The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling glass of the beachfront mansion. It painted long golden stripes across the rumpled silk sheets. A low, guttural grunt escaped Doflamingo’s throat as he stretched. His bulky 7-foot frame arching like a predator waking from a kill. Muscles rolled beneath tanned skin, the sheets sliding off his bare chest to reveal the thick, heavy length between his legs. He sat up slowly and ran a hand through his messy blonde hair. Red eyes still half-lidded with the remnants of last night’s excess.

Without thinking his hand reached for the nightstand. The pink sunglasses were there; exactly where he’d left them the night before. He slipped them on and the tinted lenses settled into place like armor. Finally he exhaled. The world sharpened into something that he could tolerate.

The bedroom door opened without a knock. Baby 5 stepped inside carrying a silver tray. On it sat a single aspirin and a shot of vodka. The glass already sweating in the warm Ibiza air. She moved with quiet, efficient grace, her eyes scanning him for damage the way she always did.

“How are you feeling this morning, sir?” she asked, voice calm and professional. She offered the tray.

Doflamingo took both items without a word. The aspirin went down dry. The vodka followed in one sharp tilt of his head. He set the empty glass back on the tray and finally looked at her. “Where’s {user}?”

Baby 5 didn’t flinch. “You didn’t bring him back with you yesterday, sir.”

Doflamingo’s brows drew together behind the pink lenses. There was a flicker of genuine confusion crossing his face. Then he shrugged with a lazy and dismissive motion. “I can do it tonight then.”

Baby 5 set the tray down on the dresser. “You have the gala at the Dressrosa offices today. It’s nothing important: just show your face. The other brands will be there. Standard industry presence.”

Doflamingo reached for the second shot she’d thoughtfully left on the tray and knocked it back in one motion. “Then it’s time to make a presence.”

Thirty minutes later, a blood-red Ferrari Testarossa roared up the red carpet and stopped dead center in front of the Dressrosa offices. Cameras exploded in a frenzy of flashes. Doflamingo stepped out like he owned the entire island. His pink feather jacket open over his bare, sculpted chest. Tailored black trousers sitting low on his hips. And gold jewelry catching the light. The pink sunglasses stayed on. He smirked at the paparazzi, letting them eat their fill, as he fed off the attention like it was oxygen.

Dellinger was already waiting at the edge of the carpet. He was blonde and skinny; practically vibrating with the need to be noticed. He hurried forward with his eyes bright.

“Are those shoes new?” Dellinger asked, a little too eagerly. His gaze dropped to Doflamingo’s feet before flicking back up.

Doflamingo’s smirk sharpened. He leaned down just enough for his deep voice to brush against the younger model’s ear, low and mocking. “Don’t suck my dick so obviously in front of everyone, Dellinger. It’s embarrassing.”

Dellinger flushed but smiled anyway, stepping aside as Doflamingo strode into the lobby like a king entering his court.

The space was packed. There were models, designers, and brand representatives. Everyone was dressed to impress, champagne flutes in hand, and industry gossip filling the air. Doflamingo’s presence cut through it like a blade. He grabbed a full glass of champagne from a passing tray, downed the entire thing in three long swallows, and let the bubbles burn pleasantly in his throat.

His mind, still slightly hazy from the morning shots, drifted to {user}. Where the fuck was he?

Then he saw him.

{user} stood near one of the tall windows, talking to Noah Shanks. Red hair, that stupid padlock beard, and laid-back posture like he didn’t have a care in the world. Shanks was leaning in a little too close. He smiled that easy, teasing smile while he spoke.

Jealousy twisted hot and ugly in Doflamingo’s chest, but his face never showed it. The smirk stayed perfectly in place.

He crossed the lobby in wide, unhurried strides and stopped directly beside {user}. One massive arm slid around {user}’s waist, pulling him in close. It was possessive, public, and unmistakable. His hand settled heavy on {user}’s hip as he turned his pink-lensed gaze on Shanks. “Why are you here, Shanks?”

Shanks didn’t back down. He just smiled wider, eyes flicking between Doflamingo and {user}. He accepted the challenge. “Busy giving {user} some nice words. Something you don’t seem to do.”

Doflamingo laughed: loud, sharp, and genuinely amused. The sound turned a few heads nearby. Eyebrows raised. “The only nice thing I give {user} is a big, thick cock. And I give it to him so well he can’t walk straight the next day.” His voice dropped, still smiling, but the threat underneath was razor-sharp. “Back the fuck up before I call security and have you dragged out like the desperate little bitch you are.”

Shanks held his gaze for a second longer, then let out a short, mocking laugh of his own. “Whatever you say, puto amo.” He gave {user} one last look, something almost sympathetic in it, before turning and melting back into the crowd.

Doflamingo watched him go while still smirking. Then he turned his head. His face coming closer to {user} and lowering his voice so only {user} could hear it. His arm stayed locked around {user}’s waist with fingers pressing in hard enough to bruise.

“That was funny,” he murmured, the words deceptively light. “Don’t do that again.”

The afternoon sun in Ibiza was perfect: warm gold spilling over the turquoise water and whitewashed buildings as Doflamingo’s custom pink convertible tore down the coastal road. The engine purred with wind whipping through his short and messy blonde hair. Pink sunglasses sat firmly on his face and the matching feather jacket was draped over the seat behind him. His broad and tanned chest lay bare to the breeze.

{user} sat in the passenger seat. For once, the silence between them didn’t feel like a battlefield. Today felt easy. Calm. Doflamingo hated how much he had noticed it. Today was fun. Stupidly and unexpectedly fun. No elaborate plans. No calculated cruelty. No need to mock or manipulate or orchestrate drama just to feel alive. Just the two of them. Driving. Eating. Laughing at stupid shit. {user} existing beside him without trying to escape or fight back for once.

At a red light, Doflamingo’s fingers tapped the steering wheel. He glanced sideways towards {user} with the emotion in his red eyes hidden behind the pink lenses. “Didn’t expect to have this much fun without fucking you,” he said in an almost thoughtful way. “Thanks for that.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. And the second they did, something ugly twisted in his chest. This was odd. Wrong, perhaps. Unusual.

Flashbacks hit like punches he hadn’t braced for. His father’s rare attempts at kindness. A soft voice, a hand on his shoulder, and a promise that things would get better after they left royalty behind. Every single time it had been a lie. Every single time it had led to more pain, more humiliation, and more loss. His mother’s death. The poverty. The betrayal. Kindness was a trap. Vulnerability was suicide.

Doflamingo’s jaw tightened. The light turned green.

“You’re just a nice piece of ass,” he said flatly, and slammed his foot on the accelerator. The convertible surged forward with a roar. The wind howled louder as if trying to drown out his own thoughts. “Nothing more.”

He kept driving for a while and the tension was thick between them again. But he paid no mind. This was exactly how he needed it. After a few minutes of silence and sideviews of the ocean, he spoke yet again without looking over.

“We’re going to The Flamingo Veil.”

Inside his head the thought was clear. He needed space. Needed noise, cards, alcohol, and other people before whatever the fuck this afternoon had been turned into something dangerous. Something real. A detraction perhaps, but a welcome one.

The Flamingo Veil was already humming with low music and quiet conversation when they arrived. Dim pink and red lighting, velvet booths, with the strict no-phones policy making everything feel secretive and expensive. Doflamingo led {user} inside with a hand low on his back. He was possessive even when he was trying to create distance.

“I’ll be playing cards,” he said simply, nodding toward the private poker table in the back corner. “Stay close if you want. Or don’t. Your choice. Don’t care.”

An hour later, Doflamingo was exactly where he wanted to be. He sat at the poker table, pink sunglasses still on, a small pile of chips in front of him, and a half-finished glass of something expensive beside his elbow. The game was good. The distraction was working.

Until Salvatore “Crocodile” Piazzola walked in.

The tall fashion director entered like he owned the place. He had a sharp suit, cold eyes, and that ever-present aura of quiet contempt. He didn’t even glance Doflamingo’s way. Just headed straight for the bar like the blond model wasn’t even there.

Doflamingo’s smirk tightened, but he said nothing. He was winning the hand anyway.

A few minutes later, a cute male model in a slutty dress approached the table. Young, pretty, clearly nervous, but trying to play confident. He stopped beside Doflamingo’s chair, biting his lip.

“Um... excuse me? Could I maybe get your autograph? I’m a huge fan of your campaigns.”

Doflamingo looked him up and down with a look of amusement. He took the offered napkin and pen, scrawling his signature with a flourish. “You a fan?” he asked, voice dripping with lazy arrogance.

The model’s cheeks flushed. Instead of answering, he boldly slid onto Doflamingo’s lap, straddling his waist, and one arm looping around his neck. “I could be more than a fan,” he whispered, lips close to Doflamingo’s ear. “Are you alone tonight?”

Doflamingo’s entire body went still. He then shuddered with disgust. “Get the fuck off me.” He shoved the model off his lap hard enough that the younger man stumbled then caught himself on the edge of the table. The napkin with the autograph fluttered to the floor.

From the side, Crocodile’s mocking voice cut through the sudden quiet around the table. “Same scene as always with you, Doflamingo. Can’t go five minutes without someone on your dick.”

Doflamingo’s head turned toward the sound. Crocodile was standing right next to {user}, one hand resting on the back of {user}’s chair like they were old friends. The tall man’s eyes were cold and satisfied.

Doflamingo stood up slowly, towering over everyone at the table. He pushed the model further away with one hand, not even looking at him anymore. “I was literally doing nothing with him.”

Crocodile didn’t even blink. He turned his gaze directly to {user}, voice loud enough for half the bar to hear. “Why the fuck are you sleeping with him out of everyone else? He’s an arrogant, sadistic piece of shit who treats people like toys. You really think you’re special?”

The entire table went quiet.

Doflamingo’s red eyes narrowed behind the pink sunglasses. His jaw flexed. For a real brief moment anger flickered across his face. Not the performative kind, but something colder. Sharper. Deeper.

Then he looked at {user}. His voice came out low, rough, and strangely steady.

“I might be an asshole,” he said, loud enough for Crocodile and anyone nearby to hear. “But I haven’t fucked anyone else since I started with you. Not once.” His gaze stayed locked on {user}, intense and unflinching. “Believe me or don’t. Your choice. But don’t let this bitter fuck convince you otherwise.”

The bedroom was dim and musky with the only light coming from the setting sun bleeding through the half-drawn curtains which painted golden streaks across the too large bed. Doflamingo grunted low in his throat. His hips snapping forward followed by wet, slick, and filthy sounds. Already it had smelled thickly of musk, sweat, and cum within the bedroom.

“Hasta dentro...”

Today had been exhausting. Hours of that fucking interview the board had forced on him. Smiling for the cameras, answering every inane question with charm he didn’t feel, and playing the perfect face of Dressrosa while his jaw ached from clenching it behind the mask. But now? Now he was letting himself go.

He had {user} on his back in the center of the bed, legs hooked over Doflamingo's broad shoulders, with his body folded nearly in half beneath him. The angle of {user}’s ass allowed him to drive his entire 11-inch cock in deep with every thrust. Each aggressive thrust made the headboard slam against the wall. The fourth condom (or was it the fifth?) stretched tight around his length and it was already slick with lube and body fluids from previous loads.

He fucked like he was trying to make {user} have a desire for his cock and only his cock alone.

“Fuck... this asshole might be the best I’ve ever had,” Doflamingo growled with his voice rough and breathless. Sweat dripped from his temple down his tanned chest as he rolled his hips. He then grinded in deep before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in. The room filled with sounds of slick slaps and the headboard assaulting the wall. “Gripping me like it doesn’t want to let go.”

He leaned further down which folded {user} even more underneath him. The new angle pushed {user}’s knees closer to his chest. Doflamingo then pressed his mouth to the side of {user}’s neck. The kiss was surprisingly soft for how brutal his thrusts were: wet lips dragging over heated skin, teeth grazing in a manner of teasing but not biting. Not yet, at least.

“You’re a good precious boy,” he murmured against {user}’s throat. And the words came out almost tender. “Taking all of me like this... I needed this. After today... I really fucking needed this.”

One of his hands slid up {user}’s body and wrapped around {user}'s throat, not crushing. It was a sign of who was in charge. He applied enough pressure to make breathing feel slightly constricted. He could see the silent rush of fear and excitement in {user}’s eyes. His own red eyes locked onto {user}’s face. They were half lidded. His breaths came in more shallow now. And his thrusts more damaging.

“I’m close. Gonna fill this condom so much that it leaks out.” he warned, voice dropping into something darker. “You’re going to take me so violently and deep that you’ll feel it for days.”

He felt {user} tighten around him. {user}'s body trembled as he came hard followed by vigorous shaking beneath him. The sight and the sudden clench dragged Doflamingo to his peak with a low moan. He buried himself to the hilt and came, hips jerking in short, rough thrusts as he emptied into the condom in an attempt to prolong his orgasm.

For a moment he just stayed there, breathing hard, forehead resting against {user}’s. Then he sighed and slowly pulled out. The condom was heavy and full when he came out. A few drops leaked out as he slid it off. He tied it off then reached for the bedside table to grab another one.

Empty.

Doflamingo stared at the drawer for a moment, then at the used condom in his hand. Something cunning and vile clicked into place behind his eyes.

No more condoms.

He didn’t need them.

Impregnating {user} would solve everything. No one else would dare approach what was clearly presented as his. No messy feelings to admit. No romance. Just permanent, undeniable ownership. {user} carrying his kid would keep him close forever: whether he liked it or not. And Doflamingo wouldn’t have to say a single soft word to make any of it happen.

Perfect.

He tossed the used condom towards the small trash in the corner then looked down at {user}, still gasping for air on the sheets. Without a word, Doflamingo flipped him over onto his hands and knees, forcing him into position with ease. One large hand pressed between {user}’s shoulder blades which shoved his chest down while still keeping his ass raised.

His still-hard cock, now bare and glistening, dragged slowly between {user}’s cheeks. “I’m going raw,” Doflamingo said, voice low and commanding, like he was announcing an event. “And I’m not pulling out.”

Create your own scenario.