#doffys glasses? thrown on the ground

[fic-pickyourpoison]

Hello! For an art request, how about drawing a switcheroo of clothing with lami and Doflamingo and law and Cora, adult version or children version? Imagining lami and law wearing their clothes while doing those little dramatic dance poses from Lilo and stitch as Lilo tries to teach stitch Elvis Presley stuff gets me cracked up!

Of course, just a suggestion do with this what you will. Oh and thank you for pretty much existing, the world would be a little bit more boring without you in it 😁

Here's some Trafalgar's in the Donquixote's attire.

I might revisit this to do some goofy memes with the lilo and stitch scene, because that sounds cute!

Thank you for existing as well!! Your kind words have been on my mind since you sent this ask 😭♡♡♡

[silkendandelion]

Million Dollar Baby, A One Piece fanfiction

ao3 link, Chapter 2

Pairing: Sir Crocodile x OC (male) Words: 42k Genre: Modern AU, romance, drama, humor, smut, fluff

Summary: A (very) loose adaptation of Pretty Woman (1990), where Crocodile and River (Mirage In The Desert) make a deal: six days, six-thousand dollars. Everything appears to be business as usual, but neither of them counted on love.

Rated Explicit for sexual content, strong language, and mild violence. The narrator is respectful of sex workers but the characters may not be. Reader discretion is advised. Historical references within include the real life occupation and socioeconomic state of Panama in the 80's and 90's.

Chapter 1

~*~

Summer on the coast is meant to be about sunshine, warm sand, and ice cold drinks. For the wealthiest among them, it means garden parties, and a meticulously trimmed courtyard dotted with round, catered tables for it’s matching socialites.

“What a beautiful view, Doffy,” said the woman beneath his arm, draped in a flimsy, floral dress.

He grinned at his woman of the week, reaching to pour her more sangria from the condensing pitcher in the middle of the crisp, white tablecloth. “There’s only a handful of properties on this hilltop. The city may be nice to visit, but you couldn’t pay me to live down there.”

The woman went on chatting pleasantly, bracelets jingling and perfume strong where she rubbed against his suit, but he barely heard her. His thoughts were far away, focused on the corner window of his boxy, white mansion, where he could see Crocodile taking a phone call. He had thrown this garden party for him after all, something worthy of the mild summer weather and the anticipation of another deal brokered—the entire reason Crocodile had even traveled to the area. And yet he had spent the majority of it inside, on that damned phone.

His teeth ground together despite his best efforts, and he tilted his glass back to finish it.

“Doffy!” came Giolla’s boisterous voice, appearing with Dellinger in tow. “Where’s your guest of honor? Everyone’s dying to hear about this deal of his.”

“You know how he is.” Doflamingo downplayed his embarrassment with a deflection. “Somebody should get the hard stuff out, he’ll turn up. Or maybe he’s already slipped away with one of the waiters and we’ll have to wait until he gets the check to find out how much it is.”

Even to his own ears, his laugh was too loud, and Giolla gave him a gentle, scolding ‘tsk’ as she motioned for Dellinger to join her in taking a seat.

“At least the party is nice,” the young man said, popping a wet strawberry in his mouth and smiling when Doflamingo gave him a genuine murmur of thanks.

Inside the house, Crocodile almost managed to drown out the chatter of the party, having moved to sit in the wing-back chair by the phone when one call became two, eventually more. He took the receiver from his ear to rub his brow with his good hand, hearing a monotonous chirp that must be the other line awaiting his answer.

“Yes, I’m still here... I’ve been waiting quite awhile. Either she can take my call, or she can have her staff inform me of—”

‘Crocodile.’ He stilled at the sound of a woman’s voice, as deep and refined as his was.

“Mother.”

‘You received my message. You’ve been on the line for some time.’

He winced when his knuckles creaked around the phone’s receiver, but steady enough to keep his voice completely level. Too plain, actually. “I had assumed this was an emergency, but I can see you—”

‘Your father has passed. Some time ago now, but a modest service will be held on our estate tomorrow. Can we expect your attendance?’

Of all the things he could have said, of which many crossed his mind in slow, dreamy succession, the only words that left his mouth, quiet and dry, were: “I am far away currently, on business.”

‘I see. It’s just as well, I suppose. Your presence is not required at the reading of his will. Take care, son, and good luck.’

The line clicks closed before he can give his own goodbye, louder somehow than the heartbeat in his ears, the unintelligible prattle of the party in the garden, and the faraway bustle of the staff in the kitchen.

Downstairs, Doflamingo looked up from his brutal stabbing of the ice block in the punch bowl that refused to melt in any way conducive to as many refills as his guests demanded. “Oh! You’ve finally decided to join us, Croco—”

“Give me my keys,” he insisted, with little room for argument in his eyes or outstretched palm.

“You’re not trying to leave, are you? This is all for you, you know.”

“I don’t recall ever asking you to throw a party—in fact, I believe my exact words were ‘Lunch sounds fine’.” He breathed in through his nose, absently patting his breast pocket to check he still had his cigars before extending his palm again. “My keys.”

Doflamingo just hummed, pleased as punch when his irritation dissolved to a smug smile. “They’re in the kitchen. Not that you could get out, anyway, the driveways blocked down to the street.”

“Then give me your keys.”

“Sit down, you stubborn reptile,” he tried again, sweeter despite his sarcastic words. “You’re clearly overworked, stressed, in need of a good meal and a better lay. We can take care of one of those needs right now. I’ll make sure the food is kept warm.”

“With who? You?” Crocodile raised a slender eyebrow, letting himself be placed into a chair, close enough to the other that their thighs brushed.

“If you insist.” Doflamingo chuckled, deep and dark. In the reflection of his obnoxiously pink sunglasses, Crocodile could see his own calculated simper, his sudden smile of triumph, and his hand that had slipped inside the other man’s suit jacket jingled quietly.

“You—,” Crocodile sighed suddenly, harsh and put out as he shook the foreign keys. “You changed vehicles again? Which one is yours then?”

He shoved his friend away and stomped off to the front of the house. There was no doubt he assumed Doflamingo would give chase, but he didn’t expect him to take so long to start calling after him, long enough Crocodile had tried the handles of all the cars along the driveway until one finally came free. Luckily, it wasn’t as flashy as Doflamingo’s usual white or pink monstrosities, instead a wide, sharp black thing that Crocodile hated to admit he might have picked for himself if given the opportunity.

“Be careful with that one, Croc, it’s a rental!” He called after him, waving as he weaved his tall body through all the landlocked vehicles.

“You didn’t get the insurance? And why are you renting a vehicle when you live here?” Crocodile growled back at him, and yanked open the door to stuff himself inside—rather easily, he discovered. He even had room to stretch out his legs.

His friend bent to fill the open window with his wide shoulders and his overbearing, sharp cologne. “I’m thinking of leasing it, I had to try it out first.”

“I’ll let you know how it runs,” replied Crocodile dryly as he leaned over his shoulder to back the long car out with an impatient scrape of the tires on the gravel driveway.

“Do you even know how to get back to Rain Dinners?” Doflamingo shouted, although his deep, sadistic chuckle implied he hadn’t any actual concern for his friend’s safety.

His tease received no answer, except the window rolling closed and the brake lights flashing when Crocodile finally found the controls for the headlights.

“Ha! The city is the other way!” His amusement rose to a laugh, cackling and satisfied that he could ruffle the other man so thoroughly as to go uphill to try to get off a mountain. Anywhere away from him, he supposed.

Splendid.

~*~

After what was an embarrassing about of time, including three missed exits and exactly two u-turns, one illegal, one away from a dead end street—he finally made it back to the city, turning onto a lively through street that was lined with neon-lit bars and crowded sidewalks for a Sunday night.

At the first red light, he took the opportunity to roll down the windows and gesture to the windbreaker-clad teenagers on the corner that stared at the polished car, clearly an outlier among the dented daily drivers crowding the dusty parking meters.

His good hand held up a crisp bill where the kids could see it. “I need to get back to Alabasta drive.”

One stepped off the sidewalk to grab at the bill, but he flicked it just out of their reach. “Directions first.”

The boy pointed to the next block, it’s corner lit up by a flickering “EZ Mart” sign in blue and red. “Turn right at the cornerstore, and take the left next to the laundromat. Don’t stop for anything but red lights, rich boy, there’s junkies and hookers all over the strip.”

Crocodile didn’t stop him as the boy snatched the bill from his hand. “Does your mother know you talk about adults that way?”

“She’s probably there right now. Thanks for the cigarette money, rich boy.” The boy hopped back onto the sidewalk with his friends, making his own twisted sneer when Crocodile clicked his teeth at him.

“Dude,” a second boy tapped his friend’s shoulder harder than he meant to, once the black car had turned the corner. “You can’t just give out bogus directions to people, what if he comes back all pissed? The guy looked like mafia or something.”

“Yeah,” said a third. “He’s gonna come back and kill us. Take us out to the desert and shoot us.”

“Then we just have to be gone by the time he circles the block.” The first boy pocketed the cash.

“… Ohh.” They all agreed in unison, truly a cohesive unit of deliberation.

The second boy elbowed his friend as they crossed the street towards another all-night general store, one with a handwritten sign in the window that read “No backpacks”.

“Dude. What if he picks up your mom?”

“SHUT UP!”

~*~

Meanwhile, a short drive away and tucked into bed among an heirloom blanket, another man was only just beginning to rise for the night. He bemoaned his alarm, slapping it off to stretch himself into a semblance of a functional human being, sleep-warm and scratching at the sheet mark on his bare hip.

Short, clean nails, long, tan limbs, and a wild bed-head of hair, such a dark shade of blue it shone black in the light of the TV he left on during the day, still droning on with the local late show. He flicked it off, dropping his underwear to the rug and wandering off to the shower, passed the couch that functioned less of a sitting area and more of a sorting table for his endless cycle of laundry. Having a private bathroom on this side of the city was a luxury, even with cracked, dated pink tile and a door that didn’t close completely.

Damp from the shower, he plucked a pair of black underwear from the pile, blow-drying his hair with the other hand where he was tied to the wall by the short cord. Once he had hidden his hair under a blonde wig and glossed his mouth with the tin from his suit jacket pocket, he was ready to go, but not before he checked the fire escape to see if his offering to the neighborhood stray had been accepted.

“You were hungry, weren’t you?” He smiled at the empty plate, licked clean, yet the skinny, spotted cat was nowhere to be seen.

Down the stairs, he side-stepped the other residents of the walk-up that always managed to loiter, even when they should be in bed or somewhere else trying to make money too. The first floor of the building belonged to the East Blue Grill, owned and operated by an older, mustached man who doubled as their landlord. And despite not living in any of the apartments above, his son spent as much time in the kitchen as he did.

At the sound of familiar footsteps, Sanji looked up from where he scribbled an order on his notepad. “Is it that time already? Have you eaten?”

“Mail, River,” Zeff interrupted him to vaguely point at the envelopes stacked beside the cash register.

“I haven’t, Sanji,” River said, half-listening. Coupons, so much junk mail, a letter from the immigration office, and a red envelope with his college’s name across the front, stamped with stark black letters: ‘FINAL NOTICE’.

The blonde cook slid a plate of food in front of him, seemingly unaware how his jaw clenched as he folded the letters neatly into his breast pocket.

“Sanji, I don’t think I have time to—”

“That isn’t what I asked,” he fired back gently. More than anything, River wanted to protest, but the pointed slide of silverware into his palm brokered no argument.

“Thank you, Sanji.” As he tucked into his food, the bell above the door beckoned the hostess to call out a friendly “Welcome in!”, met by the silhouette of a familiar beat cop with sharp eyes and outrageous mint-colored hair to compliment his tan complexion.

River pointedly glanced away, suddenly interested in the menu beside his elbow and an imperfection in the bar’s counter.

“Finish your food. You’re not bothering anyone,” said Sanji. “I’ll take care of the mosshead. Hey! Didn’t I tell you not to come in here if you’re only going to order booze?”

“HUH? That’s no way to treat a customer!” The cop fired back, and River slipped away from his empty plate after leaving some wrinkled cash under his cup. Away and out the side door, marked “emergency exit, alarm will sound” only to prevent employees from using it for smoke breaks—and ran straight into a sturdy chest.

“I’m so sorry!” He looked up, all the way up to yet another cop, this one with a hard-boiled stare, his white hair trimmed short on the sides in a way that could almost be called professional. At first glance, River assumed he was off-duty, deciding the buttoned polo and slacks under his trench-coat were reasonable enough to wear on his day off (if a little squarish), until he spotted the golden badge on his hip, and the pager clipped to his belt, blinking with a missed message.

“Somebody made detective.” A smirk escaped him, almost against his will. After all, River had never been accused of having too much common sense, equally perhaps because he knew enough about the now-detective to only be a little afraid of him.

“Off to work?” Smoker said, almost innocently.

“… Yeah.” He licked his lips. “I won’t be back until late.”

River toed carefully off the step, never taking his eyes off him, not that the detective intended to let him look away. In hindsight, the latter understood perfectly why they seemed incapable of having a normal conversation of more than a few words, when they stood on opposite sides of the caution tape.

Meeting River was impossible without remembering that first night, on the scene of a particularly difficult drug bust, all because of a noise complaint from a nosy neighbor about men fighting in the apartment above. Smoker recalled in technicolor detail the sight of River rinsing his split lip in the green sink, asking if he was going to be arrested too as pink water dribbled down his neck.

He recalled meeting his gaze in the bathroom mirror, from his reddened eyes, disheveled suit missing buttons, to the torn, foil-blue strip of condoms leaking lubricant onto the yellowed linoleum floor. When questioned by his partner, he simply said: “I’ve already taken his statement. He’s free to go.”

If only he knew River thought about it as often as he did, especially when he slinked away from him into the night while Smoker pursued his job in other areas.

“You’re late,” Zoro complained, already sipping a beer and halfway through his food (at the cook’s vehement demand).

“I’m not late, you’re early,” replied Smoker. “Just a coffee for me, thank you,” he told the waitress.

“So, what’s the plan?” Zoro asked from behind his napkin. “I’m not used to this neighborhood, but it seems pretty easy. I could close my eyes and fall into a collar if I needed to, there’s plenty of junkies and hookers around. Probably half of them are customers of each other.”

Smoker opened his mouth to fire back but the waitress was setting down his coffee, and he briefly broke his scowl to thank her. “Besides fixing your mouth, I want you to remember that I care about the drugs more than anything else. Leave the prostitutes alone if they’re just clocking in and out like us. I grew up in this neighborhood so I want it clean, and you will act right while this is your beat.”

By the time Smoker finished his speech, Zoro had cleaned his plate and was leaning back in his seat to study him fully. This wasn’t the Smoker he had heard about from the rest of the precinct, the “White Hunter” whose ruthless pursuit preceded him. Nevertheless, such conviction demanded he acquiesce—happily, in fact. It had been far too long since he found someone on the force he could say he respected without it being a lie.

“Yes, sir,” he said with a smirk.

[purplehairedwonder]

Prodigal Son

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Warnings: None Words: 1928 Characters: Donquixote Doflamingo, Trafalgar Law (mentioned), Monet, Baby 5, Trebol, Giolla, Diamante

Summary: It was three years after Rosinante betrayed him and Law disappeared that Doflamingo heard the first rumor of the Ope Ope no Mi.

Read also at A03 / FF.N

It was three years after Rosinante betrayed him and Law disappeared that Doflamingo heard the first rumor of the Ope Ope no Mi. Fresh off his takeover of Dressrosa and in the process of solidifying his position as Shichibukai, Doflamingo kept his ear to the ground for intriguing stories. Joker was a successful underworld broker exactly because he listened to rumors and sifted fact from fiction like panning for gold.

Rumor, Doflamingo had found, was often more valuable than gold.

According to his contact, rumor was circulating among certain circles in the North Blue that someone using the Ope Ope no Mi had defeated an infamous pirate captain, the user of the Dero Dero no Mi. Doflamingo wasn’t particularly interested until—

“Where was this?” he hissed, spine straightening as though he’d used one of his strings.

“I think it was called Pleasure Town,” his contact repeated, voice halting slightly at Doflamingo’s tone. “On some place called, uh, Swallow Island.”

Doflamingo’s hand tightened around the Den Den Mushi, veins in the back of his hand pulsing. Could it be?

Of course, the likeliest scenario was that the boy was long dead on Minion Island. Law would have been weeks, if not days, from death from Amber Lead Disease—not to mention his beating from Vergo. Law hadn’t been on the Marine ship as they’d thought that fateful night, but he must have been nearby when the Birdcage fell; in his state, he couldn’t have gotten far. Even if he had eaten the Ope Ope no Mi as Rosinante said he had, he was unlikely to have mastered the Devil Fruit in time to perform such a delicate operation to save his own life.

No, if this latest rumor was true, this Ope Ope user had most likely eaten the fruit after it regenerated.

Still, Doflamingo considered. He’d gone over the scenarios countless times since that night, looking for any reason to believe the boy was still alive. Law had always been a clever and resourceful kid—there was a reason Doflamingo had offered to train him as his second in command. He did not make such offers lightly; his executives were carefully vetted, and he only kept the very best at his side. And Law…

Law was a survivor.

They had that, among many things, in common; he saw so much of himself in the boy and felt certain he had the potential to turn the world upside down—at Doflamingo’s side, of course.

Eyes flicking to the empty Heart throne, Doflamingo’s frown deepened. It was true the seat hadn’t been filled since Rosinante’s betrayal despite quiet rumblings from the others. That seat, once filled by Vergo and his brother, was meant for Doflamingo’s righthand man. If he was being honest with himself, Doflamingo still expected Law to take the seat as the third Corazon. The boy was his, and Doflamingo didn’t let that which was his go so easily.

Yes, there was a chance—if the smallest of them—that this was Law. Had he survived, Doflamingo mused, he would be sixteen now.

“Monet!” he called after hanging up his call.

“Young Master?” she asked a few minutes later, stepping inside the room and shutting the door behind her as she answered the summons.

“Monet,” Doflamingo greeted, gears already turning as he plotted. “How would you feel about taking a trip to the North Blue for me?”

-----

Doflamingo hadn’t been surprised when Monet had come up empty on Swallow Island. Though her search was thorough, there was no sign of Law. But more interesting to Doflamingo was the reaction of the inhabitants of Pleasure Town once Monet had started asking questions; they had closed ranks tightly, adamantly and without hesitation denying that anyone matching Law’s description had been there at any time. Ever.

He was there. Doflamingo grinned, lips quirking ferally, as Monet reported via Den Den Mushi. He was certain of it. He had been there, and he was the Ope Ope no Mi user who had saved that town. They were protecting him.

Law had survived and he was out there somewhere.

Doflamingo felt that familiar possessive feeling curling behind his breast as he thought about Law being alive. Mine.

-----

Doflamingo could be patient.

Especially when the key to his immortality was out there waiting to be brought home.

-----

Years passed.

The rumors became more frequent: in the North Blue, a pirate using the Ope Ope no Mi was starting to gain a reputation. They called him the Surgeon of Death.

If Doflamingo had any doubts about this being Law (he didn’t), the nickname would have sealed it. It did amuse him, though. The boy always had had a flare for the dramatics.

Doflamingo kept up with the rumors. And he remained patient. Law would come home when it was time to take his rightful place.

They were a Family, after all.

-----

Doflamingo sat at the head of the table by the pool, reading the recently arrived paper, when he heard Baby 5 gasp. He looked up over the newspaper to see the girl—young woman now, he supposed—holding a wanted poster that must have fallen from the paper, her features gone pale.

“Baby 5?” Giolla asked, concerned.

“It’s…” Baby 5 trailed off, blinking surprised tears.

“What is it, girl?” Diamante demanded.

Baby 5 turned the wanted poster around silently.

Doflamingo barely heard the surprised noises as he focused in on face in the poster. The face was older than the last time Doflamingo had seen it—of course it was; against all odds, he’d grown up—but the fiery gold eyes and sharp bone structure were achingly familiar. His fingers itched to touch the skin, to feel the matured features of a boy he’d seen so much promise in, to see what kind of man he had become in his absence.

He was still wearing the hat, Doflamingo realized with a snort.

And that smirk.

Doflamingo’s lips turned up in response. That smirk was as much a part of him as that damn hat.

There were no white patches on his skin. He’d truly cured himself, it seemed. He’d mastered the Ope Ope no Mi.

Trafalgar Law, Surgeon of Death. User of the Ope Ope no Mi, the poster read. It wasn’t a bad bounty for a first timer, though Doflamingo knew Law was worth far more than the beris the World Government had listed. As far as Doflamingo was concerned, Law was priceless.

“He’s alive,” Baby 5 mumbled through quivering lips. She’d always had a soft spot for the boy, no matter how much he glared at her. It had broken her heart to realize Law might never come home after Minion Island.

“Doffy.” Doflamingo blinked and looked over at Diamante, who was frowning at the poster. “It says Law’s Captain of the Heart Pirates.”

Doflamingo threw his head back and roared in laughter.

-----

Later, Trebol frowned over the poster as the executives gathered in the Suit room. “Ne, Doffy. This is treason.” The unsaid, You know how we deal with traitors hung on the air.

Doflamingo waved a dismissive hand. “The boy is finding himself.”

The other executives looked skeptical, but Doflamingo ignored them. Law was still the Family’s—still Doflamingo’s. Even years away wouldn’t change that hold they held on him.

“Should we bring him back?” Diamante asked finally after exchanging looks with Trebol and Pica.

“No need. He’ll come to us.”

“You think so?”

Doflamingo’s gaze lingered on the unoccupied Heart throne. “Everyone comes home eventually.”

-----

When Law’s bounty hit 200,000,000 beris, Doflamingo raised a glass of wine in his honor. He always knew the boy had it in him, especially if any of the rumors were true about why his bounty was rising at the rate it was. It seemed they still had much in common.

They were calling him one of the eleven supernova, super rookies with bounties over 100,000,000 beris. Doflamingo couldn’t think of a better description for Trafalgar Law. Even as a child, he’d burned bright—a cosmic explosion of grief and rage contained in a tiny, sick body.

Doflamingo wanted to see everything he would do now that he was grown. He wanted.

-----

Doflamingo realized in hindsight that he shouldn’t have been surprised Law was present at his auction house in Sabaody on that infamous afternoon. After keeping a low profile for years in the North Blue, Law seemed to have thrown caution to the wind once he’d entered the Grand Line as he acted on his more… theatrical impulses—ones Doflamingo had always appreciated. His presence at one of Doflamingo’s businesses might as well have been a flashing sign that Law would soon be returning home. The auction house was a bust anyway, with Doflamingo’s business interests turning elsewhere. It served its last purpose by giving him an update on the boy he was waiting for.

By all reports, Law had overwhelmed the Marine forces that surrounded the auction house alongside two other flashy rookies. He drank in every version of story he could of that fight, picking apart every detail of how the boy had mastered the Ope Ope no Mi.

It was thrilling.

Yes, Doflamingo knew he’d been right about the boy all along. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on him again.

Mine.

-----

He didn’t hear until after the battle was over that Law had appeared at Marineford and rescued Monkey D. Luffy and Jimbei. The only reason he didn’t turn his fury on Kizaru for targeting a member of his Family was that Law had apparently escaped (of course). It was weeks later, but he and that garish yellow submarine of his had been spotted again and his bounty only continued to rise.

Akainu was furious.

Doflamingo cackled.

-----

Rocky Port…

Well, Doflamingo only wished he could have been there.

He couldn’t wait for Law to come home. It wouldn’t be long; he could feel it.

-----

Doflamingo let out a bark of surprised laughter when he heard that Law was being appointed Shichibukai. His lips curled upward as he listened to the details about Law’s stunt of bringing one hundred beating pirate hearts to the Marines.

The boy had truly learned his lessons well.

At only 26, Law would be the youngest pirate to ever hold the title of Warlord.

And, Doflamingo considered with a growing smile, it meant that two members of the Family now held the position. For pirate captain and his second-in-command to be Shichibukai… Well, the Donquixote Family was already feared across the Blues. The opportunities this could provide would be… inexhaustible. SMILE would be the tip of the iceberg.

And yet… Doflamingo could feel the tendrils of doubt taking root in the back of his mind. For years, Law had kept his head down in the North Blue, somehow avoiding Doflamingo’s reach. Doflamingo could explain that away as the boy, who always had an independent streak a mile wide, making his own way on the seas—a sentiment Doflamingo respected. But since entering the Grand Line over three years earlier, Law hadn’t shied away from notoriety.

He also hadn’t reached out to the Family, though he undoubtedly knew they were aware of his… activities. He knew the type of Family they were and that they would be waiting for him.

That the Heart seat was waiting for him.

Doflamingo didn’t like having doubts about that which was his.

And Law had been his since he was 10 years old.

-----

“Young Master, someone showed up on Punk Hazard today…”

[ocean-taste]

Doflamingo x OC: Call me Doffy (One Shot)

Summary - Rita is a new recruit, but can’t help be concerned for her King’s wellbeing. Dofflamingo notices and shows a side of him he’s never shown anyone before..

Warnings - implied smut, but general fluff. Sorry it’s spaced weirdly.

“That will be all.”

Rita watched as her fellow family executives left the room one by one, she took one final look at her master – he sat on his throne with his hand cradling his face as he wore his usual devilish smile and pink feathered jacket. But something wasn’t right. Though he had informed his orders with his usual calm distinction, his smile – to Rita – seemed to have a lack of colour, he was tired. As if he had sensed her assumption, his head perked up, as she was the last to leave the door.

“Rita, you stay. Everyone else go.” Doflamingo flicked his wrists as the girls that hugged his arms released him and hurried out the door with the rest. With the sound of the palace door closing, the silence between them heightened. She said nothing, only speaking when spoken to, she hadn’t been there long enough to even think of beginning a conversation with her Master – and he knew this, and took pleasure out of her nerves as she stared back at him for what seemed like an hour before he decided to speak.

“Why did you give me that look earlier?” His voice sounding far deeper than before, having him speak alone with her in such a wide hall was overpowering – like the voice of a God was talking back at her. Rita blinked her long black lashes as she tilted her head at her young master.

“Young Master?”

“Earlier, when I told you all to leave, you looked at me with a….” He turned and looked at the portraits on the palace walls as he clicked his fingers searching for a word than had escaped him. He flicked his tongue out and bit it as he delved deeper into his mind, and Rita could do nothing but stare.

“…a look I’m unfamiliar with… why?”

Rita thought for a second, then remembered he must be talking about the fact she thought he looked tired, perhaps in those few seconds her face showed her true concern – concern that no underling would have for their master, but rather a wife would have for her husband. She looked to the side, wondering if it was appropriate for her to express her thoughts.

“Well… excuse me Young Master if I’m too forward… but earlier I noticed your complexion is a little off…”

She could sense his head perking up again at her words and slowly she turned to face him, suddenly so aware of his power – this was a man that could kill another without touching him, she had seen this. Yet with all the fear that swirled within her stomach, there was something else.. something she wasn’t familiar with that drove her to continue, despite the risks.

“…I just thought you looked a little tired… have you not been sleeping well sir?”

She wished he didn’t wear those damn glasses, she couldn’t see what he was thinking and for that he was terrifying. She braced herself for her limbs to suddenly move on their own and her life to be slapped away, all for a comment of concern. Yet no danger followed, but Rita watched in surprise as his smile fell and his hand began to stroke his veined forehead wearily.

“Is it that obvious?”

Rita had to stop herself from gasping, his tone had changed drastically. It didn’t have the same confident flair or authoritive punch. It was worn, and stretched, it barely left the ground his pitch was so low. She soon realized she hadn’t answered quickly so she tried to correct herself.

“N-n-no sir, I-I don’t think anyone else noticed… you hold yourself very well…”

He chuckled behind his hand, a laugh she was unsure of. He was known to be the laughing, joyous king of Dressrosa, but this laugh was… honest and human. Unlike the cackles she had heard as he engaged in battle – he was anything but human then.

“You’re very…” Rita watched as he adjusted his posture so he sat more relaxed against the soft satin of his throne, staring down at her, “… well, you’re not the type of person I’d expect to like to work with me…”

Rita softly parted her lips a little as he continued.

“But you’re right.. I haven’t been sleeping… It’s awful stressful being a King you know? Among… the… other things I do…”

He looked away at that point, leaving Rita stunned. Was her King… confiding in her? A newbie wannabe? And he was… anything but expected when he was alone, she almost felt comfortable with him – enough to talk to him as an equal – but she wasn’t that stupid.

“… Sir, if I may, when my father was tired from work he’d let me give him a massage, I’ve been told I’m quite good at it, would you like me to do the same to you?”

He turned his head slowly to her, and once again Rita felt like she was facing viper, she must tread carefully.

“…Might as well.” From one shock to another her King beckoned her to approach the throne as he took off his beloved feathered jacket, he swung his legs over the right arm of the throne so his back was exposed to her on the left – like the casual King he was, posture meant nothing to him.

Rita tried hard to keep her composure as she walked up the steps and behind his back. Suddenly she could hear all the voices of the kingdom – telling her to attack the King that bore his back to her. Who else would ever get such a chance? But Rita shook those thoughts away. She was here working for her; to survive under a titan’s grip. That was all there was to it, it was the only way to be sure she’d survive in his world.

Looking down at the small slither of skin under his shirt, she could see hints of worn old scars but most of all, the outlines of great muscle – which would no doubt, be painful if tense. Slowly Rita lowered her delicate slender hands on her Young Master’s back, at first she couldn’t move. She was touching the skin of a murderer, maybe this was all a trick and she was still in danger? But slowly and surely, she made her way across the mountains of his back, rubbing deeper as she found muscle knots to unwind.

He made light groans as she released him one pain after another, she tried hard to keep herself from smiling, unsure why her reaction was to smile. The more she knots she undid, the more the feeling from before that encouraged her to speak, grew and jumped inside of her.

“You’re very good at this.”

“Thank you Young Master.”

“….Call me Doffy” Rita stopped her steady hands, resting them there as she looked down star struck.

“Sir?”

“Call me Doffy,” He tilted his head so he looked up at her – shocking her as she had never seen her master below her as well as upside down – it was a weirdly casual experience, something she’d likely do with her friends back home, not with a King.

The light from his glasses shimmered from the sunlight; she couldn’t help but wonder how he was looking at her. “I want to hear how it sounds from your lips..”

Rita then couldn’t keep her composure, she stared down at him wide eyed and gulped a heavy knot in her throat. How could she call her Master by his name so casually? Was this a test? Was this a ploy the whole time?

“Say it.”

His authoritive tone back slightly, but not completely. It wasn’t exactly an order, but the urgency was heard, so she did.

“…D….Doffy…?” And just like that, before she could say anything else, she felt an invisible string lift her high in the air as she yelped – waiting to be thrown out the window, but instead she was placed softly on to her Master’s lap, facing him he towered over her once again with his huge frame.

He grinned once again, not that sadistic grin she feared but a playful one similar to a cheeky boy given a new toy to play with.

“Honestly Rita, back rubs, now calling me by my name in that tone of voice… How sensual can one woman be?”

Rita blushed scarlet red. Yes, what she was feeling made sense now.. after those first few days on the battlefield where she watched him do unspeakable things, she still felt an electricity burn within her. Nights would come where she dreamt of him, moments that made her feel so warm her hand would wander - she shooed those images out of her mind as she bashfully looked at her lap.

“I-I-I didn’t mean it like that Young Master! Honestly! I do think you’re tired, I was worried about you, and when you asked me to say your name I was just shocked I didn’t mean to imply anything, honest!” She felt two large fingers clasp over her chin, making her look back up at him as he licked his lips.

“Don’t call me Young Master anymore… you hear me? Its such a waste… you may deny it Rita… but you felt a guilty pleasure from saying my name didn’t you?”

He rubbed her bottom lip with his thumb, making her part them in a gasp. She’d try to look away but each time he repositioned her chin so she met his eyes.

“I can see it in you.. you want to call my name.. in other circumstances, don’t you?”

Doffy brought his face closer to hers; Rita could feel his lips rest against her cheek as he inhaled her scent. Rita grew panicked and confused on what to do, continue to lie and hope he’d spare her or confess – she didn’t know what path to take, and each second with him so close to her was too much for her.

“Doffy please…” She begged as she felt tears in her eyes swell, and immediately she felt his grip loosen.

“Don’t worry…” He whispered, Rita turning to face him as his hand freed her face. He stayed close to her but still his expression was unreadable.

“I’d never hurt you Rita… you’re the one person I cannot taunt or harm for too long… I’ve realized that now…”

His hands came down so they held her knees in place on his chest, urging her not to try to get off but at the same time he held no grip to her – like a free bird being held by it’s owner. She watched as he groaned, lowering his head on the arm of the throne as he expelled an expired sigh, hiding his eyes with his arm – though his sunglasses were enough.

“You… you’ve realized that ‘now’? Meaning… you’ve thought about it before…?” He turned his head at her question, looking the other way as if he couldn’t dare answer her, and she didn’t press it. She was more concerned that he looked worse up close.

“Well I know you don’t care about posture, but sleeping here is no good for your back…” Hesitantly she got of his chest, she felt his fingers tempted to pull her back down but they did in fact let go and now she stood looking down at him.

“Let me get you to bed sir-Doffy, you need your rest.” He groaned in slight annoyance at her subtle lecture but he obliged and sat up, she wrapped her arm around his back as he did the same with hers as they walked slowly to his large bed in the next room.

She released him to go light a candle by his bed, as she did so she could hear some rustles but thought it was just her King getting under the sheets and thought nothing of it. She was hugely mistaken.

She turned to meet her King with some light: his top was off and his nicely sculpted scarred chest finally appeared to her after many nights of her wondering, perfectly illuminated by the candles’ flame.

“S-S-S- Doffy!” Rita yelped, placing the candle down and turning around. Her hands over her eyes as she felt her cheeks bloom.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a man’s chest before Rita!,” He chuckled, “…. Have you even seen a mans-“

“O-Of course I have! J-J-Just… AH! I-I’m not as innocent as you think I am!” Rita gasped, the words just came out. How could she speak so casually to her King?!

“Oh?” She shivered, his voice was low and seemed to slither along the floor and up her skin. She could feel he was close, far too close for comfort, but before she could even think of protesting two large hands gripped hold of her and pushed her down against the satin bed.

When her eyes fluttered open, her King was high and tall, towering over her with a large smile on his face as he gripped her wrists close to the blankets.

“Do you not like seeing me like this? Do I gross you out?” How her King could ask such lies? He was perfect in body, completely. Rita willed her eyes not to wander: to not give him any ideas that she may later regret. She closed her eyes, turning her head into the pillows as she squirmed a little against his grip.

“No Sir..”

“There’s that ‘sir’ again, what did I say?” His large thumb pushed against her jaw so she looked upwards, his dark sunglasses greeted her eyes. She felt as though she was staring into the devil’s eyes – how could such shades hide his true expressions so easily? Where was the King that expressed a moment of weakness just a few moments ago? She truly did not understand her ruler.. but strangely, she could not protest. Nor did she want to.

“…To not call you sir anymore… I’m sorry Doffy…” Her lashes grew a little wet – she did not mean to cry, but it was the way he was pushing together her cheeks. When he saw her supposedly tearful, he let go of her face and sighed as he lowered himself on top of her.

His entire weight was against her and Rita had to take a huge breath – he was of course not overweight but his muscles did make him weigh more than how she would’ve liked – being underneath him and all.

But still, Rita couldn’t help but wonder from his sigh – his tired smile – his aching muscles – his weight – was he carrying something bigger on his shoulders that no one knows about?

He lied there against her, not making a sound or movement. Though he perhaps had felt she was a little uncomfortable and shifted so now just his upper chest and head was resting on her. His nose lightly breathing against the dip between her neck and shoulder. He was so quiet that for a little while, Rita wondered whether he had fallen asleep.. so she decided to do something that she never would’ve thought she’d do.

Before she could come to her senses, her hand moved for her: gently placing itself on his head and stroking his hair, soothingly. She felt him flinch, and immediately, her heart felt like it was on ice: she regretted the action. Her hand had long stopped before he decided to speak.

“What are you doing?” Her King said in a tone she could not read.

“Uhh…umm…” Rita tried her best to think of a logical reason why a servant would do such a familiar action without asking, but none were coming to mind. Just when she thought for sure that she was in trouble, she felt him nuzzle his nose against her neck some more like a cat would.

“Don’t stop what ever that was.”

She felt her cheeks redden as her hand timidly began to wander against his hair, her fingers rolling deeper into his locks. When she began to feel sure of herself again she started lightly running her nails in circles against his scalp – to which he responded with hums, shifting his face closer to her neck. It was a few minutes before he spoke again, and when he did, it was hesitant. Like he was saying words for the first time.

“Keep doing that.. until I fall asleep… please.” Did her King just say please? She was stunned that he even knew the word – for it was a word that he probably never had to use. Suddenly she wondered if she was the first he had ever said it to, and instantly her chest began to swell with warmth.

Quickly she felt him squirm a little beneath her, and she read it as that he was uncomfortable saying it, she quickly recognized it so they could move on so not to embarrass him further by nodding and continuing to stroke his hair. He gently rocked his head back and forth against her so she could reach any spot he desired, Rita blushed some more when she felt him loosen his grip on her wrist and instead begin to hold her hand.

“... Don’t tell anyone of this, but you’ll do this every night for now on.. If you ever miss a night I’ll be very upset with you Rita. Understood?” His authoritive tone coming back to him, she could feel him looking up at her so she was quick to hide her smile.

“Yes Doffy.”

“And Rita?”

“Yes Doffy?”

“… Goodnight.”

And just like that, her King was silent against her neck, his head moving occasionally to make her scratch a certain part of his head that bothered him. It wasn’t long until he fell asleep. Clearly he was exhausted and her massage and head rubs unwound him perfectly. Rita wondered what to make of this, why he would ask her to do such an act, when he had so many subordinates who had worked far longer than she – but maybe that was why? A new face, no past image to shatter. He was letting Rita see him like this because she hadn’t seen much else of him? That must be it – she thought.

It was twenty minutes or so after the King had fallen asleep when Rita herself felt tired, she knew she’d have to slip away quietly so not to disturb him, but when she tried to release herself – she couldn’t. The weight of his chest clearly enough to hold her, though she wondered if she saw a slight glimmer of light on a line shining near her legs but she decided to disregarded it.

Well fine. So she was stuck there – she just won’t fall asleep then – she decided, just when her eyelids closed and sleep swept her up in its arms. More precisely – a King’s arms, who wrapped himself closer to her and held her softly.