ONE PIECE one shots,,

BOUND BY STRINGS

The room was dimly lit, the low hum of voices murmuring in the background as the auction hall buzzed with anticipation. Wealthy patrons, dressed in opulent clothing, sat in private booths, their faces obscured by shadow as they watched the stage below. The air was thick with the scent of cigars and expensive perfume, but beneath that, there was a subtle hint of something darker—something oppressive. Slavery, like everything else in the underworld, thrived in silence.

Doflamingo leaned back in his seat, one leg crossed over the other as his usual smirk played on his lips. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but anyone who knew him could sense the predatory gleam behind them. The Warlord of the Sea was no stranger to the auction house; in fact, he often benefited from its sordid dealings. But today, he was here for something specific.

Or rather, someone.

The auctioneer's voice droned on as more slaves were paraded across the stage, each one no more than a commodity, a product to be bought and sold. But Doflamingo wasn't paying attention to the chatter. His eyes were fixed on the next lot, a woman with long, dark hair that tumbled down her back, her bangs obscuring her eyes. Her wrists were bound, her skin pale and bruised from the shackles, yet there was a strange stillness to her, an eerie calm that caught his interest.

"Next, we have a rare find!" the auctioneer announced, his voice sharp with excitement. "This one comes with an interesting story—formerly from a noble family fallen from grace. A perfect addition for anyone looking for something... unique."

Doflamingo's grin widened. Unique, indeed.

The bidding started low, but quickly escalated as several of the wealthiest buyers competed for her. Doflamingo's amusement grew as he watched them throw their money at the auctioneer, unaware that they were wasting their time. With a single motion of his hand, he raised the stakes, offering an amount that silenced the entire hall. No one dared challenge him—not when they knew who he was.

"Sold to the Heavenly Demon, Donquixote Doflamingo!" the auctioneer declared, almost trembling as he said the name.

Within minutes, the transaction was completed, and she was his.

That night, Doflamingo sat in the grand study of his palace, the heavy doors shut behind him. The woman—his new acquisition—stood quietly before him, her posture stiff and her head lowered. Despite her circumstances, there was something about her demeanor that intrigued him. No tears, no trembling, just that eerie calm.

"So," Doflamingo began, his voice smooth and condescending as he leaned forward in his chair, "you're mine now."

She didn't flinch. She simply nodded, her bangs still covering her eyes. "Yes."

He chuckled darkly, rising to his feet and crossing the room until he stood directly in front of her. He tilted her chin up with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Her eyes, half-hidden behind her hair, slowly lifted to meet his. He expected fear, anger, maybe even hatred. But what he saw was something else entirely—acceptance. It was as if she had already resigned herself to whatever fate awaited her.

That intrigued him even more.

"You know how this works," Doflamingo said, his grip tightening slightly. "You do what I say, when I say it. No questions, no complaints."

She didn't resist, didn't argue. "I understand."

For the next few weeks, their relationship followed that unspoken rule. She served him obediently, and Doflamingo reveled in the power he held over her. There was something intoxicating about the way she never fought back, never broke under the weight of his dominance, even when he pushed her boundaries. His cruelty was something she bore with quiet acceptance, even during his most abusive moments—both physically and emotionally.

At first, it was purely transactional for him—she was his possession, a toy to satisfy whatever desires or whims he had. He'd pull her strings, watch her react, and then discard her when he was done. But as time went on, something began to shift. Slowly, subtly, but unmistakably.

One evening, Doflamingo sat in his chambers, the usual grin absent from his face as he watched her move about the room. She wasn't dressed like a slave anymore. He had draped her in fine silks, expensive jewelry that gleamed in the dim light. Her long, dark hair fell in waves down her back, and though her eyes remained hidden behind those familiar bangs, he could sense the change in her too.

She had become something more than just a tool, more than just a body to satisfy his darker urges. She had begun to haunt his thoughts, filling his mind with an uncharacteristic possessiveness. It wasn't the same as the control he had over his family or the terror he inspired in his enemies. No, this was something far more personal.

Something he couldn't control.

"You're... different," he said, his voice low and contemplative, as if the words were foreign to him.

She paused, turning to look at him, that calm expression never leaving her face. "How so?"

Doflamingo chuckled, though there was little humor in it. He rose from his seat and crossed the room until he stood directly in front of her, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of her hair aside. For the first time, he pushed her bangs back, revealing the fullness of her gaze.

Her eyes were soft, unafraid. But there was no submission there, no fear. Only understanding.

"Most people break when I push them," he murmured, his hand cupping her cheek. "But you... you never do."

She leaned into his touch, her voice steady. "I knew what you were when I first saw you. I chose not to break."

Doflamingo's smirk faltered for a moment, his thumb tracing her lips. It was strange—he had bought her from a filthy auction, used her however he pleased, yet now, as he stood there, he realized that somewhere along the way, she had become something more. She had slipped through the cracks of his hardened heart, and he hadn't even noticed until now.

"I don't fall in love," he said, almost as if reminding himself of his own nature.

She looked up at him, her voice soft but firm. "Maybe not. But you care."

That struck a chord in him, something deep and raw. His hand tightened on her jaw, his face inches from hers. "You think I care about you?" His tone was mocking, but the look in his eyes betrayed him.

She smiled, a small, gentle smile that made his heart twist in a way he didn't want to admit. "I know you do."

Doflamingo's breath hitched, his smirk fading entirely as he stared down at her. His hand slid down to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as his lips met hers in a kiss that was rough and demanding, but tinged with something else—something he wasn't ready to acknowledge.

Because for the first time in a long time, Donquixote Doflamingo—the man who controlled everything and everyone around him—felt vulnerable. And it was because of her.