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vilemint · 16 hours ago

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I have been craving for a Law fic with this much detail and perfect description to his personality, thank you sm for this!!

God Spelled Backwards is D-O-C-T-O-R (Trafalgar Law x Reader, Chapter I)

Synopsis: Dr. Trafalgar Law is the brilliant, cold, new electrophysiologist fresh out of residency with something to prove. He wasted no time in singling you out as you battle his unyielding demands and an overbooked schedule with non-existent back up. Your dynamic goes beyond professional tension, and in a hospital where boundaries are protocol, and protocol is gold, it’s an all out fight for power and control.

Word Count: 6.1k

Tags/Warnings: MINORS DNI, CardiacElectrophysiologist!Law, EchoTech!Reader, Modern Hospital AU, Language, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, AFABFEM!Reader

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V

Notes: Why hello my new obsession...

“What’s the difference between God and a doctor?” you remembered one of your patients asking just as you were about to insert his IV.

“What’s that?” you hummed, feeling him tense slightly under your touch as the needle poked his skin.

The patient, seeming otherwise unfazed, turned his head to beam at you, a broad grin on his face.

“God doesn’t think he’s a doctor!” he laughed, and you couldn’t help but consider that the joke came to mind after an interaction with Dr. Trafalgar Law.

You would be surprised if it had nothing to do with him at all, not after the odd pattern you had been noticing ever since a new name popped up on your schedule. It wouldn’t have been the first time that week that a patient made an offhand remark about the new cardiology doctor, something you assumed was a bid to confirm that his lack of bedside manner wasn’t just a figment of the imagination.

“The new EP is ice cold,” Penguin told you during one of the times he hid out in imaging. Imaging was always a good place to hide for a while.

“Scary,” Shachi agreed. “I don’t envy whoever ends up on his team.”

“Guys, he’s been here for less than a week,” you dismissed, taking a sip of your morning beverage. “You know how baby doctors are, they’re always intense when they first start because they’ve gotta show off that textbook knowledge right out of residency. Whoever it is, I’m sure he’ll simmer down.”

“Not Dr. Trafalgar D. W. Law,” Shachi spoke ominously, “Ain’t that a name? You’re only saying that because you’ve never met him.”

”He’s intense.” Penguin nodded.

As if on cue, brisk footsteps resounded from the hallway, not quite a stomp so much as heavy, deliberate steps on their way to put out a fire. And perhaps they wouldn’t have been so out of place if it hadn’t been for the relatively mellow schedule you had laid out for you that day. A bunch of post-ops: certainly nothing to charge through diagnostics for.

The door flew open, as if the very entrance to your wayward office wanted to be out of the way of the storm that entered. The man who came in was a new face, tanned with meticulously groomed facial hair. You couldn’t help but notice the dark tattoos that adorned his hands that stretched out from the sleeves of his stiff white coat. His badge hung neatly from the left breast pocket, but the distance made it difficult to read the name printed on it.

And perhaps your description of him might’ve been more complimentary if it weren’t for his following words.

”Ah, so it’s a real party down here.” He frowned, not bothering to hide how he scrutinized the three of you. The doors flapped closed behind him, swaying in his wake from the force he used to push them open. “Is this how NBUMC runs its operation?”

North Blue University Medical Center. The North, for short.

The doctor’s dark eyes narrowed, staring directly at you.

“You’re the echo tech?”

“Among other things,” you matched his deep frown. At this point, Penguin and Shachi quietly picked up their coffees and made a swift exit. “Who’s asking?”

“I need a repeat scan on one of Hiriluk’s old patients in room 211. Irregular rhythm, everything in the chart is useless. That's the theme I’m seeing from Hiriluk…” He didn’t even look at you, too buried in whatever was on the screen of the laptop he balanced in his arm.

“Ah,” you sighed, visibly deflating, “You must be the new attending.” Speak of the devil.

You turned toward your computer, clicking through a few things in the system. You frowned. So this was how things were going to be…

“This patient just had scans a few days ago.”

“The images are inconsistent and don’t have measurements—”

“I can add measurements.”

—“I want a clearer look at the chamber dimensions. Valve morphology while you’re at it.” Law toggled a few things on his screen before meeting your eye again, a flicker of annoyance evident in his gaze. “The order is in now. I want this one expedited.”

Expedited. One of your least favorite words, along with “they’ll be with you shortly.” This was a hospital for fucks sake— it never was shortly.

“Your patient is going to have to wait. I’ve got a morning filled with post-ops. I’m not going to make them wait just for a second opinion on a perfect scan that’s less than a week old.” Much like your time employed here, baby doc.

“I have time,” he retorted, but rather than sauntering off to whatever hellhole he came out of, Dr. Trafalgar stayed exactly where he stood.

You glanced at him incredulously.

“You’re going to stay here,” you asked, sounding more accusatory than questioning, “While I go through my morning.”

“The patient who was supposed to be next on my schedule came early and got out quickly enough, so I can wait on this one. It’ll be faster.” Law didn’t sit. He didn’t even move out of the way. He only folded his laptop, tucking it under his arm as he stared straight ahead at you.

“Look, I know that you fresh-out-of-residency types think you know everything, but I think I can say with a certain degree of certainty that that’s not how time works,” you huffed.

“We’ll see,” Law said, offering you a single nod.

A notification pinged on your computer, and you swiveled around to check your inbox.

A grey box appeared next to your first patient’s name.

Canceled. Not Feeling Well/Sick.

You stared at the box, a sinking feeling beginning to set in. You didn’t even want to turn around.

You breathed in a single, steady breath.

Motherfucker.

“Alright,” you sighed, your tone laced with spite. “Let’s do this.”

You didn’t want to see his face as you went, and you certainly tried to ignore the way he peered over your shoulder as you performed your scan.

You were good. You couldn’t have made it as far as you have without being exceptional at your job. The orientation of the probes made sense to you, and your hand was naturally light and precise. Plus, you were sure you had more bedside manner and charisma in your left pinkie finger than Law had in his entire body.

His eyes were glued to your monitor, his very presence absolutely suffocating. You had done hundreds of these, a handful— to your dismay— with a white coat hovering over you. You could usually shake the looming presence, but today it was unignorable.

You glanced at Law from the corner of your eye, watching how he scrutinized your monitor and not seeming to care how he encroached on your space. Seeing him made your fingers twitch, which showed up as acute noise on the scan.

It was the slightest amount of artifact, but Law’s eyes immediately flicked to it. It made your insides boil, and you kept as steady as you could until you were finished.

And at the end, he only offered you a single nod.

“That’s better,” he hummed.

You were going to ring his neck.

***

Whelp, Penguin and Shachi weren’t kidding. The guy was a dick. He was so much of a dick, you were no longer surprised when patients brought Law’s attitude up to you. A little rough around the edges or a rather intense young man were the polite ways of calling it the way everyone sees it. It was old person speak for what an uptight asshat.

But to your continued surprise, despite offhand comments about his frigid exterior, you consistently heard nothing but praise about his professional prowess. There were even a few rumors that Law had already been invited to speak at the annual cardiology conference.

You knew you weren’t lucky enough only to get one unfortunate interaction with Dr. Trafalgar. One pushy interaction, and you would have written it off as yet another green doctor throwing their weight around to try to establish some dominance. You’d seen his type before, and more often than not, you could wait them out and let the job put them in their place organically.

But as you checked the work queue the next morning, you nearly spat out your coffee as you saw your patient list had more than doubled.

STATUS NEW REQUEST. REF BY PROVIDER TRAFALGAR, LAW D. W. REF BY DEPARTMENT CARTIOLOGY ELECTROPHYSIOLOGY DIVISION.

STAT was bolded in red next to a vast majority of them, many of the names hauntingly familiar to you.

Your heart sank as you began plucking names into the records server. Your breath nearly hitched as you noticed the date on the very first patient of your new influx.

Three days ago… This patient just had imaging three days ago.

You gawked at the screen, nose twitching in disbelief. You typed in another name.

Images were completed a week ago. So on and so forth.

Seldom did you ever have to venture out of your imaging cave to speak to a physician directly. Imaging and your wayward office were, after all, more out of the way than not. Your door didn’t even have a label, likely from a time when admin went nuts and decided that all the door signs needed to have the good ol’ NBUMC logo on them. Yours, inexplicably, didn’t get one.

You preferred it that way. You got your orders, your set schedule, and you were left to your own devices in a quiet part of the hospital. Sometimes an occasional add-on would spice up your day and give you something to complain about, but if anyone needed to speak to you or if you needed to speak to anyone, you could use your standard secure chat.

However, having half of your queue consisting of new urgent requests wasn’t going to work. And you weren’t about to repeat all those scans and allow all those patients to be charged for repeat testing just because some new doctor was going on an ego trip.

Law was already hard at work in his pod, glued to something on his computer that had him too engrossed to notice the way you approached him with fury. And just when you thought something couldn’t pissed you off more, you got a glance of just what was keeping him so engrossed.

One of your fucking scans.

“Dr. Trafalgar—”

“Mh? Oh, good timing.” He didn’t even bother turning around to face you. “I was just looking at some of your work.”

You resisted the urge to scoff.

“Funny,” you snarked, barely about to hold your mask of professionalism. “I was just coming to talk to you about that.”

“It’s decent,” Law continued, almost as if he hadn’t heard you, “But it’ll all have to be redone.”

It’ll all have to be redone.

“Excuse me?” You nearly choked. Between the insanity of the statement and the bluntness with which he said it, you weren’t sure what threw you off more.

“When Hiriluk retired, I got his patient load.” Law finally turned somewhat in his chair, ignoring you once again. He shook his head, his face contorting in condescending disbelief. “And a majority of them are diagnosed wrong.” He rolled his eyes.

You paused.

“Wrong?” you repeated.

“Catastrophically misdiagnosed,“ Law affirmed, “Dangerously so.”

“Dr. Hiriluk’s patients love him,” you spat. “Who are you to say he got it wrong?”

“Because I’m actually paying attention,” Law quickly retorted, and the snap of his words almost made your heart skip a beat. He turned back to the computer, hands folded over each other in front of his face as he leaned forward. “Can you imagine having to tell someone their heart is worse than their doctor— who they’ve seen for years, by the way— told them? Psh, he doesn’t even deserve to be called a doctor.”

No, you couldn’t imagine having the conversation at all. You couldn’t even imagine Law breaking the news.

“I want to get through as many patients as I can, especially the cases that are urgent. We need to completely make over the treatment plans to actually start saving some lives.” Saving some lives. He threw that line around so casually. Yeah, he’ll be a hit around here.

“My scans are perfectly good, no matter what Dr. Hiriluk might’ve gotten right or wrong, his diagnosis is separate from my data,” you pressed on. This wasn’t about a fight; it was about your work queue. “The volume you’re asking for is impossible. You’re not the only doctor here.”

It wasn’t just the time spent doing the scans, but also all the time before and after that that required your attention: the clerical work and the messaging. Your department was stretched thin as it was. After the umpteenth fiscal year of not being approved for additional positions and your peers being stretched across multiple clinic locations, you often found yourself working alone at Main.

“They’re unusable,” Law frowned. No comments. No reasoning. No compromise. “And when you repeat them, they’ll be done my way.”

It was an order, just like the ones he filled your queue with. He didn’t turn. He didn’t even look at you when he spoke. Law clicked around a few times.

“Then do them yourself.”

“I could.” Law leaned back in his chair, his finger flicking across the mouse to zoom out on the scan he had pulled up on his computer. His elbow rested on the arm of his seat as he gestured toward the screen. “But it wouldn’t be as good as this one from the 23rd.”

“You really are digging…”

“12:29 PM… You don’t even take a lunch, do you?” Law swiveled in his chair, triumphantly, and smugly sat back with his hands folded in his lap. “I like that.”

“One early afternoon patient is not an excuse to pack my schedule, Doctor,” you spat.

“You’ll have your hands full enough.” Law stood, adjusting the way his pristine white coat sat on his broad shoulders. “Because I want all of those repeats to look exactly like that one,” he said, and just as he brushed past you, he leaned toward your ear, “Or I’ll be sending them back.”

You barely had the time to whirl around before he was halfway down the hall, clipboard in hand. You opened your mouth to call after him, but even your words weren’t fast enough.

“Before you go,” he called over his shoulder. “Whoever that Ussop tech is… I don’t want him anywhere near my cases.” You could see the smirk on his lips as he disappeared into an exam room.

***

“Try to breathe as naturally as you can. I’ve got some jelly here that might feel a little cold.” You placed your probe, glancing toward your monitor as you stepped on your foot pedal to begin recording.

Your hands were steady, your scan perfectly oriented, and your momentum smooth even as Law stood with his arms crossed in the corner of your peripheral. He slipped through the door quietly, and perhaps you wouldn’t have even noticed him if he hadn’t oriented himself right at the edge of your vision.

“Very good,” you hummed to the patient, “You’re doing great.”

You kept your voice low, but friendly. A little praise went a long way in patient care, both in calming patient nerves and improving their attitude. It also gave you an excuse to break the silence as you worked. However, it appeared that you didn’t have to concern yourself with commentary.

“Your orientation is different today,” Law’s blunt voice broke through your carefully curated atmosphere. You could feel him walk up next to you, filling what little space existed in front of your monitor.

“You have to orient yourself differently with different patients, Dr. Trafalgar.”

“You’re limiting your window.”

His presence over your shoulder made you feel like you were in training again. Law was easily as abrasive as any supervisor.

Your grip unconsciously shifted as his voice appeared closer to your ear than you expected. Law didn’t notice you startle, only the acute change on the scan.

“Better,” he said.

You had a lot you wanted to say. That was an understatement. But unlike Dr. Nitpick next to you, you knew when to hold your tongue when a patient was in the room.

“If you’re going to be in the room critiquing my work, isn’t that just halfway to doing the scan yourself?” you complained the moment you were out of the patient’s earshot.

Law crossed his arms.

“I’m communicating what I want, and if you’re off, I’m telling you that you’re off.”

“If you don’t like the way I image, you have a slew of other technicians and clinic locations to choose from.” Your arm shot out in a wide gesture around you.

Law let out an amused scoff as he dug his hands in his front pockets. That same, self-assured smirk from the day before was plastered on his lips. His chin almost had an upward tilt, like he wasn’t even hiding the way he looked down his nose at you.

“On the contrary,” he started with an amused crinkle of his forehead, “You’re the only one who gets it right.”

Gets it right. Pretentious ass—

“You’ve watched me scan, how many times now? Twice?” You scowled.

“I only need to see it done right once.” He shrugged, dipping his head. “You set quite the standard.”

You scoffed, “I’m the one setting the standards here, huh?” Your tongue dipped into the space between your cheek and your gums, almost as if you risked it lashing out at Law by itself if you didn’t keep your jaw tight. You shook your head. “Look, I don’t know who you’re trying to impress here, but I don’t have time to play pet tech.”

“Good thing I’m not trying to play,” Law retorted, appearing very clearly less bothered than you were. “I’m demanding because it’s my job. I want precision and reproducibility.” He met your eye, his continued self-satisfaction explicit. “And you give it to me.”

***

“We’re gonna dieeeeeeee…”

You looked down at your tired, disappointing lunch. It had apparently not been a lucky week for anyone.

“He’ll simmer down once the flow sets in,” you half-heartedly reassured. You were trying to tell yourself the very same thing, and perhaps you would have believed yourself if you hadn’t had so many run-ins with the heartless heart doctor himself. With his brand of brutality, you weren’t sure if he was the type who had the capacity to simmer.

“You’re not the one who has to do his work-ups,” Shachi wilted.

“Try working with him on his post-implants,” Penguin groaned, dragging his hands over his face. “The only one he doesn’t seem to glare at is Bepo.”

“That kid who’s like… fresh out of high school?” you asked.

“He’s the one who talks the least,” Shachi chimed, practically melting over the back of his chair. The answer made you bob your head in consideration. That checked out. “Maybe even Dr. Trafalgar is hesitant about ripping into someone with such a round baby face.”

“And speaking of the opposite, we heard talk that Jean Bart is going to come back as lab nurse,” Penguin said.

“Aww… Jean Bart.” You smiled, thinking about the gentle giant. He briefly dabbled in imaging and had a surprisingly gentle hand. Plus, he never hesitated to take creepy patients before you could even say the word. “C’mon, Jean Bart is plenty cute.”

“I think his appeal is more the fact that he looks like he’s fresh out of prison,” Penguin considered with a downward dip of his lip, “I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else kept their heads down when it came to the idea of being the new EP’s lab.”

“If he can’t deal with that frigid jerk, I don’t know who can…” You muttered.

“Who are we calling a frigid jerk?”

You despised the minuscule jump that came from the sudden presence over your shoulder. You turned your head to frown up at Law, who seemed to have teleported behind you sometime during the tail end of your conversation. He glanced down at you, his lips forming a tight line that just barely disguised an amused huff.

It was like he had an obsession with appearing right over your shoulder.

“Good,” he said loudly, “If you have time to gossip, you have time to tend to my patient in 204.”

“I’m not on right now,” you deadpanned, barely resisting the urge to let a few choice words slip. “If you need someone, my co is—”

“Clock back in. I need this imaging to be clean.” Law’s eyes bounced briefly to the rest of your tiny lunch table. “Ah, and it appears that you’re already acquainted with some of my new team.” His eyes returned to yours, and the little restraint he put into not looking smug melted instantly. “All the better.”

You glanced over at Penguin and Shachi, hoping that at least one of them would back you up here. But Penguin looked like he was trying to psychically connect with his half-finished coffee, and Shachi was on the verge of reinventing the sandwich.

Cowards.

“You’re assigning me cases now?”

“It’s urgent.”

Your forehead twitched, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“If I had a nickel for every time a white coat with an MD sprang a patient on me and told me it was urgent—”

“You’d be very rich, I’m sure, but you’re the only one who does them the way I want.” Law’s acute smirk seemed to vanish, morphing back into his default frown and intense eyebrows. The glare, you decided, was much preferred compared to the smugness.

And the little compliment at the end there— if you could even call it that— somehow made your mood worse.

You sat back in your chair, fully intending to stand your ground with this one.

“There’s a process to these things. You can’t just play favorites when I have a whole schedule of other doctors—”

“Like I told you before—” Law narrowed his eyes at you. Icy. —“I’m not playing.” He turned to walk out of the break room, calling over his shoulder just as he did that morning. “Room 204.”

You considered staying, going back to your lunch as if nothing happened. But the idea that he was about to leave a patient waiting somewhere in the building sparked your damned sense of duty. Because, unlike that jerk, you actually cared about people.

You cursed, leaving your things on the table with Penguin and Shachi— you’d be sure to scold them later— to run out the door after Law. And to your complete and utter dismay, he was already waiting for you. Law had his hands tucked in the pockets of his coat as he leaned a shoulder against the wall.

“Good of you to join me.”

You walked straight past him, your mind already calculating what you need to arrange to get this done as quickly and efficiently as possible. Getting a chance to look at the chart would be a great start.

“If you’re going to keep breaking protocol and interrupt my lunch, I expect food. Preferably warm,” you grumbled as Law followed behind you. You didn’t even have to turn to feel the triumphant air around you. “And expensive. I’m sure your baby doctor salary can afford that.”

“Baby doctor?” Law scoffed.

You turned around suddenly, and the ever-disciplined Trafalgar Law stopped just perfectly so as not to crash into you.

“Yes, baby doctor,” you emphasized. “Newby docs who ask for imaging up the ass because they don’t have the wisdom to use the standard information that every other experienced doctor can go off of. I’m sure you’ll ask me to diagnose a patient or two within the month… you always do.”

Law’s eyes narrowed dangerously. All semblance of playfulness drained from him as the atmosphere seemed to become ten degrees colder. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning encroachingly into your space.

“No one’s diagnosing my patients except me,” he gruffed. You actually rolled your eyes this time.

“And we can only hope we can keep it that way,” you grumbled. You turned to continue down the hall. “Lunch is on you next time, doc!”

***

“Jesus, you look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks, Nami.”

You continued to lie with your head in your arms on your desk, eyes half lidded as you watched Nami’s slender hands place three different types of drinks on the surface in front of your face. Your head pounded. You were willing to bet it was a stress headache. Or maybe it was because you were getting shit sleep—or both.

“One for hydration, one for caffeine, and one fun one,” she hummed triumphantly. Nami stood with her hands on her hips, her posture triumphant as she waited for you to praise her carefully curated selection.

“Thanks, Nami,” you croaked, already reaching for the caffeine.

She frowned, her pose already deflating.

“Damn, is the new EP really that bad?” she asked, leaning over where you sat to take your mouse to click through the programs you had open. “I’ve been hearing all about him all the way over at the satellite office.”

“I appreciate you coming here,” you mumbled. “I don’t think I would be able to handle today’s schedule without you. Especially the morning.”

“I don’t think anyone would be able to.” Nami scrutinized the schedule, toggling between it and the work queue. “Not unless you became the echo machine itself and gained sentience.”

“Already losing the sentience part,” you yawned, “You wouldn’t believe how late I was here last night.”

Nami swatted you on the back of the head.

“What are you doing staying here after hours?” she scolded. Probably a bad person to admit that to. Nami was the queen of work-life balance. A staunch advocate for it, in fact. “The docs have a cut off, they know that.”

“This one doesn’t…”

“Well, he should. Don’t take any more scans if it's getting too late. If you don’t hold your ground, then everyone is going to be sending us stuff at the ninth hour.”

“It’s fine,” you yawned again, finally sitting up to take a responsibly vertical sip of your beverage. “I knew if I didn’t do it then, I would have even more on my plate.”

“You already have a lot on your plate,” Nami said, finally having enough on the workload on your computer. “Can’t you throw your weight around a little?”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ll keep trying, but I have a feeling I’m gonna have a bad time for a little bit.”

Nami disappeared into the background as she prepared the equipment. You let her do her job as you continued to sip on your caffeine fix, because, unlike some people, you didn’t get a hard-on from micromanaging others.

“Dr. Trafalgar apparently got a lot of Hiriluk’s population, so that’s been his new pet project.”

Nami poked her head into the room, lips pursed.

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, Dr. Hiriluk wasn’t the best,” you admitted, switching to the beverage that Nami had dubbed “for hydration,” as if all the other ones weren’t.

“That’s one hell of a perfect storm,” Nami mused. “Newbies already get a little extra as it is.”

“You have no idea,” you sighed heavily. “And for some reason, that means that we’re repeating imaging on everyone and their mother.”

Nami shot around.

“What the fuck?”

You couldn’t tell if her brows were raised in shock, anger, or both. You waved her off, resting your head back in your hand.

“I’m working on it,” you sighed again, gaze turned toward the computer. “It’s why the work queue looks like…”

“A fire truck?”

You chortled.

“I was thinking an ambulance, but with this massive fire that Dr. Trafalgar’s put on my plate, that might be more appropriate.” You watched lazily as Nami began to wheel the equipment across the office. “What are you up to?” You took another sip.

“Rest a little bit. I’m going to take these first few patients. You need it more than I do.”

On a typical day, you’d battle her, but today…

“Thanks, Nami, you’re the best. Just be careful?”

“I know how to handle guys like him. Don’t you worry about me.”

She wouldn’t have taken no for an answer anyway.

***

Even after a few minutes of relaxing, closing your eyes, and resting your face, your headache continued to pound. Today was going to be a very long day, wasn’t it?

You stood, making toward the door. One thing you didn’t hate about working in a hospital was that it was like its own little community, and when you needed something, more often than not, you could find it. Overpriced, perhaps, but you can still find it.

You floated through the hallway, probably quicker than you needed, but the speed was a force of habit. You considered it was something psychological about the sorry color of the walls. They were the worst shade of NBU gray, and with a lack of wall art, the color only served to make every inch of the building into a torturous maze. A maze that you, unfortunately, knew by heart.

The pharmacy had over-the-counter painkillers. That just might be the key to getting through the day.

“You’re not doing this. That’s not a request.”

“Imaging is so overworked that this is the first day in weeks that there’s been two of us here. I offered to come here and help carry the load today because of the influx of patients you’ve decided to send. I’m perfectly qualified.”

“I don’t care about your qualifications. It’s about being precise. I don’t need you to fight your way into that room just for me to send it back to be done the right way.”

“I don’t know how your interactions have been with other people here, but I’m not about to put up with your attitude, especially if it's interfering with patient care.”

“You’re the only one interfering with patient care here. I want my tech on my cases. End of discussion.”

“Your tech?”

That was about the point where you turned the corner, and the scenario was just about what you anticipated. A part of you was hoping that the pair fighting weren’t Law and Nami, but you knew you couldn’t have been that lucky.

Nami had a hand on the handle of her cart, knuckles practically turning white.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize Dr. Hiriluk retired and made you king,” she snapped. “You’re not even a year in and you’re already out here claiming people like you own this place.”

Nami stepped closer, ever fiery, but Law didn’t move an inch.

“Imaging is here to help. Not be owned and treated like personal echo machines. And if you actually gave a shit about actual people like you pretend to about patients, you’d be backing off and not staking claims and cherry picking favorites like you own the schedule,” Nami spat. “You’d think a doctor would be able to tell when someone’s exhausted, especially when it’s your own workload.”

Nami’s gaze accidentally wandered as she turned her head, having to do a double take as she spotted you from around Law’s shoulder. Law’s head swiveled as he followed her shocked gaze, before he fully turned to see you standing in the middle of the hall. You held your drink in your hand, waving tiredly with the other as if you hadn’t been standing witness to a good majority of their exchange.

Nami’s shock wore off first. Her fury didn’t give way easily to distraction.

“Did you know you were spoken for?” Her eyes narrowed at Law. “Did he even buy you dinner first?” she snarked.

“Didn’t even buy me lunch,” you sighed, approaching the two to take the cart.

Law didn’t even spare so much as a glance toward Nami’s pointed stare, keeping his eyes intently on you. Nami turned to you.

“You can’t be okay with this.”

“It’s fine.” You surrendered your cup to Nami before turning your attention to Law.

“Which room?”

“Four.”

You took the cart and went.

When Law entered the room, you had already dimmed the lights.

“Mood lighting?” he commented sarcastically.

“Headache,” you said softly, half distracted by your scan, half asleep. “I was actually on my way to the pharmacy just now…”

Law said nothing, choosing to watch on as he typically did. But this time, his attention wasn’t predominantly occupied by the scan.

You did look tired, like Nami said. Your typical bedside manner, while better than he could muster then exhausted, was evidently lacking first thing that morning. You were going quicker than usual, not rushing, but powering through efficiency.

“You missed those angles,” Law commented, his note filling the room—a beat when by without retort.

“They’re stacked. Don’t worry, Doctor, you’re getting everything you need.”

You weren’t lying. Despite your clear state, your frames were pristine as usual. Perfect.

When you finished with your scans, you were surprised to turn and find that Law was no longer in the room with you. You gave his absence a half second of thought, that he made such a fuss about this scan, only to decide he wasn’t going to be picky. You didn’t know what was worse: the demand without the follow-through or the demand with the follow-through.

You stepped the short distance down the hall to Law’s pod to tell him you were finished, but he rounded the turn. You nearly crashed into him, but ever-perfect Law stood utterly still, seemingly unfazed.

“Take this,” he said, holding out both hands to you.

In one hand was a cup from the breakroom. Water. With ice in it. He held two little white pills in his other palm. Law inverted his hand, clutching the pills with his tattooed fingers as he motioned to give them to you.

“Poisoning me now?” you muttered. “Have I been upgraded to guinea pig?” You let out a huff of a laugh. It wasn’t a very funny joke.

“Painkillers for your headache,” Law said.

Your eyes shot up to his, your gaze somewhere between surprised and skeptical. But Law said nothing, motioning for you to take the cup and pills for a second time, and you finally got with the program and accepted.

Law watched you with an uncomfortably intense stare as you popped the pills in your mouth, almost as if he was trying to make sure you actually took them.

“Are these prescription?” you asked, the thought dawning on you after you’d taken them.

“No,” Law answered.

“I would have thought you’d feel powerful signing off on something.”

“If I were signing off on something, you’d know,” he said. “There’s plenty of time left in the day for that.”

“Right…” you trailed, remembering the heavy schedule you had set for the day. “Well… thank you for this…”

“Just look out for some changes for today. I’m going to rearrange things to try out a few workflow strategies. Take a little heat off imaging.” Law seemed to refuse to meet your eye.

“I should have Nami yell at you more often.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Law retorted without a pause, his stare coming back to you. Unyielding. “If you’re taking on all my cases from now on, I need to make sure my patients aren’t waiting an obscene amount of time for imaging. I refuse to get backed up just because you think you can’t handle what I give you.”

“Wait, you were serious about that?”

Law stared at you as if you had just asked where the heart was.

“We’ve established this.”

“No, no, no.” You shook your head, “You can’t give me every imaging patient on your schedule and just expect me to take it.”

Law scoffed, his typical smugness returning.

“You’ll take what I give you.”

“Not all of your patients from now to—”

Law stepped closer, and his proximity shut you up quickly as he leaned his forearm on the wall next to your head. Your words died on your lips as he leaned close, your equipment just behind you and trapping you in. You could smell the faintest hint of cologne, and the smirk on his lips spiked your pulse in a way that made your breath hitch.

“But you just did,” he whispered, tapping the rim of the water cup still in your hand.

And just like that, he stood straight, walking around where you stood frozen in the hallway to bark orders like nothing happened.

“Keep hydrated, I don’t need your hand shaking for the rest of my scans today.”

God, you hated when he did that.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: I try to not use reader pronouns in my works, but I'll be candid that this insert is likely going to be AFAB fem because there are some themes that I want to tackle that are specific to that demographic. I hope you enjoy the ride

Next chapter drops at 100 notes

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V

#trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law #op x reader #one piece #one piece fanfic

187 notes · View notes

vilemint · 3 days ago

Text

Pulse

Source for pic

Pulse 🔞

Word Count: 7839

Tags: Fem!Reader; Power Dynamics; NSFW; MDNI; Modern World AU; Business man!Doflamingo; Intense!Doflamingo; Possessive!Doflamingo; Violence; Rough Sex; Dark Romance; Blood; Mentions of torture; Broken bones; Obsession; Mentions of past abuse;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You are Doflamingo's new secretary and he develops a strange obsession over the slight flickers of your pulse. Little does he know that you have ulterior motives for taking on this job. Little do you know that he'll ruin you without ever looking back.

Notes: I didn't intend to write for Doflamingo, much less a 7K+ fic... It was just meant to be pure smut, I just wanted to expel the demon from my thoughts but... he took over. And this came about. I won't even apologise for it. I do hope you enjoy it a little bit, though.

|Masterlist|

One Month Ago…

Doflamingo strode unapologetically through the elevator doors, across the lounge, and straight to his office door. The opulent black brocade coat with delicate pink details left a trail of vanity behind him as he walked forward in his perfectly pressed suit. His slicked-back hair completed the look, but the tinted glasses were perched on the tip of his haughty nose for purposes other than fashion: they were meant to intimidate.

He stopped at the door, paused, and turned with an elegant flourish, his long fingers entwining together as his crimson gaze landed on you: typing diligently on your computer, perfectly poised, perfectly elegant in your pencil skirt and work blouse: polished, professional, untouchable.

You didn’t react. Other than a polite ‘Good morning, Sir’, you didn’t even slow down your typing. And his grin only deepened.

The soft leather of his fancy shoes managed to echo in the small space, such was the charisma of this man. When he placed his sizable, veiny hands against the desk, the colour contrasted starkly against the dark mahogany, you stopped and raised your eyes to meet his.

You could just make out the faintest wisp of expensive whiskey and sin, coating him like a thick fog.

“You’re new.” He stated simply, the corner of his lips curling ever so slightly into an almost deranged smirk.

“I am your new secretary, Sir.” His eyes narrowed, and the smirk intensified, his tongue ran against his marble-white teeth, taunting you, but you didn’t even flinch. “Pleased to meet you.”

Doflamingo’s chuckle was low and throaty. He leaned further, the crimson of his eyes peeking provocatively from behind the lenses. “I am sure you will be.”

You still didn’t flinch. You knew all you needed to know about Donquixote Doflamingo, and you had dealt with dangerous men more than once in your life. He wouldn't intimidate you, no matter how hard he tried.

“I do hope you last longer than the last one, querida.” He pressed further into your space, but your breath didn’t hitch like he was expecting it to; your shoulders didn’t sag in fear nor your eyes avoided his gaze. You intrigued him. “I like you.”

-*-

Present…

This is wrong. So wrong.

But it feels so right.

He’s a dangerous man. The most dangerous of men. You had a glimpse of that just now.

And yet…

“Sí, querida.” Doflamingo’s groan rumbles against the hollow of your throat, and you can’t stop a shameless moan from escaping your perfectly painted lips. “Sing for me.”

He presses himself further against you, his cock straining against the perfectly fitted pink suit he’s wearing, as he rubs it unabashedly against your clothed cunt. Your skirt is riding high on your thighs, the edge of the elegant glass table pressing indents into the exposed skin over your garter.

Doflamingo’s hands circle your waist, and his fingers are so big they engulf you. You gasp sharply, head lolling back as you grip his black silk shirt tight, nails digging into the skin underneath. You know the stain of the blood he's smearing on your blouse will be a bitch to remove.

You don't care.

Then he lowers his touch, spreading his hands over each of your thighs, his lips still savouring your neck, climbing over your pulse and feeling it beat erratically just for him. The tips of his fingers dig into the plushness of your thighs, and you feel his perfectly manicured nails creating crescent indents against your flesh.

Bloody crescent indents.

You still don't care.

With a feral growl, he rips the nylon of your stockings, the belts of your garter snapping against your skin with a lash that is more arousing than painful, and he presses harder, just so he can touch your skin, feel its heat beneath his digits.

He'll ruin you. You know he will. Maybe he already has.

-*-

One Month Ago…

You resumed your rapid typing once Doflamingo entered his office, but immediately after, he returned, a slight curl of his lower lip showing disappointment.

“I take my coffee black, querida. It's your first day, so I'll let it slide, but tomorrow, have it on my desk by the time I arrive.” It's not a request.

Your eyes don't leave the important email you're sending, but your mouth curves slightly as you deliver the words you're sure he doesn't want to hear. “I am your secretary, Sir, not your maid.” You can feel the intensity of his gaze burning hot, but you don't even flinch. “Unless you mean to promote me to your personal assistant or add it to my existing functions, that is not my job.” Your eyes finally lock with his and instead of discontentment or fury, you're met with amusement. “Sir.” You add, because you meant no disrespect.

Oh, he's more than amused. He's entertained.

He thought you were a pretty little thing when he saw you first thing in the morning, though very much poised. Sitting stiffly as if nothing could shake you. His first instinct was that he had to break you, see how long it would take for him to produce a gasp from your lips, a flicker of fear or - his favourite - the rapid acceleration of your pulse.

But no.

You didn't flinch, you didn't gasp, stutter, or freeze. You answered him back. And your pulse? Steady. Firm. Unshakable.

You were fearless.

To say that you were intriguing was not enough. You were captivating. And he was ensnared.

“Fair enough, princesa.” With slow steps, he approached your desk in a mimicry of his previous actions. But this time, he walked to the side and then stood behind you, a subtle display of his power over you. He bent over, his eyes fixed on the artery in your neck, his ears straining for the rush of rapid blood flow he thrived upon.

Nothing.

“You are now my personal assistant.” He smirked as your fingers stopped typing.

“Does the promotion come with a raise, sir?”

Doflamingo's throat bobbed as he swallowed and hummed apreciatively. He's had many women and men call him sir, both in respect and in reverence, often on their knees, or taking his cock in various ways. But none of them compared to the effect the word had on him coming from your sultry, sinful lips.

“Oh, the increment is implied.” He's not referring to a salary increase. He leans closer, and you feel the way his hot breath fans the hairs on your nape, sending the slightest of shivers down your spine. “Your duties, querida, have just doubled. I hope you're prepared to fulfill all my desires.”

There.

Almost imperceptible, but he caught it. An extra pump of blood, a small thump that made your neck vibrate. He saw it, he felt it. It thrilled him.

And the best part? It wasn't even out of fear.

It was excitement.

-*-

Present…

“There.” He breathes against your neck, his tongue flicking out from behind his teeth and pressing against the artery, feeling your pulse, savoring it. “This is the right tempo, cariño, just like this.” The noise he makes - half groan, half grunt - is intimate, and it just makes your pulse thrum faster. “Just for me.”

Suddenly, your blouse is torn to shreds with a single motion of his hands, and you feel the way his cock twitches teasingly against you through the cloth at the sight of your lace bra. His hand climbs, claiming flesh everywhere his fingers press, until it settles on your neck. Doflamingo pushes you back, and you groan softly when your bare back hits the cold glass of the table.

The way your chest rises and falls makes you lightheaded. You haven't felt this out of control in a while. It's exhilarating.

Then your boss spreads your legs open, one hand still squeezing your neck firmly, just so he can feel your pulse against his thumb, the other lazily caressing your inner thigh. A low, dangerous chuckle escapes his lips as the tips of his fingers dip beneath your panties.

“So wet for me, querida? Interesting.” As his index and middle fingers spread you open and you let out an unashamed moan, he chuckles again. “Where others would have fled in fear, you got so aroused you soaked your panties.”

He’s not wrong.

Doflamingo trails kisses along your bare thighs, then his hand leaves your neck, the other one empties your cunt, and you whine in frustration. The man merely chuckles. “Patience, querida, no hay prisa. I want to savour you.”

Then he lifts your right leg, settling your stiletto against his stomach, grunting in satisfaction when the heels dig into his skin. His long fingers caress your calf, the back of your knee gifts him a desperate gasp, which he drinks with a smile, then your thighs. He retraces the same trail, feeding the fire, stoking the flame, making you squirm as your cunt pulsates against nothing, leaking slick in anticipation of a touch or a tease.

Instead, Doflamingo does the exact same thing to the other leg, then removes your shoes with devotion. Your ruined stockings follow as he murmurs a low litany of words in a language you barely understand.

When he spreads you open again, you're panting, barely holding on to any sane thought. You need him to devour you.

Now.

-*-

Three Weeks Ago…

You had your plan carefully orchestrated, and Donquixote Doflamingo would be none the wiser. In fact, you could say he would be a mere puppet in your game.

You just weren’t counting on the extra interest the man would show in you.

You knew he was a charismatic person. A terrifying, cruel, and ruthless businessman, but unforgettable. Nonetheless, you were working for him, not in search of power, influence, or a thrill, but to fulfill your main goal: to exact revenge on the man who abused you - broke you - for years.

Bellamy.

One of Doflamingo’s potential partners, and though his loyalty could be considered dubious, he was a powerful ally if the planned merger was about to happen. Which, from your knowledge from handling reports and confidential emails, was definitely happening. In less than a month, and you needed to be ready.

“Still working, querida? Maybe I should ask your boss to cut you some slack.” Doflamingo’s grin spread, showing his white teeth while he drank you in. He was leaning casually against the doorframe of his polished office, a glass in hand filled with golden whiskey and a few cubes of ice. This time, his suit was deep crimson. His jacket was hung inside his office, so he stood with only a red vest, contrasting against the black dress shirt he had underneath. He looked casual and dangerous with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms.

You sat in with poise and elegance in your comfortable leather chair. Your fingers typing away, finishing up a report on the merger - knowing very well Doflamingo would read it after hours, as he usually did - your legs carefully crossed, an air of professionalism in your countenance.

The only thing that disturbed your perfect poise, and the first thing the Donquixote noticed, was the way your skirt rode a little higher, revealing the barest hint of your garter belt.

His grin widened as he acknowledged that fact, and he strode towards you, settling the glass down on your desk and loosening his tie. His eyes fixed on yours, his gaze predatory and calculating.

You didn’t even shift your gaze from the monitor.

“You work too much.” He drawled lazily, walking behind you, then settling his hands on your chair, rotating it so you stopped your incessant typing and had to look at him. “Take a break.”

Doflamingo leaned down, invading your space as he placed his hands on the armrests, trapping you effortlessly. You didn’t even flinch.

Not a blink, not a stutter of your pulse - nothing.

“You know, querida, most people tremble when I enter their space.” Doflamingo’s chuckle was low and reverberating, it fanned your eyelids and you could smell the faint spice of the whiskey he was sipping.

“Well, I am not most people, Sir.” You smirked faintly, meeting his challenge with politeness as he hummed low. “Or I would have never gotten this job, would I?”

You held his gaze steady as nobody else ever did. Not with open defiance, you knew better than to challenge the most dangerous man in the city, but with wit and charm.

And how he reveled in it.

You planted both feet on the ground, uncrossing your legs slowly and watching the red gaze of your boss devour the movement, then you turned your chair forward again, forcing him to retract his arms in amusement at your boldness.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Sir, I cannot delay this report. It’s important.” You said nonchalantly, as if the most terrifying man you’d ever met wasn’t trying to break you.

He chuckled again, that dark sound coiling and curling around his chest before he released it. Then, he retraced his steps, grabbed the whiskey glass, and stared at you, a grin still curving his lips.

“Who broke you, cariño?” Your fingers stopped suddenly, your breath hitched slightly, but you remained composed. Your pulse betrayed you, though, and he picked it up immediately. Doflamingo’s grin twitched slightly before he settled it back in place. “Who turned you cold and unshakable before I even had the chance to try?”

His gaze fell on the way your throat bobbed up and down, on the small flutter of the artery, and on how your eyes remained closed for a second longer before you opened them again, returning once more to your perfectly poised splendour.

“I have work to do, Sir.”

Unshakable, indeed.

And Doflamingo was obsessed.

-*-

Present…

You cry out as his tongue plunges and probes inside you. Your eyes roll back, and you curl your fingers against the glass of the conference table, trying to find purchase - something to ground you - and failing desperately.

What you really want is to dig your fingers into the blond’s scalp, tug at the light strands of his hair and push him deeper.

But he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would allow it.

Doflamingo’s long fingers replace his wet tongue, and you mewl in contentment, a hot rush spreading through your legs and coiling deep in your stomach. Then his free hand grips your wrist, engulfing it completely, and he presses the pad of his thumb against your vein, feeling your pulse beat erratically and out of tempo.

All for him.

“Sí, sing for me. All for me.”

And then he kneels.

Your breath hitches and your eyes widen. Doflamingo kneels for no one.

-*-

Two Weeks Ago…

He was watching you again. This time through the glass windows of his office. Piles of reports sat to his left, important files he should have already reviewed, but he couldn’t concentrate long enough to do so.

You were still as unshakable as ever.

And that was frustrating.

No assistant or secretary had ever lasted this long. He always broke them, pushed them too far. And he always reveled in it.

Donquixote Doflamingo was not a patient man.

But for you… His new obsession… He had been willing to try.

Besides, there were small cracks in your perfectly polished armour. Tiny rushes of blood that made your pulse flutter just right, nearly imperceptible hitches in your breath, or prolonged eye contact. But that was it.

Now, he’d had enough.

He was going to take you by surprise, to be so blunt you would definitely crumble.

With slow, purposeful steps, he left his office and strode towards you, already anticipating that you wouldn’t stop whatever important task you were doing just to indulge him.

And you didn’t. “What can I do for you, Sir?” Your voice was clipped and low, he knew you were overworked, with the merger approaching quickly, but he could barely be bothered by that, not when the puzzle that was you was proving to be the hardest conundrum to crack.

“Fall apart, princesa. That’s all I ask.”

Nothing. Nothing but the slightest curl of your upper lip. Amusement? No, that was not what he wanted from you.

Submission, deference, docility… obedience.

Not amusement.

He placed one hand on the mahogany desk and closed your laptop with the other, earning an indignant huff from you. And you only got away with it because he was still trying to figure you out.

“I do not only wish to break you, but I want to completely ruin you.”

There. The smallest hitch in your breath.

Then you reached for the laptop, but he grasped your wrist, his large hand consuming yours as his thumb caressed your pulse point and he grinned at what he found.

“I want to take all of that composure, all that perfect, poised professionalism, and shatter it beneath my palms.”

Your pulse danced. And he grinned. Finally, a worthy reaction.

He leaned in further, the intensity of his rich cologne dizzying. “I want to see that perfect mouth of yours do something other than offer clipped responses and polite professionalism. I want you to come undone. Be at my mercy. Collapse under my care.”

His gaze devoured every little flicker of blood pumping through your veins, the way your hand curled slightly, and the little gasp you trapped behind your teeth.

And then… oh, how he was enjoying this… your thighs, clenched together, ever so slightly.

Doflamingo’s pupils darkened behind his tinted lenses, his nostrils flaring as his grin widened into an unhinged smirk. He pulled back, taking you in.

“Tell me, cariño, are you aroused?”

You swallowed, and he followed the way your throat bobbed in a hypnotising manner.

“Quite bold of you to assume that, Sir.” Your voice was weaker. He wasn’t being bold at all, he was just being observant.

And you were still pressing your thighs together.

He had to grit his teeth to keep himself composed. He wanted to ravish you, to devour, no - consume you - like the starved demon people painted him to be. You might look composed, but your body unraveled for him in ways your mind still struggled to do.

You were breaking.

Slowly. Surely.

You would be his. But not yet. He was learning patience, after all.

Instead, he smirked. A low, feral grin that got your pulse thumping even faster. “Interesting…” Then he held your gaze, daring you, defying you to say something else, to ask or demand to know what was interesting.

Yet you remained still.

So he pulled back fully, adjusting his suit and pressing a hand to flatten his tie. “I will have you, princesa. And you'll come to me willingly.”

It wasn't a mere declaration. It was a vow.

And the words made you shiver.

-*-

Present…

He knelt so he could worship you.

Doflamingo pulls your hips to the edge of the table and devours you like a famished fiend. You don't quite know whether to beg for him to stop or urge him on.

You don't even know if you can utter a single word, because any form of speech seems to have been erased from your mind.

You can only moan and whimper.

And your noises only spur him on. His long fingers press against your hips, holding you in place as you writhe and wiggle. You can’t get enough of him.

He’s ruining you.

He’s ruined you.

And you want more. So much more.

-*-

Earlier Today…

The merger was today.

You were more anxious than usual, your breaths shorter, your pulse a little faster, and you knew he would notice immediately, though you hoped to pin it on the merger.

The conference room sported a long, dark-glassed table. The light was dim, and the air was already filled with the smell of smoke, rich cologne, and smooth whiskey. High and expensive leather chairs on each side were already filled with both men and women. Power and influence sat in them, and though you knew them all by name, none of them frightened you.

Well…

Only one had managed to do that, but as you clutched the little vial of poison in your closed fist, you hoped this would be the last time you’d ever think about him with fear.

Doflamingo entered the room ten minutes late, a purposeful show of dominance over all that stood beneath him, and the way he commanded the room without uttering a single word was formidable and intimidating. You followed behind him, moving as his shadow, and as silently as one.

No one dared speak a word about how he held the chair for you to sit before taking the seat next to you at the head of the table. If anyone mistook his chivalry for weakness, they hid it well.

And then the meeting started.

Your ears were trained to the words of the reports you knew by heart, your lips curving up gracefully in all the right moments, whenever one of the associates pulled a light joke to alleviate the somber mood. Yet your eyes kept scanning the poorly lit room, your heart clenching at each face you scrutinized, both hoping to find him and dreading the moment you'd finally do.

And then your eyes met his.

Your breath caught in your throat, your stomach knotted, and your pulse… it gave everything away. Doflamingo’s eyes peered at you from behind his lenses, his head raising slightly from the hand he supported it with, in an evident display of boredom and disinterest.

But it was his gaze that was undoing you. His dark eyes bore into yours and flickered with recognition as a sadistic smile painted his lips. All your bravado, all your carefully curated plans, all the years of crafting a mask of perfect indifference and careful control slipped from your grasp like warm butter, melting into the pristine marbled floor of the conference room.

Your breathing became ragged, your hands squeezing the tablet you were using for notes tighter, as your eyes prickled.

Bellamy snickered.

Doflamingo became intrigued.

And you? You fled.

Leaving the tablet at the table, you pushed the chair back silently. Only two people at the table noticed your abrupt departure. None said a word.

Doflamingo followed you with his gaze, the frown on his face evident as he tried to figure out what had rattled you. What had gotten your heartbeat fluttering as if it were the wings of a hummingbird?

No one at the table had noticed, but he knew your pulse like the back of his hand. It was his favourite thing to monitor, to watch, to control. And just now… it was completely unrestrained.

Then a man got up and followed your footsteps out the door. Bellamy. A business associate, someone Doflamingo hadn’t even looked twice at - besides your intricate business reports, which stated his wealth and influence, he only knew what was strictly important about him. But now… now he had suddenly become interesting.

Because this man, with his mere presence, had been able to coax from you the only thing Doflamingo never managed to do, no matter how hard he tried: fear.

Oh… Now this was personal.

Now this just wouldn’t do.

-*-

The echo of your stilettos against the marble floors was drowned by the rush of blood in your ears. You thought you had all the advantage, you thought this was a game you could win.

How wrong you were.

Because, as soon as your eyes met his, you lost the game. One look from the man who destroyed you was enough to weaken you and make you fold. Weak, little girl. Broken little doll.

A sob tried to claw its way up your throat, but you forced it down indignantly. You hadn’t cried in years. You weren’t about to start now.

But before any other thought crossed your mind, you felt a clammy hand stop you, grabbing your wrist harshly and pulling, forcing you to stop. You froze.

Just like you’d done all those years ago, your survival instinct kicked into first gear: freeze, become small, disappear into a far corner of your mind where no one could find you.

His chuckle remained the same: cruel, taunting, and prolonged. You felt his hand pressing against your chest as he shoved you ruthlessly against the cold wall of the dimly lit corridor. You were so scared, you could scarcely breathe. But you didn’t even whimper.

Please, be over, please, be over. An old prayer, an ancient litany you used to repeat to exhaustion. It didn’t seem foreign at all, like it had been trapped under your tongue all these years, knowing it would have to be used again at any given moment.

You had managed to run from him, but your mind remained his prisoner.

Bellamy pressed his body against you, and you whimpered at the familiar scent of him, something earthy and salty that made your stomach churn with nausea and your eyes sting with unshed tears. “Well, well, well… look what I found…” He lowered his head and sniffed you with a lewd groan. “I’ve missed you, little doll. I never got over the fact that you ran away from me.”

His calloused fingers taunted you, pressing against your waist, caging you in against him. You wanted to shove him, tell him off, or better yet, kill him, like you had planned to do for months. But your useless body betrayed you.

You couldn’t move, could barely breathe, could scarcely think.

“I never thought I would find you here…” Bellamy stuck out his tongue, licking your neck and humming in approval. Your limbs locked, and it felt harder to breathe. “In Donquixote’s lair… as his pet.”

The walls were closing in, your ears kept ringing, and his hand kept climbing higher, caging you, turning you back into that helpless girl you once were.

“Pet?” The air shifted. It became denser, more dangerous, but you let out a shaky, relieved breath. “I don’t know who you think you are to speak to her like that,” Doflamingo’s shadow engulfed Bellamy’s form, the crimson in his eyes shining brighter. “What I do know is that you are a man who just made a terrible mistake.”

Doflamingo’s frown turned into a lopsided grin as his deranged laugh echoed in the empty hallway. Then, suddenly, there was no more pressure on you. With a sickening thud, Bellamy’s head hit the wall in front of you, his feet dangling pathetically in the air while Doflamingo held him by the neck.

Bellamy gasped and gripped the hand holding him, trying to push him away, never really getting the chance to do so. “Come on, man, this is none–”

“Ah, ah, ah. Careful, now. I know you’re not about to say this is none of my business, amigo, because you couldn’t be more wrong.” A growl left his lips before he bared them to Bellamy, his fingers gripping tightly. “Everything that concerns her is my business.”

It wasn’t even a statement. It was a declaration of war, a vow of protection: a claim.

“So… tell me, why did my lovely assistant leave the room looking like she’d seen a ghost?” Doffy chuckled as he settled Bellamy back on the floor, so he could breathe and answer, but his chuckle was dark and dangerous, wrapping around them like a vice. “Or, better yet, tell me why I found you with your filthy hands all over her?”

Bellamy gritted his teeth, his eyes darting to you before looking back at Doflamingo. You shrank further, your arms wrapping tightly around your stomach, trying to disappear, to become smaller, as your pulse kept increasing.

“This doesn’t fucking concern you, Donquixote!”

Doflamingo didn’t even give him a warning. You heard a sickening snap, and then Bellamy was on the floor, clutching his broken wrist against his chest while a blood-curdling scream escaped his open mouth.

“Wrong answer, cabrón.” He sighed and adjusted his cuffs as he bore Bellamy with a threatening glare. “Stay there.”

Then he turned to you, his expression hardening as he saw your state. You had never been this discomposed. You looked shaken, trembling like a leaf as your arms engulfed you, trying to ground you and hold you together.

And your pulse… the one thing Doflamingo knew by heart seemed so foreign, so unlike you that it was making him feel incensed. He took one step closer to you and brought his hand up, curling it around your neck. His fingers spread around it like a collar, but there was no force in them, no pressure, just… warmth. A way to ground you.

“Shh… tranquila, mi amor. Calm down.” The pad of his thumb pressed soothing circles against the artery, and you felt yourself relax instantly. You didn’t even know how it happened, it just did. “Breathe for me, will you?”

Bellamy’s groans and moans turned into a twisted laugh. A laugh you knew so well. And you froze again, your pulse returning to that erratic thrumming Doflamingo loathed. “Fucking hell, this is rich.” He heaved, sitting up against the wall as another rumbling laugh shook his chest. “I never thought I would see the Joker acting as a fucking therapist!”

Doflamingo barely spared him a glance, his gaze remained focused on you as his other hand travelled to your arm, pulling it away from the deathly grip it held against your stomach. Then he gripped your wrist, his thumb pressing against your pulse point.

“You think you have her wrapped around your little finger, don’t you?” Bellamy continued. “All poised and perfectly in control. But I bet she never told you how she belongs to me.” Doflamingo snarled in warning, his gaze breaking away from you to land on Bellamy. Yet, the man continued, as if he didn’t sense the pure, unfiltered rage coming from him in hot waves.

“Have you tried her already?” You closed your eyes, trapping the tears that meant to fall, the tears you swore you would never shed for him again. Something in Doflamingo’s gaze made Bellamy’s grin spread wider, as if he had the upper hand.

“I bet you don’t know how tight she is. She acts like she doesn’t want to be there, still and steady like a perfect little doll as she’s taking it, but her body gives her away.” The smallest of whimpers left your lips as a tear escaped its prison and landed right on Doflamingo’s hand.

You might’ve been imagining things, but you thought you felt the barest of trembles in his hold. Bellamy continued to taunt him, as if he wasn’t signing his own death contract. “She clamps on your dick like a fucking vice, milking you so well, taking it like–”

Doflamingo’s foot collided with Bellamy’s mouth with a revolting crunch, and he pressed harder. The wall seemed to crack under the pressure. Doflamingo was pissed. And it wasn’t even about Bellamy’s words. It was about the way you were crumbling beneath his fingers. Breaking apart because of another man and for all the wrong reasons.

He couldn’t have that.

He wouldn’t allow that.

So he let go of you and crouched down just to pick up the bloodied, mangled form of Bellamy from the floor. The grip on his neck tightened, and he wanted nothing more than to crush.

But not yet.

“Do you know what I hate?” His tone was too measured, calm, and conversational. “Men who think they’re pretentious enough to bend people to their will, when they’re nothing but little vermin. Men who think breaking someone means you have to destroy them. Men who don’t know treasure when it stares them in the face.”

Bellamy’s feet were kicking in the air again, and Doflamingo continued, his grip tightening so hard his knuckles were turning white. “I hope you remember how much you enjoyed breaking her, because, coño, I want you to understand how much I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”

Then he heard it, felt it. The way your pulse flickered. It came back from the uncontrolled thrumming to an exhilarating, soft swoosh.

Doflamingo turned back to you, a sly smile spreading across his lips. “Tell me, querida, what do you want?”

Revenge. That was what you wanted. This man destroyed, broken, as incomplete as he had left you.

“Do you want me to kill him?” He asked, his voice enveloping you with sweetened promises, a velvety proclamation.

You shook your head softly, your eyes meeting Bellamy’s as your breath quickened and your hands clamped against each other to steady the shakiness. He was thrashing helplessly, and you saw the way his eyes were pleading with you.

The way you had done to him a million times before.

You swallowed the bile in your throat and took a deep, steadying breath. “I want him to suffer. As much as I did.”

Doflamingo’s laugh started to build slowly. A rumble in his chest and an ominous sound to it. He had been obsessed with you since the moment he saw you. He thought it was because of the way nothing could rattle you and the way you presented such a challenge to him.

But no.

It was this. Your ruthlessness matched his. And that made his blood burn.

“No…! No!” Bellamy tried weakly.

“Too late, amigo.” Doflamingo leaned down, an unhinged grin spreading across his face as his tongue lolled out in excitement. “She has passed judgement upon you. And you’re about to find out just how protective I am of what’s mine.”

You didn’t contest, how could you?

From the moment Doflamingo laid eyes on you, he claimed you. From the moment he took on Bellamy for you, taking your revenge in his hands, you belonged to him. Without a shadow of a doubt.

He shuddered in delight as your pulse went back to dancing for him. Then, he grabbed Bellamy by his tie, and wrapped his other hand around your fluttering wrist, dragging you both back to the conference room.

“Let the fun begin!”

-*-

Doflamingo pushed the doors effortlessly, the only time he allowed himself to part from your singing pulse. The conference room was still full. Associates, business partners, subordinates. They all took one look at the Joker and his prey and immediately understood the situation.

No one spoke. No one contested. No one dared.

The conference room emptied within seconds.

Doflamingo moved slowly and shut the doors, locking them and placing the key in his pocket. He sat you in his chair, the comfiest of all, at the head of the table, a place where power stood. Then he removed his jacket while humming a song between his lips, a deranged smile curling his lips.

Bellamy was sprawled on the floor, one hand clutching his bloodied mouth and nose, the other broken and useless at his side. His breaths came in ragged gasps and he was pleading again.

You had pleaded too, a lifetime ago. And it had done you no good.

Like it wasn’t going to do him any good now.

With careful flicks of his wrist, Doflamingo rolled up the sleeves of his black dress shirt, tucking his tie inside it so it wouldn’t get blood splatters on it. You watched as the veins in his hands and forearms seemed to pulse at the same rhythm as yours.

He noticed too, his crimson gaze locking onto yours with a gleam and a smirk. You pressed your legs together as an immediate reaction to his attention, and he noticed that as well.

“You’re full of surprises, querida.”

And then, he began.

You couldn’t look away, couldn’t keep the fascination from your eyes. The sounds were revolting. Sickening thuds of flesh against bones; the cracking; the ripping; the grunts and wails of pain. How a man begged for his life, even when he knew it was over.

It was captivating in a way that it should have been frightening. Yet, you had never felt more alive.

You had imagined time and time again how it would feel to exact revenge on the man who hurt you every day for years on end. Yet, no matter how carefully curated your plan was, no matter how thought-out every bit of it was, nothing could have prepared you for this…

The sheer violence, the brutality - the intimacy.

It was alluring and arousing. Donquixote Doflamingo, the most powerful man in the city, was ruining a man… for you. He was claiming your revenge as his own, and that fact was intoxicating.

Doflamingo was on a ride of his own. He had always enjoyed making others suffer, especially those who betrayed him, but this… what he was doing went beyond that. He didn’t even need to know the whole story. The look of hurt in your eyes, the fear behind your pulse, told him everything he needed to know: this man had to suffer.

Yet now… now he was doing it for much more than fun. It was the way your thighs clenched together, the rapid bursts of breath you let out between your teeth, the slight flush of your cheeks. The sheer discomposure of your posture. The way you watched as he ruined the man who once ruined you… in pure, unbridled pleasure.

It was thrilling.

“Does this please you, princesa?” He asked, slightly breathless as he rummaged through a drawer of the console behind the chairs and retrieved a very sharp letter opener. You hissed through your teeth, your pulse spiking as you imagined all that he could do with that supposedly harmless instrument.

And he didn’t even need to hear your answer. Your body language spoke volumes.

He humed, pleased, before he resumed, being extra careful to drink in every sound you made, every slight flicker of your pulse, every microexpression you let slip through your carefully curated mask of composure.

The gargles of the dying man at his feet meant nothing compared to the orchestra you were providing him. So he continued…

For hours on end.

Until Bellamy was nothing more than a bloodied, shattered, and ripped-apart thing on the floor, lying in a puddle of blood.

Despite being seated for hours, you still hadn’t been able to slow your pulse or the erratic breaths escaping your lungs. Doflamingo’s grin was splattered with blood as he chuckled and rolled his shoulders, shaking away the tension in them, revelling in the adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

Then he poured himself a glass of whiskey and downed it without so much as a burn, completely nonchalant to the fact that he had just tortured a man to death.

The room was thick with the echoes of Bellamy’s screams, the scent of blood, and the lingering haze of revenge.

Your revenge.

Which Doflamingo had exacted for you.

“You did this for me.” Your voice sounded clipped and curt. Professional again. Doflamingo groaned, his throat moving with the primal sound that left it.

“Mi querida, you have no idea…” He stopped himself short. Because maybe it was better if you didn’t know this strange hold you had on him. Because the way you responded to his maniacal actions told him all he needed to know about you. That you were always meant to be his.

He paced slowly towards you, so close you could count the blood splatters that marred the perfect paleness of his hair. “I would ruin everything for you.” Your breath hitched, and he grinned, his long tongue came out, licking his lips, teasing you. “You could ask me to burn down the world for you, and I would start with this fucking building. No questions asked.”

You felt power surging through you. The way he was devoting himself to you was exhilarating.

“All this time, I thought I needed to break you, to bend you to my will, to force you to want me…” He let his words linger in the air as he bent down until his face was level with yours. “But you were already mine. Weren’t you?”

Your pulse jumped, and he grinned in response. Because this reaction, this tiny flicker, was all his.

And so were you.

Irrevocably his.

This was your victory, your revenge, your sweetness to be savoured. But Doflamingo had been the one to hand it to you on a golden platter, wrapped in violence, cruelty, and absolute domination.

“You do not fear me, querida.” You should. You know you should. After all, you had just witnessed the fearsome things he was capable of doing, even without much personal cause. And yet… “You ache for me.”

He simply stated.

And then, he took.

With a groan, he pressed his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth, desire and want. And you immediately melted into his embrace, your hands digging into the armrest of his chair, trying to ground yourself when the world seemed to be tilting. He cupped your jaw and nipped your lower lip so hard it drew blood.

“Look at you, princesa, so beautiful.” His fingers settled between your legs, teasing your entrance, feeling the dampness in your panties. “Soaked for me.” His eyes bore into yours as he let his fingers slide inside you effortlessly. “I’d kill for you again. I’d ruin, maim, destroy anyone - anything - if you so much as asked me to.” He chuckled dangerously low as your pussy clenched around his fingers in response to his words.

Oh, you were his. And he was loving this.

-*-

Present…

Your body shudders in violent shakes as you cry out his name repeatedly. Yet his tongue doesn’t stop. He keeps swirling it inside you, taking all you have to give him, and then he continues to pump his fingers in and out, curling them in ways that have you gasping for air.

You have already lost count of how many times you came on his mouth and fingers, feeling the burn of overestimation taking over you. But he doesn’t relent. He murmurs something about you needing to be ready to take him, and you know - you have felt it - that he’s right, because his cock is massive, and you crave it like nothing else before.

Suddenly, he stops, rising from his kneeling position and pulling your body upwards to a sitting one, looking at you, drinking in your dishevelled form. “Where has your composure gone, querida? Am I ruining you?”

Yes!

Uneven pants escape your lips as you urge your eyes to remain open, but you know he’s barely even begun. “You pretend that I don’t affect you, you keep this unshakable composure, but your body betrays you, cariño. I know you. And I know that, despite the fierceness you show me, if I told you to get on your knees and take my cock between your sultry, sinful lips, you’d do it without hesitation.”

You would. And the way you whimper and lick your lips confirms it.

So he chuckles darkly, using his juice-covered fingers to part your lips, and you let your tongue swirl around them as a lewd moan leaves you. Doffy curses, his own control slipping at the edges, frayed and worn.

“Still, you could ask me for anything, and I would give it to you.” He pushes his fingers deeper, and you moan harder, feeling the hardness of his cock against your thigh. “Because you belong to me.” He withdraws his fingers and steals your breath away with a shattering kiss as you hear the jingle of his belt being unbuckled. The swish of clothes being discarded. “Say it.” He snarls against your lips, his weeping tip already pressing against your slickened entrance. “Say what I already know.”

You let out a shuddered breath, your head lolling back in anticipation as waves of desire climb up and coil around your stomach. “Yours!” You let out, and he thrusts inside roughly. The stretch is immediate and, at first, painful as he splits you open in a single, fluid motion.

He’s not gentle, he’s not kind, he’s not soft. He’s brutal, and consuming, demanding and ruthless.

And he doesn't stop.

“Fuck!” He groans as if he’s in pain, eyes shutting as he buries his head against the crook of your neck and clamps his teeth hard. Marking you, claiming you. “It’s like your pussy was made for me, princesa, so fucking tight.”

Your nails scrape against the silk of his shirt, and you’re pretty sure you’re pulling threads. He doesn’t care. His grip is firm and possessive as he pulls your hips against his in relentless, bruising thrusts as your legs wrap around his body. You can’t think, can barely keep your eyes open.

He’s everything!

“Doffy!” You moan out loud, your breasts jiggling as his thrusts pick up the pace and he snaps. With a feral growl, he shoves your body down against the glass of the table, bending your legs and pressing over you in a way that has him reach deeper than before, and you start to feel your orgasm taking over all your senses again.

“Nobody fucking touches you but me! Nobody fucking looks at you but me! Nobody even thinks about you but me. Mine. Mine. Mine!” The growls are primal and possessive, and before the final ‘mine’, you come completely undone.

He follows straight after, and you feel his cock twitching as it spurs ropes of white, hot cum inside you. His grunt mixes with your mewls and moans, and the world itself seems to stop to give you both space to breathe.

For the longest of moments, the only sounds in the room are your pants. The broken gasps of two people who have just ruined each other. Who have consumed all the other had to offer. Who have given and taken in equal measure.

He’s still inside you as you feel his tongue press against the pulse point of your neck again. He’s obsessed with the way it dances for him.

“I should parade you around like this… filled with my seed, marked by me, unpoised, uncontrolled, shaken.” He feels you throb and clench him, so he grins as your pulse flickers for him once more. “You like when I say that you are mine, don’t you, querida?”

You do. And he knows it.

When he finally pulls out, you feel empty. But then, as he helps you sit up and you shamelessly look around at all the evidence you both left at that table, at the blood splattered on the floor and walls, and Doflamingo drapes his pink jacket over your back, and you sigh in contentment.

“Let’s go home.” He states, and your brow rises.

“Home?” You know he means his house.

“I take care of what’s mine, princesa, and you are mine.” He claims your lips once more, his hand around your throat, just to feel your pulse dance for him again. “Mine.”

This isn’t just obsession anymore.

This is devotion.

And Doflamingo is never going to let you go.

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