Work Text:
Suggested Soundtrack: Jorn Lande - Hands of Your God
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 appreciatively. 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.