldn’t believe he’d crave your lips like that. likewise, he’s having a similar conversation with himself, annoyed he let you escape like that, but he knows that if he stayed with you any longer, neither of you would leave his office the same.

he knows the best course of action is to purge himself of any and all thoughts of you, but, if he’s honest with himself — and he’s not very honest — he knows it’ll be impossible, especially now that he’s had a proper taste of you, after he’s committed your reactions and pussy to memory, and after he almost found himself kissing you.

🌙 credit to leafsea for the cute crescent moon divider 🌙

#if i kept writing this fic would've never ended #fic request #🌙 la vie est drole event 🌙#one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote doflamingo x reader #donquixote doflamingo x y/n #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x y/n #doflamingo smut #‘i can change him’ 🥴

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