kinemonsodin

Chapter 8

The winter morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting a dim, golden light on the chessboard-patterned floor of Doflamingo’s long, extravagant lounge. The warm ray hit the glass surface of the circular tea table, scattering golden speckles, making the transparent surface gleam.

The sunlight cast a deceptively harmless golden light on Doflamingo’s face, too, painting the tanned skin with a heavenly glow.

Doflamingo’s broad hand remained a steady presence on the surface of your back, leaving you no space to back away or bolt for the bedroom doors.

Doflamingo pulled out a chair for you. Not having enough energy to protest, you sat down, and let him push you into the table smoothly.

Doflamingo sat down on the chair beside yours in a flourish of pink feathers. He ignored the fact your body stiffened once his large, towering body slumped with a heavy sound on the plush purple cushion of the dining chair. Since the table was circular, it ended up with him being close to you again.

You realised too little too late Doflamingo sat on the chair closer to the tall windows, blocking your way to them. Was it in case you tried to jump out into the sea? Did that mean these windows could be opened, unlocked? Most windows on ships during winter were sealed shut to retain heat and hold out against storms. With Doflamingo’s lumbering body, there was no way you could go to the windows to check for a locking mechanism.

The message was clear: You’re not going anywhere.

You swallowed down a thick lump in your throat, the unspoken warning filling you with fear. The large rectangular room of beautiful purple walls with their golden trimmings and mounted candles surrounding you suddenly felt too uncomfortable, too exposing. There was so much natural light in the room thanks to the five tall windows lining the wall. It was lavish, beautiful. Anyone else would feel comfortable and welcomed in it, stare at it in awe. Any other women would swoon over this. But you’d never felt so trapped in a room in your life as you did in this one.

You didn’t want this cage draped in luxury and too big space. You wanted your peaceful house and your large yard with the cabbage garden, free to go wherever you wanted whenever you wanted. You wanted Rosinante.

You never realised such a thing was freedom, and never realised how terrible it was not to have it.

The round table was covered with plates of food; large french toasts topped with avocado, ham and poached eggs paired with a pile of scrambled eggs on the side, a glass of a fruit parfait, and a chilli-mango mimosa.

There was a tall glass filled with a yellow shake that smelled faintly of bananas, peanut butter and oatmeal. You knew what it was, because Rosinante drank the same one in the mornings, and you sometimes made them for him on the recipe he shared with you. It was completed with four scoops of vanilla-flavored whey protein powder and 2% fat milk. It was a shake that held a thousand calories. Rosinante drank two full cups of it with his breakfast every day.

On Doflamingo’s side were two more breakfast meals. A large bowl of oatmeal topped with berries and nuts with a side of cottage cheese, and twenty bagels topped with cream cheese and smoked salmon.

“How did you sleep?” asked Doflamingo, dipping his spoon into the parfait topped with yogurt, fruits and nuts, taking a big spoonful of it.

“All right,” you said. It was a lie, and you were sure Doflamingo knew it, having been woken up by your cries after the nightmare you had.

You followed his lead, picking the french toasts to eat first. Your portion of french toasts were smaller in size and number than his, with butter and honey. They were paired with normal triangle-shaped toast sandwiches with tomatoes, lettuce, ham and melted cheese, with scrambled eggs on the sides. There was a large glass jug of fresh orange juice and a jug of water at the center of the table.

“Mimosa?” Doflamingo asked smoothly. His long fingers pinched the tall spine of the champagne flute, offering it to you. The long transparent neck was miniature in his grip, like a thin stick rather than a lengthy glass shape.

“No, thanks,” you said.

Doflamingo chuckled, clearly amused by your persistence of denying alcohol.

Drinking alcohol this early… you thought, watching Doflamingo take a few gulps of the orange drink. No wonder he’s got anger issues.

A three-tiered cake stand stood at the center of the table, boasting a number of extravagant, luxurious treats that nearly made your jaw drop. You’d only eaten from a three-tiered cake stand when accompanying Rosinante for formal events at Marineford and at the Reverie.

It looked delicious. On the bottom tier were tea sandwiches, lemon meringue tartlets, bechamel croquettes, asparagus galettes with feta cheese, and beef bourguignon tart shells topped with creamy potatoes. The middle plate held scones with jam and cream, chocolate eclairs, pink cupcakes, ginger cakes and marble cakes. The top plate held small pastries and cakes, such as the mouth-watering choux pastries topped with white chocolate, cream puffs filled with vanilla cream, dacquoise, opera cakes, tea biscuits, and petit four glacés.

You didn’t think you’d be able to eat all of the assortment in front of you, not after finishing the rich breakfast. For now, you focused on clearing everything on your breakfast plates. You’d worry about the dessert later.

By the time you finished your first toast sandwich, Doflamingo had completely emptied his glass of parfait, heading onto his own plate of sandwiches and french toasts, scarfing down the mountain of scrambled eggs on his large plate with his spoon, eating the toast sandwiches with his left hand. His sandwiches were a much bigger triangle shape than yours.

You decided not to hurry, eating at your own pace. It didn’t surprise you that Doflamingo’s mouth could hold double the amount of food your own mouth could. He was just like Rosinante. By the time you finished your toast sandwiches and french toasts, Doflamingo had eaten everything on his own plate, leaving it empty, and was giving the same yearning look to your scrambled eggs as he had the souffle yesterday.

“I… can’t finish this.” you said quietly. You slid your plate emptied of toast sandwiches towards him in a silent offer for him to eat the rest, giving him permission. There was an entire load of scrambled eggs there.

Doflamingo beamed like you gave him more of your homemade pancakes. “Fufufu, don’t mind if I do~”

Doflamingo pulled the plate to himself, and started eating.

Something warm fluttered in your belly watching Doflamingo gulf down the scrambled eggs within a few large bites, his cheeks puffing out like a squirrel’s as he chewed. You realised your lips had twitched into a fond, soft smile.

Doflamingo had a few bread crumbs on his left cheek. You fought off the instinct to reach out with your hand and brush them away, used to doing it with Rosinante.

Your smile crumbled.

Doflamingo reached for the teapot. Before you realised, he poured the chamomile tea into your small porcelain cup. The porcelain cup was a simple white china, decorated with golden lines under the rim.

You didn’t stop him. It was too late now. You didn’t want to risk him getting angry like last time when you refused his offer to pour you wine. Especially since you two were alone here.

While Doflamingo poured himself the same tea, you lifted your teacup to your lips. You let the steam waft into your nose. The aroma settled down your nerves. It didn’t smell poisoned. Carefully, you took a sip of the tea. The chamomile tea was warm and pleasant, soothing on your tongue.

“Uh,” you started, gesturing to the little yellow snail sitting on your shoulder. “This snail -”

“It’s yours,” said Doflamingo, giving you that curved, foxish smile of his. He took another sip of his tea.

Your eyes widened. He was giving you a transponder snail? Maybe you could call Wulf with it…

“Don’t get any ideas,” said Doflamingo, leaning back in his chair, chuckling. “It’s programmed to receive and make calls to my transponder snail.” He tapped the blue-orange shell of his cerise transponder snail with his gloved index finger twice. “Not anywhere else, fufufufu!”

Any excitement about receiving the snail evaporated from you.

Then it’s practically useless. you thought, turning your face to the yellow Doflamingo-look-alike snail sitting on your shoulder with a deadpan, unimpressed. The yellow snail didn’t turn to look at you. It was looking at Doflamingo’s cerise snail, which crawled to the tray full of lettuce.

You figured it was hungry.

There was no use in getting frustrated with the innocent creature. It wasn’t like the snail could decide how it was programmed for calls. It seemed friendly and nice enough. The only grudge you should hold was the one against Doflamingo. It isn’t the poor snail’s fault.

Feeling guilty for feeling displeased with the snail for something that wasn’t its fault in the first place, you offered it you palm. It slid off your shoulder, and onto your palm, its slimy, delicate skin gentle on your own. You set it down on the table, letting it crawl off of your hand.

Your snail crawled toward the tray of fresh, green lettuce leaves Doflamingo’s transponder snail was eating from. Doflamingo’s snail didn’t react when your snail joined it, continuing to munch on lettuce leaves in its mouth. Your snail bent down, and took a lettuce leaf into its mouth, starting to eat. They looked like Doflamingo when they ate. It was rather endearing.

“Try some cakes,” said Doflamingo, the suggestion concealing the natural sense of a command of his voice.

You glanced to the three-tiered plate stand full of desserts.

“I’m not hungry,” you said sullenly.

“Come on, don’t be a stick-in-the-mud,” whined Doflamingo light-heartedly, smiling. “Try the cupcakes, at least.”

“They’re flamingo themed,” said Doflamingo teasingly, reaching for the pink treats.

Indeed, they were flamingo-themed. The flamingo fondant sitting atop the cupcake was extremely impressive. The body of the flamingos was made with a pink blob of buttercream, tipped with a tail. The flamingo beaks were white with a black tip, and their eyes were cute, with a black dot in the white blob. Their folded wings were shaped by white buttercream with a layer of pink buttercream overlapping over the white feathers. Another three layers of dark pink buttercream overlapped the light pink feathers, finishing the look. The cupcake was clearly made of vanilla, as the base in the white cupcake liner was a soft yellow.

Doflamingo showed the cupcakes to you like you were a child whose attention needed to be won with colorful food. Next thing you know, he’ll start cooing at you, make chugging noises and tell you to “Say aaaah!”. It was annoying.

All you gave him was a blank, unimpressed, sad look. Doflamingo’s smile crumbled, and he lowered his hand, his lips curling downward into a frown.

“Fine,” said Doflamingo, grunting. His next smile looked forced. “More for me, then.”

You could tell by his tone it wasn’t fine at all, but what were you supposed to do? You couldn’t take another bite of food, not after the conversation you had. Everything was too fresh. You were surprised you managed to keep the food down.

“It’s better that you weren’t at the funeral,” said Doflamingo, devouring the entire flamingo-themed cupcake in one bite: the flamingo head fondant, the buttercream, the entire vanilla body. “You’d die.”

You frowned. You understood what Doflamingo was implying. Your heart may not have been able to survive it. To survive actually seeing Rosinante unmoving and not breathing, to see him sink into the sea of the Marineford Bay.

“I had the right to see him,” you said weakly, voice hoarse. You hated how weak it sounded. You hated how sad and vulnerable it was, breaking on syllables, barely kept from breaking. From sobbing.

“See what, a corpse?” asked Doflamingo with a low, mocking chuckle; your heart sank at the sound.

Doflamingo reached for another cupcake. “It’s better if your last memory of him is him being alive. Trust me. He’d want it like that, the sentimental moron that he was.”

Your heart burned with rage, your eyes narrowing into a frown. You didn’t like how often Doflamingo kept insulting Rosinante for something that made Rosinante so much better than him. Empathy. Softness. Selflessness. Deciding to do the right thing. Helping someone expecting nothing in return.

If you were stronger, faster, you would have reached out and slapped Doflamingo across the face for it. You were getting sick of him disrespecting Rosinante, mocking him every time he spoke about him.

“He could’ve lied,” said Doflamingo, staring at the cupcake between his long fingers. He sounded bitter and disappointed. “I’d believe it for his sake. He could’ve said: Sorry, I was running out of time with Law, so I fed him the Op-Op Fruit. Sorry, I wasn’t comfortable talking. Sorry, I panicked and sent Law to the marines so at least they’d take him in in exchange for my information.”

Doflamingo smiled. The smile held nothing, no joy, no amusement. It was empty, just a meaningless painting to keep the picture the same as always. “What’s another lie in a sea of lies, after all?”

“But he didn’t. He just said: Sorry I lied.” Doflamingo chuckled. “He just couldn’t take the easy way out. He had to stay honorable to the end.”

Rosinante... you thought, emotions whirling inside you. Of course Rosinante didn’t lie. Not in that moment. In that moment, he decided to take off his mask, abandon all the lies, and be honest with his brother. Because he didn’t want to lie anymore, and because by that point, you were sure Rosinante knew there was no point anymore. So he decided that he would die without regrets. That he would die without any lies weighing him down. That there would be no more lies between him and his brother. That he talked to Doflamingo as who he is.

“He confessed everything,” said Doflamingo. His concealed gaze settled on you, the red lenses reflecting you. Doflamingo snorted, scoffing, as though insulted by you being kept a secret from him. “Well... almost everything.”

“I think I spared you the grief,” said Doflamingo confidently, smiling again, dimples forming on his cheeks. “Burials are no fun, you know.”

You didn’t bother with replying. You said your piece about him taking the right of saying goodbye to Rosinante from you. He had no right to decide to spare you from anything. You weren’t going to be a parrot, repeating one sentence all the time because Doflamingo doesn’t listen unless it benefits him.

Doflamingo reached forward to the table, taking his glass of mimosa again, drinking it. You watched the orange liquid slide down the champagne flute of the glass and into his mouth, his thick neck bobbing as he drank.

You were starting to understand why people liked killing people by poisoning their food and drinks. One day being trapped on this godforsaken pink ship with this pink-feathered, cold-hearted bastard and his devoted cult of a crew, you were starting to think of throwing all the honor regarding murder you were raised with by the culture of Marineford into the sea and forcing poison down Doflamingo’s thick, muscular throat.

“You sure you won’t drink yours?” asked Doflamingo, gesturing to your flute glass filled with mimosa.

“No,” you said firmly. Alcohol wasn’t something you wanted to taste anytime soon, for your own health. You didn’t want to risk getting drunk on a pirate ship. Who knew how Doflamingo would use your dulled senses and wrecked body proprioception for his sickening pleasure.

“Okay,” said Doflamingo with an equal amount of firmness. Much to your surprise, he snatched your mimosa glass, tipped it to his lips, and started drinking from it.

Your mouth opened in disbelief. Your voice tried to come out, but you were so appalled by Doflamingo gulping down the mimosa like it was nothing but orange juice that your words refused to form.

Saints. you thought, fighting between disgust and disbelief.

Doflamingo emptied the flute glass, put it down on the table, and exhaled, a fresh, citrusy scent entering the air from his newly scented breath. “Not bad. They need to put more sparkling wine in it next time.”

“It wouldn’t be a mimosa anymore if they did,” you said, watching Doflamingo as he grabbed the rainbow sandwiches off of the first tier plate, loading his plate with a smile.

Glutton through and through. Then again, he needs to eat twice or thrice as much as you, so it wasn’t that surprising.

You decided to take one sandwich, just so you wouldn’t be stuck drinking tea while Doflamingo emptied the entire three-tier plate stand.

You ended up eating one of each, including the pink flamingo cupcakes, which made Doflamingo grin, like he’d won your heart.

“Good, aren’t they?” he asked, confident.

They were. They were delicious. The pink buttercream was made of strawberries, and mixed with the vanilla of the cupcake and the sugary fondant, it was wonderful.

You simply nodded, taking the solid, edible flamingo fondant by the neck carefully and biting into it. It tasted perfect. You got buttercream staining your lips because of the large bite. Doflamingo’s head was turned to you, his face neutral, watching you eat the flamingo in silence, staring at you for so long without his face shifting it made you uneasy.

You licked the buttercream from your lips. Doflamingo let out a growl, a rumbling, dark, low sound.

You flinched, startled by the sound, glancing to him in fright, away from the cupcake in your hand. “What?”

Doflamingo’s lips twisted, forming a downturned line. He turned his face away from you, crossing his left leg over his right knee, the silk of the merlot suit pants shifting with the movement. His tanned forehead furrowed, forming creases on his eyebrow line that defined a frown, two veins outlining visibly on his forehead, intimidating and frightening.

He was frowning and angry. You didn’t even do anything! Did you break another unspoken pirate hierarchy rule and insulted him, like you’d done when you refused to let him pour your drink for you yesterday at lunch?

“Nothing,” he said roughly, voice gruff and low, firmly planting his left thigh over his right. “Just eat.”

You did as told. Doflamingo ended up eating everything else.

“I have another call to make,” said Doflamingo casually. His cerise transponder snail was done eating by now, resting its head atop the shell of your snail, slumped down, clearly asleep.

“I think you’ll like this one,” said Doflamingo. He smiled, which was bad news. That wicked smile promised nothing but trouble and crimes. Whoever he was going to call, it was going to be bad. The heaviness of his focused gaze settled on you as he grinned, exposing his large white teeth, chuckling darkly, like a giddy vulture about to feast. “If he answers, that is.”

Your heart stopped. Your body tensed.

You narrowed your eyes, the choice of words making your heart pound, your stomach clenching nervously. Sweat started gathering on your palms.

“I’m sure you want to confirm he’s alive, too, fufufufu!”

There it is. Right for the throat, delivering the raw words straight at you. There was no more dancing around it. No more avoiding it. A surge of rage and protectiveness filled your chest, boiling through your blood.

Doflamingo smirked. He took his snail away from yours, putting it between the two of you. He lifted the golden receiver, waking up the snail. He typed in the numbers on the number pad, the snail clicking along to each press of a number.

The snail started to ring, signalling the call was making it through. Rosi’s snail that Doflamingo gave him was still alive, receiving the signal.

Of course it was. Rosi definitely gave the snail to Law, so Law could use it. To call for help if he needed it. You doubted Law would call the marines for help. He was too afraid and too scarred to trust the marines. He only trusted Rosi, and maybe Wulf and the Crows by extension because he’d met them before.

Unwillingly, the protective instinct took over you, a reflex rather than something conscious. Your body tensed up, leaning forward slightly. You held your breath, staring at the ringing snail, practically burning a hole into the poor creature with your focused gaze.

“Purupurupuru... purupurupuru...”

Law.

Don’t pick up. you thought, staring hard at the ringing snail, your heart pounding in your ribcage, its rhythm echoing in your throat.

“Purupurupuru... purupurupuru...”

Don’t pick up. you begged.

“Purupurupuru... purupurupuru...”

Don’t pick up. you prayed.

You know it’s him, so no matter what you do, don’t pick up, Law.

“Gachak,” said the snail, and you inhaled sharply, panic seizing you. No. Why did Law pick up? Why?

Maybe he thought you were calling? Oh no. Oh no, no no no...

The silence lingered. Doflamingo let it hold, let it build up, until he broke it after what felt like an eternity and asked, “Law?”

The snail’s expression didn’t change. It remained blank, staring back at Doflamingo without any emotion. No tears, no frown, no scowl, no glare, nothing. You knew exactly how carefully Doflamingo watched the snail, waiting for a reaction, for Rosinante’s snail to mimic whatever expression Law would make, for anything that would prove Law was there on the other side. It didn’t. Which meant Law wasn’t facing the snail. The snail couldn’t see Law, so it couldn’t mimic him. Did Law put a cloth over it to block its eyesight?

A swell of pride bloomed within you through the anxiety, your lips twitching into a smirk. Good job, Law.

“Gachak.” said the snail, and slumped, falling asleep.

Silence, thick and heavy, settled around the room as you processed it. Law ended the call. He hung up.

“Heh,” said Doflamingo, smiling. “Hung up on me.”

Your body exhaled with shaky relief. The tense muscles that had tightened and constricted on your body relaxed, unclenching themselves, your shoulders slumping.

Doflamingo smirked. “Let’s just hope nobody kidnapped him. I’d feel bad for the poor bastards who did that, fufufufu!”

You were too busy processing the incredible relief you felt that Law was, if he was doing this, most likely well and healthy again, to bother listening to Doflamingo. Even his wicked, evil laughter didn’t reach your ears at all.

Tears of relief burned in your eyes. Law, healthy. The possibility nearly made you cry from the immense relief. A joyous smile threatened to form on your face.

“You know, Law gouged out a man’s eyes with his hands once.” said Doflamingo, smiling, breaking you out of the small bit of happiness you felt.

You looked up at Doflamingo, startled. Not because of the casual mention of violence Law showed during his time with the crew — if you lost your family and hometown the way Law had, you’d be digging out people’s eyes bare-handed too with the fuel of hatred — but because of the way he said it. Doflamingo sounded proud.

“I was so proud,” said Doflamingo, smiling from ear to ear. He sighed wistfully, like a proud parent seeing their kid get a full score on an exam, realising how quick the kid had grown up.

You clenched your hands.

“Law will never return to you.”

Your words broke the silence. It was the first time you spoke something regarding Law that wasn’t careful, that wasn’t something Doflamingo knew. Something influenced by your time with the boy. The protectiveness you held for him was starting to leak out. You were tired of Doflamingo talking about Law like Law was a small monster to be used at his command.

Law was not a weapon. Law was a boy. A very hurt, traumatized boy, but still a boy, who had lost all hope of surviving until recently. Beneath that was a sweet boy. A boy who just wanted someone to give him a hug - a real hug - and tell him it would be okay. And you were growing angry at him being talked about otherwise.

Doflamingo sighed sadly, like he pitied you. “I wouldn’t be so sure, (Y/N).”

Doflamingo leaned back in his chair, tipping it back on its hind legs until its front legs floated in the air. He smiled, putting his long legs on the table, unbothered with the risk of falling at one wrong sway. “Law and I are woven of the same cloth. We understand each other.”

“That’s exactly why he won’t come back to you,” you said clearly. “And you’re not the same.”

Law didn’t kill his father. Law didn’t kill his sister. All of that was done by the World Government.

Doflamingo chuckled, entertained. “Law is clever, but he’s still a kid. A little baby chick. He got his wings thanks to my brother, but he doesn’t know how to fly yet. And every baby chick that doesn’t know how to fly…” Slowly, a smile split across his face, demonic and wicked. “...wants to go back to their nest.”

You nearly laughed, but somehow, you managed to hold it down.

Is that what Doflamingo believed? You wanted to tell him he was wrong. You wanted to tell him he was so wrong. You were sure Doflamingo knew that Law was using him just as Doflamingo was using Law. Theirs was a mutually beneficial relationship of mentor and protege, of an owner and a weapon that needed to be mastered. Doflamingo never hugged Law. He never cried for Law. He never offered Law sympathy or empathy, because he thought Law was like him - that Law didn’t need or want it. That such things would be insulting to Law and his strength. All Doflamingo gave a damn about was what use Law would be to him, and consequently decided if he was to have Law truly stay, he had to make sure Law owes him. And what better way to indebt Law to him, to make sure Law gets more loyal, than with saving Law’s life and curing him of his disease?

Law would owe him for life — literally.

Fucking bastard.

“You want to know what I think?” you asked, with more courage and stupidity than reason.

Doflamingo smiled, humming. “Sure.”

You smirked viciously. “I think Law saw.”

I think he saw you kill Rosinante.

The way Doflamingo’s entire body tensed was the most of a reaction — of worry —you’d seen him show. His always-present, curved white smile vanished, disappeared. His mouth formed a flat line.

Seeing Doflamingo's smile disappear was as good as landing a punch on him.

“After all...” You lifted your hand, and put them on your own head. For a moment, your own hand vanished, and it felt like Rosinante’s large hand gently laid itself on your head. “Calm.”

Nothing happened. The world didn’t go quiet around you. When you opened your mouth, and talked, your voice came out. “You know his Devil Fruit now. I’m sure you read its abilities in the Devil Fruit Encyclopedia by now. He can make other people go silent, too.”

“Imagine,” you said, with that continuous emptiness. “He could have made you shut up.”

Doflamingo’s eyebrow line twitched. You knew why. Doflamingo’s words and his laughter were another weapon he used against people. Rendering Doflamingo mute would take away a lot of Doflamingo’s intimidation factor. It’d be like clipping a lion's claws and muzzling him. He’d just be an angry sea king who couldn’t roar or growl. The strings would still be deadly, but at least death would come quietly, not with a mocking, amused, sadistic laugh.

For a moment, Doflamingo didn’t move. Then, he started chuckling. “Fufufu…”

You felt a pit of dread open in your stomach.

Deep, low chuckles shook Doflamingo’s broad shoulders, ruffling the pink feathers of his coat on his shoulders, making them appear like they were dancing. The laughter built up like a storm at sea, and when it came, his laughter was wild, thunderous and loud. His massive mouth opened wide with the sounds that emerged from his chest, white teeth gleaming as he burst out laughing uncontrollably, deep and amused, full of delight.

“FUFUFUFUFUFUFU! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Doflamingo laughed, laughed, and laughed. He continued laughing, unable to physically stop, his entire body jolting with his laughter now.

He put his hand over his stomach, laughing more and more and more, giggling in-between, like he was being tickled. He was laughing so much that when he leaned back in his seat, covering his face with his large hand, the chair was a second from toppling backward, unable to take both his weight and laughter.

Doflamingo turned his laughing body toward you, and got off the chair, facing you, towering tall above you. His long legs started walking toward you.

Doflamingo stumbled, tripping on his feet. His massive, laughing body fell right toward you, enveloping you in the feather-outline of his descending shadow.

You let out a start of a shriek, because Doflamingo was falling right toward you, and if he did, he was going to crush you simply by his size, nevermind the weight.

To think Doflamingo having a laughing fit would turn out to be the biggest physical threat to the people around him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, more on instinct of bracing for impact than anything.

Death by suffocation by Doflamingo’s muscular, massive, heavy body might be something some women want and you’d give a billion berries to switch places with those women right now. At least they’d die happy! You’d die trying to crawl out from under him and gasping for what little breath you could!

Whatever woman got under Doflamingo willingly was braver than Gold Roger on his execution day. You understood the sentiment behind the bliss, truly, just not for Doflamingo.

After all, there were a lot of reasons you fell in love with Rosinante and married him — and not all of them were his wonderful personality and sweetness, though those were certainly the factors that put the methodical ring on you.

But dying from suffocation of Doflamingo's pectorals squishing your face in them instead of Rosinante’s pectorals? Absolutely not. The shame and embarrassment would finish you off before Doflamingo’s pectorals did.

Please, saints, don’t let me die suffocated by my brother-in-law’s pecs! The only pecs I want to die suffocated by are my husband’s! Aaaaah! Heeeelp! Rosiii!

You continued shrieking, even when five seconds definitely passed, and there was not a three meter tall man atop you. You stopped shrieking, carefully peeking your eyes open. You weren’t on the floor. Your back and skull weren’t cracked. You were still sitting on the chair.

You could hear Doflamingo’s laughter all around you, but you didn’t see him, which should have been an impossible feat to accomplish, considering how great of a physical presence he held in any room.

Where the hell is he? Also, there’s something really heavy on your lap…

Something was on your lap. Something big, bigger than a basketball. It was shaking, vibrating on your thighs. It was laughing.

Knees softly landed on the chessboard floor, long legs sprawled across the floor, fully extended.

A large left hand settled on your back, palm spread across the width of the middle, the long fingers holding your body carefully. A right hand the same size - warm and grounding - settled on the right side of your waist, its broad palm resting on the side of your upper thigh, its heat pressing on your skin through the silk barrier between its skin and your own, its thumb extended so far it rested on the top of your thigh, on your lap. The hand holding your thigh with ease, enveloping it. Your breath hitched, your heart leaping while electricity pulsed in your lower belly.

You looked down on your lap, where the shaking large animal was.

A holy figure at your feet lit by the golden rays of the sun at his back and shining on his blond hair, Doflamingo sat beside you on his knees, his head on your lap, his carefree, beaming, smiling face tilted up at you, laughing freely.

The sight took your breath away.

With this sight of him, you started to realize why fate chose him to be birthed a saint.

It was his smile.

Bright and genuine, charming on his handsome face, softening the entire painting of him.

Doflamingo looked completely harmless, angelic, beautiful — like he was painted into being by the softest brushes and colors.

It was his laugh.

Deep and powerful, bright and warm, losing its sharpness and malice when he lost control of himself.

“Fufufufufufufu!”

“Y-You,” gasped Doflamingo up at you through his guffaws, somehow laughing harder, his white teeth gleaming at you. “Shrieked that aloud! HAHAHAHAHA! FUFUFUFUFUFUFU!”

Your breath hitched in terror. No. He was lying. He had to be. Despite the belief he was messing with you, trying to embarrass you, you felt heat rise up your neck, overwhelming your face.

“No, I didn’t!” you said, defensive and high-pitched, willing to die denying it.

“You did!” said Doflamingo loudly, laughing without any mockery in it, the red-orange lenses of his white-framed sunglasses gleaming under the sunlight.

“Please, saints, don’t let me die suffocated by my brother-in-law’s pecs!” he imitated, pitching his voice high, sounding too meek and weird. After you heard his terrible attempt at imitating you, you decided a man like Doflamingo who had such a deep voice should never pitch his voice like that ever again.

Doflamingo remained ignorant of your bafflement at hearing his best attempt to imitate a "girly voice", because imitating you seemed to make it all even more funnier to him.

He laughed impossibly louder, harder, his entire body trembling, muscles jolting with the laugh. “Ahahahaha! That’s hilarious, fufufufufufu! FUFUFUFUFU!”

If you were blushing before, your face was on fire now, crimson as red roses and the merlot color of Doflamingo’s suit.

“Your face!” Doflamingo exclaimed, laughing in utter, sheer delight, a shout rather than a laugh, his face beaming further at your reaction, like he’d won something wonderful by making you so embarrassed, so ashamed, that you wanted to sink into the floor and drown in the sea. “So cute, fufufufufu! Fufufufufufu!”

You covered your burning, flushed face with your hands, horror and shame spreading over your body. You said it aloud!

Doflamingo buried his large face into your stomach, trying to muffle his manic laughter into the black silk of your pajama shirt. His head was large, covering the entire length of your stomach, his chin below your belly button and his forehead slightly below your breasts. The size of him made your breath hitch in further terror, not daring to move with him so close.

Doflamingo’s attempt to quiet his laughter didn’t work. Instead, the laughter grew louder, giddier, more manic, as though being this close to you opened another level of the laughing capabilities of his lungs and gut. His massive mouth opened so wide while he laughed that it covered half of your stomach, his guffaws puffing air into your stomach, caressing across the black silk of your top.

“Ah... haha...” Doflamingo chuckled some more, before the laughter died out, wisping away like a final gong of a drum, lost in the silence. “That’s funny... Fufufu... That would have been... Haha... Really funny.”

Your stomach sunk at the meaning. He was referring to Rosinante being able to shut him up with his Devil Fruit. Which was funny to Doflamingo. No. Not just funny. Hilarious. Doflamingo thought it hilarious.

“You should really… fufufufu… stop making me laugh like this!” Doflamingo giggled more, letting the laughter peter out with more giggles, his massive body continuing to quiver, that sunny, bright smile remaining on his face, making your heart pound.. “I might… fufufufufu…. hehehehe… die laughing… saints, woman... fufufufu! I feel tears in my eyes, fufufu! My stomach hurts, fufufufu!”

Funny. He thought what you said was funny. Not just funny. Hilarious.

You felt hurt. Something inside you hurt. You clenched your teeth, feeling tears start to burn at the corner of your eyes. You blinked them away.

Doflamingo sighed contently against your stomach, the exhale long, the tickle of his breath on the silk reaching the skin beneath, causing a full shiver across your body. The frames of his sunglasses pressed against your torso, his cheek resting on your stomach. He chuckled when he felt you shiver, his right hand covering the entire width of your back, sliding up the black fur of your bathroom robe, caressing your back.

Whatever embarrassment you felt drained out of you, quickly doused by the quicksand of wariness caused by his hands touching you.

You flicked him in the forehead, right in the center.

Doflamingo’s body jolted, his hand leaving your thigh to rub at his forehead with his fingers.

“Hey,” he said sternly, in that deep, commanding voice of his. “My forehead’s not a damn dartboard.”

“Too bad, because I just hit the bulls eye,” you said firmly, smirking down at him as he scowled, insulted. “Fifty points, and the prize is you getting off my lap.”

Doflamingo pursed his lips in the edge of a pout. “You’re the first woman not to want my head on your lap.”

“Probably not the last,” you said, heart racing, determined not to back down. You needed to set some kind of boundaries with Doflamingo, since he seemed intent on not respecting or bothering to think of any you might have, thinking any sort of physical contact is acceptable — allowed. Putting his head on your lap was not something a brother-in-law should do, at all.

“Get off,” you said, annoyed.

“Why would I?” Doflamingo rested his chin atop your upper thighs, rubbing his cheeks between them, making your face flush. He stopped, settling down, satisfied, smirking. “I like it here. Very comfortable. My compliments.”

You huffed.

“For the record,” said Doflamingo, his voice purring against your covered stomach intimately, smooth and deep. “My... pecs... are always available for you, querida.”

He wiggled the space of his skin above his sunglasses suggestively.

You gave him a sour look, definitive of someone who just ate a whole lemon.

“Not interested,” you said dryly, with such lack of warmth it would make any man back off and wane like a wilting flower.

Instead of doing that, Doflamingo chuckled, like he was in on a secret joke.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he crooned teasingly up at you, purring, smirk devious, smug and knowing.

You frowned, confused by his confidence, like he saw you already using his chest as a pillow for your head. Which you did not. You’d remember doing something like that.

“The offer stands,” said Doflamingo with smooth, unhesitating charm. “Whenever you want.”

“Never is a good time,” you replied dryly.

When you glared at him, he chuckled. At last, he leaned his face back, his large hands letting your body go. You felt like you could breathe again, your stomach deflating from the breath it had held.

“Tough one, aren’t you?” he asked, standing up on his long legs. His coat followed after him, the great pink feathers of it lifting from the checkered floor. He went back to his chair, bearing down on it without a care in the world, putting his feet back up on the table, like a carefree king. “Oh well.”

Doflamingo lifted his teacup, and took a few gulps of the tea. 

You enjoyed the little bit of silence while he drank. You took the chance and drank your own tea, not wanting to risk having it go cold. There was nothing worse than drinking cold tea.

“Since you want to talk about underestimating… Aren’t you underestimating how much Rosi meant to Law?” you asked.

“Maybe,” said Doflamingo conversationally, leaning forward, leaning his cheek on his bare hand, turning his face to you, looking completely innocent. “How about you tell me about what they were like with you? What did my brother do to soften Law up, hm?”

You let out a breath of disbelief, your lips unwillingly forming into a sneering smile at the nerve of him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you fratricidal bastard?”

You spit the last two words out with so much hate, venom and anger it surprised you.

A smile slowly curved across Doflamingo’s face. Evil, predatory, an answer in itself. It sent shivers down your spine, turning your blood cold. You felt your stomach drop in horror at the sight of that wicked smile. He looked demonic. Insane. 

Of course he did. He was called a demon for a reason. He liked toying with people, the madman he was. And you were just another toy this madman loved to play with.

Doflamingo chuckled. The evil and darkness in the sound resounded in the room, filling your ears. You could hear your own heartbeat in your head, racing in fear.

“Then, let me ask you a less invasive question,” said Doflamingo smoothly.

Doflamingo scooted down to your height, leaning his face toward your ear. Slowly, carefully, counting your breaths for his own pleasure. Until his cheek nearly brushed yours, his lips hovering over your earlobe. He rested his left arm on the golden framed top of your chair. His scent filled your nostrils, his broad body and feather-covered shoulders blocking your view, the golden, swept-back spikes of his hair teasing at the edge of your vision.

“What do you think our little Law will do when he finds out I’ve got you?” he whispered against your ear, his powerful, deep voice making your body tremble from head to foot on instinct under its presence and command despite your best efforts not to. Your spine quivered visibly.

Your eyes widened. Doflamingo’s smile widened by three more inches. He leaned back from your ear, continuing to carry that demonic, mad smile of all teeth cut across his face without any indication it hurt him to smile so wide.

Your stomach clenched with dread. You knew what Law would want to do. You knew the boy well enough to understand him. That’s why you sent Wulf to find Law. Because Law will want to go to Doflamingo, to try to save you somehow. And you couldn’t have that.

You couldn’t let Rosi’s fight for Law be for nothing. You couldn’t let Rosi to have died for nothing.

You tilted your head up to him, his face towering over yours. You met Doflamingo’s concealed gaze evenly, unflinching in the face of his large, predatory smile.

“He’ll know it’s a trap,” you said firmly, meeting Doflamingo’s concealed gaze evenly, unflinching in the face of his large, predatory smile.

Doflamingo hummed.

“He will,” agreed Doflamingo, unbothered, confident. “But he might come, either way.” 

Doflamingo’s lips stretched farther, revealing the pink gums of his teeth. “To try to 'save' you.”

You clench your teeth, glaring at the grinning devil.

“He won’t,” you repeat, with more belief now, with more firmness. Your heart is pounding in your stomach, chills covering your body. “He won’t try to save me.”

Even if he’d want to, Wulf will stop him. Wulf will keep Law away, by force if he has to. That was why you sent Wulf. He will know what he has to do. He will keep Law away, hide him from both pirates and marines. Even if Law hates you for it, you’ll accept it. As long as Law is safe and free, what happens to you doesn’t matter.

Doflamingo smiled indulgently. “You say I underestimate how important my brother was to Law.”

“I think you underestimate how important you are to Law,” said Doflamingo. His browline furrowed. “Just how I underestimated how important Law was to my brother.”

Doflamingo chuckled. “It’s all a circle.”

“He’ll come,” said Doflamingo confidently. He smiled at you, a knowing smile, like he already knew the entire ending of the game, like he already won. “And then both of you will be mine.”

You glared at him. You didn’t belong to Doflamingo, and neither did Law. You were about to say it, too, consequences be damned until you noticed the soft yellow petals of the primroses in a white vase peeking out from behind the three-tiered cake stand. The sight of them surprised you, momentarily freezing whatever was on your tongue. You stared at the flowers. They were beautiful. The longer you looked at them, the more your anger and hatred dissipated. The longer you watched the softness of the yellow petals, a calmness slowly returned to you.

“Yellow primrose,” said Doflamingo quietly, his voice pulling you out of your daze.

“Your favourite, right?” asked Doflamingo, his curved smile slicing across his face, dangerously charming, its predatory edge gone. The smile almost looked fond. He looked handsome with that smile, like a normal man. “I saw them in the port and thought of you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise at that revelation, whether it was purposeful or not. Had Doflamingo already gone off the ship? While you were sleeping?

Doflamingo lifted his index finger. A string gleamed from it, and arched toward one of the soft, yellow flowers. The next thing you knew, the bloom of the tender primrose was sliced from its steam in a clear, precise cut.

A gasp of terror caught in your lungs.

The same string caught the beheaded blossom, bringing it to Doflamingo’s extended fingers. He took the flower head from underneath with his thumb and index finger. The tender yellow petalled flower looked delicate and vulnerable in his tanned grip. You couldn’t help fearing he would slice through it, ravage it apart with his sharp, deadly strings from the same contact point by which he held the flower.

Doflamingo reached forward, toward you. You froze. You held your breath, your heart racing in your ribs. His fingers touched your hair carefully. With a few tender movements that did not belong to a cruel man like him, Doflamingo tucked the yellow flower into your hair with disgusting, unnerving gentleness.

The suddenness of feeling the flower in your hair made you blink, processing what happened in a state of disbelief.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“There,” whispered Doflamingo, pleased. His index finger settled under your chin, curling under it, and lifted your jaw up with a soft push upward, making you face him. When you looked up at him, making direct eye contact with his sunglasses, a grin split across his face, devastatingly smug and satisfied.

“Prettier than the Flower Hill,” he crooned fondly, his breath warm on your face, his deep voice caressing across your skin like silken threads of strings.

Your throat bobbed with your heavy swallow.

You felt like you were going to throw up. Right there on the chessboard tiles, taint the luxury with your vomit, with your body voicing its fright of Doflamingo in the only way it could.

Doflamingo chuckled wickedly, the sound echoing in your ears like a jingle from hell. His fingers retreated from your face, and he leaned back from you, letting you go.

“You’re wearing black,” he said.

You put your hands protectively around the black bathroom robe, stealthily checking the sash was fastened. After you were assured your pajama-clad body was covered, you managed to find your voice.

“It’s for mourning,” you replied.

Doflamingo hummed without any real interest, simply making conversation for the sake of talking to you. He swayed back and forth on the chair, the sound heightening your nerves. He really couldn’t stay still. “Maybe I should wear a black suit, then.”

“No,” you said quickly, the panic of the thought of Doflamingo matching with you as some sort of twisted game moving your tongue before you knew any better.

“Oh?” asked Doflamingo, intrigued, his lips curling into a curious smile. “Why not? I’ve got a few black winter suits I could wear. The last thing I want is for you to feel lonely, dressed in that gloom and doom color. What sort of brother-in-law would I be if I didn’t support you?”

“The...” you stuttered. Your mind was working at the speed of light, struggling to come up with a reason. Your eyes settled on the merlot fabric of his suit.

“The red suits you,” you babbled out.

Oh, Saints, you can’t believe you said that. It was the only thing, the only excuse, you could come up with in the split second you needed it.

It’s not like you’re mourning, anyway. you thought hatefully, glaring at the smiling devil.

“Is that so?” he murmured, drawling out the words. They hung in the air, heavy and thick. You could feel his gaze on you, focused and calculating.

You looked at his sunglasses, and, hating yourself, nodded.

Doflamingo beamed.

“I do look good in this one, fufufufu! Well, red goes with black. And I am wearing a black dress shirt.” He tapped at the black dress shirt above his double-breasted suit jacket where it stared back at you in its v-shape with his immaculate silken red tie going down the center and disappearing into his suit, flashing you a playful smile. “So we match either way.”

Yaaay. you thought with as much enthusiasm as a woman walking to the gallows.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, pleased, a flirtatious smile on his face.

You blinked, confused. “Huh?”

Doflamingo’s smile widened, turning more boyish and charming somehow. “My suit.”

“I didn’t say that,” you said panically, quickly. “I didn’t say I like it.”

His smile fell, all the cheer evaporating from his face. He looked wounded. He leaned forward, toward you, that same wounded, hurt look on his face, catching you off guard. Too close. So close his nose was an inch from yours. “So you don’t like it?”

You struggled for words. “Uh, no, I... meant... bold colors, uh... suit you.”

The smile returned, blooming once more across his face. With the extreme proximity of his face to yours, you could clearly see the dimples on his cheeks, and the softness of his stretched lips. The smile was too confident and unrepentant, yet no less good-looking. “Oh, they definitely do. I’m a bold man, after all.”

You let out an "uh-huh" as the only sound, muttered out through your taken-aback lungs, your eyes panically trying to look somewhere else except his face with its bright smile without turning your head away. It was impossible. You were stuck staring at Doflamingo’s face.

You could feel your heart beating in your chest. Something strange and ticklish started happening in your stomach. Your fingers were beginning to quiver. Your cheeks were starting to grow warm, your body wanting to get out and run from the extended, awkward face-to-face contact and staring contest.

If it was a staring contest, it was a rather unfair one, considering you didn’t know if Doflamingo blinked because of his polarized sunglasses. You were stuck having a staring contest with your orange-hued reflection in his sunglasses, really.

Doflamingo let out an amused giggle, smiling. He leaned back from you, and you exhaled, the pressure vanishing.

“You’re adorable,” he said, chuckling. “You take me so seriously. It’s cute.”

Maybe you should’ve had that mimosa, after all, just to cool off the heat in your face from the embarrassment you felt.

Doflamingo laughed at you.

“You said port… are we docked somewhere?”

“Just for some short business,” said Doflamingo, not sounding very interested in the topic of sharing the location of the ship with you. “I’ll buy you some more proper clothes on this island, too.”

“Can I go?” you asked.

You paused, realising what you said. The words had simply flown out of your mouth.

Doflamingo hummed. His long, bare fingers traced the rim of the porcelain of his tea cup, mesmerizing as they swirled around the shape.

Then, he smiled — a mean, amused thing. Whatever small hope you had sunk down into the cold triumph of his gleaming white teeth.

“Not unless you want to conduct business with me and the others,” said Doflamingo. “How do you feel about weapons trafficking, little canary?”

You visibly cringed. You may be kidnapped, but you weren’t going to commit any crimes, much less become a pirate. You were a marine’s wife. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you commited a crime.

“No,” you whispered, sinking into your chair, retreating into the plush backrest.

“I thought so,” said Doflamingo, laughing wholeheartedly. “You’re such a goody-two-shoes.”

Doflamingo popped the entire large tart into his mouth.

You watched him eat, the duality of him showing itself once more. Right now, Doflamingo ate without much manners, giddy and salivating for a sweet treat.

“Is this really worth it for you? You’re going to have more marines than Tsuru-san on your tail now.” you said.

“Are you worried about me, querida?” crooned Doflamingo, smiling like a cat who got a lick of the catnip.

“No,” you said, toying absentmindedly with the parfait cup with your spoon. “I just don’t see how any of this is worth it for you.”

Doflamingo paused mid-way of taking the entire toasted sandwich into his large, open maw. He turned toward you, and you felt your stomach drop at the intensity and weight of his gaze despite the sunglasses blocking his eyes.

This time, he didn’t smile.

“You’re my family. It is worth it, (Y/N).”

Each of those words carried weight, and there was no more teasing, no more laughing. He was serious about it.

“Even if I don’t want to be?” you challenged, looking at his sunglasses.

Doflamingo looked at you for a long, tense, silent moment, his face void of emotion, unable to be understood or read through. That look was the worst one. The scariest one. You didn’t know what he was thinking, and he looked ruthless.

Doflamingo hummed, craning his neck backward, exposing his muscular jugular with his handsome jawline. “We’ll always be family.”

Yeah, until I do something that you end up killing me like you killed Rosi. you thought with a twisted sense of humor. You didn’t trust Doflamingo not to hurt you, no matter how much he assured you he had no intention of doing so. It was only a matter of time until he hurt you because you did something that went against him.

At least, after Doflamingo ends up killing you, there won’t be any real family left for him to suffocate with his twisted version of family care. He deserves it. He deserves to be alone. He chose it, all on his own.

Doflamingo doesn’t deserve you, either. He deserves to be alone, to have no real blood family slowing him down. He deserves to be with his chosen family of pirates and criminals.

In the end, when Doflamingo kills you, it will be over.

Doflamingo will be alone. You will be free, and with Rosi.

Doflamingo chuckled. “You’re the one who married my brother knowing about me. You knew you were making me your family by marrying my brother.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest, frowning at the table. “But I never thought I’d meet you or have to deal with you.”

Doflamingo smiled playfully, the smile softening his face. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You decided not to reply to that. You could say so many things to him. Ask him why Rosinante kept you a secret from him, then, if he wanted to introduce you two to each other? It would be a cruel thing to say, and you were better than that. You had to try to be better than that.

You could tell Doflamingo so many things to try to hurt him. To tell him how it is a bad thing that you have to deal with him, how associating with criminals will automatically make people suspicious of you, too. You want to tell him how Rosinante was so ashamed of Doflamingo that he didn’t tell you about having a brother until you two were three months into dating because he was terrified you’d break up with him because his older brother was a pirate. How Rosinante had to work five times harder because he shared a surname with him. How Rosinante considered not having a surname when applying to become a marine, how Sengoku had to reassure a small boy that he didn’t need to be afraid of sharing his surname, that people wouldn’t kill him for it. How, after Doflamingo’s wanted poster was pasted on the walls through Marineford, Rosinante had to lie to almost everyone in Marineford and tell them Donquixote was a common surname in Dressrosa, where he came from. How he had to lie that he and Doflamingo aren’t related. How Sengoku had to lie, too, forge Rosinante’s family tree, all to protect Rosinante. Because who would trust a marine whose older brother was a pirate?

If Doflamingo was the younger among the two brothers, it would be different. Most people would comment about a rebellious, screw-up younger brother, but nothing else. But Doflamingo was the older brother, and people would look to him to gauge Rosinante. Because the older brother becomes the example for how the younger brother might be as a person.

Doflamingo didn’t worry about that, because he was the older brother. He didn’t care how his actions would reflect on Rosinante, how Rosinante would be affected. Doflamingo was the leader of the family. Everything he did rebounded and Rosinante had to deal with it, with the consequences of actions that didn’t belong to him. How ashamed Rosinante told you he felt to be his brother. How heartbroken he was at what Doflamingo was doing, how he was staining the reputation of their family. 

“I’m glad my parents are dead, so they don’t have to see this.” Rosinante had told you one day, when you found him crying over a News Coo. It wasn’t the front page, but somewhere in the middle, a report of an entire town burned to the ground, all its people killed and sliced apart by what seemed a full in-fighting among themselves.

Doflamingo made Rosinante suffer without ever knowing it.

Despite that all, Rosinante still loved him. Because they were brothers. No matter how much Rosinante tried, he could never truly hate Doflamingo.

And no matter how much Doflamingo tried, he can’t hate Rosinante, either. There was no way Doflamingo would kill him. 

At least, that’s what Rosinante told you he believed.

And you wanted to believe that, too. You wanted to believe in Doflamingo, because Rosinante believed in him. You trusted Rosinante’s judgement.

But you knew now, Rosinante was no fool, and never had been. And neither were you, not right now. Love and blood… don’t mean anything to Doflamingo against his own ambitions.

“What are you, then?”  you challenged.

Doflamingo chuckled. He leaned back in his dining chair, swinging back on it, the front legs lifting off the chessboard floorboard. He placed his hands on his stomach, interlacing his fingers atop his suit.

“I’m so many things, though, fufufu! Individuals have many roles. You’re both a wife of a marine and the daughter of marines, but you’re also my sister-in-law.”

“I think you’re forgetting something,” he said, casually, but no less seriously.

“I’m a pirate first,” he said, giving you a wicked smile. “The Demon of North Blue, the worst sea scum you’ll ever meet. Just because I’m sweet on you doesn’t mean I’m sweet to everyone. I don’t care if it’s men, women or children, anyone who tries to get in my way, I’ll kill them.” He pointed the flamingo-themed cupcake he held toward you. “And don’t you forget that, fufufufu!”

Doflamingo stared down at you, grinning ear-to-ear, his smile sadistic and dark, lacking any brightness regardless of how big it was.

You relaxed your spine. Looked back at his face, at his sunglasses. You wondered what sort of look his eyes held. He was prone to being angered quickly, yet without being loud about it. It made his anger all that much more frightening.

You’d seen it a few times — a Donquixote’s anger. Never aimed at you — Rosinante wasn’t like that. You caught it in glimpses, when Rosinante saw his brother in the morning newspaper, or read something in the paper that ticked him off, or was berating a cadet.

Or when he was fighting.

Anger in Rosinante’s eyes, sharp and cutting like a gleaming sword, a hard glare in the brown chestnut of his eyes.

Like a furious god.

Are those the sort of eyes Doflamingo hides behind his sunglasses, except his eyes are always like that? Full of anger, never softening, never mellowing, never calming down? The thought was deeply disturbing; it sickened you. Frightened you.

It would explain why Doflamingo wore sunglasses; to hide his fury from the world, to hide how inhumane and heartless he truly was.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to take it if Doflamingo had the same colour of eyes as Rosinante. To have to stare back at eyes the same colour as your husband’s, but not with the same stare and not on the right man’s face - it was a torturous thought, a thought so terrible you considered impalement a more merciful torture.

You prayed Doflamingo’s eyes were as red as the lenses covering them, or as pink as the feathers adorning his coat. You wouldn’t be able to take it if his eyes were brown like Rosinante’s.

You knew your husband had complex feelings toward his older brother. He shared with you as much as he was comfortable with telling you, and you never pushed him for more information, happy with what he was willing to share.

In truth, since you never met him, and since he was a pirate, Doflamingo felt like a complete stranger to you. A stranger that happened to be your husband’s older brother, but a stranger nonetheless. He was a passing topic in yours and Rosinante’s home, a topic Rosinante didn’t like lingering on very much. Doflamingo was something far away, something not connected to you or your life. Doflamingo was like a far-away relative who you knew of, but never visited or met.

Doflamingo felt like all the other pirates you heard of. Real, breathing, terrifying person, but not remotely close in reach.

Doflamingo smirked, leaned back from you, and bit into the pink cupcake, staining his mouth with pink whipped cream.

“You were a beautiful bride.” he said between bites.

You choke on the piece of sponge cake in your mouth.

“W-What?” you stuttered, coughing.

Doflamingo chewed through the cupcake in his mouth. Pink whipped cream stained the tips of his middle and index finger. He sucked on them, licking away the cream with smacking noises of lip to skin contact, his long pink tongue peeking out a few times. Once he was done, he grinned. “I watched the snail footage of your wedding.”

Much like with the pancakes yesterday, you couldn’t believe what he was saying. It took your mind a few second to process it, to comprehend it, because it sounded so bizarre.

“You… dug through our stuff?”

“Fufufu. Are you angry?”

You frowned. You wondered what else he saw. What other personal things he found.

“Unnerved,” you clarified.

Doflamingo chuckled. “I would’ve worn pink.” When you looked at him curiously, he smiled a devastatingly charming, too broad smile at you. The smile of someone used to taking things away from people. The smile of a man used to sweeping into the wedding and stealing the bride for himself. “If I was the groom, of course. Or the best man. Pink is always welcome on weddings.”

“I don’t like pink,” you said.

“Is that so?” he asked, sounding curious. “Are you saying that just to hurt my feelings?”

You shrugged. “It’s nicer if the pants are pink.”

It was like the brothers chose to be the most extreme types of fashion; Doflamingo a flamboyant style demanding attention, and Rosi’s silly and goofy.

“Have you ever seen a flamingo in person?” asked Doflamingo.

“No,” you said. There were no zoos in Marineford.

Doflamingo leaned his head back in the chair. “My mother had a whole pack of them. She’d always feed them, and when I was old enough, I got to feed them, too. Corazón was always scared of them, though. He fed them maybe once or twice, and then got too scared by how tall they were and hid behind mother while she and I fed them.”

“They’d spread their wings and flap them whenever we came around. Make noises like they were trying to get our attention, and got louder when we approached. They’re probably the most friendly birds I’ve met. Unlike swans.” He smiled, sharp and threatening, lifting the pink glazed cupcake. “Those bastards bite. I got nipped by them a few times as a kid.”

Doflamingo ate the whole cupcake in one bite, licking his lips.

Flamingos were very social birds. They didn’t mind humans. But swans were the kind of birds who protected their territory, and didn’t appreciate strangers getting on it.

“I have a question for you,”  said Doflamingo.

“After I refused the offer to become a warlord, at first, you looked disappointed. But then, you looked relieved.” Casually, Doflamingo leaned forward to you, resting his right cheek on his hand, wearing a deceptively curious smile, his sunglasses gleaming red. “Why?”

Doflamingo watched you like a fox that found an interesting rabbit.

A lump lodged in your throat. He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Your fingers squeezed into your pajama pants. You knew there was little way you would be able to lie with him pressing in on you like this, giving you his full, undivided attention. There was nothing else to be but honest at this moment.

You lifted your head, and looked at him. The intense fierceness and willpower in your eyes made Doflamingo’s smile drop slightly at the corners.

“My freedom means nothing if it comes at the cost of others.” you said. The weight and heaviness of the words was something you didn’t take lightly - you meant every word. “You becoming a warlord and gaining immunity is the most terrible thing that can happen to the marines. If they let you become a warlord, they might as well be spitting on Rosi’s grave.”

“Fufufufu! Except my sweet little brother doesn’t have a grave!” said Doflamingo, leaning back from you, throwing his head back to laugh loudly, like you told a joke. His entire body shook with his uncontrolled chuckles, the pink feathers atop his coat swaying as he cackled. “He’s at the bottom of the seabed. He ended up burning in the end. He, who always set himself on fire! Now that’s ironic, hehehe!”

“And you…” continued Doflamingo between chuckles, “sacrificing yourself in an attempt to keep me from becoming a warlord… You really are a goody two shoes!”

After he was done laughing, Doflamingo leaned towards you.

“Let me tell you the truth, cuñada. Gaining your freedom at the cost of others is the only way you can be truly free.” You narrowed your eyes at him, glaring at his massive smile of large white teeth, his lips stretched extremely far, revealing the pink of his gums. “If you don’t trample on someone’s freedom, they’ll trample on yours, fufufufu!”

Like Doflamingo trampled on yours.

“If me giving up my freedom keeps you from becoming a warlord, that’s fine by me.” you said. “The warlords aren’t our friends. They aren’t the heroes of the people. They don’t listen to anyone but themselves. They’re just monsters fighting off other monsters and protecting their territory. Keeping other pirates from getting a coin from their hoard or getting farther than them in the Grand Line.”

“Heh. Smart woman.” Doflamingo smirked. “Well, don’t worry about it. I’ve got my own plans, anyway.”

“Why would you want to become a warlord?” you asked. You smirked. “Don’t like being chased around like a criminal?”

Doflamingo pulled on a face that was best described as sulking of a spoiled Celestial Dragon who found the entire thing deeply beneath him.

Doflamingo leaned his chin on his fist, leaning forward in his seat. Towards you. Always towards you.

“I suppose you could say that,” he said thoughtfully, chuckling. “The government immunity is one of the reasons... But becoming a warlord has more advantages for me than disadvantages.”

“What about the marines?” you asked.

“What about them?” asked Doflamingo uncaringly, smiling.

You swallowed. The sharp curve of his smile told you you were treading dangerous waters.

“What advantage does it give the marines, or the World Government -” A tick of annoyance twitched across Doflamingo’s forehead at the mention of the latter. “if they make you a warlord?”

Doflamingo beamed, spreading his arms in a grandiose gesture, the painting of an arrogant ruler. “Well, my power, charm and good looks of course, fufufufu!”

He’s avoiding the question.

“If you become a warlord, I’ll jump into the sea naked.” you said, scoffing. “If you become a warlord, I’ll dress in pink for a day.”

“Oh?” asked Doflamingo, intrigued.

You nodded firmly. “I’m so certain you will never become a warlord that if you do, I’ll do the thing I find the most disgusting in the world: I’ll kiss you on the mouth.”

Doflamingo perked up. “On the mouth?”

“On. The. Mouth.” you said, announcing every word.

Doflamingo grinned like Christmas came early. He leaned forward, his face massive against yours, his gleaming white teeth filling your line of sight.

“You willing to bet on it?” Doflamingo asked, sunglasses gleaming.

You stared back at him nervously, more because of how his large face towered over your smaller one, his head twice the size of yours. You felt small, and Doflamingo felt uncomfortably close, his massive body hovering over yours, completely covering it in his bulk. If he moved another inch, his nose would brush your forehead.

You swallowed, stealthily leaning your head back a little to gain some space. Doflamingo’s long arm shot forth, barring you in on the right, his hand settling on the golden framing of the top of your chair. You made a weak, helpless sound. Doflamingo grinned wider.

Your heart jumped into your throat, your body flinching.

You gathered your guts.

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a loud laugh at the sheer arrogance carrying him forward. “I’m so confident I’ll shake you on it. Make it an official deal.”

“Alright,” repeated Doflamingo, offering you his palm for a handshake. “Shake on it.”

You looked from his hand, then up to his smiling face. You didn’t know why he was so confident. No matter what sort of evil plan he had in his head, there was absolutely no way the World Government or Sengoku would ever make him a warlord. He was bluffing.

So why was he smiling like he was waiting to catch you hook, line and sinker?

You wouldn’t back out, though. You were many things, but a coward was not one.

There was no way Doflamingo was ever going to become a warlord.

You ignored your instincts screaming at you not to do it.

Your hand clasped his large one. The two of you shook on it.

You let go, but Doflamingo didn’t. He wrenched on your hand, yanking you closer, until you nearly fell out of your chair. He stared down at you, and licked his lips.

“I hope you put some lipstick on when you kiss me, so it leaves a mark,” he whispered. “Maybe red.”

You flushed beetroot.

“And don’t worry,” he purred, his silken, confident deep voice caressing over your skin, rising goosebumps on your arms. “I’ll make sure it’s enjoyable for you.”

Doflamingo chuckled, amused by your expression. He leaned back from your face, and released your hand from the grip of his large one.

“That reminds me,” said Doflamingo. “I’ve got something for you.”

“If it’s sunglasses, no thank you.”

Doflamingo laughed boisterously at the comment, rising from his chair. He crossed the room in three wide strides, to one of the display cabinets hosting jewels, gold, crystal glasses and varying small treasure chests.

Doflamingo took one of the small treasure chests.

“Not sunglasses,” he said, carrying the small treasure chest to the table. He sat back down with it, put it on his lap, and opened it up, the contents facing him. He started rifling through the inside. You were relieved there was no clinking of metal, which meant there was no gold.

“Found it!” announced Doflamingo victoriously. His blond head of spikes popped out from the wooden cover of the treasure chest, grin stretching from ear to ear, giggling like a child who found a rare candy.

“Here,” he said, extending the item to you.

It was a photograph. As you took it from the loose hold of his thumb and index finger, the tanned, thick tips of Doflamingo’s fingertips touched your thinner fingers. The sudden surge of warmth that inadvertently touched you felt like the heat of touching a bare lightswitch, making your breath hitch, your stomach leaping.

You stared down at the photo. It was a colored photograph of Doflamingo and Rosinante, sitting beside each other on the red couch. Rosinante looked serious, while Doflamingo’s lips were quirked into the beginning of a smirk. You guessed the picture was taken before some meeting.

“It’s too bad the three of us couldn’t take a picture together,” said Doflamingo. “It would have been a nice one.”

You wondered what that picture would be like. Would Rosinante have smiled in that picture? Would he have let himself show his real self in front of Doflamingo, just for that one picture together? Would he reach out and put his large, comforting hand around your waist, keeping a safe embrace on your body, using his tall body as a shield — and a threat to anyone looking at the picture not to hurt you?

Would you need to be a bridge for the brothers to get along? You liked to think that you wouldn’t have to be, if Doflamingo wasn’t a pirate.

“You can keep it if you want. It’s a copy.”

In the picture, Rosinante looked mysterious, cool, and tough. To most people, this picture of him would make them describe him as scary, intimidating.

But you knew Rosinante’s rough, intimidating side. That side of him didn’t frighten you, because he always used that part of himself to protect you. Not a single inch of Rosinante frightened you.

Water 7 was always full of people, both tourists and locals, even this time of the year when you and Rosinante were on your honeymoon. The locals were friendly, kind and welcoming. The only truly narrow streets were the sidewalks beside the water-ways and canals for the Yagara Bulls.

The two of you were strolling one of those narrow streets beside the canals with swimming Yagara Bulls at your back. The street was full of vendors selling all sorts of merchandise ranging from food, clothes, to souvenirs. 

Rosinante stood beside you, dressed in a light blue dress shirt with a cloud pattern along with pure white jeans, your hand lifted upward above you to reach his elbow, your hand curled around his forearm. The two of you decided to look at the souvenirs to pick up for your friends and Rosinante’s crew, as well as Sengoku, Garp and Tsuru. Small, differently colored Yagara Bull statues were lined up along the table in one row. In the row behind were small miniature models of Water 7 with its fountain at the top, the fountain’s water alive and moving. From hangers above hung Water 7 T-shirts, some with Yagara Bulls illustrations. Rosinante was surveying the magnets of Water 7, the paintings of the island, and the postcards with different landmarks of the island on each one. 

Then, you felt it, on your pouch holding quite a few thousand berries in cash for the day. A tug from the bottom.

You felt it mostly because you kept your other hand over its buttoned flap, to keep it from being mugged. It was one of the downsides of wearing a dress — no pockets.

Your breath hitched, a small gasp pulling out of your mouth. Your stomach dropped in fear. Your body froze up.

It happened so fast. You didn’t feel Rosinante move. In fact, his feet and towering, comforting body stayed right beside yours. All you felt after he did move was the grip on your shoulder pouch vanishing instantly, violently — like it was forced away.

It was because Rosinante shoved his long arm forward to roughly push a man in the face with his hand. Momentarily, Rosinante’s large hand completely enveloped the adult man’s face.

The man wasn’t pushed as much as he was hurled backwards by your husband.

The man crashed to the ground, falling on his back on the stone walkway. People scattered away from him, a few gasps going through the crowd.

Rosinante stared down at the attempted mugger with a vicious sneer on his face. He towered over the man sitting on the ground, casting his long, large shadow over him. He looked like a lion staring down at a hyena pup who tried to take a bite of his meal. Many people backed away from Rosinante, the shift from his calm aura to his intimidating, dangerous one frightening them. 

You didn’t back away. You kept by his side, continuing to hold his other arm. You didn’t feel threatened by the shift in the air at all.

“What the hell, man?!” yelled the mugger. “What’s your problem?!”

For a moment, Rosinante said nothing.

Then…

“Scram before I kill you.” Rosinante growled. His naturally deep voice, usually with a soft tone, lost its softness, taking on a deep, dark, dangerous tone. It was firm, commanding. His russet eyes adopted a more reddish tint with his rage, the red lines of his eye veins lining across his white scleras.

The man’s eyes widened, filling with fear. The realization he picked the wrong person to mess with was clearly visible in the way his expression shattered, revealing raw fear. He stumbled up, stuttering out a “S-Sorry, sir!” before running off, pushing through the crowd of tourists and citizens alike.

A small tanned boy with blond, slicked back hair wearing a denim jacket, pants and orange goggles atop his head surged out the crowd. He looked no older than seven years old.

“Don’t think I didn’t see ya tryin’ to mug the pretty lady!” he yelled. He dashing off into a run after the man, pulling rope from his utility belt. “Get back here, pickpocket!”

“What?” said one of the people surrounding you.

“He tried to mug you, miss?”

You tried to speak up, but you couldn’t find your voice yet. Instead, you just nodded.

“He put his hand on her bag,” said Rosinante, glaring at the street where the mugger had run down to. The only reason he let the mugger go and hadn’t chased after him or beat him up here on the street and arrested him was because you were with him, and you two were on your honeymoon. He didn’t want to ruin the enjoyment of the vacation by arresting someone.

“That jerk!” one of the men said.

“Everyone follow Paulie!” another man yelled. “Let’s get that bastard!”

The men chorused in agreement, and took off after the boy, leaving the baffled tourists on the street.

You and Rosinante stared, blinking, baffled by how quickly the citizens of Water 7 surged into action, like they were roused into action by the goggle-wearing boy, Paulie.

“Are you okay?” asked Rosinante, his hands reaching down to your body, large, smooth and comforting on your skin. 

“Yeah,” you said with a slight quiver in your voice. Soon, you smiled gently at him. “Thank you. Mr. Marine.”

Rosinante blushed, but soon, he beamed at you.

“Does this usually happen?” Rosinante asked the vendor.

“Every day. We locals handle our own problems here,” said the vendor, smiling with a sense of pride. 

Rosinante nodded. You pulled on his hand, and when he leaned down to check on you, you captured his mouth in a kiss, soft and gentle. Rosinante took a moment to get over his shock, but his hands soon settled on your waist, enveloping your body completely in his large palms, kissing you back.

You didn’t care that you were in a crowd of people. He was yours, and you wanted everyone to know it. Your husband, your marine, your hero. Yours.

And you were so happy to be his.

When you two parted, you smiled, grabbed Rosinante by the palm, tugged him, and said, “Let’s go.”

Rosinante stumbled after you on his long legs. “Eh? (Y/N)? But… weren’t we going to buy souvenirs?”

“We can do it later,” you said, pulling his hand along. Right now, you wanted something else.

Rosinante gasped, a blush blooming on his cheeks. “You’ve got the look!”

“What look?” you asked innocently, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt, giddy excitement covering your skin.

“Y-You know!” stuttered Rosinante, handsome face blushing further as you led him down the street happily, the souvenirs forgotten. “The Look!”

You continued smiling, casting your eyes around as you walked in search of a narrow alleyway where nobody would look twice into. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rosi. I just want to show my appreciation to my sweet, strong husband for protecting me.”

Rosinante croaked like a frog put in boiling hot water. “We’re in public!”

“You act as if we hadn’t done it in public before,” you said, smiling flirtatiously. “Good thing you can make everything silent.”

Rosinante started to argue in an attempt to defend himself, stumbling over his own words, mostly because he couldn’t deny it. The two of you had snuck out a few times away from your friends to have sex in the backroom of a bar, and a few times across one of empty offices in Marineford. 

Steam came out of Rosinante’s ears, his hand scorching hot against yours. 

At last, you found an alleyway that was clean, narrow but good enough to fit the two of you, and when going a few meters in, shadowed and far enough for the people passing by not to see you two. You pulled Rosinante into it. He followed you for a few meters before you both came to a stop. 

By now, Rosinante’s shyness was slowly evaporating, and he gave you a heated, half-lidded look that made butterflies fly and flutter in your belly, a heat rising to your own face.

Rosinante snapped his fingers, and said, “Silent.”

The moment the barrier of silence was put up, you pulled Rosinante down by the lower half of his blue shirt, catching his lips in yours as he bent his spine over you to kiss you fully. You sighed happily, smiling into the kiss, fully content. Your fingers found his hair, burying themselves in the thick softness. His large hand carefully cradled your head, his fingers in your hair, his thumb resting under your chin.

Your hand trailed up the front of his upper thigh, settled on the center of his groin, and gave him a complimentary squeeze.

Rosinante groaned deeply, his hips bucking into your palm on instinct. His face was flushed, his bangs in disarray. The two of you parted, lips moist, gazes heated, faces flushed. 

“Bend your knees a little,” you whispered.

Rosinante murmured your name, not unsure, but considerate. 

“Please, Rosi,” you asked, meeting his breathtaking gaze. “I want it.”

The hesitation vanished from your husband.

Despite his show of trying not to do inappropriate things in public, Rosinante bent his knees, lowering himself until you were face to face with his groin, covered by his white pants.

You smiled, and licked your lips. You reached up, and unbuckled Rosinante’s belt.

“You two look cool,” you murmured.

“Fufufufu! I thought you might like it.” said Doflamingo.

“I can keep it?”  you asked, unable to restrain the hope from your voice.

Doflamingo smiled indulgently, looking at you fondly. “Yeah. I’ve got the original, so don’t worry about it.”

You swallowed down your tears, a tiny smile finding its way to your face. “Thank... you...”

Doflamingo hummed in response, continuing to look at you with that soft, endeared look. “You’re welcome.”

You and Doflamingo finished your tea in strangely comfortable silence.

“Thanks for the food,” you said, standing up from the chair. You didn't want to stay alone with Doflamingo a moment longer. Being alone with him always set you on edge. It always made you feel afraid. It always made you want to run.

Doflamingo called your name. You froze stiff. Swallowed.

“You forgot something,” he said, smile sharp. He stood up from his chair, walking over to you.

When you stared at him with no idea what you forgot, he heaved a dramatic sigh, his broad shoulders and chest rising with the movement, the pink feathers of his coat swaying. Then, he tapped his cheek with his tanned finger.

Your eyes widened. Right. You forgot to kiss the cheek of the man who murdered your husband in cold blood. How silly of you, to forget to do it. 

You swallowed again. You knew there was no way out of it. 

You looked up at him, having to crane your neck back all the way to do it: you rather wished he’d stayed sitting rather than gotten up. It would have been easier that way. 

“Could you bend down?” you asked.

Doflamingo smiled pleasantly, like a benevolent king deciding to fulfill his favorite subject’s wish. “Of course.”

Doflamingo bent down, curving his spine down, so his face was merely a few centimetres above yours. Despite half of his height advantage disappearing, he remained tall, towering over you. You got on your tiptoes to reach his face. 

You planted a kiss on his left cheek, making sure to hold the contact and make the smooch a firm one, all to ascertain he doesn’t ask you to do it again because you ‘didn’t put your heart into it’.

You swayed back down, flat on your feet. 

Be happy with one, be happy with one… you prayed, nervousness spreading through you as he stared at you, as you waited what he would do next.

“The other one, too.”  he said, turning his right cheek to you, all smug and confident.

Goddamnit. you thought, inhaling in frustration, your forehead creasing with the built-up emotion. You wanted to scream.

Just get it over with.

You stood on your tiptoes again, and kissed his offered cheek. This one was different. It was short. Quick. A peck of your lips upon his cheek, gone from the surface of his skin as soon as possible.

Doflamingo hummed, pleased. He straightened back up to his full height, clearly satisfied, and walked back to the table with its empty plates.

“If you need anything,” he said, and took your sleeping snail off the table, tossing it to you. You gasped, stumbled forward, barely catching the yellow snail in your palms. You glared at him for tossing the creature so offhandedly. Doflamingo laughed.

“Press number one. That’ll call me.” he said, tapping his own snail.

Doflamingo led you back into his bedroom.

“I’ll come and get you at ten to bring you to Giolla for your fittings,” he said, but you weren’t really listening. He pulled his red sleeve up, checking his leather watch. “That’s in three hours. Relax until then.”

You nodded, hoping he’d leave now.

Doflamingo leaned down to you again, his body suffocating you in its towering presence.

“Good girl,” Doflamingo crooned. His fingers caressed down your arms, his lips exhaling warm, intimate exhales against the skin of your forehead. You shivered. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

Doflamingo pressed a kiss to your forehead, long and warm, the sound of his lips meeting your skin filling the bedroom.

“Have a nice day, cuñada. I’ll see you later.”

Doflamingo marched out of the room, strides large and long, covering the length to the doors in three massive steps, loosening his red tie as he went.

Even Doflamingo’s affection and what ‘softness’ he showed you terrified you. You put on a brave face or a blank face to deal with him, using your hatred for him to shield yourself. Not to show him any fear, because he enjoyed fear. He could use fear. Yet, you couldn’t do it for long. Your forced bravery was cracking already.

The door locked once more, your brother-in-law sealing you back in your comfortable, beautiful prison. Your mask of calm finally fell, and your legs gave out. You sat down on the floor, trembling. Fear and chills ran down your spine.

You exhaled, letting out the scared, shaken sound you’d been holding in all this time. You let out the whimper next, shaking.

Your hands itched for Rosinante’s warmth and comfort, itched to hug him and hold onto him, let his presence, voice, heart and body be your anchor.

But he wasn’t here. He would never be here again. He would never be able to hug you again.

Rosinante crossed a sea you can’t sail through.

You miss Rosinante more than life.

Your chest shakes with the silent sob, your entire body trembling with the hurt of loss.

You took the flower out of your hair. It laid in your palm, bloomed and yellow, the petals the same color as Doflamingo’s hair. Your mouth twisted between something hurt and angry.

You clenched your teeth, glared down at it — something that you loved, now being used against you — and threw your arm back, about to toss it at a wall in all the heartbreak looking at it caused you.

Then, you froze, and lowered your hand.

It wasn’t the flower’s fault. It didn’t deserve to suffer for what it was being used for. Just like it wasn’t a puppet’s fault for what its puppeteer makes it perform with his strings.

You sighed softly, looking down at the flower in your palm again. It was the softest, gentlest thing Doflamingo had given you up until now. It almost felt sweet.

You put the flower on your nightstand. You removed the black sleeping robe Giolla gave you, and put it back on the hangar in your closet.

You buried yourself under the comforter, in the heat of the duvet, hiding your face from the world with the silken, wine red sheet. You closed your eyes, breathed in and out, hoping for it all to end.

Hoping for the nightmare you suddenly lived in to end. For the demon to leave you alone, and for your angel to come back to you.

If I miss you hard enough, won’t you come back?

Isn’t that how magic works, Rosinante?

You fall into slumber, feeling goosebumps on your nape, like there was a string attached to your neck, feeling every pulse of your heartbeat.

Thanks for reading!🩷💖💕🫶🏻 I... did not plan for the breakfast scene to get this long. 🥲I... um... hope you still enjoyed it. 🫶🏻🥹❤️Sorry I kept you guys waiting so long! Also, M&P is officially a year old now! 🎉🥳🎊🍾🥂 Doflamingo & Rosinante (all source I could find was Pinterest so if anyone knows who the artist is, pls let me know!) 🦩SBS Corner 🦩

❀ Regarding Doflamingo’s laughing fit

Doflamingo's natural laugh is the "fufufufu" and it's how he naturally laughs. I made sure to keep that in, not to change to make sure the sound is still the same, but wrote it as "softer" to show he is happily laughing. Thanks to his Japanese VA (Hideyuki Tanaka) you can tell in the anime how Doflamingo feels with each laugh. Happy, sad, frustrated, annoyed, sadistically gleeful, giddy, triumphant, menacing, etc. The only laugh I feel that captures the laugh he does with Reader is the one he laughs when he takes over Dressrosa and people are cheering for him under the sun. Yes, that laugh sounds absolutely insane, but he's happy in that scene. He's on cloud 9 in that scene. It's a happy laugh, just that it "sounds" insane bcs that's just his natural way of laughing so people are so terrified when they hear it that they miss hearing the emotion it carries with it. At least, that's my understanding. I feel the only time before when Doflamingo laughed "happily" and "softly" before as he does with Reader in the breakfast scene (and their meeting when she also makes him bust a gut laughing) was with his blood family. In his childhood scenes, even before his family was attacked, he always looks dissatisfied, which is probably because he was taken away from Mariejois. We never see how he is in Mariejois, but I feel he was happy and giggling and laughing a lot. Laughter has become the #1 way Doflamingo expresses his emotions, be they positive or negative ones. He literally doesn't know how to express his emotions properly, if that makes sense. It's either laughter or anger to express it. It's gonna be a big problem for him regarding his relationship with Reader bcs he needs to be emotionally vulnerable with her but he sees it as weakness. He's trying his best with words. The mere idea of talking about feelings probably terrifies (but also confuses) the shit out of him. Like "I'd rather get crucified again" feel. And no, he won't change his behavior. That's the whole point. ❀ Yes, Doflamingo's 🍆 got hard, that's why he crossed his legs. That's also why as he was leaving Reader at the end of the chapter, he loosened his tie and was in such a hurry - he was in a hurry to go masturbate 🤣

Special Edition Separate Character Interviews (imagine it like Modern Family/The Office interviews)

Doflamingo: I think (Y/N)’s starting to like me. Heh. She can’t fight the real Donquixote charm. 😏

(In a separate room)

Reader: You know, I’ve always tried not to call people psychos. But just having breakfast alone with Doflamingo showed me that I should start using the term more often. What sort of a normal, sane guy who has everything right in his head just breaks out laughing like that and puts his head on the nearest lap pillow he can find?! He’d already be arrested for sexual harrassment! And scaring the shit out of someone! And that laugh... (shivers) He sounded like a demon laughing as he climbed out of hell! It was echoing! (grabs hair and looks down at the floor in terror) I swear to god, it was echoing! I’ll have nightmares about it!

Doflamingo: Her lap was sooo comfortable. And her thighs... absolute heaven. (Narrows his eyes at the interviewer) No, you can't put your head there, I’ll kill you. (Doflamingo sighs wistfully, chuckling) Did you see how she blushed? Absolutely adorable. And I saw how she was looking at me while I was laughing. She thinks I’m handsome, fufufu! Obviously, I am, but I like that she sees it. Took her long enough, fufufu!

Reader: There is something very wrong with him. It freaked me out when he put his head on my lap and just kept laughing? Like, what the hell?! Get your head off my lap, you flamingo freak! That’s Rosi’s spot!

Doflamingo: She’s gonna be cuddling me on her own while awake in no time. This is going great!

Reader: I need him to stay a whole sea away from me. He gives me the creeps. I’ve never felt so uncomfortable in a man’s presence in my life. He makes me so uneasy.

Doflamingo: This is going absolutely amazing! (leans back in his chair, crossing his legs, arrogant and smiling) We’re going to be inseparable by the end of the week, fufufufu!

Reader, looks directly at the camera in despair: Somebody save me.

(END INTERVIEW)

it's been a week since your movie night with suguru, and everything's been normal. until you get home from work at the end of the week.

"i'm home!" you call out, shutting the front door behind you.

no response.

all the lights are off, the house filled with a deafening kind of silence. you check your phone, curious if you somehow missed a text from suguru, saying that he wouldn't be home when you got back from work.

nothing.

so you text him instead, asking where he is.

you wouldn't think much of it except that he's usually a very good communicator, so it's not like him to disappear without saying anything first. but you also don't want to overthink it, something might've just come up at work.

slipping off your shoes, you shrug your coat off as you make your way to the bedroom. the autumn sun has already started to set, casting long shadows across the house, distorting your view as you navigate the fading darkness, flipping on light switch after light switch. you check your phone again after setting your stuff down, taking a seat on the bed to rest your aching feet.

no response.

you send off another text, asking if he's okay.

steadying your breathing, you remind yourself that the odds are everything is just fine. for all you know, his phone is dead and he's on the way home right now. you're in the process of calming down, pushing the inexplicable sense of unease to the back of your mind when you hear it. the soft tap, tap, tap, against the glass windowpane behind you.

you spin quickly, gaze landing on sheer white curtains, rippling gently, clouding the view of the other side, though not enough to miss the outline of… something. someone?

you can feel your heart beat speeding up, thumping in your chest, a pit forming low in your stomach. you swallow loudly, stand gingerly, and make your way to the window. you pull the curtain aside and peek out, but there's nothing. no one.

with trembling hands you reach for your phone. you need to call suguru, you don't want to be alone. or rather, you were starting to feel like you weren't alone.

and just as you're pulling up his contact, a finger hovering over the 'call' button, your phone buzzes. over and over, a call already coming through.

unknown number.

"what the fuck," you breathe, running a hand over your face as you quickly decline the call.

you ring suguru then, but he doesn't pick up. pacing quickly in your room, you run over the recent events in your mind. surely, you're just making things out to be worse than they are. you've been watching too many scary movies lately— you should lay off of them. they're messing with your head.

suguru is fine. he's going to be home soon. his phone is just dead. you didn't see someone outside your window. the door is locked— did you lock the door?

you're practically running out of the room, down the hall, to the front door which is… locked. for the first time since you got home to the empty house you feel like you can take a real breath. everything is fine. you just need to chill out.

you decide to change into some pajamas, adorning a comfy pair of shorts, a soft t-shirt, bra long forgotten. and then you're lounging on the bed, scrolling through streaming site after streaming site to find a movie to watch while you wait for suguru to get home. you settle on something scary (it's fine, really), another classic, nightmare on elm street. just as you hit play, there's a familiar buzzing coming from beside you. another call. you pick it up in a haste, before checking the contact, hoping it's suguru.

"hello? sugu?"

silence.

you pull the phone away from your ear, eyes sliding to glance at the name.

unknown number.

with shaking breaths you bring the device back to your face, lips parting, words dead on your tongue. but your caller is finally speaking.

"don't hang up," the voice commands. it's obviously a man, but you don't know who. it's distorted and staticky, hard to make out.

you feel as though frozen in place, your stomach churning. "who is this?"

"what, you don't wanna talk to me?" it almost sounds like he's upset.

"i don't know who you are."

"tell me your name, i'll tell you mine."

"i don't think so…" you trail off. your mind is turning over memory after memory, idea after idea, as you work to make sense of what's going on. it's all so similar.

"why, you got a boyfriend?" even distorted, you can tell who ever is on the line is teasing you.

your cheeks feel hot, your palms sweaty. the pounding in your chest hasn't slowed and your stomach is still flipping with adrenaline, the apex of your thighs feeling warm. you rub your knees together, chasing a feeling you shouldn't want right now.

"maybe," you start softly, "you wanna take me out on a date?"

a sharp laugh comes through the speaker. "maybe. what are you wearing?"

"mmm, not sure my boyfriend would like if i answered that," you goad.

"so you do have one," he muses, "how 'bout we play a little game then?"

"oh, i'm not sure—" you start.

"come onnn," his voice raises, more excited, pitchier, "you like games don't you?"

you're wary. questioning yourself, questioning how much you really know about what's going on. a twisted part of you wants to indulge, to hear what the mystery man has to say, but you can't ignore the doubt gnawing at you. there's suspicion pooling low in your gut, the kind that keeps your adrenaline pumping and your core hot.

"…what kind of game?"

"oh just a little… cat and mouse," the voice chuckles, "the rules are simple."

within a second, you've already imagined a hundred things he might tell you to do— take off your top, put on a little show in front of the window, maybe slide a hand into your shorts, into your cunt. you're breathing heavy through the line, thighs still rubbing against one another as you wait for him to continue.

"run."

the word rings out loud, gravely, harsh. it takes a minute for you to process it, mind slightly hazy, your thoughts are scattered. but when it clicks, you don't waste another second. phone gripped tight, you jump to your feet. heart rate accelerating, droplets of sweat are forming on your forehead as you make a break for the door. you're hardly looking ahead when you swing it open, throwing yourself through the doorway and straight into a wall.

or, rather, a person.

tall and broad, they're adorned in draping, black robes, a white mask concealing their face.

you scream, sharp and high pitched. eyes wide, you're staring up at the figure like a deer caught in headlights. he cocks his head to the side, looking down at you as you slowly start to retreat back into the room. your heart feels like it's going to jump out of your chest as you scramble in stunned silence to try and figure out who is with you right now.

he follows you in, taking slow, deliberate steps, as he stalks after you.

"s-stop," you rasp, "don't come any closer." you try to sound intimidating, firm, but the minute the words leave your lips you know you've failed. they come out weak, your voice wavering and hands trembling as you hold them out in front of you.

your eyes are darting around the room now, trying to figure out your escape plan when—

"awww, c'mon angel, don't look so scared," the masked man coos, voice low and syrupy. the familiar pet name rolls off his tongue with ease and you freeze. a deep breath rattles your rib cage, your first real one since the phone call.

so that's what this is.

two large hands reach out, gripping your shoulders and spinning you around before giving you a harsh shove. you yelp, tripping over your feet, losing your balance as you fall onto the bed, hands coming out to catch you as you land on all fours.

those same, calloused hands are back on you in an instant, caressing over your hips, pulling them back to meet his own. half-hard bulge rutting against your heat, you bite down on your lip to muffle the noises threatening to escape you. the fingertips digging into your flesh are bruising, his grip is controlling, moving your hips the way he wants to, grinding you back onto him slowly. a restrained whimper falls from your tongue. quiet, meek, but loud enough.

"need something, pretty girl?" suguru's voice is muffled, mask still covering his face.

"mhm," you whine, "need you…"

"yeah? just me?"

you might've been nervous about the edge in his tone, the prodding nature of his question had your mind not already become hazy again, lust and adrenaline clouding your judgment as you mewl a soft 'just you, sugu.'

suguru draws a hand away, bringing it back down quickly, landing a hard smack! on your ass. the force jolts you forward, but he doesn't let you get far, tugging you back against him as his hand rubs soothing circles over the reddening area.

"suguru!" you gasp, voice scandalized, the place between your thighs getting wetter. your skin stings, a dull ache spreading over your rear as suguru tuts down at you.

"didn't seem like that over the phone," he starts slowly, hand smoothing up your spine now. "i heard you, you know—," he continues, slender fingers reaching easily around your throat, wrapping tight. you gasp, sharp and strangled as he squeezes around your windpipe. he pulls you up by your neck, pressing your back into his broad chest. his breath is hot, fanning against your ear as he speaks lowly, "—the way you talked to him. you didn't sound like someone with a boyfriend."

you're pawing at him, fingernails slashing up his veiny forearms, but his grip is unrelenting. your mouth opens and closes rapidly, a cracked, ghost of his name barely making it out as you feel your head grow fuzzy. black is creeping into the edge of your vision when you feel suguru lick a long, slow stripe up the side of your neck, tongue flicking the inside of your ear. he relishes in the way your hips buck forward, backward, like you can't tell if you're trying to get away from him or grind down harder against him.

"if you wanted me to share you, all you had to do was ask," he breathes.

your reach down, about to hit him twice on the leg, your signal that you need to tap out, when his grip loosens, the two of you startled by a loud 'HEY!' from the doorway.

you're craning your neck, trying to see who's there behind suguru, and you catch a glimpse of snowy hair that could only belong to satoru. your boyfriend shifts, giving you a better view through your watery eyes of the taller man. he's standing still, a burner phone in his hand, bottom lip jutted out in a pout as his gaze flickers between you and suguru.

"you said if i helped you i'd get to fuck her," satoru practically whines.

suguru chuckles, a low rumble from deep in his chest. he gives your throat one last squeeze before the hand slides back down, over your chest, down your stomach, into the waistband of your shorts. two lithe fingers prod at your entrance, skin separated from skin by the flimsy, damp fabric of your panties. he hums as he presses against your clothed hole over and over, thinking to himself.

"so wet already," he muses, "not sure i'm ready to give this pretty pussy away…" he glances at satoru, a sly smile gracing his lips, "she's got a real nice mouth though."

satoru crosses over to the bed in 3 long strides, kneeling on the mattress in front of you. suguru's still got a hand on your waist, the other in your pants, playing lazily with your pussy, rubbing you slow over your panties. satoru brings a hand up to your face and grips your jaw gently, tilting your head to look at him. he's got a wide grin gracing his lips, a feral look in his eyes.

"that true, baby?" he asks, squeezing your cheeks, parting your lips for you.

you're hot, chest flushed, blood rushing to your cheeks as you see the look in his eyes. you nod, keeping your gaze locked on his.

"see?" suguru coos, "told you she'd be a good girl for us."

that makes satoru laugh, the sound loud and condescending. his hand moves to pat your cheek a few times before dexterous fingers latch onto the hem of your t-shirt, tugging gently. "let's take this off then, huh?" suguru hums in agreement, hand sliding out of your pants and moving to your arms, guiding them above your head as satoru pulls your top off. "fuck," satoru gasps, "look at you."

you can't help but blush at the extra attention. you'd never even thought satoru would look at you this way, and now that he has, it's almost overwhelming. bright, azure eyes raking over your chest, large hands splayed across your tits already, breath heavy and ragged just from a little touching and looking.

suguru hooks his fingers into your waistband, tugging your shorts down, letting them pool at your knees. you sigh loudly when he pulls your panties aside and slides a finger between your slick folds, the pad of his finger catching on your clit each time he glides forward. satoru's focused on himself now, working to undo his belt, shimmying his pants down and pulling them off quickly.

your eyes widen when he pulls his briefs down and his half hard cock falls out, hanging heavy in his hand. it's long. he's stroking it gently, tugging and twisting languidly as he watches suguru free himself from under the flowing fabric. your eyes slide shut when you feel suguru's hand pull away, his cockhead poking at your entrance now, shaft sliding in your panties, smooth and slick between your puffy lips.

satoru can see it, the flushed, fat tip peeking out between your plush thighs each time suguru's hips push forward. "fuck," he breathes. your eyes flutter open again to meet his, and he looks desperate. lips parted as he gazes down at you, cock achingly hard now, pale pink tip leaking a pearly bead of precum. "bend her over already," he whines, pumping himself faster.

"so impatient," suguru tuts, shaking his head. through the mask you can practically see the patronizing expression on his face, the fake, mocking pout as he looks at his friend.

a thick, clothed arm wraps around your torso, hugging you back into your boyfriend's chest and you jump when you feel the cold, flat side of a blade tap against your leg, "you want our cocks, pretty girl?" suguru asks, dragging the steel teasingly along your thigh.

you shudder, the cold a sharp contrast to the heat coursing through your body. a wave of arousal rushes to your core and you nod fervently in reply, giving him a soft mhmmm.

suguru stills. then presses. soft at first, until he feels you grind down ever so slightly onto his length. then harder, your skin depressing around the blade until red droplets form, trickling down your leg. you gasp at the sharp sting, the burning sensation, the wetness pooling between your thighs seeping down onto suguru's cock.

"what have i told you about using your words?"

satoru's mouth hangs open, awestruck at the sight of you— you're wrapped tight in suguru's arms, pliant and flushed, a sheen of sweat on your forehead and a cock between your thighs. you're panting and grinding despite the crimson staining your skin and fuck, he's never seen anything like it.

"i-i want you both," you rasp, head falling back into the crook of suguru's neck.

he hums, sliding the knife lower, grazing your skin. "better…" he muses, "but—" he presses the blade into you again, breaking skin once more, making you whine, "say please," he commands, voice lower, rougher than before.

satoru swallows loudly, muttering a quick 'holy shit' under his breath.

"please," you mewl, "please, i want both of you, i need you."

you feel suguru shift behind you to pull up the mask, and he brings the knife to his lips, tongue sliding out to lick up the length of the blade, cleaning it, tasting you. you feel his chest rumble as he groans loudly and gives your body a light squeeze before pulling his arm away. "that's my good girl."

and then you're being pushed again. shoulders jolting forward as you fall onto your hands again, now staring straight at satoru's intimidating length. "go on, then," suguru urges, "show him how good your mouth feels."

satoru's staring down at you expectantly, his hands moving to your head as you reach forward timidly, smaller hands wrapping around his cock. your tongue lolls out and you hold the shaft up, licking the underside long and slow from base to tip. fingers dig tighter into your scalp as satoru lets out a loud sigh when your tongue flicks at the slit, lapping up the salty precum.

you gather your spit and let a glob fall onto the head, using your hands to smear it around his length, pumping and twisting like you saw him do.

"yeah, that's it," satoru groans, patting your head lightly. you look up at him, doe eyed, mouth parted slightly as you grip the base and tap the mushroom head against your lips, sticky strings of saliva forming between your lips and his cock with each light slap. "fuckkk, you're so hot, baby."

you open wider, lowering yourself onto him, swirling your tongue around the tip as you take him into your mouth, inch after inch, until you feel him hit the back of your throat. you gag, throat constricting around him and making him moan above you. then you bob your head, pulling up before sinking back down repeatedly, taking him deeper each time.

suguru's still, cock throbbing as he silently watches you sucking the other man's dick. his hands are planted on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. he can see the way you're struggling. breathing heavy through your nose, brows pinched together, eyes looking up at satoru desperately as you try to fit him all in your mouth. he lets you work, lets you suck his friend off over and over until he sees your nose brushing against the hair at satoru's base. he sees satoru moan, head falling back and you're there looking up at him with shining eyes, mouth and throat stuffed full— and only then does suguru move.

he watches the way you shiver when you feel the knife slide against you again, dragging slow up your hip, over the curve of your ass. he slaps the blade lightly against your rear, entranced by the way the fat ripples against the silver. and then he's hooking it under the last piece of clothing adorning your body, slicing through the fabric with one fluid motion.

you whine around satoru, unable to protest when the elastic snaps back against your skin before your panties crumple onto the mattress— you really liked that pair.

but you don't have time to mourn the loss because suguru's already lining himself up with your cunt. cock coated in your slick, he rubs himself over your slit a few times, teasing you. your brows furrow and he laughs lowly at you wiggling your hips in frustration, unable to say anything. he pushes his hips forward, breathing heavy as he watches the way your glistening lips part for him to slide in and you both moan when the tip finally pushes inside.

"always so tight," he grits, "let me in, angel."

you whine in response, vibrations in your throat making satoru groan, his hips bucking forward. "sh-shit, sorry."

"s'alright. you can be a little rough with her," suguru reassures him, "just give her some air if she taps you twice on the leg."

satoru looks down at you, meeting your gaze and you moan up at him. that's enough for him. he doesn't waste another second before holding your head still, pulling his hips back, dragging his cock slowly out of your mouth until both men's tips are resting in each hole. and like they planned it, they snap their hips forward, filling you to the brim at once. your eyes clamp shut, a loud whimper sounding from you as your hands fly to satoru's thighs, nails digging into his skin.

suguru reaches forward, grabbing satoru's chin in his hand and tugging him close.

"open up, pretty boy."

pink lips parting, tongue poking out, satoru obeys without hesitation. suguru lets his saliva pool in his mouth before spitting directly into satoru’s.

"swallow it." he watches, humming with approval as his friend does as he says, mouth closing, throat bobbing. suguru's hand moves to perch on satoru's nape before tugging him forward, closing the gap between them. their lips meet over your body, the closeness pushing them each further into your mouth and cunt, making you whimper.

you can't see them, but you can hear them. the wet, sloppy sound of their kisses, of their tongues slipping into each others mouths, of them moaning as they each rut into you. they pull apart reluctantly, chests heaving and cheeks flushed, so they can focus on you, focus on their own releases.

you can feel both lips drooling around their cocks, saliva and slick seeping out from each hole. you flatten your tongue, gagging and sputtering around satoru as he thrusts faster. spit trickles out the corners of your mouth and tears prick your eyes as he bullies the back of your throat. all you can do is keep breathing through your nose, whimpering and moaning around him as suguru fucks you hard and deep. his hips are smacking against you, your ass jiggling with each thrust, your pussy sloshing and clenching down around him.

satoru's already lost in the feeling of your hot mouth, your slippery tongue sliding against the underside of his shaft, the way your throat tightens when he hits the back. he's whimpering, babbling on and on about how well you're sucking his cock, how good your mouth feels, how right suguru was.

"told you— fuck, angel— told you she's good at it," suguru groans, "so perfect for us."

you arch your back as much as you can, pushing yourself back onto suguru, moaning loud when he hits that soft, spongy spot inside you that makes you keen. and he's relentless, knowing he's got you in that perfect position now, a hand splayed on your lower back to keep you in that arch so he can fuck into that spot over and over. they're in sync with their thrusts, filling you up together, keeping you loud and messy, leaking around them.

you hollow your cheeks, sucking satoru in tighter, your mind starting to feel hazy as your pleasure builds. you want to make them feel good— you want them to use you to feel good.

"fuck yeah," satoru grunts, "keep suckin' me like that, baby."

"doing s-so ngh good, taking our cocks so well— shit." suguru can feel his composure slipping, onyx strands sticking to the back of his neck, mask slipping back down. the heat inside the costume is stifling, the humidity from his own panting making it harder to breathe, and that only makes his cock ache more.

"god, i'm so close." satoru's whining, voice cracking, his hips falling out of rhythm. "gonna cum down your throat—" you whimper, squeezing his legs, looking up at him through watery eyes as you silently urge him to cum inside your mouth. and that look in your eyes does him in. pure, unfiltered need. "f-fuck!" he shouts.

he pushes himself inside, as deep as he can, hands holding your head down onto him. your nose is buried in his hair, the smell of sweat and sex filling your nose as hot, salty release spills into your throat. you swallow loudly around him, determined not to waste a drop, each bob of your throat milking him for all he's worth.

"sh-shit yeah— swallow it all baby," he rasps.

suguru slows, letting you have a moment to breathe as satoru pulls out of your mouth with a soft pop! you're both panting before him, exhausted and out of breath. sweaty and spent, your eyes flutter shut as you let your head fall onto the mattress.

but suguru’s not done with you.

pace accelerating again, he ruts into you without abandon. knife discarded onto the floor, both hands are now gripping your hips, pulling them back onto him with each thrust.

"f-fuck! sugu haah oh my god!"

"missed that pretty voice," he grunts.

he loves when you're like this. haven't even cum yet and you're all fucked out, gummy walls clamping around him as you moan and writhe.

"suguru, suguru, sugu— fuck, fuck—" you're whining loudly, hands now gripping the sheets, unable to focus on anything except the feeling of him stretching you out, splitting you open on his cock.

but suguru's not much better. moaning behind the mask, a symphony of curses and your name falling from his tongue. he can tell you're close, wet slick starting to slosh onto your thighs each time he hits your g-spot, and he's following right behind you.

"c'mon, let go, angel— give satoru a nice show."

that's all the encouragement you need, already having been teetering on the edge of your climax. you cry out his name, loud and unabashed as you squirt, watery release splashing onto suguru, rivulets running down the insides of your thighs.

"holy fuck," you hear satoru mumble.

you've got your face buried in the sheets, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and arousal, as you lie in a daze.

suguru's thrusts are sloppy, his grunts getting deeper, raspier. he's digging his nails into the fat of your ass, spreading your cheeks as he lets his head fall back, eyes sliding shut to focus only on the feeling of you. with one last motion he sheathes himself inside you, whole body shuddering, a small whimper falling from his lips as sticky ropes of cum shoot inside you, coating your walls.

"fuuuck," he groans, pulling out slowly. he watches the way your cunt pulses around nothing, pushing his spend out of your hole, white seed dribbling down the front of your pussy.

your eyes slide open, vision hazy as you let the rest of your body collapse onto the bed.

satoru's sitting ahead of you, back against the headboard, already hard cock in his hand again, stroking himself. "so… round two?"

you huff out a laugh, shaking your head.

"looks like she's tapped out," suguru says from behind you, finally pulling the costume off.

"awww," satoru pouts, "another time then?"

suguru pats your ass lightly, "what do you think? you wanna do that again sometime, pretty girl?"

you hum, nodding your head with a contented smile on your face.

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