Doflamingo x [Marine] Reader-Friend Zone

XI: Downtime

I am just into couples with equality. I don't want Doffy to be partnered with a weakling, if you get my point. I'm just the kind of person who would punch a person, not slap them because just a slap wouldn't be enough to satisfy. Xp.

Dedicated to: @bloodredrose997, Josephine, Marcus, Polaris, Courtney-earliest voters and friends in real names.

You narrow your eyes when you caught movement and your romantic self squeals in delight when you saw his dark silhouette straightening up from the filter of the white smoke. He doesn't move as you squint your eyes more closely.

"Are you doing good back there?" You call out to him, a sweet tone close to the nurture of a muse. "Or do you want me to be more lenient on you?"

You are answered by an object halving the white clouds of dust, blasted from him. You quickly make use of the one second you can react. You flip sideways when the large statue sails at you with ferocious speed. Unable to meet your body, it crashes into the wall behind you. You look over your shoulder to see the tattered wall collapse, to reveal another room of luxury. But relief wasn't leeching on your shoulders just yet. He sends yet another large object, a wardrobe effortlessly tossed your way. You didn't have to avoid this one, because you swat it away with a strong hand into mere chips of wood flying everywhere.

The smoke has evaporated and you two stare past the destruction. Finally, he was serious enough to keep his hands from greedy covers, the pockets of his feathery coat. He was grinning in his roguish amusement; he too was filled with excitement and he won't be holding back anytime soon. And you wanted it that way.

He had only been this serious with you under his roof and you liked and garnered for this attention you so much craved for. This is what your inventor self wanted most, attention from him, even if not romantically. Somehow, there was excitement in trying to kill him, but you knew that was impossible. In a sense, after much contemplation, your inventor self secretly desires his love too, but this negative side deems this impossible and sticks with just staying at his side, maybe the chances of that impossibility was also his experience. So, all you truly love him but you pursued him not, most times.

You lift the Buster Sword near your wing so that it merges with your automated wings, lengthening it. After, you take to your pose, with your leg bent forward and the other straight behind. You cross your arms with your hands sliding past your neck with your fingers twitching, indicating vibrant excitement in reaching for the feathers of your wings, so that you can pluck them off and attack him with deadly blades. Too bad you can't automatically shoot the feathers from the wings yet, for now, you will have to rely on your hand speed.

The two of your exchange your sign of bliss, the majestic grin of his and a wholesome smirk from you.

What were you two doing right now?

(What exactly?!)

You were none other than enjoying leisure time at it's best quality.

With only the undisturbed company of each other, of course.

Why not?

He chuckles and raises his hand, fingers bent not only for a purpose of a readied attack. "Heheheh. (Fufufuh)"

The room was moaning, the wood creaking from the barage of bullets and the floor underneath you is soft from the beating it received.

You leap up, bouncing from the floor that gives up from the pressure you applied, broken wood crash down to the lower floor. Your wings spread, and you feel a warm boost on your feet, which you designed as a sort of rocket to lift you a few inches from the ground. This makes it easier to slide or propel yourself, and you can float when you have to walk. On bodies of water, be it an ocean, there is no need for struggle because you can easily glide through, but in some cases of situations, such as the need for pursue, you jet into a flash of gold and white brilliance. You were often described as a sort of shooting star, from a distance. Your golden inventions are gold merged with raw materials and you invented them to shine double the luster at certain angles, for the purpose of blinding and making yourself an illusion or an unidentified object during missions. Apparently, that has never worked on Doffy because of his sunglasses.

Back into the situation at hand. The floor has collapsed and you are in the air, shooting wildly where Doflamingo has lifted himself in the air, sending waves of slices at you. Walls of cloud separate you, a fine cover for him and a disadvantage for your eyes sight. But he couldn't underestimate a sniper, and the Marine who was responsible in keeping him detained.

Your eyes squint, vigilant to his assumed locations for signs of movement. Too bad you haven't prepared your goggles or your ear plugs; there is a reason why you aren't shooting anymore, your ears are throbbing from your explosive shots to the feeling that they are bleeding, but you know they aren't.

You don't bleed.

You shoot another couple of rounds, but that should be the last you can take, before crashing past a wall; the boundary between you and the outside world. You hadn't gotten away from his attack radius fast enough.

A net of strings slice your direction again and you envelop yourself with your wings, wherein the necessary position of folding your legs up to your chest and curling your body to the shape of your circular caccon is done, to receive the powerful impact, rolling you into the air. Your ears hear only your breathing and the muffled wind whistling past you, until your cacooned self has taken the violent and anticipated landing, smashing you to-what you can hear-is cement and wood and splashes of water after.

You're pretty sure you landed somewhere near the swimming pool but that wasn't what was bothering you. You quickly unfurl your wings, and stoop slightly, the want to anchor your hands on your knees was obviously present but you would rather act professional, because you are. Doflamingo lands at a good distance before you, but you hold out a an open hand, a sign for a quick time-out.

Well, he was obedient to your wish and you forced the digested food back to your stomach. Rotating on air is a very queasy experience you should get used to. Enough flying for today.

The wings at your back, you can feel, melts as you hold up your hand, commanding is to molds into an axe, a beautifully designed axe that should look better in a museum but is truly meant for the design of battle.

You let the gold hop on your hand, feeling its comfortable weight as you smirk dangerously at him. You prepare to swing again.