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physics-of-one-piece · 3 days ago

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Merlot & Primroses (Doflamingo x Reader)

Chapter 2

(read on 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.

Chapter Navigation: 1 , 2 (you're here)

Tags: Doflamingo x Reader, Rosinante's Wife!Reader, Civilian!Reader, Female!Reader, Rosinante x Reader (mentioned through flashbacks), Canon-Typical Violence, Attempted Murder, Gun Violence, Threats, Blackmailing, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Attempted Gaslighting, Mentions of Murder, Body Control (Doflamingo's Devil Fruit), Forced Proximity, Mentions of Fratricide, Grief, Angst, Hurt, Post-Minion Island, North Blue Doflamingo, Red Suit Doflamingo, Touch-Starved Doflamingo, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Protective Donquixote Doflamingo, Donquixote Brothers, Adult Themes, Oda Made Us Cry Over a Ship I Will Attempt To Make Us Cry Over a Couch

Word Count: 9.6k

A/N: Y'all were so supportive on Ch1 I was blown away like Doffy after Luffy hit him with Leo Bazooka, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH ❤️❤️🫶🏻🫶🏻😭😭. Thank you all so much for the comments, I'm sorry I was late replying to some, but work and life and all that boring stuff. Thank you for all the reblogs and likes and the tags in your reblogs+comments in your reblogs, I loved them all 🥹💕 There is a dangerous lack of Red Suit Doffy GIFs, and I will single-handedly change that. I absolutely adore every single comment you guys left, thank you all so much for the support. Enjoy Red Suit Doffy kidnapping you 😉❤️ P.S. get your "punch Doflamingo in the dick cus you can reach there" here 🦩🍆💥🤛🏻

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 @vaniiiavengeance @sagyunaro @froggiewrites (I think you might be interested 👉🏻👈🏻🥺) @saracrossing02 (if it's your vibe)

Also... DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED EPISODE 706 OF ONE PIECE. THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 706 IN THIS CHAPTER IE MENTIONS OF HOW ROSINANTE DIED.

Chapter 2

A month after moving into your house in North Blue for Rosinante’s mission, the only thing you two didn’t have was a couch. So, your first outing off the island you moved onto was a trip to Mall Island, an island full of shopping malls. It was only a three hour sail away, and with the marine ship transporting you and Rosinante, you and him found yourselves standing in front of a massive building of the most popular furniture store in North Blue an hour later.

“Rosinante… I don’t think this is the shop for us… are you sure you want to go shopping for our couch here?”

“Of course I do!” Rosinante said. “This is the best furniture shop in North Blue!”

‘It’s a good thing I pulled out the money from my paycheck slip as Corazón this morning from the bank.’ thought Rosinante. ‘I’d go broke if I shopped here with my paycheck as a commander.’

“This is one of the places where royalty shops, isn’t it?” you asked as the two of you entered the massive building. From inside, it looked like a palace, with marble staircases and pillars on the walkway supporting the other four floors. The people passing through the lobby and walking to the moving staircases were dressed in expensive clothes. Feeling incredibly self-conscious — normal people like you and Rosinante didn’t belong here — you leaned into his leg. You would have dressed into something nicer than a sweater, blouse and trousers, but Rosinante had done the same.

Then again, Rosinante was rather lax about dressing. His formal outfit for formal events was his commander outfit. You were lax about clothing too, most times. This time, though, you certainly felt underdressed.

“Yeah,” said Rosinante cheerily, picking up a guide flier to locate the living room section quicker. He noticed the way you leaned into him; he wrapped his long arm around your waist, his large hand settling on your hip, bringing you a sense of safety and comfort.

“Don’t worry,” He pulled out thick stacks of money he brought in his pockets, smiling at you. “I’ve got extra money if we need it!”

You frowned. It didn’t take a genius to know where he got the money from, from who he got it from, and for what he got it as payment.

“Your pirate older brother’s money,” you said.

You didn’t very much like Rosinante using his paycheck as Corazón for you. You wanted him to keep it for his undercover mission. Doflamingo would get suspicious if Rosinante suddenly asked him for more money and told him he’d spent it fast.

Rosinante started to sweat. “W-We can look at it as his present for our wedding!”

“Rosinante,” you said sternly. “Do you want to have sex on that couch or not? Because the mere thought of our couch being bought by Doflamingo’s blood money makes me as dry as the desert of Alabasta.”

Rosinante flushed red. “We’re in public!”

“At least we’ve got a new safe word,” you said.

“Doffy cannot be our safe word!” cried Rosinante.

“Flamingo, then.” you decided, fighting back from smiling; your husband's gawping, handsome, shocked, blushing face was adorable.

“Y/N!” your husband cried.

You giggled. “Speaking of Alabasta and deserts... Doesn’t Crocodile have this drying power with his Sand-Sand Fruit? Isn’t that a bit... You know... Unfunctional when...”

“He’s a Logia, he can deactivate his powers at will, including his drying power.”

“Devil Fruits are weird...” you mumbled. “Well, if I ever see your brother, I’ll just run.”

Rosinante looked at you with a severe, serious expression. “You can’t.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You can’t run away from Doffy.” said Rosinante; it was his Navy commander tone, no longer relaxed, but calm and steely. “It’s not about speed, or height, or how long your legs are. You can’t run away.”

“The strings can cut flesh, but they can’t reach that far...” you said.

“I thought so, too.” said Rosinante. “Then I saw Doffy decapitate a man fleeing from him because the guy got a lucky cut on my arm. The poor bastard was thirty meters away.”

“But they’re strings!” you argued. “Strings! Strings shouldn’t be that long!”

“The limit of Devil Fruits is your imagination. As long as you imagine it, possibility is, you can do it.” Rosinante frowned. “And Doffy’s got a big, wild, dark imagination.”

“Don’t worry. You two will never meet.” Rosinante gives you a smile; it looks rigid, and forced, uncertain in a way you’ve never seen before. “So don’t worry about it.”

You and Rosinante went to the first floor where the living room section was and headed to the section of four meter couches.

Rosinante fell to his knees when he saw the price of a sectional couch he liked, tested out and loved the feel of; it cost four million berries. His soul appeared to leave his body as he muttered, “F-Four... M-million?”

In the end, the furniture was too luxurious and too tacky for both your tastes. It was comfortable, yes, but it didn’t validate the massive price tag.

You could see Rosinante started thinking the same thing; it was all in his face, growing more sullen and depressed the more you two browsed through the big four meter long L-shaped and sectional couches. You wondered if the furniture reminded him too much of the furniture in Mariejois, or of his home in that island before people burned it down.

You were feeling quite discouraged yourself. You wanted Rosinante to be happy with the couch. After all, he would be the one mostly napping on the couch while you cooked lunch or dinner, and it needed to be of good quality, including the soft cushions for your husband’s bones.

“Maybe we can transport our couch from our apartment in Marineford to here?” you suggested as you two sat in the cafeteria of the marine ship transporting you back to your island.

“No! I want to buy one!” yelled Rosinante fiercely.“You’re going to be spending more time in that house than I will! I want you to be comfortable, and I want you to be happy with how the house looks!”

Your eyes widened, your chest warming up. “Rosi...”

“We’re gonna find the perfect couch for us, no matter what!” yelled Rosinante, clenching his fist in the air determinedly.

“Y-Yeah…” you said, not sure how to react at the surge of inspiration your husband showed over a couch except to stare at him, awed and in disbelief that such a wonderful man was your husband.

Oh. you think, staring at your husband’s older brother. I get it now, Rosi.

I really can’t run away.

Wulf lit his cigarette and took an inhale. He puffed out smoke through his lips. He and Rosinante stared at the white, sectional, four meter long couch in front of the porch wrapped in plastic wrap.

“So, of all people, why call me?” asked Wulf. Rosinante stood beside him, in his Corazón disguise, black coat, make-up, pink shirt and all, smoking alongside him.

“Well,” replied Rosinante, smoke coming from his cigarette, “it was either you, or actually calling my brother and explaining to him why I have a house and a wife and then if he doesn’t try to move in to bother us and cockblock me for the rest of my life and flirt with my wife every second, asking him to lift this with his strings because no way would Doffy bother with carrying furniture, saints forbid he does something as plebeian as that -”

“Okay, I get it!” yelled Wulf. “Your blame card has been successful, heart boy! Just let me finish smoking and then we’ll move it in!”

Rosinante smirked victoriously.

“I can’t believe you listened to my advice and took a white one...” said Wulf.

“Our kitchen’s blue, and right next to the living room, and white goes with blue.” said Rosinante.

“It’s quite a big one,” said Wulf, walking around the couch. “Is it modular?”

“Yeah. The sections can be separated, so it can be two couches. I think I’ll just put the ottoman as a footrest.”

“Make sure to put a blanket over it,” said Wulf. “If you get your muddy boots on it, your wife will kill you.”

Rosinante chuckled.

After they were done smoking, cigarettes discarded on the ashtray on the coffee table on the porch, Rosinante unlocked the doors of the house and he and Wulf decided to lift the left sectional first.

“Where’s the missus?” asked Wulf as he lifted the couch sectional under its base, hoping to seas Rosinante wouldn’t trip over a stair.

“Out in the market buying groceries for lunch,” said Rosinante, lifting the couch at a higher angle to get it up the wooden stairs. “I only came back thirty minutes ago, and the couch was delivered fifteen minutes ago.”

“Talk about nice timing,” said Wulf, chuckling. “It’ll be a nice surprise.”

Rosinante beamed brightly. “Yeah.”

“Where’d you find this one?” Wulf asked.

“In one of the furniture magazines Doffy gave me,” chirped Rosinante. “I went to the island where the store is and tried it out and it was the perfect one.”

“Furniture magazine?” asked Wulf, confused, blinking repeatedly. “Doflamingo gave you a furniture magazine?”

“Ah, um,” said Rosinante, blushing. “I stacked up on them to find the perfect couch, and Doffy caught me reading them. I told him I like reading furniture magazines. He’s started buying loads for me. I’ll have to read furniture magazines until I’m done with this entire undercover now, though...”

Wulf let out a “pf” before he burst out laughing.

Rosinante frowned at him. “It’s not funny, Wulf.”

“Oh, it is!” said Wulf, cackling, his chest shaking with his laughter. “It’s hilarious! Your evil older brother buying you all furniture magazines just so he can get his little brother his most fun stuff to read! Oh saints, I’ll die laughing!”

Rosinante, however, was growing more serious by the second.

“Don’t laugh at him.” said Rosinante, turning serious. “He might be evil, but he’s still my brother. Don’t laugh at him. Not over that. He’s buying the magazines because he thinks I like reading them. He has no reason to buy them. He buys them because he wants to make me happy, in his own way. Don’t laugh at him over that.”

Wulf sighed. “All right. Sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“I know,” said Rosinante. They made it into the living room. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Let’s put it here. Three, two, one…”

The two marines put down the sectional. They both let out huffs, and sat down on the sectional, panting for a few moments, catching their breath.

“It really is good… ah, like a cloud…” Wulf smiled happily.

“Told ya,” said Rosinante, smiling happily as well. “It’s so comfy.”

The two marines sighed in bliss.

“Let’s get the other one,” said Wulf.

Rosinante groaned.

“Come on, big guy,” said Wulf, grabbing Rosinante by the arm, pulling him up as Rosinante groaned some more.

Five minutes later, you walked through the fence gate and closed it behind yourself, entering the large front garden, carrying bags of groceries.

When you climbed the porch, you heard Rosinante’s and Wulf’s voices.

“We did it! Screw you, Doflamingo, I’m Rosi’s number one guy to call for moving furniture! High five, Rosi!”

Your heart leapt in joy. Rosinante was back. You fumbled with the keys in your excitement — you had far too many keys on your keychain — and after unlocking the doors, you heard the two marines squawk.

“Shit! Your wife’s back! Act natural!”

“There’s a four meter long, white sectional couch of eight hundred thousand berries in my living room, how am I supposed to act natural?!” asked Rosinante.

“I don’t know, light yourself on fire?” Then, “Not on the couch, Rosi!”

“Saints, she’s gonna kill me.” said Rosinante. “Maybe I shouldn’t have bought this...”

“No, no, she’s gonna love it.” Wulf assured. “All this space for the fun times you two can have. She’ll love it, and so will you. This is the best use of money. For sex.”

“Is that why you said it should be four meters?!” shrieked Rosinante.

“Duh!” said Wulf. “Why do you think you took a white one?!”

“Gah!”

Your heart racing in your breast, you stepped into the living room, and felt your breath hitch.

Rosinante was sitting on the large white couch.

The black feathers of Rosinante’s coat flattered the white couch, like a black-and-white checkerboard. For a moment, you were too mesmerized by Rosinante’s beauty, sitting there on the couch in the setting sunlight casting a heavenly glow on his frame, that you forgot to speak.

Rosinante lit up like the sun the moment he saw you, his brown eyes glowing with joy.

“Heya!” Rosinante says cheerily, showing you a peace sign, giving you his big, goofy grin. “Surprise!”

You dropped the grocery bag and leapt on him, hugging him. Rosinante doesn’t fall, catching you in his arms with ease, slightly shocked and wide-eyed.

You hold him tight, so tight your knuckles turn white, holding onto the black feathers tight, basking in their softness in your hand.

“Welcome home, Rosi.”

Rosinante’s entire body softens. All the makeup he masks himself with melts away, and he puts away the mantle of Corazon within a moment, returning to you in full, all soft and gentle, his strong arms lifting, wrapping around you, and all he is now is your husband.

“I’m home,” he whispers lovingly, smiling into your shoulder. The two of you bask in each other, in your heartbeats, your bodies, your touch, in comfortable, loving silence.

“And with a new couch!” said Wulf, breaking the silence.

“And look!” said Wulf, hopping over the backrest and onto the couch beside Rosinante, grabbing your husband in a headlock.“It can take a full ton!”

Rosinante tapped furiously on Wulf’s forearm for his best friend to release him from the chokehold, which Wulf did.

“What, did you two suddenly go from hundred-ninety kilograms to five hundred kilograms each?” you teased, smiling at them.

The two men gasped.

“(Y/N)-chan, how could you call me — and sweet, sweet Rosi here — fat?”

Rosinante nodded furiously, tears in his soft brown eyes.

“You’re the one who said a ton,” you said, lifting your eyebrows at Wulf.

“It’s a manner of speech from South Blue! Darn!”

You could feel Rosinante’s gaze on you.

“Wulf,” you said, staring at Rosinante; he was staring at you longingly, but was too polite to tell Wulf to leave. “We’ll hold a barbeque tomorrow if you leave in the next ten seconds.”

It didn’t take Wulf a single second to realise the meaning.

“Oh, I’m out the door, Mrs. Donquixote!” sang Wulf cheerily, giving you and Rosinante a wolfish grin, getting up from the couch, heading straight to the doors. “You know me and barbeque and my best friend! Can’t betray either of them!”

Rosinante blushed. “Thanks, Wulf. I’m getting you beer with that barbeque.”

“Don’t mention it, Rosi.” said Wulf. “Bye! Have fun, lovebirds!”

You and Rosinante waved Wulf away. The moment the doors shut, you and Rosinante broke the distance with a desparate, long kiss, your lips meeting. His large hands settled on your back, hugging you tight, and your own arms settled around his neck before burying into his soft, fluffy hair.

When you parted after numerous kisses, needing air, you whispered into his collarbone, “I hate your brother.”

“Why?” asked Rosinante, laughing. You leaned away from his chest, and looked up at him; Rosinante froze. He could see it. He could see how much you missed him, how much you worried for him; it was written all over your face.

“Because he’s keeping you from me,” you whispered, full of ache and longing.

Rosinante went quiet. Carefully, he grabbed your hips and settled you atop of him; it was your turn to gasp, to blush, to clutch him tight.

“I’m right here, mi amor,” he said, deep, warm brown eyes staring into yours. His fingers caressed your cheek, took your hand, brought it to his mouth, and placed a firm kiss on it, leaving a lipstick shape on your knuckle. He looked at you again, offering you a small, soft smile. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m all yours for the next two days.”

You smiled, staring lovingly at him. You ran your fingers gently through his hair.

“Do you... like the couch?” Rosinante asked nervously.

“Yes, Rosinante,” you said softly, smiling at your husband. “I love the couch.”

Gently, Rosinante leaned down and kissed you again, uncaring for his lipstick; you found you rather loved getting lipstick marks from him, and ever since you’d told him such, he wasn’t as hesitant to kiss you with his make-up on.

You pulled your arms tighter around his head, pulling him down, the black feathers of his coat tickling your arms and face. You wanted him closer, until there was no space between you two. Gravity and weight did the rest, and you ended up laying on the softest couch you’d ever laid on. Rosinante fell atop you, bending his legs beside your thighs to support himself well enough to keep his weight from pressing into you, kissing you deeply. You sighed happily into his passionate lips, holding him tight, relieved he was back.

Rosinante’s lipstick tasted of roses.

It’s wrong, you think, staring wide-eyed at a man that doesn’t belong here, that shouldn’t be near you, that isn’t your husband. It’s all wrong.

Doflamingo’s slicked up, spiked up blond hair is the same colour as the bouquet of primroses sitting on his thigh. The blond spikes reminded you of a golden crown worn by a king.

His face was completely different from Rosinante’s; where Rosinante had round cheeks, Doflamingo had lean, sharp ones. Doflamingo also had a more narrow facial structure and chin than Rosinante. Some things were similar, so similar the resemblance deeply unsettled you. They both had the sharp, refined, thin nose, the strong jawline and beautiful lips. Their facial shape was different, giving entirely different impressions. Where Rosinante’s face was angelic and gentle — even boyish from some angles — in shape, fitting the picture of a kind, sweet prince charming, Doflamingo’s face was tough-looking, masculine and extremely aristocratic, painting the picture of a devilishly handsome mob boss or a cruel, cunning, ruthless king. Doflamingo’s forehead was bare, tanned, with furrow lines above his sunglasses.

Doflamingo’s entire appearance looked incredibly threatening and unfriendly. If you met him on the street, you would have kept away from him and shivered after he finally passed because of the air of danger surrounding him.

Draped over his broad shoulders, fluffy and humongous, covered with thousands of flamingo feathers, was his extravagant pink feather coat, spread along the white surface of your husband’s couch. You were used to the black feathers on the whiteness, not pink ones.

The change of colours startled you. Doflamingo was a malignant juxtaposition of colours that didn’t have a place in your home. Red and black instead of blue and white, pink feathers instead of black ones.

Doflamingo spoke.

“Don’t try to run, or call for help.”

Doflamingo’s voice was deep like thunder, commanding like a god’s, unsettling you deep to your core, your limbs freezing up with instinctual, animalistic fear.

Despite it, you bared your teeth at him, full of hatred and anger, because he shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be sitting on Rosi’s couch, it was supposed to be Rosi sitting there, not…

Him!

“Otherwise, I’ll turn this entire island bloody.”

You don’t move. You don’t move a single inch, but your lungs lift and fall rapidly in absolute fear as you stare at the tall demon in terror.

Are you breathing?

You don’t know.

You can’t think about breathing, too busy frozen by terror.

“By that look, I suppose you know who I am,” he said conversationally, his dark, deep voice resounding all across the safe haven of your house which Rosinante’s soft laugh used to fill with warmth and comfort.

Doflamingo turned his head fully toward you, flashing you a sharp, malicious smile full of teeth.

You felt cold under the massive, powerful weight of his gaze. And small. So very, incredibly small.

How? How did he find out about you so quickly, how did he find out where you live?

The spy.

The damned spy.

If you ever meet that spy, you’ll strangle them.

Doflamingo was the kind of terrifying that would send you running, but you knew you wouldn’t make it far.

“You’re Donquixote Doflamingo.” you said shakily. Maybe you’re already dead, and this is hell, with your husband’s older brother as your assigned tormentor. “Captain of the Donquixote Pirates.”

“Yes. And you’re Donquixote (Y/N).” He said this with the nastiest, most evil smile, speaking the name Donquixote arrogantly and smugly, like the royal title of godhood he must see it as, and most likely didn’t consider someone like you worthy of. “My dead brother’s wife, and my sister-in-law. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Dead brother’s wife.

The words stung at your heart.

“Yes. Very nice.” you said with an impressive amount of politeness considering how much you loathed him. “I’d like you to leave now.”

Doflamingo burst out laughing; you jumped at the sound. He howled with laughter. He cackled, throwing his head back with a wheeze, bursting out into a full on raucous demonic laughter, loud and uproarious, the sound crescendoing into unnatural territory. The sound of his laugh made the hairs on your nape stand on end; it truly sounded like the laugh of an evil demon from the darkest, deepest pits of hell.

You didn’t know someone’s laughter could freeze you in terror, but here you were, proven wrong. You wished to never hear such a thing again. The sound of Doflamingo’s laughter would haunt you for the rest of your life.

“Mmm…fufufufufu! Fufufufufufufufufu!”

You put down your grocery bag — slowly, because you weren’t a fool. Even if he was holding his stomach and trying to stifle his laughter with his hand over his grinning, stretched out mouth, you knew he was keeping you in his sights.

“You’re hilarious!” he chortled, gasping. “I haven’t… hahahahaha… laughed this hard since… I forgot!”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to be done laughing.

“It breaks my heart, you know.” he said conversationally, moving his tanned, long, large fingers around the air, crooking them like a puppeteer. You froze on instinct, all your limbs going stiff; your body’s misguided attempt not to be caught in the strings that could come out any time, like the concealed claws of a tiger.

You didn’t know where to look; at his face or his hands. Doflamingo was so big that if he weren’t five meters away from you, sitting on your couch, your eyes wouldn’t be able to see all of him within your range of eyesight.

Doflamingo knew you were watching. He used his fingers like a lure he knew people would fall for all too well, and he’d managed to hypnotize you with their movements, too, forcing your attention onto them without you realising.

“I wasn’t invited to the wedding,” he said, smile completely gone, and somehow, his downturned lips were worse.

What?

“He didn’t...” you started.

Speak, dammit.

Unfortunately, it’s hard when your lungs are barely grabbing in enough air. The pressure of his presence suffocated you.

“...want you there.”

Doflamingo’s chuckle is as dark and deep as his voice.

“Fufufu, I bet.” Doflamingo said. “Must’ve been paranoid I’d steal you away. In the end, I found you, anyway.”

He smiled again. It wasn’t a nice smile, nothing like Rosinante’s smile. It was the sort of evil, triumphant smile the devil smiled knowing he’d won.

“What do you want, Doflamingo?” you asked coldly, tone icy and full of restrained anger you fought to bury.

“What do I want?” he asked, and laughed again. He lounged back on the couch, the picture of arrogance. His entire body language told you the truth Rosinante’s been telling you since you met him — his older brother was an arrogant, overconfident asshole who thought he deserved the world because of what he was born as.

“For starters, I’d like you to come live with me,” said Doflamingo.

What?

Nevermind, you thought. He’s actually insane. He’s mentally unstable.

“I refuse,” you said firmly.

Doflamingo laughed again, startling you once more.

“That’s not how it works, though.” said Doflamingo through his chuckles, placing a hand on his bared forehead, continuing to giggle; he sounded like he needed to be admitted into a psych ward. His entire body shook with his amusement; his chest, his shoulders, the feathers of his coat swaying. “That’s not how it works at all, Mrs. Donquixote.”

What do you do? He’s not going to kill you? He wants you to come live with him? That sounds worse, so much worse.

Do you run? There’s no way. You can’t run. You’re barely forcing yourself to stand as it is, full of terror from being in Doflamingo’s mere presence, in the same room as him. If you try to run, you won’t get far. He’ll stop you with his strings, or just catch up to you in no time with his long legs that are longer than your entire body. Who knows what he’ll do to you if you try to run.

You still have the revolver in your back pocket. You need to get it. It’s the only chance you have.

You cast your eyes around the room in an attempt to find something to help you. What you noticed on the side table near the seat where Doflamingo sat, however, grabbed all your attention.

An empty plate with only chocolate syrup.

You knew what the plate had held.

Somehow… somehow, that little thing was the last straw. First he kills your husband, then he breaks into your house, and then, like he hadn’t already done enough, eats the pancakes you made like he’s got any right to them.

“Where are my pancakes?” you asked. You hated how weak your voice sounded.

“Ah,” said Doflamingo. “I ate them.”

“You...” Your brain was scrambling to make sense of it. “Ate my pancakes?”

Those pancakes were supposed to be your last meal, and the pink-feathered fucker couldn’t even leave that alone?

Doflamingo shoots you a grin, big and remorseless. “They were delicious.”

For a moment, you were flabbergasted by him. First, he killed your husband, broke into your house, and as a cherry on top, he decided to make himself at home and eat what was supposed to be your last meal. Had he not done enough to you? Did he enjoy twisting the knife? You were already dead inside. Now Doflamingo was just kicking your corpse for fun.

If you didn’t shoot him, you were going to smash his skull in to wipe that big, cocksure smile off his face.

But how... How to draw the gun without Doflamingo stopping you?

“Move his eyes,” said a calm voice, and you froze. It was Rosinante. Rosinante’s voice. You felt gosebumps on your spine; it felt like he was standing right beside you; your eyes filled with tears. “He needs to move his entire head away from you. His entire field of sight needs to be away from you. Distract him with something he wants, something he’ll immediately go to investigate. A sound, an object he’s looking for, a threat.”

Something he wants...

“There’s more in the fridge,” you said calmly, with the resignation of someone who could do nothing to stop someone like Doflamingo from doing whatever he wanted.

You didn’t even offer it. However, it was like how pirates were with treasure. Apparently, Doflamingo considered your pancakes delicious enough to treat them as such — like treasure — because he turned his head completely away from you, over his back, pivoting his body to the left to be able to fully look where the light blue kitchen was.

With immense speed, you pulled out the revolver hidden beneath your shirt, aimed it at him, and pulled down the safety hammer.

The moment the safety lock clicked, Doflamingo turned his head to you.

“Woah, woah!” he called, laughing again. “You’re that angry about the pancakes?”

He’s laughing. You’re aiming a gun at him, and the bastard is laughing. He killed his little brother, his little brother, he killed your husband, and he’s laughing.

He really is insane.

“Rosi was right,” you growled, fury and anger spitting past your lips, a snarl on your lips. “You are crazy.”

“Fufufufu! You’re the one aiming a gun at me, woman!” he said between his bouts of manic laughter.

“You’re the one with a devil fruit that can control and cut people, and the one who killed his brother, pirate.” you hissed.

Doflamingo smiled, sharp and wide, yet despite the smile, you couldn’t tell what was going through his head at all.

What now, Rosi?

“Start stepping back. Get out of there. Keep your pistol pointed at him. Do NOT look away from him.”

You could do none of those things. You knew you should, but you couldn’t. If you did those things, if you ran away, you wouldn’t be able to look at Rosinante in heaven. It felt like it would be the greatest dishonor to him.

“How about you lower the gun?” asked Doflamingo.

The way he said that pissed you off. Like he was talking to a pet that decided to try to bite him when he went to pick it up.

“How about you burn in hell, you piece of shit?” you growled, baring your teeth like a wild, wounded animal at the predator circling you.

You didn’t know how to fight. You didn’t have a Devil Fruit. All you had was this gun in your hands, the grief welling in your eyes, stinging in the shape of tears, and your angrily beating, shattered heart in your chest.

“(Y/N), run! Run, run, run!”

Doflamingo gritted his teeth. “It’s not my fault he’s dead.”

You feel a vein on your forehead snap.

“Huh?” you growled, baring your teeth.

“It’s not my fault he’s dead,” he said firmly, angrily, as though he didn’t do it, as though he didn’t shoot him. As though he was innocent.

“Rosinante died because he was weak.” Doflamingo sneered in disgust. “Because he had that same dumb worldview like our father, believing he was human. He let his stupid emotions and misguided, worthless sense of justice interfere, and betrayed me.”

You saw red. Red like blood stains on clothes, leaking on white snow. Red like flames enveloping a city, eating away at every building and life they touch. Red like the lipstick Rosinante wore.

All the fear vanished from your blood.

“You. You bastard. Shut it.” Your voice was different. Cold. Enraged. Deadly. Full of hatred. Your eyes were full of icy fury, your face cold and expressionless. You were ready to kill him, and you wouldn’t feel a thing when you did. “Don’t talk about my husband.”

“Why are you angry?” asked Doflamingo. “I’m only telling you what happened.”

“You're not,” you said, your heart shaking in your ribcage. “That’s not what happened. You’re badmouthing him. I know what happened.”

“Do you?” he asked, frowning. “My brother betrayed me. He betrayed me. He stabbed me in the back, he nearly destroyed my entire life. What part of that isn’t getting through to your head?”

“Lower that gun,” he ordered, sneering, the command making you momentarily freeze. Your muscles nearly obeyed him before you got a grip on them. “I’ve had enough of my family pointing guns at me.”

Your hackles raised. Doflamingo was not your family.

Doflamingo stared you down with such a cold-hearted, apathetic expression you felt your stomach drop, as though trying to escape from that heartless gaze. You could see yourself in the crimson lenses of his sunglasses.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” Doflamingo said, frowning at you, frightening and intimidating all at once; he looked angry with you, offended by the perceived weakness he thought you held, which infuriated you further. “You’re just like your husband.”

Rage brewed inside you. You never knew such a storm was possible for a person to feel. You hated hearing his voice. You hated hearing him badmouth Rosinante.

To you, Rosinante was the very very strongest. To you, Rosinante was the most kindest, bravest, fiercest man in the entire world. Doflamingo didn’t hold a candle to Rosinante.

“He’s baiting you.” Rosinante sounded panicked; he sounded scared. “He wants you inside here. Don’t let him. Get out. Get out and run!”

You put your other trembling hand on the grip of the revolver, glaring at him, your grip steady around the gun, staring at the man who killed your husband.

“Do you want to stake your life on it?” you asked in a deadly calm, cold voice; it didn’t sound like your own. It sounded heartless.

“Before you shoot me…” said Doflamingo slowly. “Do you want to know how he died?”

Your breath hitched.

“Your husband died alone,” said Doflamingo calmly, the red-orange lenses of his sunglasses reflecting you. He was not smiling, his frown deeper and deeper, angrier and angrier. “He died cold and alone, buried in his own blood, lying in the snow.”

Your eyes blurred with tears holding the memories of Rosinante, your lips quivering from the lack of his lips’ warmth on yours, your teeth gritted in a vicious snarl, your knuckles turning white how tightly you clenched the grip of the gun.

Rosinante’s voice came back to you, the last words he said to you, and you remembered all of him, of his smiling face and warm, loving eyes as he said...

“I love you!”

Rosinante couldn’t press the trigger because he loved Doflamingo. In the end, no matter what Doflamingo did, to Rosinante, he was still his older brother.

That’s why Rosinante couldn’t press the trigger.

But you can.

You will.

It frightens you how easily you can pull the trigger with Doflamingo on the other side of the barrel.

You have nothing but pure hatred for Doflamingo. To you, Doflamingo is nothing but your husband’s murderer.

That’s why you didn’t hesitate, didn’t linger, or felt any guilt at all.

You pulled the trigger.

The bang of the gunshot filled your ears, but you didn’t care. You didn’t stop with one press of the trigger, ignoring the whiplash in your arm given by the gunshot. You pressed the trigger five more times, in quick succession, filling the house with five more deafening, explosive bangs rending through the air, aiming the barrel at Rosinante’s older brother.

You hear Doflamingo click his tongue. A glimpse of strings shimmering under the light catch your gaze, a sound of wires, Doflamingo moving his hand —

The bullets, which were the size of a peanut, clattered to the ground together with your gun, both in pieces.

Doflamingo lowered his hand. You had only seen him swing his fingers in a slashing motion, barely able to follow the swift movement of the red sleeve and glove with your eyes, but you were sure he cut the bullets into numerous tiny fragments.

Doflamingo’s cold look never wavered, his face never twitched to show a single sign of panic. There was no hesitation or fear in him before or after cutting the bullets into tiny shreds. He just sat there with his usual calm presence.

“Did Corazón teach you how to shoot?” A dark smile split across his face, more a sneer than a smile. “Too bad it won’t work on me.”

You stared at him, and he stared right back.

“Are you done now?” he asked, rough tone both deceptively curious and mocking in its amusement, the scythe-shaped grin pasted on his strong face.

“What do you want?” you asked through gritted teeth.

“I told you what I want.”

“And I told you,” you hissed, breathing hard. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Are you hiding anything else from me?” Doflamingo asked you.

“I don’t have anything else,” you said, knowing you were lying.

“Is that what we’re going to do?” Doflamingo asked. His tone wasn’t mocking, but sharp and direct, unforgiving in a rough, terrible way, his smile gone, the sight of his frown turning your blood to ice; you feel like you’re going to throw up from fear. “You’re going to lie to me, just like your stupid husband did?”

You opened your mouth to reply, to tell him to go throw himself into the sea…

“Purupurupurupuru.”

You froze, your eyes widening.

Doflamingo’s frown fell into a deeper one. He stared at you in dead, terrible, lethal silence. You never knew someone could look so mad without saying a single word.

Damn it.

“Purupurupuru… purupururupurupuru…”

Damn it!

Wulf must be calling. He must have gotten a ship.

“Unbelievable,” said Doflamingo with a sigh, his merlot suit deflating with his chest, his voice full of disappointment as the snail continued to ring.

“Pull it out, then.” said Doflamingo, sounding resigned in his dissapointment.

You didn’t want to test your luck anymore. You pulled out the snail. Your breath hitched when a string latched onto it and it came flying into the space between Doflamingo’s fingers.

“Look at that,” said Doflamingo, holding the tiny white-blue snail, his tone oozing with patronizing superiority. He spoke to you with such thick condescension, it pissed you off more and more. “A transponder snail. A marine one at that.”

It looked like a chocolate bar between Doflamingo’s long fingers. The transponder snail was still ringing.

Another sound of wires — no, they sounded like the pulled taut strings moving across the surface — and you watched, helpless, wide-eyed, as the snail was cut to pieces.

Doflamingo let it go, discarding its slimy remains on the floor.

A small gasp left your lips, your eyes stinging with tears for the small snail that had done no harm. It was the snail Rosinante had given you before he went on his mission. The snail was a life, a living creature, and Doflamingo killed it. He could have shut it off and put it on the table, but he killed it.

All to teach you some sort of lesson about not lying to him.

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him with hatred which grew more fiercer by the second.

“You want to test me again?” he asked dangerously, his smile gone, veins throbbing on his forehead. “Maybe the next thing I cut to pieces is this house.”

Your heart stopped.

“Me telling you what I came here for, that I’d like you to come live with me...” said Doflamingo, staring at you. “That was me asking. That was me being chivalrous. Showing manners. Showing you respect, which you keep failing to show me.”

“You don’t deserve my respect,” you spat hatefully. “And I don’t want your false chivalry.”

Doflamingo’s brows furrowed.

“Fine,” he huffed. “I won’t ask this time. Do you know how it looks like when I don’t ask, darling?”

His voice was still so terribly condescending, but now it was darker, turning more malicious, more cold.

“Let’s see…” said Doflamingo coldly. “You can come with me quietly, or you can try to fight me.”

Fuck you.

“If you resist… I’ll kill every single person on this island.”

Obey or people will die.

“The choice is yours.”

The choice was not yours. All you could choose was whether he would hurt everyone or not. It was a choice, but it was a shit one, and you knew it.

The smile Doflamingo smiled was dark and giddy, almost delighted by the prospect of you saying no, of you giving him a reason to use his powers. Like he wanted to carnage another island, as casual as going for a walk and buying groceries.

This wasn’t what you signed up for. You signed up for death, not life.

But you couldn’t let people die. You had friends here. There were families here. And what would saying no do? Doflamingo would grab you and take you either way. It would be better to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone.

“I’ll come,” you forced through your trembling voice. “Don’t... Kill anyone.”

If you could protect the island from Doflamingo’s murderous whims and tendencies by obeying and not fighting, you’d do it.

“Fufufu… What a reasonable little sister-in-law I have. Cute, too.”

Your skin crawled uncomfortably.

Doflamingo took the primroses off his lap and offered them to you.

“For you. To cheer you up.”

You didn't want to accept them.

Just do it. Just take them.

You clenched your teeth. You just had to do it. You reached forward and took the bouquet from him.

“Thank you,” you said.

That caught Doflamingo off guard. His frown fell away, his browline and forehead relaxing, his downturned lips parting slightly.

A small smile quirked on Doflamingo’s lips; it unnervingly reminded you of Rosinante's small smiles, the kinds he smiled in secret with you, when you told him something that made him happy, or the first time he’d given you the same flowers and you were overjoyed to get them, as they were your favourite.

How did Doflamingo know these were your favourite? Did he pick them randomly? You didn’t know, and you decided you didn’t want to know.

“Can I bring my —” His deep voice cuts you off, “No.”

“Why?”

“Your clothes aren’t good enough,” Doflamingo said.

You were too tired to try to make sense of that.

“No, that’s... why don’t you kill me?”

“You have nothing to do with the marines, or my brother’s failed mission,” said Doflamingo. “I checked.”

“I work for the Navy,” you said.

Doflamingo waved it off. “Civilian servants work for everyone, that doesn’t make them loyal to the institution they happen to be employed in.”

You frowned.

“Do you want me to kill you?” asked Doflamingo.

“Honestly?” you ask, feeling like there are a thousand worlds of weight on your shoulders, the emptiness in your chest spreading more and more. “Yes.”

The demon in red chuckled. “I see. I’m not going to kill you. And nobody else is, either.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Fufufu... I’m sure, little one.”

Doflamingo stood up from the couch, standing at his full height, and you felt your gut drop.

Doflamingo was huge, standing above three meters of height. You were used to huge men — Rosinante was huge himself after all, and both brothers had the exact same lanky build — but the way Doflamingo held himself upright, with class and confidence, gave him an air of intimidation you never experienced with your husband, whose legs were taller than your entire body. The same went for your brother-in-law; you were quite below his waistline. And he was taller than Rosinante; you noticed it just by looking at him. With Doflamingo, you were left staring eye-to-eye with vivid merlot suit pants, above his knees. As you did with Rosinante when he stood close to you, you tilted your head upward to look at his brother. Fear struck you.

You stepped back from him.

(You never stepped back from Rosinante in all the years you’ve known him.)

Idiot. Don’t step away.

It was too late for that now. The damage was done.

The pink feathers of his coat brushed the couch as he approached you. His face looked heartless and cold, looking down at you with a condescending arrogance, like you were a pebble that got in his way.

“Well? Won’t you greet your brother-in-law properly?”

What?

“Tch,” he said, annoyed. “You’re a translator, but you don’t know the Dressrosan greeting custom?”

“I know the custom,” you said, glaring up at him. The Dressrosan greeting custom for women when greeting men and men greeting women in family interactions were cheek kisses, one on the right cheek and one on the left cheek. “I just don’t want to do it with you.”

Doflamingo chuckled, putting his gloves back on, slipping his fingers into them. “Too bad.”

He bent down to be at your height, and his hand grasped your face. His fingers could easily wrap around your head and crush it; his palm was bigger than your face.

His face got close to yours.

You stopped breathing. You froze. You could see your own face reflected in the sunglasses now. Doflamingo’s face got closer, and you clenched your eyes shut, your entire body tensing up.

Doflamingo kissed your right cheek, then your left cheek; his lips were soft and warm. The smell of his cologne enveloped you; a fresh, clean scent of coconuts and salt.

“Now you,” he said, tapping his right cheek, grinning at you devilishly, the painting of arrogance. “Right here. And then the other one.”

He even turned his head to the side, offering you his right cheek to make it easier for you.

Oh, you never wanted to slap a man as much as you wanted to slap Doflamingo in that moment.

You inhaled, gathering your guts, and kissed him on his right cheek, then on his left. It was neither quick or slow, but the usual tempo of the greeting, the same speed he’d done it with — though his had been slower, most likely to freak you out.

His cheeks were warm, his skin smooth and soft under your lips, and you could feel the way his cheeks stretched with his smile.

You leaned back, fighting back from wiping your lips on your arm.

“Give me a hug.”

What the hell?!

Before you could react in any way, Doflamingo hugged you under the arms, crossed his long arms over each other on your back, his large hands covering half of your upper back, and hugged you tight, cradling you to him until your face was smushed against his red tie. The fabric of his black dress shirt was soft and smooth as your breasts pressed to his broad, strong chest. He settled his head on your left shoulder, and that was that.

It was a nightmare. You were absolutely horrified. You didn’t move; you couldn’t. You were too numbed by shock.

You felt his right pinky finger lift from your back, and before you knew it, your frozen arms started lifting, going under Doflamingo’s arms.

My arms...

No. you thought, realising what was happening. You hadn’t even felt the string, how...

No no no no —

The next instinct that came to you was to break free. You could feel your arms, and you tried to tug them, move them, but it wasn’t working. They were moving on their own. It made no sense. Your brain was telling your arms to move away, you even attempted to jerk the muscles but it was like your bones themselves were under the control of Doflamingo's string.

You couldn’t control your arms. You couldn’t control your arms!

They slid around Doflamingo’s back, gliding across his suit before wrapping completely around him — you could feel how strong he was, could feel the thick muscles on his back — and squeezing him to you. You felt the feathers on the inside of his coat brush against your palm and fingers. Your fingers, which Doflamingo controlled to clench around the fabric of his suit, holding him tight.

Doflamingo hummed; it sounded like the sound a person made when they were having a nice dream.

You were on the verge of a panic attack. He was close, intimately close, far too close, so close you could feel his chest rise and fall as he breathed, so close you felt the thump of his heartbeat against your breast. You were small and tiny against him; he completely enveloped you.

Breathe. Breathe. Calm down. It’ll only get worse if you panic. Breathe. Just breathe.

You tried to move other parts of your body. You blinked, you breathed through your nose, you cast your eyes around the room, you parted and closed your lips. There were no weird thoughts going on in your head, and your heartbeat seemed... as fine as a heartbeat could be when the most dangerous pirate in North Blue was hugging you.

Doflamingo couldn’t control your facial expressions, or anything on your face. He couldn’t control your eyes. He couldn’t control your heart, your mind, or your soul.

All he could control was your body. But that was already terrible enough.

Doflamingo sighed through his nose, the flutter of his breath caressing against your neck, tickling your skin. “See? This is what you do when you see your brother-in-law.”

“A nice -”

This was not nice. It did not feel nice. It felt like a cage more than an embrace. Doflamingo was squeezing you to him like you were his new favourite, human-sized teddy bear.

“— warm —”

This was not warm! You felt cold, like you were surrounded by a thick, impenetrable wall of ice which would make you bleed if you tried to move out of the embrace. You were shaking so much you forgot to breathe.

“— hug.”

Help! you prayed to whatever god existed, begging for salvation, tears stinging at your eyes, your heart thudding fearfully in your chest. All the anger you managed to gather was gone, replaced by the cold, massive sense of fear.

Doflamingo was going to crush your bones, your organs, your muscles. You didn’t think it was possible to squeeze someone to death, but you were starting to believe a man of his size could do it without trouble.

The Demon of North Blue leaned to your ear. His hand slid up your body, cradling the back of your head; your head was like a small ball in his grasp.

“I’m going to pick you up,” his voice was deep and warm against your ear; you fought back from whimpering at the closeness of his mouth to your skin. “And you’re going to be a good little sister-in-law and stay quiet. We’re going to head out, and you won’t squirm. You won’t make a single sound. And if you do that, I won’t touch this house, or this island, or its people.”

“Yes, sir.” you said before you realised what words you were saying, the instinct from work kicking in all because of Doflamingo’s commanding, authoritative tone. The moment you realised what you said, you were horrified. Your face burned with shame.

It wasn’t your fault. Doflamingo’s was the sort of voice and tone people naturally obeyed to.

Doflamingo huffed disapprovingly. “Not ‘sir’. Doffy.”

Your stomach sunk. No. No, you couldn’t call him that. That was how Rosinante called him, because they were brothers. You couldn’t just call him that.

Rosinante had asked you to call him Rosi a month after you started dating.

“It’s how…” Rosinante’s thumb drew more circles on your palm; he was stumbling over his words slightly, a pink blush rising to his cheeks. “The people dear to me call me… so… if you want to… you can call me Rosi.”

At his request, you’d called him Rosi — it sounded so cute to you, and you loved how it felt to say it — and after that, he blushed, fell to the ground, and started rolling on the grass of Marineford Park while giggling and kicking his long feet.

“Aaaa! I can’t! It’s so cute!” he opened his palms, revealing his reddened, smiling face; he was smiling from ear to ear, gazing at you with those big brown eyes of his. “Call me Rosi again, please!”

You giggled. Rosinante was so wonderful; he looked so happy, his smile was so infectious you started smiling too.

“Rosi,” you whispered lovingly.

Rosinante let out a squeaky sound in his throat. He went back to rolling on the ground to try to cool off his heated body.

Then, suddenly, Rosinante stopped moving. When you turned to check on him, he was bleeding out of his nose. A lot. So much it was getting on his collar.

“Help!” you called, and as the park was filled with people who worked in the Navy, medics and marines in civilian clothing came running to help you. “My boyfriend’s gonna die!”

You could move your hands and arms normally again. You didn't even feel the strings let you go.

Dressing like a gentleman does not mean being one. Doflamingo, in no polite terms, manhandled you like a brute. He picked you up by wrapping his immense hand around your wrist, his long fingers completely encircling your arm, the width of his hand so large it covered your forearm. Without giving you a warning, he lifted you off the ground - you yelped when the solid ground vanished beneath your feet.

Doflamingo settled his gloved hand beneath your curled knees, his arm wrapped around your body like a wing, the back of your head resting in the crook of his elbow. You felt like a puppy being carried like this.

Doflamingo exited through the doors, climbed down the staircase of the porch, and then looked up at the sky. Now that he was in the sunlight, his hair really was the exact same colour as the bouquet of yellow primroses you held.

Doflamingo didn’t warn you before he launched into the sky, his left arm firmly keeping you in place beneath his chest.

You let out a shriek as you ascended up into the sky, the ground getting further and further away until it looked like a terrain on a map in books. Your left arm flailed for purchase out of panic, on instinct, grabbing onto the closest support; his red suit jacket.

Before you knew it, before you could process it, you were high up in the sky, the sea passing by in a blue blur beneath you, the wind gathered by Doflamingo’s flying movements pushing into your face and waving your hair around.

Understandably, you screeched again.

Doflamingo laughed.

“You screech like a canary, fufufu!” he said, his chest shaking with his laughter.

Your entire body clenched up and froze, your eyes closing shut. You thought you weren’t afraid of heights. You were definitely afraid of flying, it seemed, because that was height and moving quickly over a large height.

You wondered how quickly the marines would figure out you got kidnapped.

It wasn’t anything new. Pirates always targeted a marine’s family and spouses, especially if they were civilians. A team would be sent out to find you. Unfortunately, you didn’t leave any signs of struggle, but the next rule of action would be to call your personal transponder snail, which you were to keep at your side at all times. The transponder snail Doflamingo sliced into bits. At least that would alert the marines something happened to you.

Wulf would know. Your plan worked. Wulf had free reign to find Law while Doflamingo had wasted his time travelling to get you.

You let out the breath you’d been holding.

The chuckle reached your ears, his chest rumbling with the sound. “Look who’s breathing.”

You flick your eyes open.

“You could’ve… warned me,” you said, wondering whether he heard you over the wind his movements created. Your mouth felt dry.

“Now where would the fun in that be, little canary?” he asked with a sly smile, the wind ruffling at his blond slicked up hair, pushing at the pink feathers of his coat; they looked like the flapping wings of a flamingo.

Something stirs in the void of your chest. It feels like anger. Or something close to it.

“The fun in that would be that I wouldn’t hold my breath for an hour, cuñado.” you say in full Dressrosan.

Doflamingo makes a slight, barely audible sound of surprise. He tilts his chin down at you, surprise on his face as you frown up at him. Then, he grins, and you think you may have made a grave mistake.

“My cute little sister-in-law knows Dressrosan.”

“Translator, remember?” you said.

Doflamingo was too busy grinning down at you like you gifted him the best birthday present he could ask for, offering a simple hum instead. You wondered how his cheeks didn’t ache from smiling so wide.

“Fufufu! Guess we have our secret language, then.” he says, switching effortlessly back to Common, just like you did seconds prior.

Getting kidnapped by a pirate wearing a full formal red suit like a wealthy businessman is one thing. Being carried in the aforementioned pirate’s arm as he flies through the sky over the sea is completely another. That pirate being your brother-in-law who your husband died to protect you and Law from was just the cherry on top.

“While we’re here, I’ll tell you about the family,” said Doflamingo. “You need to know about them.”

Family? What a joke. Doflamingo killed his real family.

“I know you have three top executives, Trebol, Diamante, and Pica. I know you have officers, and I know you have apprentices. There’s the underlings, too, but they’re not part of the family.”

“Corazón’s been running his mouth, huh?” asked Doflamingo. You felt your face grow pale. Doflamingo chuckled. “Well, that’s fine. It’s nice to know he actually talked about me in some way to you.”

“You might know about them, but you don’t know them. You should make your own judgement, not depend on my little brother’s subjective view.”

Doflamingo flashed you another of his wide smiles. You had to admit, with it on, he lost that rough, ruthless look. He looked handsome in a devilish, charming way, like a ruffian.

Instead of the smile soothing you or making you drop your guard, it made you feel deeply uneasy; there was something wrong about his smile. It didn’t feel like a smile. More like an evil grin.

You glared at him. Why on earth would you want to know about criminals who kill people, plunder and destroy cities without any sense of remorse or thought to how many lives they ruin?

“Let’s see,” said Doflamingo thoughtfully. “I’ll start with Lao G. He’s the oldest among us. He likes to make puns with words containing the letter g, and is a martial arts master…”

“Please drop me,” you begged hoarsely.

Doflamingo guffawed, the wind pushing at his blond hair, his raucous laughter carrying across the sky.

“Then there’s Giolla. You’ll love Giolla. Everyone loves Giolla. She loves art, and she’s great at making clothes.”

You braced yourself for a long, tiring flight of Doflamingo talking about his crew.

Rosinante… you thought, fighting not to cry. You didn’t say your brother loves to talk!

***

A/N: Just fyi, Doflamingo was being condescending because man was jealous, seething with jealousy, and you know, bcs he's an asshole and likes to play with his prey. This is the only time he will speak like this to Reader. North Blue Doffy is quite calm in speech but also commanding - you know he means business. It's just how he talks, which makes it harder for anyone to tell how he actually feels which is the fun part about North Blue Doffy. He can look at you like he's bored by you but is actually deep in thought planning your wedding. The moment Reader walked in, Doflamingo's heart skipped a beat. Love at first sight. He is also quite angry with Rosinante for not fucking telling him he has a wife, and not fucking asking him to be his best man - Rosinante might as well have shot him instead, it would have hurt Doflamingo less! In short, this is the only time Doffy will speak THIS patronizingly to Reader. I mean, he'll taunt, he'll act like the "man of the house" but it won't be so rough considering how this first time got. Guy's going through his emotions in his own way. Current emotion - seething with jealousy cus goddamn Corazón is a lucky bastard and how could he leave such a sweet thing like you while also absolutely adoring Reader cus the woman actually took the shot, and not just one but ALL THE SHOTS. That did it for him. Doflamingo adores you now. Good luck.

Some fun Japanese words for my fellow Sub fans:

義兄 (gikei) - brother-in-law (especially older brother of your spouse) -> word Doflamingo uses for himself when referring to himself to Reader, if he says "your brother-in-law" it is "omae no gikei"

otouto no tsuma - "(younger) brother’s wife"

義妹 (gimai) - younger sister-in-law, a more archaic formal word in Japanese, how Doflamingo refers to Reader when talking to her/about her, "my sister-in-law" would be "ore no gimai"

Japanese section, done! 👍🏻

#doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you #doflamingo x y/n #x reader #one piece x reader #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo #doflamingo one piece #op doflamingo #one piece #merlot & primroses #one piece fanfic #fan fiction #doffy x reader #doffy x you

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