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physics-of-one-piece · 13 days ago

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Merlot & Primroses (Doflamingo x Reader)

Chapter 3

AO3 link

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.

Tags: Female!Reader, Rosinante's Wife!Reader, Civilian!Reader, Rosinante x Reader (mentioned through flashbacks), Donquixote Pirates, Kidnapping, Gaslighting, Forced Proximity, Doflamingo's Comforting Skills are Non-Existent, Mentions of Fratricide, Grief, Angst, Post-Minion Island, North Blue Doflamingo, Red Suit Doflamingo, Touch-Starved Doflamingo, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Protective Donquixote Doflamingo, Adult Themes

Word Count: 11.5k

A/N: I am so fckn nervous about this chapter it makes me anxious as hell. If there are any mistakes, pls do let me know. On a happier note... The Donquixote Pirates are here at last! 🦩🎉🎉Also, I didn't think the DQ Pirates were all so tall - I thought only the executives were above 3 meters - but was I wrong. They're all big. Gladius, my hedgehog pufferfish punk baby ❤️🦔 Also, Doffy & Baby 5 in this GIF aaaaa he's such a girldad 🥹🥹😊😊 Thank you everyone for the support! 🫶🏻🩷🦩

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 @doffyslittledove @7wanne @ohnomyhooves @tinycreature21 @aganhim @anime-fan-isa-art @fruity0salad @tavsianus @xblackxjackx @hime44444 @ripndips @shanalikeanna @multifandomgirl2018 @shirayuki-ayumi @misaneeragoni

“Diamante!” Doflamingo yelled, entering the top officers lounge room with sharp steps of his pointed shoes.

Corazon and Pica looked up from their reading material and toward the swordsman with an unspoken, ‘What did you do now?’

Doflamingo lifted his hand, revealing the pink magazine filled with adultery to Diamante, his tanned forehead covered with roads of his throbbing veins. Rosinante’s eyebrows shot up all the way up to his hairline, and he was rather grateful for his bangs. Pica blushed, hiding his face into the geology book he was reading.

“How many times did I tell you?” growled Doflamingo, throwing the porn magazine onto the coffee table. “Stop putting your porn magazines on Law’s study pile!”

“Well, he needs to study about that, too, Doffy, hehe!”

“He’s ten,” said Doflamingo, frowning at the man, feeling the veins on his temples throb. “I see any of your magazines one more time on his study pile, I’m throwing out your entire stash. I know where you keep them.”

Diamante started to sweat.

“Oh come on, Doffy,” Diamante said, “they’re all going to grow up eventually. Even Baby 5. She’ll be taking picks of which man to ri —”

Corazon covered Diamante’s mouth before Diamante could put himself into an early watery grave.

Doflamingo slammed his hand on the table, making the entire wooden surface shake from the sudden force colliding with it.

Doflamingo growled, veins bulging on his forehead. Baby 5 and the words ‘having a boyfriend’, ‘suitor’, or ‘lover’ were banned from being spoken in the same sentence.

“Riddle with bullets!” squealed Pica quickly, sweating. “She’ll be taking picks of which man she’ll riddle with bullets!”

Doflamingo frowned, glaring at Diamante. Then, slowly, his mouth curved into his infamous grin.

“Exactly,” said Doflamingo, accentuating the word, smile sharp and dangerous.

“I’ll be taking this one,” said Doflamingo.

“Huh?!” cried Diamante. “H-Hang on, Doffy! That’s one of my favourite ones!”

“Shouldn’t have left it on Law’s desk, then, fufufu!”

As Doflamingo approached the couch to sit down, he tilted his head curiously at the magazine in his brother’s hands. “What are you reading, Corazón?”

Corazón jumped.

“Don’t keep them all to yourself, fufufu…”

Corazón rolled his eyes at him.

It wasn’t a porn magazine — which was a shame, Doflamingo definitely needed some new material, the models in his porn magazines were getting boring with similar physical features and poses — but a furniture magazine.

“Why are you looking through this stuff?” Doflamingo asked. “You want a new couch in the tea room or the study? An armchair in your bedroom?”

‘Just killing time,’ Corazón wrote. ‘I like reading through them.’

“If you say so,” said Doflamingo, not questioning his brother’s strange choice of entertainment at all. He sat down beside his little brother, spreading his legs to be more comfortable. “Oh, there are some nice armchairs…”

Corazón rolled his eyes at him, but Doflamingo’s trained eyes captured the slight movement of his brother’s lips curving into a tiny smile.

Doflamingo felt his chest swell with happiness at the sight of it. He’d buy Rosi some more furniture magazines at the port tomorrow. The magazines seemed to put his brother in a good mood.

***

You knew that at this point, your face had been squashed against the soft, warm red fabric of Doflamingo’s suit for what felt like hours, and you had learned exactly what Doflamingo smelled like against your own will.

Much like Rosinante turned selectively mute with Doflamingo, you turned selectively deaf. You stayed aware enough of his words as he happily — way too happily — told you all about his ‘family’. You hummed affirmatively when you knew you needed to.

“And that’s everyone,” said Doflamingo. “I know Lao G’s puns may sound...” He paused for a moment, humming to himself. “Repetitive, but he never sticks with one word. You have to admit, he has a large vocabulary. Large. There’s the g! Fufufu!”

“What about you?” he asked, his deep voice carrying across the clouds and sky like the loud voice of a god. “Any friends in Marineford? Or on that island I snatched you from?”

His long fingers moved, deploying more strings, pulling himself forward in a blast of speed, the feathers of his coat guarding your left ear from the hard wind pressure. His arm was squeezing you to him so tight your right ear was safely guarded by your right cheek being smothered to his suit.

“No,” you said, cryptically enough for him not to know whether it was a lie or not. You didn’t want to put anyone in danger.

“I see...” said Doflamingo, letting the words hang in the air as he flew over the sea. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll be friends with everyone in the Family. We’re not as uptight as the marines and people of Marineford.”

You felt your brows furrow in anger. Marines and the people of Marineford were not uptight. You’d know — you grew up there. It was no Water 7, Sabaody Archipelago or Dressrosa by natural beauty, but it was the safest place in the world, and most of the people there were kind and always helped each other.

You opened your mouth to tell him just that, to tell him the marines were a thousand times better —

“Don’t,” came Rosinante’s voice, cutting you off before you could open your mouth. “He wants to make you talk, let you reveal personal information about your life by discarding it as worthless. It’s a trap. Don’t fall for it.”

You clamped your mouth shut, softly exhaling through your nose, letting your tense muscles loosen.

Something cold landed on your eyelashes; it felt fresh and chilly. It was a snowflake. You blinked it away, adjusting your neck to be able to look at the sky better. Snowflakes soundlessly descended down the sky. They twinkled and shone under the sun. A few of the white crystals landed on Doflamingo’s coat, littering the pink feathers with dots of white. More snowflakes landed on his blond hair and atop the white frames surrounding the red lenses of his sunglasses. They were swept away by the brush of wind with the next leap of his long legs, scattering to the wind. The entire colours of the sky turned frosty, dimming in the cold climate.

You were clearly travelling away from the edge of the Calm Belt bordering the island you’d lived on for the past few years. The few islands that didn’t experience the harsh, long North Blue winters filled with endless snow were the ones close to the Calm Belt.

“There she is,” said Doflamingo fondly, gathering your attention.

For a moment, you thought the ship was a huge flamingo floating on the sea.

The figurehead was exactly as Rosinante had told you when describing the flamboyant ship reflecting Doflamingo’s entire personality; a flamingo’s long, curved pink neck and head, the flamingo wearing Doflamingo’s red sunglasses. The flanks of the ship were covered with a layer of thick pink-painted oak wood carved like a flamingo’s folded wings. The front hull and back hull were made of red cedar, framed by white wood. The deck was surrounded by a white balustrade supported by thick vase-shaped balusters topped with a thick top rail covered with a thin pile of snow.

As Doflamingo flew closer to the massive pink vessel, you saw the white sail with a large, cerise grinning smiley with its left eye crossed out hung from the dark red wooden yards of the foremast, the large cerise letters DONQUIXOTE written underneath on the same sail. Above the two crows nests, black flags with the same jolly roger painted white waved high in the wind. The stern was shaped into a curved, pink bird tail.

The only ships that huge you’ve seen were the marine warships.

It was ridiculous, and yet, there was a certain charm to it. It was so pink.

“Numancia Flamingo,” said Doflamingo proudly. “My home.” He grinned down at you, and you felt your stomach sink in dread; you decided you liked it better when he didn’t smile. “And now yours, too.”

You felt like the chill of the falling snow entered your skin. Doflamingo called it home, but the closer you grew to the ship, the worse your gut felt, and what was once a cute ship started feeling intimidating despite its child-friendly design.

You saw something move atop the crow’s nest. It was a big blob of what appeared to you as blue slime. You stared in shock as you saw the large blue blob fall off the main crow’s nest and down to the deck.

Was that thing... That person that just dropped from the main crow’s nest looked like slime.

“We’re going down,” Doflamingo informed you, his musky scent and deep voice filling your senses.

With surprising smoothness, Doflamingo landed on the deck of the ship. The walnut hardwood floor of the deck was covered with a thin sheet of snow.

You watched in horror as the slime you saw turned out to be a large, hunchback man.

The slime is a human. you thought panically, staring at the hunchback man in shock and disbelief. The slime is a human!

“Welcome back, Doffy!” said the man nasally.

Despite having a hunchback, he was taller than Doflamingo by about half a meter. He wore a green bowler hat, and a pair of black sunglasses covered his eyes. His appearance was ragged and unkempt, with a long, thick beard; he looked like some sort of helpless beggar you’d see in the back alley, someone you’d stay the hell away from. A long, ragged light blue coat that seemed to be made of dripping mucus and slime covered his entire body and hunchback; the mucus constantly trailed from the hem; it was like he was a living slime. His broad nose had snot hanging out of it, which nearly made you gag at the sight of the size of the snot. He held a cane in his right gloved hand.

“Any trouble while I was gone?” asked Doflamingo, calm and authoritative.

Thinking it was over, you tried to get out of Doflamingo’s long arms with some squirming, but his gloved, large fingers dug into your shin, pressing into your bones. The sudden jab of pain made you wince, turning still.

“None, behe!” said the large man covered in snot, his thick lips pulling into a smile; his teeth were round with some spaces between them. All the hairs on your nape stood on end. Something in your gut told you how dangerous this man was, no matter how unkempt his appearance was; you knew better than to judge someone’s strength based on appearance alone. “We’re still on a stable course for Beliera.”

This guy must be Trebol. Rosinante had warned you about him the most. Trebol had been the one to give Doflamingo means of “taking revenge” and giving him power in the shape of a devil fruit and a gold plated flintlock pistol.

It must have been terrible for Rosinante. To have the same gun used to kill his father facing him next.

A swell of sadness filled you.

Rosinante...

You clenched your teeth, your jaw clenching as a surge of anger boiled in your chest. Sadness and anger mixed within you, the first for Rosinante, the latter for Doflamingo.

“Don’t underestimate him.” Rosinante once told you when showing you pictures of the Donquixote Pirates. “The mucus is just a way to hide how weak his body is, but it's hard to find it because of the mucus. That entire coat is made of mucus. He’s a Paramecia, not a Logia. If you’re gonna aim for him, aim for his face.”

“Good,” said Doflamingo, his deep, commanding voice startling you out of your thoughts. “Gather the Family in the dining room so I can introduce her properly.”

“Yes, Doffy,” said Trebol. He was much taller than Doflamingo, wider as well, taking up three times the space of a normal man.

You could feel Trebol’s eyes watching you behind his black sunglasses, and suddenly, you decided you could endure being in Doflamingo’s arms a bit longer if it meant not getting any closer to this creep.

“So, this is her, eh?” Trebol tilted his head down at you curiously, a smile that reminded you of leers of old men on his face. You forced yourself to glare at his sunglasses, clenching your jaw, frowning, trying to make yourself appear as angry as possible. Better to show anger than fear. “She’s cute.”

Doflamingo grimaced at the taller man. “You’re too close, Trebol.”

“Behe, sorry!” Trebol leaned his towering body away from you, and looked at Doflamingo, asking, “Will she sleep with Giolla and Baby 5 in their room?”

“No,” said Doflamingo. Slowly, he smiled, that devilish, unsettling grin, and patted the top of your head with his free hand; you stiffened up, since his hand was bigger than your head. “She’ll sleep with me in my quarters.”

You stopped breathing. Your heart stopped. You could feel the colour drain from your face, could feel yourself turn as pale as the snow on the balustrade and the figurehead.

No. No no no no no. Anything but that.

You went to open your mouth to tell him that you’d be fine sleeping in the bunks in the women’s quarters, but Trebol’s laugh cut you off.

“Behehe! She’s cute!” said Trebol. “Who’d think Corazón was hiding such a cute woman.”

Your skin crawled. Before you could stop it, you shivered. Between this creep and Doflamingo, you’d choose Doflamingo any day.

You couldn’t believe this. You were surrounded by pirates, you were on a pirate ship. This was a nightmare. Absolute nightmare. You felt sick. You were so terrified you were going to throw up what little breakfast you had on the deck.

Following your trail of thought, your stomach let out a small, low grumble.

Doflamingo turned his face down to you with a curious hum, slouching down to you, craning his neck, bending over you. He had no sense of personal space, and it seemed he wasn’t going to offer any of it to you.

“Fufufu!” Doflamingo smiled at you, the sharp smile chilling you to the bones. His gloved thumb rubbed your bare, goosebumped shin; you would have yelped, shrieked and jumped if you weren’t two meters high from the ground. “Seems someone’s hungry. Don’t worry. We made it right on time for lunch.”

Heat climbed up your neck, enveloping your cheeks. It was embarrassing to have your stomach growl like that near strangers.

Doflamingo headed to the foremast of the ship, under which stood a circular cabin. With his free hand, he deployed a string, opening the large wooden door. It was a navigation room and an office, full of maps and books. There was a wide tunnel of staircases leading below deck.

Doflamingo walked down the wide, wooden staircase to the underbelly of the ship. He turned into the first arch of the cabin doors, and swung them open, entering into the timber labyrinth of the first level of the ship.

Your jaw nearly dropped. The ceiling was about ten meters high. The panelled walls decorated with intricately detailed wall mouldings were painted a luxurious light blue shade of periwinkle, framed with thin, narrow, ornate strips of gold. On the opposite wall, between the portholes, ornate paintings of all styles and themes in golden frames hung every few meters. They weren’t normal paintings bought at a market. Your eyes widened when you saw a painting of the lighthouse at the starting point of the Grand Line. It looked real.

“Isn’t that Monet’s Grand Line Lighthouse?” you asked, staring at the detailed oil painting.

“It is,” said Doflamingo.

“It’s -” you started.

“Three hundred million berries,” said Doflamingo, smile wide and big, sending shivers down your spine. “It was stolen in an underground auction.”

It wasn’t just this painting. All these paintings were reported to be stolen over the last six years in North Blue. Some were stolen from rich noble’s houses, from auctions, from museums, from art galleries…

“You stole it?” you asked, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” said Doflamingo, still smiling, seemingly pleased you caught on so quickly. It was unnerving how long he could smile for. “That was fun. You should’ve seen how delighted Giolla was when Corazón and I brought it aboard — like I brought her the most precious treasure in the world, fufufu! I didn’t let Corazón carry it. It would’ve ended up broken on the street with him.”

“You like stealing, huh?” you asked him.

Doflamingo hummed. He tilted his head down at you, giving you another smile which made your body squirm on the inside.

“I like stealing beautiful things and making them my own.” he said.

You had a sinking feeling this wasn’t limited to objects.

Right as you thought this, Doflamingo’s right gloved hand reached down to your face. The suddenness of it had your entire body retreating further into the crook of his elbow. Your breathing picked up; you could feel your own terror in the loud thumping of your heartbeat in your throat as you waited for whatever happened next.

Doflamingo tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear carefully, curving it behind your earlobe. The tip of his thumb brushed along the skin of your ear as he did so. Goosebumps rose on the nape of your neck. Your chest felt hot, rising and falling rapidly.

Doflamingo’s browline creased in amusement, the neutral line of his mouth quirking up, curving across his cheekbones smugly. You could imagine his narrowed, scrunched eyes laughing at you behind his sunglasses. It seemed he himself was struggling not to chuckle at how flighty you were.

“You really are a little canary,” he said, smiling devilishly, turning from mysterious and frightening to dangerously charming. “Shrieking like mad and fluttering about, but when I pick you up...”

His gloved thumb slid down your cheek, tracing along the softness before settling under your jaw; your breath caught, and you held it trapped in your lungs. You stiffened in his arms, looking up at him like a fish pulled out of the sea. Doflamingo’s mouth curved wider, lips opening into a devious grin of white teeth, forming dimples on his cheeks. You could feel his satisfaction at being right, at reading you like a book.

“You turn docile and sweet.”

Doflamingo chuckled. “How cute.”

He lifted his gloved thumb from your face, releasing you from his invisible grip, lowering his hand back to his side. You let out the breath you’d been holding. Doflamingo chuckled darkly again, and started moving again.

There was enough width to the hallway for two people of Doflamingo’s size to walk comfortably without brushing shoulders. Crystal sconces hung from the ceiling, swaying with the sea’s movements, casting soft shades of light into the hallway. The polished, hickory wood floor was covered by a dark red carpet runner, muffling his steps as he walked toward the end of the hallway leading to another set of doors.

Was this really a pirate ship?

“Have you sailed before?” he asked as he prowled through the hallway, steps muffled by the red rug.

“Yes,” you replied, continuing to look around; the portholes were crystal clear, showing the movement of the ship as the sea swayed by. The interior of the ship didn’t look very much like a pirate’s ship. “With the marines.”

“The white-coats must have been so uptight, fufufu!” Doflamingo flashed you a playful grin, but all it did was make you shiver in fear. “You’ll have much better sailing adventures with me.”

At the end of the hallway was another door, this one wooden and more fitting for a sailing ship, taller than Doflamingo, with a porthole window; you couldn’t see through it. There were voices coming through, muffled through the thick wood.

Doflamingo opened the doors, and entered the room. It was the galley. A long, large oak dining table covered by a silken mauve tablecloth spread out across the length of the large room. The main crew of the Dobquixote Pirates, the Donquixote Family, were all satten on the table.

The greetings of “Young Master!” and “Welcome back!” filled the dining area.

You felt the way Doflamingo’s body relaxed, his usually squared, pulled-back shoulders loosening, his chest deflating.

He gave the twelve people a warm smile. “I’m back.”

Doflamingo continued toward the table, carrying you.

Shame flooded you, self-consciousness swelling in your gut. You wanted to hide your face from view.

Doflamingo was unbothered by whatever emotions rolled within you, uncaring, no expression on his face as he walked through the galley packed with his crew members, carrying you cradled in one arm, his hand under your knees, warm and large. You felt like a puppy who he picked up on a whim and decided to take home with him.

The Donquixote Pirates were all huge. The ones of a normal height were the kids. But even the oldest kid, Buffalo, was as tall as one of the elite officers, Pica. Even the only female officer, Giolla, was over two meters tall.

Having been married to Rosinante for five years and often working closely with him on translating documents and decoding messages for his squad and the rest of the Navy, you grew a new habit. Whenever you entered a room, be it your house, a meeting, an office, your eyes instinctually searched for Rosinante.

Rosinante was the human equivalent of a warm hug.

All you felt in this room was the lack of warmth.

It didn’t take you long to feel it. The remnants of warmth, the feel of Rosinante’s presence. It was the empty chair on Trebol’s left.

If you weren’t so struck with grief at the awareness of being able to still sense Rosinante’s presence even if he hadn’t sat on that spot for six months, of being able to identify it was his seat even though you’d never been here, you would have laughed and broken down crying.

Law wasn’t here.

The relief you felt at this realization was indescribable. Law was safe. He was free from Doflamingo’s clutches and influence. It wasn’t all for nothing.

You felt like the odd one out right now. All the people gathered here were much, much taller than you. Sure, you were used to hanging around with people of differing heights while working for the marines, attending meetings and formal events with Rosinante many times. Rosi’s own crew consisted of marines taller than you, but at least he had two crewmates below two metres tall with whom you could converse without having to look up sky high.

You were… the shortest adult in the room now.

Doflamingo reached the end of the table where there were two chairs, one already occupied by Trebol. He put you down, and your feet touched the ground at last. You unwillingly used his leg to stabilize yourself as the ship sailed over the sea; you felt the difference in footing from it.

Twelve pairs of eyes were on you.

The thought of running for the doors crossed your mind, and was quickly vanquished when Doflamingo settled his large, gloved hand on your shoulder, his palm completely enveloping it, your shoulderblade and your upper arm. All your joints stiffened.

“This is Donquixote (Y/N). She’s my sister-in-law.” said Doflamingo, speaking the surname with the same pride as he did when saying it with his name. “I’m sure Diamante, Pica and Trebol set out the rules before we returned, but I’ll repeat them again. I’m instigating the Blood Law on her. If anyone harms her, outside or inside of the Family, I will put them to death. She has no battle experience or any fighting ability. She’s a civilian, and a translator. Since she’s mourning Corazón’s passing —”

What an elegant way to say murder.

“— she doesn’t have to work unless she wants to. Be kind to her and get along.”

The replies of, “Understood,” and “Yes, Young Master.” went around the table.

Doflamingo removed his immense hand from your left shoulder, and your body slumped in relief. Thank the fucking seas.

You took the chance to look over at Doflamingo’s crew. They weren’t that frightening.

You gulped.

Not frightening at all.

You wanted to glare at them and say, “I don’t like any of you. I don’t want to be friends with you. I hate you all, and I’m going to kick your asses.”

That’s something someone brave would do. Someone like Wulf. He would probably say, “I hate each and every one of you shitheads and you better keep one eye open while you sleep because I’m going to kill you all.”

But Wulf had something to back it up. He had his Devil Fruit, his battle experience, his Haki.

All someone like you — someone normal — could do was wish you were more like your husband, or your husband’s best friend. All someone like you did was feel a thick tightness of terror surround your throat whenever you thought of saying something; it was paralysing fear. One pirate, you could act tough in front of, especially Doflamingo. Twelve pirates, all loyal to Doflamingo, ready to kill you if you put a toe out of line and did something to hurt their captain? Not a group you'd pick a fight with.

You might as well be a delicious little tuna fish thrown into shark-infested waters. Wulf could pick fights with everyone. You couldn’t. You didn't have the luxury of being reckless now, of telling them outright you don’t want to be in the same room as them. You couldn’t piss them off. You couldn’t attack them. You had to stay civil and avoid them. That was the best way to survive for you.

You were deep in the enemy territory, and your best choice was not to antagonize them and stay out of their way.

“Trebol, pass the chair,” said Doflamingo, gesturing with his chin to the empty chair — Rosinante’s chair.

“Yes, Doffy!” said Trebol.

The man grabbed Rosinante’s chair like it weighed nothing, and next thing you knew, Doflamingo had put it on the right of the empty chair next to Trebol; you jumped a little when Doflamingo put it down.

“Take a seat,” said Doflamingo, pulling out the chair for you. You found yourself sitting down in a mere moment, listening to him without realising it.

Doflamingo sat down on the chair on your left, took the napkin beside his plate, and tucked the napkin into his collar to protect his suit and tie. He took off his gloves and put them in the pockets of his merlot suit pants, revealing his long, smooth, tanned, puppeteering fingers. The sight of them filled you with a terrible sense of helplessness.

He put you on your husband’s empty seat. Talk about a bullet to the gut. A bullet to the gut would have hurt less.

If I don’t punch this bastard in the face at least once in my life, then I have failed as a human being. you thought, glaring at Doflamingo.

You nervously eyed the table. None of Doflamingo’s crew was too heavily eyeing you. Good. The more they ignored you, the easier your life would be.

Talk about being satten between two boulders. Doflamingo was sitting at the head and center of the table with you sitting on his right. Diamante, the tallest of the crew at five meters tall, looming two meters taller than Doflamingo, was on your right, on the first seat on the length of the table. At least Diamante wasn’t as broad in shoulders and torso as Doflamingo was, and you had plenty of space to dine comfortably. In fact, Diamante was slender and lanky all around; he reminded you of those slender, long-limbed rock singers you watched on the projector snail, who wore face makeup and had long hair. He looked like he could fit right into a rock band as an electric guitarist.

Pica, who sat on Diamante’s right, was the complete opposite. He was huge, like a human boulder, with a hulking frame and incredibly muscular body; his arms were thicker than the width of your head. His lavender hair was much like Diamante’s; wavy and long, hanging down to his shoulders. The golden, three-spiked shoulder guards covering his shoulders made you shiver.

You felt sweat coat your palms. This was bad. You were surrounded by the strongest people in the crew and Doflamingo. There was no slipping away.

Well… there was always the dive under the table and try to make it out before they catch you idea.

The servants came in, carrying plates of appetizers. Doflamingo called one of the maids over with a wave of his hand.

“Take these to my cabin,” Doflamingo ordered, taking the bouquet of primroses from where it laid in your lap; the action was so sudden it made you jump when the flowers suddenly disappeared. “Put them on my office desk.”

“Yes, sir,” said the servant, carefully taking the bouquet, mindful not to touch Doflamingo while doing so. Doflamingo didn’t even look in the woman’s way, as though she didn’t even exist.

You frowned. A royal through and through, this brother of yours, Rosinante.

That commanding, overpowering tone of Doflamingo’s sent chills down your spine. It was clear Doflamingo was used to ordering people around and grew up doing it; he expected people to obey him.

Rosinante was completely different. He was always polite with all the staff wherever he went, speaking politely to them, thanking them for their help and work.

For appetisers, the servants served deviled eggs topped with shrimps.

Deviled eggs — how ironic. The devil was literally sitting on your left. You grabbed your fork and stabbed through the shrimp and the hard-boiled egg, and took a careful bite, neither too big or too small. The tastes mixed together pleasantly; eggs, shrimps, mustard, mayonnaise, garlic, paprika and salt.

Beside you, Doflamingo did the same thing, eating the deviled eggs slowly, picking them off one by one. Unlike you, who got six of them, Doflamingo got twelve, but he was picking them off at a slower pace than you were.

That was weird.

Wait… how many pancakes did you put on that plate?

Ten? No, the pile was taller than ten…

Of course. The pink-feathered idiot’s stuffed himself full of pancakes, of course he can’t eat more right now!

He really is Rosi’s brother! Rosinante did the same thing once. Once, and never again. For a reason.

And here you thought Doflamingo was supposed to be the smarter one.

These Donquixote brothers and their eyes bigger than their stomachs!

Furrowing your brows, you reached out with your foot and tapped the side of Doflamingo’s dress boot. He shifted slightly, then turned his head toward you, that cold expression on his face momentarily frightening you. He leaned his head down to you.

“You ate more than ten pancakes, didn’t you?” you whispered to him.

Doflamingo’s lips curled; whether he was amused by the frightening effect his presence had on you or your question, you couldn’t tell.

“So?” he asked.

“So, you won’t be able to eat much.” you said, voice steadier now. “Pancakes are filling.”

Doflamingo merely smirked, guiltless and arrogant, patting his red suit where his stomach was happily. “That they were, fufufufu!”

You counted to five inside your head not to snap at him.

“You won’t be able to eat,” you said.

“You underestimate my appetite.” said Doflamingo, smirking confidently.

Rosinante said the same thing. Then he overate, eating a full serving of thirty pancakes. And ended up sleeping the rest of the day away.

Doflamingo leaned back from you and went back to the food.

“Is the food not good, Doffy?” asked Diamante.

“No,” said Doflamingo calmly. “The food is fine. I already ate. My sister-in-law here made me pancakes.”

This fucking pancake-thieving, lying —

“Pancakes, you say?” asked Diamante, tossing four deviled eggs into his massive mouth. “She made you pancakes?”

Doflamingo simply grinned like a child who got the best candy.

“I didn’t make them for him. Your captain stole them.” you said, unable to take it anymore. The last thing you wanted was for these criminals to think you could be stepped on, that Doflamingo managed to scare you into making him pancakes, or worse, that you offered them to him.

Diamante chuckled. “Free food is free food, missus.”

“They were delicious. Best pancakes I ever had.” said Doflamingo, chuckling like a giddy child who didn’t regret his actions at all; except his voice was deep as the sea and not the innocent squeak of a child. It made your insides squirm fearfully.

You frowned at him, hating how flippant he was about it, how casual. You could tell Doflamingo was never disciplined for anything he did — ever — in his entire life. It was frightening, because that meant he would do whatever he wanted to do, which made him incredibly unpredictable.

“Well, now I want some.” said Diamante, and you felt your entire body tense up like a cat’s. You didn’t want to make pancakes for Doflamingo, and you certainly didn’t want to make pancakes for any of his crew, for the people who hurt your husband.

Because there was no way Rosinante would have gotten killed in a one on one fight against Doflamingo. He’d have gotten away. He wouldn’t have gotten killed.

“Sure,” said Doflamingo, chuckling, not even asking for your opinion, whether you wanted to make a bastard like Diamante the pancakes you only made for your friends and family — for Rosinante. “I’ll have the chef show her around the kitchen tomorrow and help her out.”

You wonder why on earth you would need help from the ship’s chef or cooks to make something as simple as pancakes, but after a moment, it dawned on you. They wouldn’t be there to help you out. They’d be there to watch you, to make sure you don’t poison the food.

It was slightly insulting to you, really. To you, food was something sacred, something that shouldn’t be used to kill people with. You’d never poison food, not after spending so much time making it. You never really thought of that. You haven’t thought about hurting Doflamingo in the ways assassins would.

In truth, you wouldn’t dare.

You looked at Doflamingo. Here, eating with his crew, conversing with them, he looked almost friendly. Almost... harmless.

It terrified you, how harmless Doflamingo looked while dining with his ‘family’. Just an hour ago, he was the materialisation of a villain, sitting on your couch with a ruthless, cold look on his face, sneering at you. Now Doflamingo looked warm, comforting, like a family man.

After the plates were clear - Doflamingo gave the leftovers on his plate to Diamante “Well, if you insist!” What the hell? Does Diamante have some sort of need for affirmation of his greatness? - the servants picked them up.

It all felt so regal and peaceful, so unlike what you expected of pirates. Most of them were still messy eaters, such as Diamante and Trebol, and Buffalo was no better, either. But people like Giolla, Gladius, Pica and Señor Pink were nothing short of neat eaters. Doflamingo ate differently in public than Rosinante did. When eating in public, Rosinante always dove into his plate, hunching over it protectively, eating as fast as possible. You knew why. It always broke your heart. After Rosinante told you of his two years of childhood with his family in the North Blue, it made you realise that Rosinante did his best not to show you that part of himself on the first few dates because he was ashamed of it.

Doflamingo ate like royalty, like a king. It was so obvious he had a noble upbringing it was funny. The way he cut his food, the way he stabbed it with a fork, the way he brought the fork in his mouth, and how he made next to no sounds while chewing, keeping his mouth closed, and the tissue in his collar and over his lap. Most people wouldn’t notice it. But you got to see Rosinante eat when he was relaxed, when he was alone with you, not in public when his ‘eat as much as you can or someone might take it from you’ instinct won over. And he ate alone with you in the exact same way as Doflamingo was doing now. With grace and elegance only high nobles had.

You remembered how you gawked at Rosinante the first time you saw him like that — the first time he invited you over for dinner at his place — unable not to feel awed by simply watching such a beautiful, mannered man with his head held high and lanky frame straight and relaxed, eat the food you two made together. Eventually, over the years, Rosinante got more comfortable eating in public and not rushing (though he did still take a lot on his first serving during public events like barbeques in case all the meat and burgers were gone by the time he wanted seconds) letting himself enjoy the food and savour it.

The public meals you hosted — and all the public parties you and Rosinante were invited to on the island — always had enough for endless servings. You made sure of that.

The main dish was baked sausage and cheese rigatoni; pasta and sausage with thick, melty ricotta and provolone cheese baked through and crisped and crusty on top, served in a deep, large baking dish.

You always gave Rosinante five times the size of a normal portion, and every time, he was over the moon. Rosi always ate everything on his plate, and always asked for seconds and thirds. It made you worry you weren’t giving him big enough portions, but Rosi later confessed that he ate so much because it was so good he couldn’t physically stop eating.

The moment Rosinante patted his stomach and said with a happy sigh, “I’m full!” you were overjoyed. Rosinante worked hard while undercover, and you wanted to always welcome him with a meal, to take care of him as he took care of you. If you ever missed his return — sometimes he arrived late — you made sure to get up early to prepare him pancakes.

The same pancakes you prepared for yourself in an attempt to comfort yourself.

The same pancakes Doflamingo devoured after breaking into your house.

Doflamingo, Trebol, Diamante and Pica got their own rigatoni in jumbo sized baking dishes placed in front of them. It didn’t surprise you they got entire servings for themselves; they required much more calories and nutrients than normal-sized people.

You picked up your fork and knife and started eating.

Fuck, this is delicious.

Eating beside Doflamingo felt like eating beside a lion. The last thing you wanted to risk was bumping elbows with him. You also knew you couldn’t curl your body in and take as little space as possible. It would make you appear weak. You decided to sit as casually, as normally, as possible with the pink demon sitting beside you, the feathers of his coat brushing your elbows as you ate, forcing the food into your mouth.

Doflamingo looked like a chipmunk with his mouth full and cheeks puffed out — much like Rosinante.

If you didn’t look above his chin, if you focused on just his jawline and the curve of his chin from his side profile, if not for Doflamingo’s tanned skin, you would definitely expect Rosinante’s features to materialise up above, his brown eyes instead of Doflamingo’s red sunglasses, his curly tufts of blond hair over his ears rather than spiked-back blond hair revealing the ears completely, one earring dangling from each.

You shook your head off of the image, blinking away the image of Rosinante, your vision shifting back to reality.

That’s Doflamingo. Not Rosinante.

“Figured out the parts of me more attractive than my brother’s or do you want a closer look, darling?” Doflamingo asked, startling you.

You stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Doflamingo wasn’t even looking in your direction. You didn’t realise he noticed you looking at him.

How could you realise? All his sunglasses revealed were what he was looking at, and sometimes, such as now, it wasn’t even that, because his red-orange lenses were reflecting the way his face was turned, the length of the table, the room. But in truth, his eyes were on you.

“No, thank you.” you said simply, and returned back to eating. It wasn't that Doflamingo wasn’t handsome. He is. But he is the sort of handsome man that was bad news for women. The macho sort of man oozing with masculinity. The dangerous sort of man, the one who could command an entire country, the one with so much pride it could overflow the Grand Line. Some women were attracted to that. You preferred gentle, honest men who wore their heart on their sleeve over dangerous ones who barely communicated, who gave you cold looks, and you won’t even get started with those men’s hearts.

Absolute nightmare.

You heard Doflamingo huff an amused breath through his nose, the line of his mouth quirking into a curve of an arrogant smirk. He chuckled. The sound sent goosebumps up your spine.

“Tough woman, isn’t she?” you heard Doflamingo say to Trebol.

“You’re definitely more handsome, Doffy, behehe!” Trebol said.

You continued chewing in silence.

Wine started pouring all across the table.

All of the wine bottles were dark green, with the same label name Petrus on the middle of their label. They were one of the expensive red wines in the Grand Line. It was the sort of wine you saw Fleet Admiral Sengoku sip at when he had dinner with you and Rosinante.

Doflamingo took the bottle in front of him, and poured the dark red liquid into his glass of wine, filling more than half of it with the rich red wine. It was the same colour as his suit.

Then, Doflamingo’s large hand holding the wine bottle extended to your glass, clearly intending to pour the wine for you.

Your heart dropped to your stomach.

Oh, hell no. Hell to the One Piece no.

You snatched your glass into your hand and pulled it toward yourself, meeting his feigned innocent face with a firm, hard glare.

You reached forward and grabbed the jug of orange juice, and poured yourself a full cup into the wine bottle beside your plate. Once you poured enough of the orange juice, you placed the jug back onto its place on the table with a firm thud.

Doflamingo scowled, as though you’d hurt him, then turned back to his glass, and poured himself more wine, continuing to scowl.

That’s right. Drink your tantrum away, asshole. Get alcohol poisoning, see if I care. Oh, boohoo, I can’t pour wine while sneaking some drug into my sister-in-law’s glass, poor me. Fuck. You.

After Doflamingo poured his wine, he slammed the bottle down with a resounding, loud, rattling THUD! The table wobbled, shaking from the impact, as though an earthquake hit it.

You jumped in your seat, flinching violently. Some of the officers were startled as well, slowing down in their dining. The blond toddler with a fin on his back clutched onto Giolla’s orange dress, looking more worried for you than scared of Doflamingo.

That was fine. You were scared enough.

Your heart beating in your ears, you moved your eyes up to Doflamingo, holding your breath in your lungs. Doflamingo was looking at you, his forehead and browline scrunched, his anger leaking out of him in silent waves, all directed at you. Veins throbbed along the length of his thick neck, his jaw clenched.

You realised you were trembling.

Diamante snickered at you.

You clenched your teeth. Unbelievable.

Damn it. Fuck. Damn it.

You’re shaking… just from that? What the hell is wrong with you? You’re the wife of a Navy commander. You shouldn’t show fear, especially in front of pirates.

You pressed your fingers deep into your thigh, hoping the pain would force your body into settling down. Breathe. You had to breathe.

You breathed in, and breathed out.

You broke eye contact, looking away from Doflamingo, metaphorically backing down and submitting. The thick, suffocating air bearing down on you slowly retreated.

“Next time you do that, it will be your head smashing on that table, Corazón’s little wife.” said Diamante, while Doflamingo looked at you with his mputh downturned, forehead furrowed, his face cold and heartless. He looked like he was going to kill you in cold blood just like he killed Rosinante. “Doffy can crack your skull open if he wants to.”

“Diamante,” said Doflamingo. The suddennes of hearing his deep voice filled your veins with ice. There was an outline of blood vessels forming on his forehead. “Enough. How I deal with my sister-in-law is up to me. She’s already terrified enough as it is. Play nice.”

“Of course, Doffy,” said Diamante. “I was just giving her friendly advice.”

Doflamingo went back to eating.

You made sure to empty your plate. You felt like Doflamingo was intently watching you eat, and you could feel that he wanted you to eat everything on your plate. Doflamingo finished half of his meal, and as he did with the deviled eggs, offered the leftovers for Diamante to eat.

It reminded you of a master giving his uneaten leftovers to his dogs.

The main dishes were taken away and the dessert came. You felt your traitorous mouth water at the sight. It was a chocolate souffle, covered in chocolate syrup.

Doflamingo waved the server away when they wanted to place his plate in front of him.

You fought back a smirk. Those pancakes are finally hitting, huh?

“I’ll take his,” you said with far too much enthusiasm, smiling at the server. “Can’t waste it, can we?”

The server glanced nervously at Doflamingo, asking for permission.

“Give it to her,” commanded Doflamingo frigidly.

“Y-Yes, sir,” stuttered the server. He placed the second plate in front of yours.

“Thank you,” you said politely to the server, with a lot of satisfaction.

Doflamingo stared at you intensely. Especially so as you hummed, lifting your spoon and taking a large spoonful of the delicious souffle.

You ignored him and started devouring the souffle. It was delicious like the rest of the meals.

You felt the weight of Doflamingo’s presence shifting. He leaned over to you, resting his long forearm on the table, more of the pink feathers of his coat gathering against your left thigh.

This time, you did look. You wished you didn’t. Doflamingo was leaning over you like a bird of prey towering over a mouse, his neck and spine bent.

Doflamingo’s large tongue slipped out, licking along his lips hungrily. He continued hovering over your meal like a lion patiently waiting for the lioness to be done eating so he could have a taste of the meal.

The way he was looking at the souffle… one would think he wanted to do unspeakable, lewd things to the poor thing.

Doflamingo lifted his face up from the angle where he’d been staring down at the souffle and looked right at you, his face relaxed, mouth curved into a close-lipped, wide smile, warm and charming.

You inhaled sharply, nearly gasping in shock. You recognised that look.

The Donquixote puppy look.

No. That can’t be.

You didn’t think Doflamingo was capable of that!

“Who do you think taught me the look?” Rosinante asked you; you could imagine him deadpanning, giving Doflamingo an unimpressed look.

That makes sense, but is also incredibly disturbing.

Doflamingo leaned closer, until his face was right in front of yours, his nose an inch from yours, that charming expression still on his face.

Your stomach clenched and squirmed. You cast your eyes left and right panically, but you could feel the heat of energy pressing upon you, the unspoken words clearly said by the expression on Doflamingo’s face.

Won’t you give me the souffle won’t you give me the souffle won’t you give me the souffle, just a bite, just a bite, won’t you be nice and give me the souffle?

It was too much. There was no way to fight against it.

You could feel the heat of the blush on your cheeks, could feel the strangeness in your stomach, the wide openness of your eyes, taking in the handsome man in front of you; the same reaction you had when Rosi had gotten in as close as Doflamingo was now, with his nose an inch from yours, with that pleading look on his face.

There was no pleading in Doflamingo’s expression, simply… pure, sheer charm. He looked completely innocent.

It was overwhelmingly charming. All your determination and walls crumbled away while facing such a look.

Damn Donquixote puppy eyes.

Not that you can see Doflamingo’s eyes, but you can feel them. The bastard was giving you his puppy eyes, or something like it!

There was no use fighting it.

You took two spoonfuls and put them on Doflamingo’s plate. He beamed like you just gave him the world, the dimples of his cheeks full of triumph.

Did you just get charmed into giving him the souffle?

Yes.

Yes, you did.

All Doflamingo did was relax, his face softening into a look of warmth, removing any roughness from it, and curving a close-lipped, charming, entreating smile onto his mouth, leaning forward until he was extremely close that one more inch would make his nose brush yours, and that was that.

It hadn’t even been deceitful. It had been an honest look speechlessly asking you to give him just a bit of the souffle, just so he can try it.

What the hell? What the fucking hell was that?! What is wrong with me?! What the hell?!

Doflamingo just… Doflamingo looked so…

Cute.

What was worse was... He wasn’t leaning back. He was still there. His face remained right in front of yours, that innocent close-lipped smile on his face.

Doflamingo was unabashedly staring at you now, and was uncomfortably close, his large hand resting on his cheek, his tall body lounging and... Enjoying the view.

The view of you.

It reminded you of —

Rosinante clung to your legs, his long arms wrapped around your legs in two layers because of their length. He was crying openly, his long body sprawled out across the floor as you dragged yourself — with a lot of effort because you were lugging a one-hundred-seventy kilogram giant that decided to flop down and not move — and the second plate full of ume mochi you made to the table. His feet covered in his donkey-themed slippers were so long they touched the end of the wall of the dining room.

You were starting to sweat now, losing your breath as you dragged yourself forward with nothing but determination. Rosinante was so heavy… It felt like a baby elephant laid down, wrapped its tusk around your legs, and was waiting to be dragged around by you.

Rosinante was always mindful not to put his entire weight on you, but he had no shame in using all of it against you when he needed to, it seemed.

Like right now, when he was begging to eat your mochi.

“I never thought I’d say this in our marriage, but…” You sighed, took a deep breath, and yelled, “Rosinante, get off of me!”

Rosinante was not discouraged.

“Pleaaaaseee!” he cried, lifting up his face to you; you froze at the cuteness you were faced with; soft, shining, warm brown eyes full of tears and a pleading, sweet, handsome face of a man who might as well be an angel. “Just a little bit! I can eat it, I promise!”

“Rosinante, you can’t have the mochi. You’re going to get sick from overeating.” you said, putting on your best stern look. “You’re going to get sick from overeating. You already have a stomachache!”

You couldn’t let yourself be influenced by your husband’s puppy eyes; he always used that weapon against you, and with Law sitting here at the table watching the scene in utter bafflement, you had to at least appear mature and not melt under Rosinante’s sweet face and gaze as you usually would. You couldn’t give into it!

“B-But...” Rosinante managed through his sniffles. “You made it... You worked hard on it... I wanna eat it...”

“That’s what you get for stuffing yourself with (Y/N)-san’s pancakes, Cora-san.” said Law with a blank, blunt tone that would make even the toughest marine feel like they got shot in the heart.

‘Cora-san can stuff himself with my pancakes and other things of me any time,’ you thought, but didn’t say. The smile that came across your lips while you had that thought might have betrayed you. Thankfully, both the man and the boy remained none the wiser, focused on their conversation.

“You’re so cruel, Law!” cried Rosinante, tears streaming down his face. Law sweatdropped at your husband's emotional reaction.

Law put another mochi into his mouth. He didn’t like umeboshi or plums of any kind, so you filled his mochi with black sesame paste instead, which he seemed to enjoy. You only made the ume mochi because you had to use up the leftovers and intended to eat the plate you were carrying yourself.

Your husband who had spent the entire afternoon on the couch digesting the thirty pancakes he ate had other plans.

“Look! He’s eating! He’s doing it on purpose!” Rosinante gasped. “He smirked! He just smirked! The little smartass smirked at me!”

You couldn’t believe your husband was fighting with a sick, small thirteen-year-old boy who didn’t even reach to his knees.

“That’s because Law ate his serving of the pancakes in moderation like a normal human being, unlike you, who ate five servings!”

“I couldn’t help it! They were so delicious!” He smiled goofily, dreamily. “And we couldn’t have wasted the mixture!”

“We could have had the mixture for dessert after dinner or put it overnight for tomorrow, you know this! That’s how we always do it! You let your stomach make your decisions for you!”

“Just a bite!” insisted Rosinante.

“No!”

“One bite, por favor!”

Law took another mochi, amused by the scene in front of him.

You sighed. “Rosi…”

“Please.” whimpered Rosinante, sniffling.

"Fine," you said, giving in. "But only one!"

Rosinante beamed like you just gave him the world.

Rosinante let go of you. Free at last, you took one of the ume mochi from the pile and gave it to him. Rosinante grabbed it and bit into the soft, mellowy mochi, chewing through it with eyes closed, moaning happily, lost in deep bliss.

“Delicious!” said Rosinante cheerfully, cheeks blushing a sweet pink, a big smile blooming on his face. “Thank you!”

And just by that face Rosinante made, you fell in love with him all over again. Your heart bloomed, butterflies flying wild in your stomach.

Before you could stop yourself, you reached out and cradled your husband’s face, bent down and kissed him deeply, wrapping your arms around his thick neck and strong shoulders, burying your fingers in his fluffy, wavy blond hair.

Rosinante made a surprised sound, but he recovered quickly, closing his eyes, kissing you back, his large hands sliding around your body, pulling you flush to his warm, broad, strong chest.

Rosinante hummed, smiling lovingly into the kiss.

“Really?!” asked Law, baring his teeth like an angry gremlin at the two of you. “Right in front of my mochi? Get a room!”

You giggled, exchanging one more kiss with Rosinante before parting from him.

Rosinante looked adoringly at you, his half-lidded brown eyes full of love.

“Stop staring at her like a lovesick puppy, Cora-san!”

Rosinante giggled.

“Nope,” he said playfully, continuing to stare at you lovingly, looking completely smitten, a goofy, dreamy smile on his face. You were starting to smile despite yourself, feeling yourself blush more and more, staring at your husband lovingly, equally enchanted by him.

“I love my wife, and I’ll stare at her as long as I want!” announced Rosinante proudly.

Law stared at Rosinante in what could only be described as disgust and disappointment.

“If I ever become like Cora-san, I want to be shot.” said Law.

“Hey!” Rosinante whined.

You laughed, burying your fingers in Rosinante’s soft hair, gently petting his head to calm him down. He settled with a grunt, resting his cheek on your bosom, closing his eyes. He squeezed you tight in the encompassing embrace of his large arms, his palms easily wrapping around your waist, his fingertips on the middle of your back.

You rested your forehead on the crown of Rosinante’s head, closing your eyes, basking in the peace.

“I can eat the rest of the mochi if you two are gonna cuddle, right?” Law asked, eyeing you curiously.

You chuckled. “Sure, Law. But no more than five mochi for you.”

“Yes, (Y/N)-san,” said Law politely. “Don’t worry, I know how to count, unlike Cora-san.”

Law smirked like the mischievous boy he was; it was adorable.

Rosinante peeked his left eye open to look at Law. “If I wasn’t having a great time on my wife’s bosom, I would sooo eat all your mochi, Law.”

Law made a face. “You’re a perverted klutz, Cora-san.”

“A happily married perverted klutz,” said Rosinante proudly, lifting his arm and showing Law his hand with the gleaming, golden wedding band on his ring finger. “And don’t you forget it.”

You laughed.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Law’s lips twitch into a tiny smile.

Your heart clenched painfully tight. You turned your head away from Doflamingo, back to your souffle.

Doflamingo’s charming expression shifted, his brows furrowing when you looked away from him, when the blush on your face faded away as well as the reflection of him in your wide eyes.

“Young Master, you can have all of mine!” said Gladius enthusiastically.

“That’s fine, Gladius.” Doflamingo said. “Anymore and I’ll bloat.”

Tears welled in your eyes, clogging your throat. The need to cry was so great it was physically painful.

You can’t cry. You can’t cry here.

“Is she really Corazón’s wife?” asked the black-haired girl in the maid outfit. She must be Baby 5. Rosinante told you she doesn’t know how to say no to people asking her for help, and her entire purpose in life is to be useful. Apparently, Doflamingo found her starving on an island, on the brink of death.

“No way, dasuyan. I bet she’s Young Master’s secret wife.” You had to swallow down your orange juice not to choke on it, the sudden need to heave overwhelming you at the mere possibility of being married to a man like Doflamingo - that sounded like absolute hell. “He must’ve gotten tired from hiding her, so he finally brought her aboard to sail with us, dasuyan!”

“How romantic!” squealed Baby 5.

I wouldn’t touch your captain with a twenty meter pole. you thought, staring at the kids blankly, wondering whether they were really that ignorant.

“They’re pirate kids.” said Rosinante. “They’re stupid, vulgar, adjusted to violence, and have no filter. They don’t know anything. Don’t take it personally.”

You exhaled, and got back to eating your souffle.

“So, missus, where are you from?” asked Giolla. “North Blue?”

You gulped, feeling a heaviness settle over your chest. Telling them Marineford was your birthplace and hometown was suicide. They’ll tackle you and kill you the moment you say the word. Should you lie? If you lie, will Doflamingo punish you? He must know where you’re from.

No. You weren’t going to lie. Screw them. You were proud to be born in Marineford, proud to be the daughter of two marines.

“Head high. Stare right into their eyes.”

“Marineford,” you said firmly.

You might as well have thrown a live grenade on the table, because the chaos that resulted from that single reveal equaled that.

Diamante spit out his red wine, spraying it across the table and right into Trebol’s face. Gladius started choking on his meat. Lao G stood up and performed the Heimlich maneuver, helping the explosive man cough out the meat.

Doflamingo didn’t say anything.

“Seriously?” asked Gladius in disbelief, staring at you.

“Behe! I’m all covered in wine, behe!”

“You’re already covered in snot, though...” said Diamante.

“Behe! It’s so funny, I can’t help my nose running!”

You gagged in your mouth. You clenched your eyes shut not to see Trebol’s booger, turning your face away; you felt your stomach roll with nausea, at the edge of throwing up. That was disgusting.

“My parents were marines,” you said.

Gladius collapsed down into his seat, holding his head in his hands, moaning, “Not another one.” under his breath miserably.

“Are your parents still alive?” asked Diamante.

“They’re gone now. Killed by people like you guys.”

“By pirates, eh?” asked Diamante, and you were starting to realise why Rosinante called him a sick sadist. “Which ones?”

Sadistic pieces of shit like you.

“More dangerous ones than you,” you said flatly. “How many parries do you think you have in you before Mihawk slices you to bits?”

Diamante gaped. Whatever he had been expecting of you to say, it clearly wasn’t that.

“You had that coming, Diamante,” Pica said. Your eyes widened at the sound of his voice. Rosinante told you how high-pitched it was, but you didn’t think it would be this squeaky, like a balloon losing air. “You started it.”

“Behehe, Diamante got defeated by Doffy’s sister-in-law, behehe!” said Trebol, laughing.

“Shut up, Trebol!” yelled Diamante, grabbing an empty bottle. Your eyes widened, your body springing to duck in case the swordman threw the bottle at the slime man.

“Don’t throw glassware,” said Doflamingo, taking another spoonfull of his chocolate filled souffle with a spoon.

Diamante huffed, lowering the glass of wine. Doflamingo lowered his pinky. You caught the gleam of strings disappearing.

You could feel eleven pairs of eyes on you. Oh, there’s the weariness. About time.

“Calm down,” said Doflamingo. “(Y/N) isn’t a marine. She never went through training. Never applied for it, even. She works in the civilian service, in the translation and cryptography department. She knows almost all languages except Godly Tongue and Amazonian. She translated the contract of trade routes between Fishman Island and Marineford, as well as trade routes between Dressrosa and its neighbouring countries. She and her co-workers translated a lot of Arabastan books into Common, and even Flevan medical books, so the government and medical schools all have copies of all their research, just as they translated Common books into Flevan. I’m sure Law studied from one she translated among all his pile of medical books.” Your stomach sunk at the mention of Law. “And, she’s been one of the translators at the Reverie four years ago. She was King Riku’s translator.”

The entire table shifted gears at this load of information.

“What an impressive résumé!”

“Indeed,” said Doflamingo proudly, as though your accomplishments were connected to him. “She even translated the collection of Dressrosan Poems.”

“Fufufufu... speaking of translating... Did my little brother help you out with those?”

“Sorry?”

Doflamingo leaned down to your ear. His breath was hot on your ear. “Did my little brother whisper filthy things to you in Dressrosan or will I have to provide that, too?” His tongue licked his teeth; he looked hungry. “Because I’d be happy to.”

For the first time, you were frightened enough to physically defend yourself. Your arms shot out and shoved at Doflamingo’s suit, on his shoulders, hard. You shoved him away, getting him away from yourself, from your personal space.

Your face was burning. You were breathing hard from terror and disbelief of what he’d said.

Doflamingo laughed. “You’re so red, fufufu! Like a lobster. So cute.”

Doflamingo cooed the last two words, which only frightened you further. He didn’t take you seriously. Not you shoving him away, and not you being unsettled by his implications that no normal brother-in-law would say to his sister-in-law.

“Did my little brother teach you that?” Doflamingo had asked.

Rosinante taught you how to wield a knife, and how to throw it. He also taught you how to shoot, and the basics of self-defense. Your husband taught you many things, but he never thought to teach you how to handle missing him, how to handle this hopeless, empty void in your chest. You thought to fill it with something - the first emotions that came to mind were all for Doflamingo; rage, revenge, hatred. But Rosinante wouldn’t want that.

You didn’t want that. You didn’t want to become a husk of yourself, to make it easier for Doflamingo to manipulate you. Rosinante wouldn’t want you ten kilometers near his brother.

But what Rosinante wanted didn’t seem to matter anymore. He was dead, after all. He couldn’t help you.

“I’m teasing, querida,” he crooned, flashing you another of those vicious-looking grins that set you on edge that made you want to run and flee into the cold sea. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed. I do think they were very well-translated.”

His large hand reached for your face, taking your jawline into his grip with ease, the pads of his fingers touching the back of your ears, caging your head in his grip. He brushed his thumb along your chin, trailing it down. He put your chin on the knuckle of his thumb, lifting your head up to look at him. He smiled, smug and curved. “Romantic.”

Doflamingo removed his touch from your face, and your stomach deflated in relief. You didn’t realise you’d been holding your breath in terror, releasing it through your nose in relief the moment Doflamingo’s hand left your face.

“Pardon me, but do you mean Poems of Dressrosa Collection?” asked Giolla. “You translated it?”

“Uh… yes.” you said.

“Oh my goodness!” squeaked Giolla, the sudden energy in her startling you. “Young Master, why didn’t you say so before?”

“Fufufufu...”

Giolla reached down to her bag, taking out a leatherbound book; you recognised the cover of engraved roses, your eyes widening.

“Would you sign my copy, missus?”

What the actual fuck…

This day was getting weirder and weirder.

It would be rude to say no. Pirate or not, Giolla was asking you politely, and there didn’t seem to be any trick to it.

Oh, what the hell. Might as well.

“Sure,” you said.

“How did you end up translating them?” asked Señor Pink curiously. He was the only man on the crew who truly didn’t appear like a pirate, like he belonged there, with his combed hair and neat suit.

Rosinante had found out on his mission Señor Pink was secretly married to a civilian woman and your husband had nearly bust his gut laughing at the absolute irony of it all. Neither Rosinante or Señor Pink had let Doflamingo know about it, but Rosinante said unlike with him because he was his brother, Doflamingo wasn’t very interested in what his officers did in their personal lives as long as they did their job and put the crew first.

“That wouldn’t be the case for me.” Rosinante had told you. “He wouldn't leave us the hell alone if he found out. Which is exactly why I’ll never let him find out!”

And in the end, he didn’t. Rosinante took the secret of his marriage with you to the grave. It wasn’t his fault Doflamingo had his own spy in the Navy — it was the only possible way he could have found out, because you didn’t sign yourself as Donquixote in any of the published translated books.

“After the Reverie, King Riku commissioned me to translate them.” You shrugged. “They sold pretty well, I suppose.”

It was a very old book, and the author had been dead for five hundred years. They’d never been translated into Common until King Riku commissioned you - and by formality, the World Government - to translate it.

“You’re being too humble, damasu! They became one of the best-selling books from Dressrosa, shipped all over the world! They earned Dressrosa five hundred million berries!”

You felt uneasy. You didn’t like attention. Translators and cryptographers didn’t get attention, and you were very happy with your job because of that fact alone. You enjoyed supporting the marines and helping them in your own, stealthy way.

“That’s uh, nice...” you said. Giolla sent the book through the officers, and it reached you through Doflamingo.

You opened the book on the first page.

Doflamingo was peering over your shoulder with his unnerving smile. You could guess why. He wanted to know what your signature looked like. How you would write the letters of Donquixote.

Ugh. Great.

“You’re credited with your maiden name... That’s how you kept me from finding out." said Doflamingo.

Damn it. you thought. That sea king was out of the ocean now.

Knowing Doflamingo, he’ll now demand you write him a full list of every single book you ever translated in your career. You didn't even know all of them!

You signed the Donquixote as you did through the last five years of signing official documents and reports, with a bit of a curve at the q as you always did. You loved Rosinante’s surname. It was always fun to write it. You added a dedication to Giolla and drew a heart for her, because fuck it.

Doflamingo smiled.

“This is wonderful!” Giolla squealed, beaming left and right, holding the leatherbound book close to her chest, like it was a precious treasure. “Thank you very much!”

You weren’t expecting thanks from a pirate.

“Uh… you�� welcome…” you said.

Doflamingo leaned down to you and whispered in your ear, “The worth of that book just skyrocketed, at least to Giolla.”

It seemed as though now that Giolla liked you, there was some unspoken stamp of approval among the officers. The entire atmosphere at the table turned less quiet and more light-hearted.

After everyone finished their desserts, small talk started while everyone digested the food. Soon, the officers started taking their leave. The children got second servings of the souffles and were busy eating them. You were absentmindedly still picking at your souffle.

Trebol leaned to Doflamingo and said something to him, hushed and for Doflamingo’s ears only. You felt your stomach clench the longer you sat there, with no knowledge of the layout of the ship, and no knowledge where you were supposed to go until it was time to head to bed which wouldn’t happen for another six to eight hours.

Doflamingo got up from the chair. Trebol and Diamante followed, and you nearly collapsed from fear at the sight of all three of them at their full height.

“Baby 5, show my sister-in-law to my cabin,” he said.

The devilish, curved, scythe-shaped smile bloomed on Doflamingo’s face as he looked down at you. “Help her get settled in.”

You felt like you were going to throw up all the food you ate.

Baby 5 beamed. “Yes, Young Master!”

“I’ll come and check on you later, little bird,” said Doflamingo. He bent down to your height and kissed you on the cheek.

Doflamingo gave you a smile; the sight of it made you nauseous.

“Welcome aboard.”

***

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