Archive of Our Own

Doflamingo pressed the back of his hand to his eyes.

It had been hours since he left Rosinante’s room and the ache had not dulled.

The words would not leave him.

And then he comes home with someone else's mark on him.

He pressed harder.

A lipstick stain. Such a careless, ruinous thing.

And he had returned wearing it like it was nothing.

The paper crumpled in his grip.

He uncurled it. Looked at it again. He had lost count of how many times he'd read it.

Fuck, I really thought he loved me.

The torn fragment that had caught between his fingers when Rosinante ripped the rest away. The only full sentence on it.

But he knew the rest. He had read it twice. Every word was carved into the space behind his eyes.

We aren't anything.

I'm nothing to him.

Doflamingo set his jaw into a rigid line.

This was his doing. And he would mend it.

He rose from the bed and went to find a pen and paper.

Rosinante woke up exhausted.

He had slept, but he had not rested.

He sat up slowly, eyes still heavy.

The lamp burned low. Rosinante had left it lit in case Doflamingo came back during the night.

He hadn’t.

Rosinante stared at his hands.

He should not have done that.

He had been the one to ask Doflamingo to sleep here, only to throw him out after a single argument.

Doflamingo hadn’t even done anything wrong.

Not technically.

He considered going to find him. But it had been the middle of the night by the time Rosalia finally stopped crying.

And now there was no avoiding it.

Today was Rosalia's five-month appointment. Brought forward to accommodate Doflamingo's growing schedule.

They would have to see each other. Talk.

Assuming Doflamingo still intended to come.

His gaze dropped to the floor.

The torn paper was still there. Where it had landed when he snatched it from Doflamingo's grip and threw it.

He stared at it for a long moment.

Then he got off the bed and picked it up.



I couldn't sleep.

He hadn't come back to the room. It was past five and I kept thinking about the blood on his coat from last time. The scar on his back. The meetings that go wrong sometimes.

I stayed up the whole night waiting. I paced until my legs hurt and I felt so sick like my body knew something was wrong.

I couldn't take it anymore so I went looking for him. I heard him breathing through the door. Heavy and uneven. I thought he was hurt. My heart stopped. All I could think was I can't lose him. Rosalia can't lose her father.

I walked up to him and saw the lipstick on his collar.

He was fine. Just drunk. With another woman's lips on his collar.

The worst thing I imagined was finding him bleeding. Instead I found him fine. And that somehow hurt more.

Why did he let her come so close to him? Close enough that her mouth touched his collar and he didn't move away. Maybe he was too drunk to notice. Maybe he noticed and didn't care.

I don't know which is worse.

Both answers end in the same place. Both mean I don't matter enough.

I quickly left before I could do something stupid. Like cry. Like wake him up and ask him about it. Like say any of the things I was thinking.

Just days ago he told me I was his Corazon. His heart. And I believed him. God, I really believed him like the stupid fool I was.

He remembers what snacks I like. He hired Mila because I was tired. He touches my face in the dark like I'm something worth being gentle with.

And then he comes home with someone else's mark on him. And I'm supposed to understand. I'm supposed to accept. Because that's who he is. That's who he's always been. Gorgeous women have always been around him. Throwing themselves at him. Leaning in close. He's Doflamingo. Of course they do. Of course he lets them.

I'm the idiot who thought I was different.

I'm the fool who convinced himself that he looked at me the way he looks at no one else. That those quiet moments in the dark meant what I wanted them to mean. They don't. They never did.

I keep going back over all of it. Every look. Every time he held me. Trying to figure out which parts were real. The terrible thing is I can't tell. I can't tell the difference between when he loves me and when he doesn't.

I'm just his brother. Just Rosalia's other parent at most.

We aren't anything. I'm nothing to him.

I hate that I still can't accept that. I hate that I'm the only one in love.



His eyes fixed on the torn part. He knew what he had written. He knew what had been in Doflamingo’s grip before he left.

Fuck, I really thought he loved me.

He sat on the edge of the bed, the paper loose in his hands.

Then he walked to the drawer. Opened the book. Placed the torn letter inside and closed it.

When he turned back to the bed, he saw it.

A letter.

Folded neatly on Doflamingo's pillow, his name written across the front in Doflamingo's handwriting.

He picked it up and opened it.



Rosinante.

The lipstick. A woman at Tesoro's party must have leaned on me before I could move away. I did not realize it left a mark. I was drunk. That is the full account of what occurred. Nothing else happened.

I will not allow myself to become that drunk again.

If there are meetings that require plentiful drinking and cannot be avoided, you may come with me. I have nothing to hide from you.

You said we are not anything.

Just weeks ago I told you not to hurt me, and then you wrote that we are not anything.

You are not nothing to me, Rosinante.

You are my Corazon.

You are my everything.

— D

He read it again and again until his vision blurred.

For a whole week he had carried the image of Doflamingo with another woman in his arms, and all of it had come from a stranger leaning too close at a party.

What about the phone call? The earring? The cufflinks?

He had so many questions he wanted to ask.

Yet right now all he could think about was

You are my everything.

His eyes caught on the crossed-out Corazon and he let out a weak, breathy laugh.

Doflamingo was ridiculous sometimes. Slipping something like that into a letter like this.

He sat there for another moment, clutching the paper like it might disappear if he loosened his grip.

Then he stood.

He did not think about it. Did not change out of his sleep clothes or wash his face or fix the tear tracks drying on his cheeks.

He just went.

Down the corridor toward Doflamingo's room. Pushed the door open. Empty. The bed looked barely slept in.

He kept moving.

He did not know what he was going to say. He did not have words for any of this.

It did not matter. He only needed to see him.

The meeting room.

Doflamingo’s voice reached him before the door did.

Rosinante pushed it open.

Doflamingo sat at the head of the table. Diamanté across from him, documents spread between them.

Both men glanced up.

Rosinante crossed the room without a word.

He walked straight to Doflamingo, wrapped his arms around him, and buried his face against his chest.

He was crying again already. Quiet, helpless tears that soaked into the fabric of Doflamingo's shirt.

Across the table, Diamanté looked down at his papers.

He had not been dismissed. Several matters on the page required his immediate attention.

Eventually Rosinante pulled back. Wiped at his face with the back of his hand.

Looked up at Doflamingo with red, swollen eyes.

"Sorry," he murmured to the room at large. His voice sounded ruined. "Sorry for disrupting."

Doflamingo’s gaze lingered on him. Something shifted behind his eyes. Relief, maybe.

But also something darker.

He lifted a hand and rested it briefly atop Rosinante’s head.

“Later,” he said softly. "Go back to the room now."

Then he looked back at Diamanté.

“Where were we?”

Without lifting his head, Diamanté pointed to the relevant line on the page.

The meeting continued. 

Rosinante busied himself with his morning duties.

It was Mila's off day, so his day started early. He fed Rosalia first.

She took the bottle eagerly, small hands gripping his fingers, her eyes drifting shut with each pull. Every few seconds she would pause and look up at him, as if making sure he was still there.

He always was.

After the bottle came the bath. She used to hate the water, squalling and red-faced every time, but now she had grown to love it. Splashing. Kicking. Filling the room with excited baby noises.

Rosinante cupped water in his palm and let it run over her belly. She kicked harder. Her mouth opened in a wide, delighted grin.

"You're the cutest," he murmured. "You know that?"

She answered by slapping both hands against the surface. Water hit his face. His shirt. The tiles.

He laughed. Actually laughed. The sound surprised him. It had been so long since he'd heard it from his own mouth.

He lifted her out of the baby tub. She did not want to leave, her legs still kicking at the empty air.

Next came the soft towel. He dried her carefully. Ran the fabric gently between her tiny fingers where the skin was still wrinkled from the water.

Pressed a kiss to her warm forehead. 

"You're almost five months, Rosalia. How did you grow up so fast?"

Rosalia giggled. Her blonde curls tickled his nose.

He held her and pressed butterfly kisses all over her face. Her cheeks. Her nose. Her chin. Each one made her scrunch her face in that way that was half annoyance, half delight.

Her eyes grew heavy. The bath had tired her out. Her fist curled in the collar of his shirt and her breathing slowed and she let out one long, contented sigh against his neck.

Rosinante placed one final kiss onto her dried hair and laid her in the cot.

He stood there for a moment. Watching her sleep. 

Then the door burst open.

Startled, Rosinante activated his devil fruit instantly. A silent field settled over the cot, wrapping Rosalia in a quiet bubble so she would not wake.

Doflamingo closed the door behind him and walked toward Rosinante. His eyes were fixed on the thin sleep shirt.

It was old. Worn translucent from years of washing. It hung loose over Rosinante's frame, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbone, the faint shadow of his chest beneath the fabric.

Doflamingo had seen this shirt a thousand times. In the dark. Against the sheets. Never outside this room.

"You went out in this?"

"Doffy—"

"You walked through the corridors in this." His voice was low and dangerous.

"It's just my sleep shirt."

"It's a piece of tissue, Rosinante."

"The shirt you commissioned for the party," Rosinante said flatly, "had a lace-up front and hooks down the side."

Doflamingo's jaw tightened. He had no answer for that.

"Wait," Rosinante said. "Why are you angry about my shirt?"

Doflamingo’s gaze sharpened.

"Angry," he repeated. "Yes. You're right. I am angry about your shirt."

He stepped closer.

"I am also angry about many other things."

His hand found Rosinante's waist. Pushed. Rosinante's back hit the mattress and Doflamingo followed him down, one knee pressing into the bed beside his hip.

"I am angry that you did not ask me about the lipstick." His mouth found Rosinante's neck. Bit down.

"I am angry that you were cold to me," Another bite, lower, at the collar. "For an entire week."

He pulled back.

Rosinante's shirt had ridden up. He could see the shape of Rosinante's chest through the fabric, the faint peaks pressing against the worn cotton.

His eyes traced lower, to the flat plane of Rosinante's stomach, exposed from the navel down.

This shirt used to stretch over his swollen belly. It couldn't even cover the bump in those final months.

Rosinante had worn it every night anyway, the fabric straining, his belly visible, because it was the only thing soft enough to sleep in.

And now it hung loose. Empty.

Doflamingo leaned down and dragged his tongue across Rosinante's chest through the shirt. The wet fabric clung to the skin underneath.

An involuntary shudder rippled through Rosinante, pulling his hips upward as his breath hitched in a quiet gasp. 

Doflamingo moved to his ear. "I am angry that you pulled me into bed when you were hurting." A sharp nip to the lobe.

He yanked Rosinante’s shirt off and threw it to the floor.

"I am angry that you said we aren't anything." His mouth closed over Rosinante's nipple. A harsh suck.

Rosinante's hands flew up, fingers tangling into Doflamingo's hair. He pulled him closer, arching into his mouth.

Doflamingo worked his way across Rosinante's chest. Marking him with bruises all over his skin.

Each one deliberate. Each one a word he didn't know how to say.

"I am angry." He stripped off his own clothes and tugged Rosinante's shorts down his thighs. "That you kicked me out last night."

Large hands splayed over Rosinante's hips. He rolled his hips forward, their cocks sliding together.

Rosinante was already so slick the glide felt obscene.

He threw his head back as a loud moan broke out of him, raw and unguarded.

"I am very angry." A harsh grind. Doflamingo swallowed back his own groan. "That you left this room in a state only I should see you in."

Rosinante wasn't listening anymore. His eyes were closed.

He wrapped his hand around both of them and stroked. The slide of skin on skin was too good, too much.

One hand wasn't big enough. He added his other, and Doflamingo started thrusting into his grip with a low sound.

Doflamingo's strings unfurled, snaking across the room to the drawer, retrieving the bottle. He couldn't move. Didn't want to move.

Not when Rosinante was beneath him like this.

He slicked his fingers and pressed one inside. Then two. Rosinante was tight but yielding, his body open and pliant from the previous night.

He worked him slowly. Curling his fingers until Rosinante's hands stuttered on their cocks and his hips bucked off the bed.

Three fingers.

Rosinante was trembling. His hands moved faster, but the glide was turning dry. The friction catching.

His grip tightened, trying to compensate.

Doflamingo hissed.

A sharp slap stung Rosinante's hands away, making him whimper.

His palms hovered over their cocks. Shaking with the urge to touch anyway.

Doflamingo looked down at him.

Absolutely wrecked. Desperate. His cock flushed a dark red, weeping helplessly against his own stomach with every shallow breath.

His lips curled into a slow, easy smile.

He gathered the saliva on his tongue and spat. Hard. The thick strand struck the sensitive head of Rosinante's cock with a sharp, wet slap.

The heat of it. The sting. Doflamingo looming above him. Large, furious yet smiling like that.

Rosinante completely broke. He came. Spilling across his own chest, stripe after stripe, his whole body seizing.

Doflamingo watched him.

Watched Rosinante writhe and spill from nothing but spit.

Watched his chest heave and his mouth fall open and his cock twitch against his stomach, spent and leaking.

Then Doflamingo's mouth stretched into a wide grin.

A low chuckle rumbled out of his chest. "You never fail to surprise me, Rosinante."

His tongue slid out, flattening against the skin to drag a long, wet stripe up Rosinante's chest. Tasting him.

Rosinante shuddered beneath him.

"Coming from that?" Doflamingo murmured against his skin. His tongue flicked against Rosinante's ear. "Just my spit on your cock and you fall apart."

He pulled his fingers out. Flipped Rosinante onto his stomach. One hand pressed flat against his lower back, pinning him to the mattress.

Three fingers slid back inside. Stretched Rosinante open and wide.

When Doflamingo pulled his fingers free, the rim stayed flushed and slick, gaping around nothing.

Rosinante felt the shift behind him. Heard the slick sound of Doflamingo stroking himself.

Then the heavy heat of Doflamingo settling over his thighs.

Doflamingo didn't push in. Just rubbed the head of his cock against the puffy, stretched opening. Back and forth.

The pressure maddening.

Rosinante gripped the sheets. Bit his lip until he tasted copper.

Doflamingo stroked himself faster. The head of his cock caught against the rim, pushing in slightly with each stroke.

Then he pulled back. Two fingers spread Rosinante open. Held him apart.

Doflamingo came with a sharp exhale. Thick and hot, shooting directly into the gaping entrance. Pulse after pulse filling Rosinante up from outside.

He spread him wider with his thumbs, watching the cum pool inside. Making sure nothing escaped.

Rosinante's hole clenched weakly, struggling to hold the load inside.

Doflamingo leaned down. His breath hot against Rosinante's ear.

"Don't you dare clean me out again."



The cum started to leak after a while. A thick trail of white sliding down Rosinante's perineum.

Doflamingo held his cock, half-hard now, and pushed it inside. Plugging the hole. Keeping the cum from escaping.

Rosinante pressed his face into the mattress. His whole body trembling.

Doflamingo started to move. Slowly at first. His deep thrusts churning the thick fluid inside Rosinante.

The sound of it was obscene. Wet and thick and frothy. The cum foaming around Doflamingo's cock as it pushed in and out.

Doflamingo stared at the slick dribbling down Rosinante's thighs. Pooling on the sheets beneath them. The mess of it spreading on Rosinante's skin, on his own stomach, everywhere.

His eyes nearly rolled back.

He pulled out, breathing hard. Composing himself.

Then he pushed back in and started thrusting properly.

Rosinante couldn't do anything but take it. Couldn't move. Couldn't escape.

Doflamingo was heavy and solid and pressing him flat against the mattress, taking him apart through the mess of his own cum.

"I still can't believe you," Doflamingo said against the back of Rosinante's neck. His voice rough. "How dare you say we are nothing."

Rosinante's mouth fell open. No sound made it out.

Every few strokes, Doflamingo pulled out entirely. Used his cock to gather what had spilled. Then sank inside again with a low growl.

Again. And again.

The friction was filthy. Slick and dragging. Every thrust accompanied by a wet squelch that echoed in the room.

It was driving Rosinante insane.

"Doffy." Rosinante was crying his name now. Sobbing. "Doffy, please."

"Please what?"

"It's too much."

"Tell me to stop."

Rosinante couldn't. He didn't want to stop. He wanted Doflamingo to fill him up until there was nothing left of him that wasn't Doflamingo's.

Doflamingo's hand slid under Rosinante's hips and lifted them.

Changed the angle and found the spot that made Rosinante's whole body jolt.

He was pounding into him now. Hard and fast and relentless. Each thrust driving him further up the mattress. No longer pausing to gather what spilled.

The cum made a mess of both of them and he ignored it entirely.

Rosinante was so oversensitive.

The sheets rubbed against his cock with every thrust, the fabric dragging across the head, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. His hips stuttered. His breath came in ragged gasps.

He came with a muffled wail. The orgasm tore through him so violently his vision went white.

He craned his neck to look at Doflamingo. Lips bitten raw. His face a mess of saliva and tears.

Doflamingo's name kept spilling out of him. Broken. Stuttering. Barely a word anymore.

"Do—Doff—Doffy—"

The only word left in him.

Doflamingo's rhythm stuttered.

The clench of Rosinante's hole around him, the desperate, helpless grip of it.

The way his name was being punched out of Rosinante with each thrust. 

That dazed, ruined look on his face.

It dragged Doflamingo over the edge.

Doflamingo came.

He sank forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt with a sharp, ragged grunt. His fingers dug mercilessly into Rosinante's hips, anchoring them together as the sudden, thick heat flooded the tight space. 

The intense heat soothed the ache.

Doflamingo didn't pull out.

He draped himself over Rosinante's back. Heavy. Warm. Like a massive, suffocating blanket. His face pressed against the back of Rosinante's neck.

Rosinante lay there, pinned and breathless.

"Doffy?" His voice was muffled against the mattress. "Get off me."

"No."

"Doffy."

"I'm tired." The words were lazy. "I was kicked out last night and I couldn't sleep. Let me rest."

He lay there for a long moment. His breath evening out against Rosinante's shoulder.

Finally he pulled out. Flipped Rosinante over and guided him onto his back.

Then he grabbed a pillow and shoved it under Rosinante's hips.

Rosinante’s brows knit. "What are you doing?"

"I read in the books that this helps with conception."

Rosinante stared at him.

Then he pulled the pillow out from under him and threw it at Doflamingo's face. It bounced off his cheek.

A flicker of amusement crept back into Rosinante's face.

He sat up, and immediately felt the slick slip out of him.

Doflamingo frowned. "Don't sit up yet. The books say at least ten to fifteen minutes."

Rosinante threw another pillow at him.

"Stop thinking about making another baby," he said. "We haven't even talked about us yet."

Doflamingo caught the pillow and scowled.

"What is there to talk about? I gave you my answer."

"That was a letter."

"A letter is a permanent and precise record of intent."

"Doffy." Rosinante held his gaze, refusing to let him look away. "I need to hear it from you. Not read it. From you. Out loud."

Doflamingo's eyes hardened.

"Fine," he said. "You are my everything."

It came out stiff, like he was reciting terms from a contract.

Rosinante shook his head with a small exhale and a faint smile.

"Doflamingo."

"I mean it." The hard edge in Doflamingo's voice dissolved. Just barely. "Rosinante. You are my everything."

The same words. Different weight. The real ones this time.

Doflamingo cleared his throat and immediately looked away.

His gaze drifted toward the cot. Rosalia’s small arms were waving faintly, restless.

"Rosinante—"

Rosinante didn't let him finish. He was off the bed in an instant, stumbling on unsteady legs, moving to the cot.

He released the silent bubble.

Rosalia was crying. Loud, furious, indignant cries. The wail of a baby who had been ignored for far too long.

Rosinante scooped her up. Soothed her automatically, bouncing her against his chest as he carried her back to the bed.

He handed her to Doflamingo. "We had sex while she was crying."

Doflamingo took her. Pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You're the one who put the bubble up."

Rosinante's mouth flattened.

"I'm going to wash up," Rosinante muttered. He glanced down. It was leaking past his knees. "Don't stop me. There's just too much."

"That's the point."

Rosinante ignored him and headed for the bathroom.

He was halfway there when Doflamingo's voice caught him.

"Rosinante."

He turned. Doflamingo sat on the bed with Rosalia against his chest, her small fingers poking at his chin.

"I want another one," Doflamingo stated simply.

Rosinante held his gaze for a long moment.

"Not yet."

Doflamingo's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"She's still so small, Doffy."

He turned back toward the bathroom.

The hot water hit him, relaxing his tense muscles.

Rosinante stood under it and let it run over his shoulders, his chest, his stomach.

He pressed his forehead against the tile and breathed.

The letter was left sitting on the nightstand. He’d read it so many times the paper felt thin at the edges.

You are my everything.

He wanted to believe it.

He did believe it.

The earring and the cufflinks didn't matter. They couldn't matter.

Not when Doflamingo had written those words in his own hand.

The Den Den Mushi rang.

Rosinante's hand stilled against his skin.

He heard Doflamingo answer it. A low murmur.

Then laughter.

Warm. Easy. Unrestrained.

The sound hit him somewhere unpleasant.

He kept the shower running, letting the water cover the sound of his movements as he edged toward the door. Pressed his ear against it.

"Give me a second," Doflamingo told the receiver.

Footsteps approached the bathroom.

A knock.

Rosinante’s heart lurched.

He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and pulled the door open.

Doflamingo was already dressed. Fresh shirt. Clean trousers. Coat on. Rosalia rested her head on his shoulder.

"Are we doing anything after the appointment?"

"No. I don't think so."

Doflamingo nodded and turned away.

Picked up the receiver.

"Yes. I'll have them returned to you."

A pause.

Then a short huff of laughter.

The call ended.

Rosinante remained in the doorway, damp hair dripping onto his shoulders. The uneasy feeling in his stomach refused to leave.

Doflamingo settled onto the bed with Rosalia propped against his chest.

His attention drifted over Rosinante once before returning to the baby.

"Someone conveniently forgot to tell me Viola called for her earring."

Rosinante's fingers tightened around the edge of the doorframe.

"She said she called yesterday," Doflamingo continued. "To remind me."

Rosinante's eyes dropped to Rosalia.

"She's one of Tesoro's women. Not mine."

Doflamingo reached into his coat pocket and took out the earring.

"Staff at the party handed it to me because she resides in Dressrosa."

The diamonds caught the light as he dangled it above Rosalia. She immediately reached for it with both hands.

"I don't need a woman, Rosinante."

He tossed the earring onto the nightstand like it was nothing.

The blue stone flashed against the wood.

Doflamingo's gaze returned to Rosinante.

Rosinante swallowed.

"You two seem close."

The words escaped before he could stop them. Petty and small.

Doflamingo’s eyebrow lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Close," he repeated.

"You were laughing."

"I laugh at many things."

"You've never laughed like that with me."

The words hung in the air.

Doflamingo stared at him. Amusement drained from his face.

"You're not funny."

Rosinante blinked, the sting immediate.

"And Viola is easy." Doflamingo shifted Rosalia higher against his chest. "She is easy because she doesn't matter."

He bounced Rosalia once.

"You do."

The words came out so casually Rosinante almost missed them.

Dr. Tegata set Rosalia on the examination table with practiced ease.

He measured her length. Weighed her. Checked the soft points of her skull with careful pressure. Listened to her heart with a stethoscope pressed against her chest.

Rosalia did not like the cold metal. Her face scrunched and she let out an indignant cry.

“Strong lungs,” Dr. Tegata said mildly.

He moved on without pause. Hips, reflexes, grip strength.

“She is large for her age,” he added, writing in his book. “Expected. Both parents are tall. Everything is in order."

He capped his pen.

"You may begin introducing solids. Pureed vegetables first. Root vegetables. Then fruits. One at a time, three days apart, to watch for reactions."

Rosinante nodded.

Doflamingo picked Rosalia up from the table.

"When can Rosinante get pregnant again?"

The question landed in the room like a stone.

Rosinante closed his eyes.

Dr. Tegata looked up from his notes.

"The recommended waiting period is eighteen months. Twelve if you accept increased risk."

Doflamingo’s expression hardened, a sharp crease appearing between his brows.

“It's highly dependent on whether Rosinante’s body has healed enough.”

"Do a check on him," Doflamingo said.

Dr. Tegata looked at him. "Rosalia is 19 weeks."

Doflamingo looked back.

"Check," Doflamingo said.

"Your Majesty—"

"Tegata. Don’t make me repeat myself."

A long pause. Dr. Tegata set down his pen.

"Very well. Rosinante, please remove your shirt and lie on the table."

Rosinante hesitated. His hands went to the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

The bruises were everywhere. Across his collarbones. Down his chest.

Dr. Tegata's expression did not change. He had seen worse.

"Lie flat."

Rosinante climbed onto the examination table and lay back. The cold surface made him flinch.

Dr. Tegata’s hands were warm and firm. He pressed deeply into Rosinante's upper abdomen first. Palms flat, fingers pushing through the muscle to feel what lay beneath.

"The upper muscle wall has closed well," Dr. Tegata said. His fingers moved lower. "I'm checking the scar now. Tell me if you feel any sharp pain."

Rosinante nodded.

Dr. Tegata pressed along the ridge of the C-section scar. Raised but pale, the skin smoothing out over time. He felt along both sides, checking the density of the tissue underneath, the way the internal layers had fused.

"Scar tissue is firm. External and internal feel intact." He pressed gently on either side of it. "You've done well with the recovery, Rosinante."

Rosinante exhaled.

“Now I need to check the deep muscle closure. I’m going to press down here.” His fingers pressed firmly below the navel. “Try to lift your shoulders off the table. Just slightly.”

Rosinante strained upward. A pull in his lower abdomen. Uncomfortable, but he breathed through it.

“Good,” Dr. Tegata said. "The core is stable.”

He shifted lower, pressing just beneath the scar on the left side.

Rosinante flinched.

“Does that hurt?” Dr. Tegata asked.

“A little,” Rosinante said, wincing.

Doflamingo’s hand gripped the edge of the table.

Dr. Tegata pressed again, lighter this time, more precise. His brow creased.

“The tissue here is different,” he murmured, more to himself than them.

“Different how?” Doflamingo’s voice snapped.

Dr. Tegata didn’t answer. He pressed a third time, fingers moving in a slow, deliberate circle.

Rosinante sucked in a sharp breath.

“Did something not heal properly?”

Dr. Tegata held up a hand. Reached for his stethoscope.

He pressed the bell of the stethoscope to Rosinante’s lower abdomen.

Listened.

Moved it slightly lower. To the left.

Listened again.

The room stayed very quiet.

Rosinante looked at Doflamingo. Doflamingo looked back, concern crossing his face.

Doflamingo stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing slow circles into the skin.

Dr. Tegata moved the stethoscope again, pressing it more firmly to the left side, low, where the uterine wall was thinnest.

He listened for a long time.

Then he straightened.

Carefully, he wrapped the stethoscope and set it on the tray.

“Give me your wrist,” he said.

Rosinante extended his hand.

Dr. Tegata found the pulse point. Pressed lightly. Adjusted. Pressed again, shifting slightly as if confirming something under the steady beat.

His expression went very still. He held on longer than necessary.

Then he let go.

“Your Majesty,” he said, looking at Doflamingo. “You asked when Rosinante can get pregnant.”

Doflamingo’s hand tightened on Rosinante’s shoulder.

“That question is no longer relevant,” Dr. Tegata said. “There is a second rhythm pulsing. Rosinante is with child.”

Complete, absolute silence.

Rosinante stared at the ceiling.

"What?" he whispered.

"It is early. Approximately three weeks." Dr. Tegata was already writing in his book. "The nausea should begin very soon. Fatigue as well. You will need to increase your intake and reduce physical strain."

Rosinante kept staring at the ceiling. 

Three weeks. It must have been during Doflamingo's party. 

He thought about the past few days. The nausea he had blamed on grief. The sourness in his throat he had attributed to betrayal.

Grief. He thought it was grief.

It probably was. But it was also this.

Doflamingo's hand went to his jaw.

Rosinante looked up.

He was grinning. Wide, almost manic.

Rosalia against his chest, her small hand clutching the pink feathers at his collar. She looked at Doflamingo's wide grin and reached for his mouth.

Rosinante sat up and smacked him on the thigh.

"Doffy," his voice cracked. Tears started forming in his eyes. "I said not yet."

Doflamingo looked down at him.

"Didn't you hear the doctor, Rosinante?" He bounced Rosalia on his chest. She lifted her arms and squealed. "He said three weeks. Not thirty minutes."

Rosinante covered his face with both hands.

Shock. Happiness. Terror. All of it converging. Too much at once.

He dropped his hands and stared at the both of them.

Doflamingo with all his teeth showing. Rosalia's small fingers wrapped around the pink feathers. One of them coming loose in her grip.

The bald spot on Doflamingo's coat growing slightly larger because that was the spot she always chose.

He was going to have another one.

Rosinante's eyes filled again.

Doflamingo's grin softened. He reached out with his free hand to wipe his tears away.

"We did it."

Rosinante stared at him. Then smacked his arm.

"No. You did it."

Then Dr. Tegata cleared his throat.

"Your Majesty." Dr. Tegata’s voice was hesitant. "I must advise caution. The scar is only five months healed. A pregnancy at this stage will place significant strain on Rosinante’s body. The risk of complications is considerable."

Doflamingo's grin faltered. He dropped his hand and turned to look at Dr. Tegata. 

"Rosinante will need to be monitored closely," Dr. Tegata continued. "Bi-weekly examinations. Reduced physical activity. No stress."

Rosinante let out a broken laugh.

"No stress," he echoed, looking straight at Doflamingo.

The restaurant was dim and quiet. A private booth in the back, the noise of the main floor reduced to a distant murmur.

They sat across from each other. Rosalia on Doflamingo's lap, her back propped against his chest, one hand already reaching for the food.

The table was covered.

A soup Rosinante hadn't asked for. A plate of roasted vegetables. Grilled fish. Slices of beef. A small tower of rice. Chicken in a cream sauce. Different types of potatoes.

Rosinante looked at the spread.

"Doffy. This is enough for six people."

"You're eating for two."

"I'm three weeks pregnant. The baby is the size of a seed."

"The doctor said increase your intake." Doflamingo placed a piece of fish on Rosinante's plate. Then vegetables and potatoes. Then a spoonful of rice.

Rosinante stared at his plate. It was overflowing.

"Eat," Doflamingo said.

Rosinante ate. The food was good.

He hadn't realized how hungry he was until the first bite hit his stomach. He hadn’t been eating properly the past few days. Meals slipping, appetite gone.

Doflamingo put more on his plate.

"Enough." Rosinante covered the plate with his hand.

Doflamingo moved his hand and added another spoonful of rice.

"Doffy."

"Finish everything."

Rosinante gave up.

Doflamingo cut a tiny piece of carrot.  Mashed it between his fingers until it was soft. Held it up to Rosalia. She grabbed for it with both hands, and shoved it toward her mouth.

Rosalia gummed the carrot with great concentration. Her face scrunched. Considered. Then opened her mouth for more.

Doflamingo mashed another piece. Offered it to her. She grabbed his finger this time, holding on while she chewed, drool running down his knuckle.

He didn't wipe it off. Just mashed another piece. Then another.

"You like carrots?" Doflamingo asked.

Rosalia kicked her legs in reply and started fussing, reaching across the table towards Rosinante with both arms.

Doflamingo handed her over.

She settled against Rosinante's chest, squirming until she found a comfortable position.

Doflamingo ate in silence for a while. Not watching his food. Watching Rosinante.

"Stop staring at me."

"I'm observing."

Rosinante's ears went warm. He focused on his plate and refused to look up.

Doflamingo's gaze drifted lower.

"There's nothing for you to see yet," Rosinante muttered.

"Yet," Doflamingo repeated. Like the word itself pleased him.

Rosinante shoved a vegetable in his mouth to avoid responding.

Doflamingo reached for the water pitcher. Poured Rosinante a glass.

"I'll notify the kitchen to add ginger to your tea," Doflamingo said. "Drink it throughout the day."

Rosinante shifted Rosalia to his other arm. Didn't say anything.

Doflamingo moved his fork to take a bite before stopping.

"Has it already started?" His voice was careful. "The nausea."

Rosinante looked at his plate.

"I think so," he replied softly. "I felt sick the past few days." He paused. "I thought it was something else."

Doflamingo didn't ask what.

He knew.

His hand moved under the table. Settled on Rosinante's knee and squeezed lightly once.

Rosinante looked down at the hand resting on his knee. Saw the sleeve peek out from under the coat.

No cufflinks.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Later that evening.

Doflamingo stood in front of the mirror adjusting his collar.

Rosinante sat in the chair by the window. Rosalia on the mat beside him, practicing her rolls.

"I'm going to Tesoro's," Doflamingo said. "To return the earring."

Rosinante glanced up. The diamond cufflinks caught the light. A V and a D, gleaming against Doflamingo's wrists.

He swallowed and quickly looked away.

Doflamingo tilted his hand. Made the diamond flash. A faint trace of satisfaction crossed his face.

"Tesoro has good taste."

Another tilt. Another sparkle.

"He enjoys destroying my liver, but he is useful."

Rosinante's head came up sharply.

Tesoro?

Doflamingo frowned at his reaction.

“I won’t be drinking tonight,” he said, checking himself in the mirror one last time before turning to Rosinante. “Not a lot. I have an early appointment tomorrow.”

Rosinante was still staring.

Tesoro.

"The Vespa Development." Doflamingo extended his wrist, letting the cufflink catch the light again.

The V and D glittered.

Rosinante's mouth opened.

"When it launches, you'll attend with me."

He grabbed his coat from the rack. Slipped it on.

Walked over to the mat and leaned down, pressing a kiss to Rosalia's forehead. She blinked up at him, one fist suspended mid-chew.

Then he straightened and leaned down to Rosinante.

A soft kiss on the lips. Brief.

Rosinante barely registered it.

Because Doflamingo was already bending lower.

His lips pressed to Rosinante's stomach through the fabric of his shirt.

He pulled back. Adjusted his collar even though it didn't need adjusting and left.

The door closed behind him.

Rosinante sat in the chair. The soft sounds of Rosalia. The evening light casting shadows through the window.

V and D. Vespa Development.

Tesoro's gift.

A business cufflink.

He had spent a week dying over a business cufflink.