#numancia

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Antonio Guerrero (Spanish, 1777-after 1802) The taking of Numantia, Detail, 1802 Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando

Numantia is an ancient Celtiberian settlement.

[castilestateofmind]

"The Leftward Swastika, which turns vertiginously in a sense contrary to the rotation of the current Earth, is the one which directs the Return to the Origin, by steps, firstly going to Asgard in the mythic Caucasus, then to Shambhala, Agarthi, to the Polar Thule, to the Morning Star".

- Miguel Serrano.

*Celtiberian pottery. Celtic-Numantine Museum of Soria

[cmatain]

Museo Universidad de Navarra (#MUN), esta tarde-noche. #Numancia, de #Cervantes, a cargo de Nao d'amores. #Literatura #SiglodeOro #Teatro https://www.instagram.com/p/Cj88UJ4M4lO/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[elarea]

Viejos pins (49)

Hoy le toca el turno al Club Deportivo Numancia, los “rojillos” de Soria han estado cuatro temporadas en Primera División y su estadio (Los Pajaritos) fue en una época, una dura plaza para los rivales.

[standfucker]

More Than Enough

Extremely belated birthday gift for @nekomacheercaptain, thanks for being a great friend these past few months! Hope it was worth the wait, thanks for your patience!

Characters: Rosinante

Reader: Cis Fem

Word Count: 11,898

CW: fluff, explicit N.SFW content, established relationship, lots of smooches, shy reader, chubby reader, lil bit of soft dom Rosi, body worship, praise, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving,) fingering, vaginal penetration, size difference, size kink, big insertion, belly bulge, slight bit of hurt/comfort, reader does not finish but has a great time so it’s all good

Summary: When Rosinante discovers that your birthday's coming up, he does what he can to make it special.

Ao3 Link

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

Rosinante’s call of your name pulls you out of your thoughts. You blink, now back in reality, and look his way. At this distance, you can see his concerned frown under the red paint, pointed opposite of the harlequin curves.

“Hm? Oh, I’m fine,” you reply quietly.

“You seem distracted.”

His eyes are soft. It’s not something you would ever see around the family. To the outside world, they are cold and aloof, all out of necessity. But the way he looks at you in private–it’s like he’s a completely different person.

All Rosinante had done was comment on the date, and you had gone quiet, a realization setting in that you didn’t know how to feel about. Knowing the stakes as you do, this long after he had divulged his secret to you, it seems trivial. Now that you’re both playing this deadly game of pretend under Doflamingo’s nose, what does it matter?

You play with the hem of your sleeve, thumb sliding across the worn threads for stimulation and comfort, a nervous habit. Rosi’s eyes settle on your busy fingers. He knows it means you’re agitated, you’re pretty sure. He’s frighteningly observant.

“It’s nothing, really,” you try to dismiss, hoping to avoid the conversation altogether.

Rosinante hesitates, unsure if he should pry. He hates making you uncomfortable, but you can tell he wants you to confide in him–he told you as much, after all, those many months ago when he revealed his voice.

“I’ve told you my secret. In exchange, you tell me yours, and we’ll call it even.”

Guilt stirs uncomfortably in your chest. Rosinante had long since earned your trust, hadn’t he? He would probably want to know.

“It’s just… It’s my birthday tomorrow,” you finally admit. “I completely forgot about it, to be honest, until just now when you mentioned the date.”

His reaction is as you feared–shock slowly morphing into excitement, his lips curling up to match the direction of the face paint. He starts to speak.

“We should do somethi–”

“No!” you cut him off, surprising you both. Then you cringe at your outburst, giving him an apologetic look. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know. Birthdays can be a weird time for me. I don’t know that I want to celebrate.”

His face falls. “Oh.”

The disappointment in that little ‘oh’ reinforces the guilt. You try not to overthink it–you’re too tired from the mission Doflamingo assigned you two to let minor stresses pile up now. At least you and Rosinante had finished up early. There were still two more days until you were scheduled to meet the Numancia Flamingo, from which you would be sailing to the next island, only a day’s travel away. 

For now, you took temporary refuge in a recently-abandoned house on the outskirts of town. It meant that for the next 48 hours, neither you nor Rosinante had to pretend. He seemed aware of the shrinking span of time you had left, because he had been touchier since the mission ended, even for him.

“It’s just…” Rosi takes your hand, dwarfing it in his. His thumb sweeps over your knuckles, his go-to gesture when you’re anxious.  “I want to do something for you.”

“I knew you would,” you say, a small smile playing on your lips, because of course he would. He cares fiercely, as you've come to find out, for his loved ones–and somehow, somewhere along the line, you'd become one of them. It’s only natural he’d want to celebrate. And while you don’t know if you have the mental energy for an outing tomorrow, you wonder if you can make a compromise. Indulge him in indulging you.

“Spend time with me?” you suggest. “Just me and you staying in tomorrow, keeping each other company, doing absolutely nothing. That would be more than enough.”

That was what you needed. To relax for a day, to have no expectations, to give your nerves time to come down. Having Rosinante by your side for that seems like a pretty good birthday gift to you.

“You want to do nothing?” he questions, uncertain.

“Yep.” 

Uncertainty turns to thoughtfulness. You know he’s tired, too.

“...I suppose we have earned a break.”

Rosinante holds you close when you go to bed that night, one huge arm across your torso tucking you against his chest like you're a stuffed animal. Your hands come to rest on his arm. He’s solid and warm against your back, bringing a sense of safety you’d never really felt in your life before knowing him.

With privacy among the family nearly impossible to find, you soak in each other’s presence as much as you can in these rare opportunities. He kisses the top of your head before settling, and you squeeze his arm in response.

“I love you,” he says sleepily.

That has you twisting in place, rolling over to face him. Even in the dark, you can clearly see those soft eyes looking down at you fondly.

Why? A part of you wants to ask. But you don’t. There will be plenty of time for doubts once you’re back around his brother. Right now, it’s just you, Rosinante, and the delicate, wild thing that’s bloomed between you this past year. Candid, honest, and trusting. The ‘why’ doesn’t matter.

So you say, “I love you too,” and you look into those adoring eyes of his when you do, to let him know you mean it.

Even as tired as he is, Rosinante’s smile is bright and giddy, more like a schoolboy whose crush held his hand rather than a three-meter tall grown man. He bends down to kiss you, and you stretch to meet him, freeing your arms from between your bodies so you can hold his face to yours.

He's holding you almost too tightly as he falls asleep, but the pressure is soothing, and once he dozes off, his grip loosens. You both tend to move in your sleep, you more so than him, so you’re not surprised to no longer be in contact when you wake the next morning. But when you reach your arm out to the other side of the bed, seeking his warmth, you find that it’s empty.

You sit up, right in time to hear the front door open. On instinct, you get tense, battle-weary nerves anticipating a possible enemy. But then you hear a thump, followed by Rosinante’s yelp, and you know all is well.

As you’d expected, a single night’s sleep wasn’t enough to ease your tension after the stresses of the mission. You’re still tired as you stretch and rise, briefly debating on just going back to sleep but deciding you wouldn’t rest as well without Rosinante there anyway.

You find him in the kitchen. There’s a bag with crumpled take-out boxes on the table, likely smashed during his fall.

“Good morning,” Rosinante says merrily, rubbing a new sore spot on his head. “Happy birthday!”

Right. Your birthday. The momentary blank look on your face makes Rosi chuckle.

“Did you forget again?”

“Um… Maybe?” you say sheepishly, pulling out a chair to plop into.

“Well, I didn’t,” he says, his proud look turning into a slight cringe when he removes the crushed boxes from the bag. He slides one over to you. “Got us breakfast. Should be intact.”

The boxes have the logo of what must be a local diner. Inside is a stack of heart-shaped waffles. Thankfully, being flat, they survived the fall without being ruined. There’s little containers of butter and syrup inside with them, upturned but miraculously still closed.

“Oh, it smells so good!” Your mouth is already watering–restaurant food was always a welcome change from boat food. “Thank you, Corazon! I was so drained from this week, I didn’t even think about what we’d eat today.”

“Sure." He beams at your response, proud of himself again. “We can figure out lunch and dinner later.”

After breakfast, you check on the laundry you had hung up the day prior. Sweat, dirt, blood–not a trace of the mission remains on them. Washing the bloodstains out of clothing by yourself had always felt sinister, like you were covering up your crimes. Doing it next to Rosinante, for some reason, was different. With him, it felt more like a cleansing ritual–sitting side by side, working to return your attire, and by extension, yourselves, to a state of normalcy. Afraid he would get the stain remover into his eyes somehow, you had forcibly taken over for him. After some initial protesting, he acquiesced, sitting you in his lap as you worked, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist.

Everything is dry except for Rosinante’s black feather coat, the thick material still damp to the touch. There are spots along the shoulders where the feathers are scratchy and stiff from having been singed, but the rest is soft. You run your hand over it, then lean in to sniff the garment without really thinking about it. Even having been washed, it still smells like him, a comforting mix of his natural scent and nicotine.

“Is it dry?”

Rosinante’s voice behind you makes you jerk away from the coat, face flushing warm. His goofy smile and the dusting of pink on his cheeks tells you that you’ve been caught.

“N-No, it’s not,” you say quickly. “Might be a while before it is, so try not to get that one dirty again soon…”

Rosinante’s smile widens, playful. “I guess that detergent smells pretty good, doesn’t it?”

The detergent you had on hand last night was unscented. He’s messing with you. 

“Cora…” The heat creeps further up your cheeks.

“All sweet and floral,” he continues.

“Cora.”

“Or is it the cigarette smell you like?”

“Rosinante!” you say firmly.

He rubs the back of his neck, grinning apologetically. “Sorry, love. I’m done.” 

The teasing is relatively new, something he didn’t start doing until you became fully comfortable with each other. You’re not used to it yet. It’s a bit frustrating how easily it gets to you, but you also know that on the rare moments you get the nerve to tease him back, he falls apart worse than you do.

Rosinante starts heading your way, but hesitates at the clotheslines strung across the yard. They’re at chest height to him, perfect to get tangled up in. You shake your head as you take down the last of the dry garments. At least he’s self-aware. (If only it was enough to prevent accidents.) You approach him so he doesn’t have to take the risk, and he holds his arms out, offering to take the clothes off your hands.

Rosinante's blushing when you set the bundle in his arms, and he doesn’t move right away, looking down at you with a bashful grin.

“What is it?” you ask.

“I like when you call me Rosinante.”

It’s not the first time he’s told you that, but you still get a bit flustered, averting your eyes like you haven’t slept together before. The last time he said that, he added, “but it can’t become habit,” concerned that it would potentially give you two away if it slipped out in front of the family.

This time, he must not be worrying about it, because he adds in a lower voice, “I like ‘Rosi’ even better.”

That makes you heat right back up again, and you fidget in place. “I thought you said you were done,” you mutter, poorly suppressing a smile. 

“Ah, that’s right! I’m sorry. You’re just so cute, it’s hard to help.”

You shove your face into the pile of clothes he’s holding to hide the furious blush that must be tinting your skin, muffling your whine. “Rosi…”

“There it is.” He leans over and kisses the back of your head. “Mwah~! Come on, let’s go inside.”

Rosinante insists on folding the laundry, since you did most of the washing. He sits down to work, and you drape yourself against his back, your arms hanging over his shoulders and your face buried into his neck. He’s so tall compared to you that you have to be standing up to do so.

“Aren’t you tired, baby? You don’t wanna sit?” he asks.

“I’m good here,” you mumble, more than content to be close. 

Taking advantage of the fact that your heads are currently level for once, Rosinante turns his head to kiss you, first on your nose, then your cheek, working his way down with soft pecks. Your giggle is cut off when he reaches your lips, his eyes fluttering closed. Responding eagerly, you angle your head for better access, making him hum in satisfaction.

“Don’t let me distract you, Rosi,” you whisper.

“How can I not be when you’re right here?” he whispers back. “Radiant as a star, with none of the family around to disturb your light.”

Given your eye bags and messy hair, you’re not sure where he’s getting ‘radiant,’ but at the same time, you understand–you’ve seen him dirtied, bloodied, and exhausted and still especially found him attractive. But you're not used to such compliments, no matter how often he gives them. The flattery is always overwhelming, because no one's really spoken to you that way before him.

At your doubtful look, Rosinante opens his mouth to add something. You know it's going to be more praise, and you're already blushing, so you shut him up with a kiss, small hands holding his face to pull him right back in.

At some point while he’s folding clothes, you’re suddenly hit by the domesticity of it. In another life, this could be your reality: Mundane. No stakes. No risking your life. Just the day-to-day upkeep that you would share, together. Maybe it’s still possible someday. Maybe, if you’re lucky, this could be your future. You hold him a little tighter at the thought, and his sigh of contentment is like warmth in sound form, melting away doubts and worries.

All that the prior house occupants had left behind in the pantry are an unopened jar of coconut oil, a tin of stale crackers, and some half-empty spice containers, so despite your initial plan to stay in, the two of you decide to go into town for lunch. The weather’s nice for an outing anyway, sunny and temperate with a light breeze. You hold hands as you walk and discuss your plans, settling on getting lunch from a restaurant and then buying some groceries to make dinner yourselves. 

You’ve finished with lunch and are walking to the market when a storefront catches your eye, the rows of transponder snails sitting by the window standing out. They’re arranged in a neat display, though their purpose isn’t immediately obvious, as it doesn’t look like a typical snail-breeding operation. Rosinante encourages your curiosity, and the both of you duck into the store to see what’s going on. The clerk is happy to explain–the snails are actually visual transponder snails available to rent, each one having memorized three films they can project. It’s your first time seeing such a service, and you can’t help but be impressed as you browse the options, each snail resting next to a card with its films listed.

“Three entire films, huh?” you muse, picking up one of the snails and scratching along its shell until it purrs. “That’s pretty impressive. Aren’t you neat, you cute little thing?”

The snail withdraws slightly into its shell, eyestalks still poking out, but it won’t look at you, which makes you giggle. “Aww, Cora, I think it’s shy.”

Rosinante glances at the store clerk, currently a ways away but still within earshot, and then snaps his fingers, creating a small bubble of silence around the two of you. At this point, you recognize the ability when it manifests, though you don’t know why he chose to use it right then, especially so close to a civilian.

“It reminds me of someone,” Rosinante says cheekily, clownish grin stretching when you predictably get flustered. 

So he didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the clerk, but still felt that teasing you was necessary enough to risk being seen using his power? Before you can come up with a clever retort or admonishment, however, he drops the bubble, forcing you to keep it to yourself lest you sound like a crazy person. You try to communicate your disapproval with a pointed look, which promptly fails on account of your blush and only serves to make him chuckle.

After you pick out a snail and continue on your way to the market, you’ve calmed down enough that your stern expression actually comes off as stern.

“I can’t believe you did that,” you chide, “taking such a risk just for the sake of teasing me. Really, Corazon…”

“Well, I won’t be able to once we meet up with the family,” he says casually, “I’m trying to get it all out of my system while I can.”

“Is that even possible for you?” you joke as you side-eye him, knowing full well that Rosinante can be a bit… unhinged, at times.

That harlequin grin returns. “Maybe not, but I don’t think you mind nearly as much as you act like you do.”

There was that keen observation of his again. Sometimes you could be apprehensive over just how well he knew you. But other times, on those long nights where you were stuck deep in your own head, and he would just know without you saying a thing, and he would come to your side and wordlessly hold you close–those times reminded you that this was what trust was supposed to be like. Even if a small, dark part of you kept waiting to be taken advantage of, it never happened.

“Even so,” Rosinante adds, “if it’s too much, you know, just say the word. I’ll stop.”

A sharp swell of gratitude in you threatens to form tears, and you look away from him, taking a deep breath to hold it in. What did you do to deserve him? To show you’re not upset, you squeeze his hand, but he still picks up on your distress, lightly returning the pressure.

“Y/n?” he questions.

“I’m okay.” You compose yourself with another breath and smile up at him. “I love you, Rosi. That’s all.”

Rosinante’s cheeks turn a shade of pink that matches the hearts on his shirt. Then, breaking out into a delighted grin, he picks you right off of the ground in a tight hug. You immediately wrap your arms and legs around him in turn, both of you giggling.

“As hard as the mission was,” you say, “I’m glad it was just us two. I’m glad I don’t have to spend my birthday with anyone else.”

“Me too.” Rosinante kisses your cheek, and you push him away half-heartedly.

“You’ll smear your paint again.”

“So what?”

“We’re trying not to stand out, remember?”

His huffy pout is so childish it makes you giggle again. 

“You’re right…”

After you return to the house and put the groceries away, you spend the next hour or so unwinding from the trip. There’s a bookshelf in the living room with a variety of paperbacks, so you take advantage, each picking out one that looks interesting. Rosinante manages to knock the entire bookshelf over somehow, getting pelted by a small avalanche of books. Once you help put them away, the two of you curl up against each other to read on the rather large couch in the living room, big enough to hold even his bulk. The exhaustion from the previous week still lingers, as you both end up falling asleep, you leaning on his broad chest and soothed by the lullaby drumming of his heartbeat.

When you wake up next, you finally feel refreshed. Coming back to consciousness to the feel of his large body against yours is a soul-deep comfort, one you wish you could enjoy more often. If only you didn’t have to hide your relationship… You idly trace formless shapes on his chest, mulling the thought over like you have hundreds of times before, and he begins to stir.

The slight movement draws your attention. Rosinante had passed out hard enough to drool a bit in his sleep, and as you reach up to wipe it from his chin, he grabs your wrist, pulling your fingers to his lips to kiss them sleepily.

“Rest well?” you ask, smiling.

“Mm. Always do, when I’m with you,” he responds, kissing your palm next.

You sigh. “Cora…”

“Something on your mind?” He lowers your hand so he can fix his marigold eyes on yours, searching and curious.

You hesitate, mustering up the courage to share your thoughts. “I was just thinking… If we revealed to Doffy that we’re seeing each other, maybe we could be close more often. Share quarters instead of sneaking around. We could have this every night…”

Rosinante sits up, shifting you to sit onto his lap. He’s pensive, frowning slightly, the look alone making anxious nerves unsettle your stomach. As always, though, he notices, rubbing soothing circles on your lower back to show he’s not mad.

“I have thought about that,” he says after a minute, “but I want to save that information.”

“Save it?”

“As my brother gains momentum, the stakes only continue to rise, as do the risks we take. If we are ever out doing something conspiratorial against him, and, god forbid, he catches wind of it… I want to be able to use our relationship as an alibi. So I can tell him that we were just trying to hide that we’re dating.“

So that was his plan. Moments like these were a sobering reminder of his true nature–ever the cautious spy, strategically manipulating any and all information available to him. You imagine Doflamingo’s response to hearing that. After years spent in his service, it’s not difficult–you can picture his demonic grin clearly in your mind, and how it would widen upon the revelation. ‘A relationship? Why would you hide such a thing from me, dear brother?’

“He’d question why you went to lengths to hide that.”

“But he knows you,” Rosinante says, wiping the drool from his chin with the back of his hand. “He knows you’re shy, and he’s still under the impression I’m reserved. It might be enough to convince him. On the off chance that it could save us…”

You nod, if a bit reluctantly. “I understand.”

His smile is wistful, at first, before he puts on a more confident front, bending over to press his forehead to yours. “I’ll find ways to be close to you, Y/n. No matter what. Okay?”

“Okay.” You cup his face, mindful not to smear the paint, and he wraps his arms around your back. You both stay like that for a while, like you can combat an uncertain future by figuratively and literally holding onto each other. And maybe it’s just because you’re head-over-heels for him, but sometimes, his embrace feels a lot like hope.

You make dinner for the both of you, outright refusing to let him help, knowing no good can come of him being around open flames or knives. After eating, you set up the video transponder snail, settling on the couch to watch the films. By then, Rosinante’s coat has fully dried, and he lets you curl up in it, more like a massive blanket in comparison to your body. He must get a kick out of seeing you practically drowning in the fabric, because he can’t stop giggling to himself as he tucks it around you.

Having not been familiar with most of the films advertised at the store, you had picked out the snail at random. The first film turns out to be enjoyable, a lighthearted but thrilling espionage flick that Rosinante can’t resist making comments on.

“That’s not how that works…”

“It’s just pretend, Rosi.”

“Still-!”

The both of you are lying down by the time the second film starts, your back to his chest, his hand resting on your hip. You’re not really paying this film much attention, focused more on the soft joys of the present: his scent surrounding you, the heat of his body that you can feel even through the coat, the sense of safety you get from being in proximity.

Rosinante must not be paying attention to the film, either, because after a while, he noses into your hair and breathes in deep. A moment later, his lips press to the back of your neck.

“Mm…” You shift a bit. “Rosi?”

“I know you said you don’t want to celebrate your birthday, but…” He doesn’t pull away from your neck to speak, and you can’t tell if the goosebumps that result come from the tickling of his lips on your skin or his deep baritone in your ear. “Can I make you feel good?”

A pulse of excitement runs through you at the husky intent in his voice, but it’s quickly tempered by doubt. It’s not like you haven’t done it before, but you’re self-conscious regardless, since…

“You know I won’t be able to finish,” you remind him. 

It kills you that because of your issue, Rosinante can’t even do that much for you. He’s well acquainted with your struggle by now, and while it’s never stopped him from seeking this type of closeness, you still feel guilty. But it’s like he can sense your shame, because he kisses the back of your neck again as if to soothe your worries.

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. “So long as you enjoy yourself.”

That swell of gratitude returns in full force, rising in your chest along with such a strong surge of love that it almost hurts. You roll over to face him. He’s already blushing from the proposition, and you feel the heat start to crawl up your own cheeks.

“I love you so much,” you confess. “Yes, Rosi, you can. I… I want it. I want you…”

That giddy schoolboy grin returns for a moment, and then it changes, becoming something far more subdued and adult, his eyes half-lidding as he cradles your face in both hands.

“Then you’ll have me.”

Rosinante kisses you softly at first, pacing himself like he’s committing the feeling to memory. Then you grab onto the open collar of his shirt, and the tug of fabric triggers something in him, arms wrapping around you as he brings a heat that wasn’t present in any of the sweet kisses throughout the day. You can sense the change, his intent seeming to flow directly into your veins from his mouth like venom, burning you up in a good way. He’s measured, even restrained when he swipes his tongue along the seam of your mouth, only for his breath to hitch when you reciprocate, you parting your lips to curl your smaller tongue around his. His resulting moan comes from deep in his gut, stirring heat in yours.

Without breaking the kiss, he lets go of your face in order to peel his coat off of you, tossing it out of the way and swallowing your little noise of protest before his hands are right back on you, pulling you even closer. You reach up to grab the tails of his hat, eagerly pressing your body against his as you return everything he gives you.

Breaking for air lets him get a good look at your face, flushed and panting, and he curses at the sight of his face paint smeared across your swollen lips.

“Fuck, Y/n… Seeing my paint all messy on you–it does things to me,” he admits breathlessly, pupils blown wide.

“I could say the same,” you smile, as his is smudged just as badly. It would look ridiculous if it wasn’t so hot.

Rosinante kisses you again, open-mouthed and passionate. Given that he’s larger in every way, all parts of him proportionate to his height, even his tongue is that much bigger, filling up your mouth when he thrusts it past your lips. You moan around his tongue, and again when his large hands start to roam your body, greedily feeling you up. The tails of his hat aren’t sturdy enough for your liking, so you pull it off his head and bury your fingers directly into his hair, gripping the blond locks tightly enough to make him groan into your mouth. He starts to kiss and nibble along your jaw, muttering huskily in between each one.

“Could smear it elsewhere,” kiss, “could smear it all over you,” nip, “d’you want that, baby girl?”

“Ah! Rosi, y-yes! Please!”

His low chuckle sends a spike of heat between your legs, another one following when he rolls you onto your back, hovering over your form. “There’s my good girl.”

You whimper at the praise as Rosinante kisses his way down your neck, gliding his hands up and down your sides before hooking them under the hem of your shirt. He peels it up with reverence, like he’s unwrapping a long-anticipated gift, slow and methodical. You raise your arms to help him remove it, then undo the clasp of your bra yourself, figuring he’d only struggle with his large fingers. You let him remove your bra the rest of the way, too, knowing he enjoys disrobing you, though feeling a wave of embarrassment at how he sucks in a breath once your breasts are exposed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, awestruck, and you can’t help but cover your face. He always acts like he’s never seen you naked before.

Rosinante pulls your hands away, kisses you with tongue, then replaces your hands where they were, making you giggle. Then he presses his face between your breasts with a muffled sigh, enjoying the feel of your body for a moment before he shifts himself lower, mouth leaving a stripe of red down your front until his head rests on your stomach. His fingers sink into the doughy flesh of your hips, and you tense only for a moment before relaxing.

“You okay, baby?” he checks in.

“Mhm,” you assure him, “feels good.”

By now, you were used to how Rosinante reacted to your body, but the first time you had been intimate, you froze up at his touches.

“It doesn’t bother you?” you had asked him as he kissed your hip, trailing his lips along a stretch mark.

“Hm?” His eyes, glassy with lust, flicked up to meet yours, making you shiver. “Does what?”

“My, um…” Unable to say it, you grabbed your stomach to illustrate your point.

Rosinante followed your gaze down to your hands. There was a beat where he just blinked, unsure of what you meant, before his eyes widened with realization. Then he blushed even deeper. Tentatively, his hands came to rest over yours on your stomach, and then he gently pulled them away so he could lay his head there instead. 

“Silly girl…”

The way he said it, like he was in on something you weren’t, went straight between your legs. He let go of your hands so he could lecherously squeeze at your thighs again.

“You have no idea…” he whispered, and kissed your stomach with the same veneration of one kissing the foot of a revered statue. “...No idea what you do to me.”

Finding out he liked it–once you got over the initial shyness–had been a major confidence booster, even if it veered on overwhelming at times. Rosinante’s size may have made you weak-kneed if you dwelled on it too much, and his hidden gentleness had its draw, of course, but the sexiest thing about him was just how into you he was.

His lips press to your stomach the same way they did that first time together, and thanks to the sheer size of him, the purr in his throat sounds more like a growl.

“You’re so soft, Y/n…” His tongue dips out to taste your skin.

“Ah!” You squirm. “Rosi-!”

Rosinante’s grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place. “Can’t get enough…” He licks his way to the top of your hip, where he starts sucking a bruise that has you whimpering. His hands travel lower to wrap around your thighs, and then, without warning, he suddenly drags you further beneath him, so his head is level with your neck, handling you like the tiny thing you are in comparison. You gasp at how easy it is for him, and again, breathier, when his lips touch your shoulder.

He’s gotten bolder in bed. You would have never imagined it from how cautious he was your first few times together, but Rosinante was keen. This long into your relationship, he’d zeroed in on what you liked–not that you made it all that difficult, reacting rather strongly whenever he manhandled you a little. Sure enough, between that and his earlier kisses, you already feel yourself growing slick.

“Soft,” he repeats, kissing your skin. “Sweet.” His mouth skims along your shoulder until he’s at the curve of your neck. “Like something to be eaten…” He bites into the tender flesh, drawing a moan from you.

“Rosi,” you whine, a little gasp escaping when he starts sucking on the spot. “Mm-! Please! D-Don’t tease me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he mutters, then promptly contradicts his words with another gentle bite.

“Rosi!”

“Sorry, baby girl… Hard to help when it makes you sound like that.” He kisses your neck in apology. “I’ll take care of you, promise...”

True to his word, Rosinante pushes you back up the couch so he’s positioned over your hips this time. The removal of your pants and underwear is treated with the same careful devotion that he did your shirt, savoring the act almost as much as what will follow. He doesn’t hesitate once you’re fully nude, immediately kissing your mons despite the soft curls of hair, then kissing your outer lips, groaning with heady anticipation.

“Spread your legs for me,” he directs, the command making you throb. There's something immensely appealing about knowing he could easily do it himself, but having you do as he says anyway. He sucks his lower lip between his teeth when you comply, entranced by the display. “Oh, good girl, so pretty. I’m so lucky…”

Before you have a chance to react shyly to that, he dips his head and licks a broad stripe from the bottom to the top of your slit, and your back arches at the electric contact, a small cry slipping out.

“So wet for me,” Rosinante moans. “Tell me if you need to stop, okay?”

With that, he dives back in, warming you up with slow, persistent licks, large tongue spread flat against your entire slit. Only a few seconds in and you’re already whimpering and squirming, prompting him to hook his muscular arms around your thighs to hold you still. The strength in his grip is almost as intoxicating as his enthusiasm, all the shrewd composure he’s forced to uphold for his mission gone, not even an afterthought when presented with the opportunity to indulge himself. He’s like a different person when he’s between your legs, usual modesty replaced by something carnal and hungry.

Rosinante eats you out like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance, shameless and thorough, deftly weaving his tongue between the folds of your inner lips before suckling on them. He gives quick, toying flicks of his tongue along your entrance, teasing the idea but not yet penetrating, and you can’t stop yourself from thrusting slightly into his mouth, which makes him tighten his grip on you.

“Oh-! Oh! Rosi!” you whine, unable to escape the blissful onslaught, fingers digging uselessly at the couch.

He’s noisy about it, too, not just because of the wet, messy slurping, but because he won’t stop moaning against your cunt, like he’s on another plane of being. While he claimed to be doing this for you, you suspect, even despite how incredible it feels, that he’s the one getting more out of this. He doesn’t let up for a single moment. You’re not sure how he’s breathing.

From the very start of your sexual relationship, Rosinante has always had a natural aptitude for giving head, and he’s only gotten better with time. He reads your body effortlessly, attentive nature serving him well for the task, knowing when to be consistent and when to switch it up. He’ll lick in one direction for a while, then, right before you become used to it to the point of the pleasure diminishing, he’ll change direction, interspersing with a new sensation that has your toes curling.

Once he’s decided you’re warmed up enough, he starts being more precise, using the tip of his tongue for more pinpoint stimulation in between the steady, rhythmic licks. Then he licks a long stripe from the bottom to the top of your slit again, except this time, he finishes by circling around your engorged clit. You arch deeper, if possible, as you cry out, burying your fingers in his hair and tugging hard, and he moans even louder. There’s a brief pause where he takes a breath–more of a gasp of your name, really–and then he’s buried his face between your legs again, focusing his attention on your clit, flicking and lapping his tongue at it like it’s his goal to get you to pull his hair out. Your noises, your writhing, the slight pain of your grip on his hair, all of it drives Rosinante mad, self-control slipping as he starts to buck his hips into the couch now and then while he goes down on you.

Right as the attention to your clit becomes too much, he snakes his tongue down and finally penetrates you, licking and undulating along your walls. Thrusting as deep as he can go, he curls his tongue to collect your slick at the source before drawing it back into his mouth to swallow it down, groaning depravedly at the taste. He never slows down, either, tongue-fucking you with a drive bordering on obsessive.

You’re almost as noisy as Rosinante is, now, hopeless to stop each shaky little whimper and moan of his name that he so expertly coaxes out of you. With his relentless pace and excellent attention to detail, it’s only a matter of time before it all becomes overstimulating.

“Rosi,” you gasp, tapping his shoulder. “Rosi, it’s too much.”

He looks a complete mess when he lifts his head, hair disheveled, mouth and chin shiny with slick and drool, almost no face paint left on him, likely all smeared on your vulva–you’ll definitely need a shower later. With the color and thickness of his hair, his reluctant look reminds you somewhat of a golden retriever that’s been called by its owner to leave the dog park. 

“Just a little more?” he asks with an innocence that has no place being there after how he just ate you out.

You giggle, both at that and because this was supposed to be about you, but you’re flattered that he can’t help himself when it comes to your body. “Give me a minute to recover, first. Then you can keep going. But slow down a bit when you do, okay?”

He rests his head on your thigh. “Whatever you need, baby girl. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

You lay your head back, catching your breath as you come down. Rosinante busies himself with marking up your inner thighs in the meantime, nibbling and sucking one bruise after another while you stroke his hair appreciatively. Once your nerves have settled, you give him the okay, and he wastes no time getting back to work.

Rosinante adjusts his hold on your thighs and drags your body closer, grinding your cunt right against the flat of his tongue as your fingers find their way into his hair again. He doesn’t stop you from rolling your hips into him, encouraging it with a gratified moan. Pleasure builds back up gradually, only to spike too high when he turns his attention to your clit again.

“Slow, Rosi,” you remind him, and he grunts an affirmative, easing up significantly.

One of his arms unhooks from your thigh, large hand squeezing your rear before he slips it between your bodies. As promised, he moves slowly when he penetrates you with a thick finger, but you still arch from the contact–his fingers are so much bigger than yours, and taking his time means the sensation is drawn out that much longer.

“Oh!” Your gasp is only pleasured, but he checks in anyway.

“This okay?”

“Yesss,” you moan, making him chuckle.

Mindful of your sensitivity, Rosinante pumps his finger at a leisurely, unhurried pace, relishing in each of your twitches and cries.

“What a good girl you are, Y/n,” he praises, then licks along the side of your clit, just once. “Letting me do this to you behind closed doors…” His tongue sweeps over your nub again. “You’re sweet all over, aren’t you, baby?”

He keeps from overstimulating you by breaking up each pass of his tongue with praise, until you don’t know if it’s his mouth or his words that’s making your breath catch in your throat.

“Your moans are so cute.”

“I love how you try to hold back…”

“You don’t need to, Y/n.”

“After all… This is all for me.”

“All mine to see, to hear, to taste. My girl...”

Rosinante curls his finger, and you cry his name. He’s gentle but insistent, sparking little pulses of pleasure through your core. It doesn’t build up much, but you ride it as long as you can, until your enjoyment starts to wane and there’s more friction than you’d like.

“Rosi, I–I need a break,” you tap his shoulder in signal, and he withdraws from you.

“You lasted longer that time,” Rosinante notes, then grabs your thigh and drags you underneath him so he’s at eye level with you again. Despite how he moves you as he pleases, he looks at you like you’re an angel gracing the earth. “You taste so damn good… Want me to show you?” He sticks out his tongue devilishly.

You consent by reaching for his face, pulling him in for a messy kiss that tastes of your slick. He probes his tongue deep, making sure to fill your mouth with the slippery tang. You moan softly in approval, and the thought that you like it turns him on so much he’s bucking slightly again in response. If it wasn’t for the significant height difference, he’d be grinding against you, but with your heads currently level, his hips are below your own.

Rosinante growls into your mouth, hands roaming your body to grab and squeeze as he likes. You can feel the rumble of it in your chest, and along with the dizzying taste of your slick and his covetous groping, you find yourself craving even more of him, like the depth of his need has rubbed off on you. Your hand trails down, reaching for his pants, but alas, he’s too damn tall for you to get any further than his abs. He picks up on it, though.

“You want my cock?” Rosinante whispers huskily, thrusting into the couch again.

“Yes, yes, please, Rosi!” you beg, and he grins at your desperation.

“I thought you needed a break.”

“Don’t be mean! It’s my birthday…” A cheap card to pull, maybe, but you’ll say anything at this point to get what you want.

Rosinante chuckles and kisses you, gently biting your lower lip. “Think it’ll fit this time?”

Even after all of his prior attention, the words pool fresh heat between your legs, an anticipatory shudder running up your spine. “Let’s try?” you ask. “Pretty please?”

“Like I could say no to you.” He kisses you again, groaning when you grind your crotch against his stomach. “Just don’t push yourself if it hurts.”

Rosinante’s eyes glaze over as he watches you hastily unbutton his shirt, taken at your impatience and at how avidly you run your hands down the soft fuzz of his chest once it’s exposed. He’s already undone the button of his pants earlier for some relief from the tightness, and there’s a wet spot on the fabric you don’t miss. He takes enough mercy on you to remove his own bottoms quickly, sliding both off in one motion. His cock springs against his stomach, fully hard and leaking, leaving a smear of precum on his abdomen. Like the rest of him, it’s proportionate to his size, far bigger than anything someone your height was probably meant to take. The length and girth would be more intimidating if it was attached to anyone else, but Rosinante was always mindful of your limits, taking the utmost care anytime you attempted penetration. Still, you can only fight the confines of anatomy so much, and as such, there’s only been a few times that you’ve been able to take him, all of which involved the assistance of lubricant.

Rosinante sits up with his back against the couch, and you eagerly straddle him, scooting forward until your clit’s pressed against the base of his twitching cock. The tip reaches past your navel, promising an incredible stretch if you can manage to fit him.

“Take it nice and slow, okay? Don’t force yourself,” he says as he rests his hands on your hips, helping you position yourself over him. He gasps at your touch when you reach to line him up with your entrance, your fingers not meeting even around the head of his dick.

His energy has changed, all earlier lust now controlled under a tight leash, restrained but brimming beneath the surface. You can feel it in the twitch of his fingers on your hips, and in his shaky breathing as he watches you lower yourself onto him. You both let out a breath when the blunt head of him presses against you. The delicate walls of your entrance are gradually spread wider and wider, stretching to accommodate the intrusion. There’s a dull tinge of pain, one that’s not concerning enough to stop you yet. But despite how wet you are from earlier, it’s still not enough to compensate for his girth, and you find yourself unable to get even the head of his cock fully inside without the friction becoming too painful.

Frustration pushes you to try again. You want him badly, you want to be close in this way, you’ve done it before–you know it’s possible. The resulting pain of your attempt shows in your grimace, making Rosi halt your progress with a firm hold on your hips.

“Baby, stop,” he says, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. “It’s not worth it if it hurts you.”

“I’m so close,” you whine. “I know I can do it.”

“You sure?” His thumb strokes your temple. “Listen to your body, Y/n. If it’s too much, there’s no shame in calling it off for today. We can try again next time.”

You make one more valiant attempt with no luck. Since you’ve taken him before, you have an idea of what to expect when it goes right, and this does not feel like one of those times. It just wasn’t going to happen without lube. Sighing, you dismount, trying not to feel too disappointed. Finishing him with your mouth is a fun option, too, but you were looking forward to riding him…

Then you remember something.

“Wait,” your eyes widen in realization, “the coconut oil.”

“Hm?” He tilts his head cutely.

“There was some left behind in the pantry, remember? I’m pretty sure that’s body-safe…”

Rosinante considers it, then shakes his head. “It’s probably contaminated, or expired.”

“I think it’s still sealed.”

“Is it?” He blinks for a moment, like he can’t believe the luck. Then he jumps to his feet with a hastiness that betrays his excitement, only to slip on nothing and fall hard on his ass. Undeterred, he hops right back to his feet, but is stopped by you grabbing his wrist.

“Nuh-uh, you stay here. I’ll get it,” you assert, picturing him retrieving the jar only to wipe out and let it shatter onto the floor. If that happened you might actually cry.

“I understand,” Rosinante says. You meet each other’s eye and immediately know you’re picturing the same thing, making you both break into giggles. Rosinante pulls you in for a kiss before plopping back down onto the couch, his dick bobbing enticingly from the action. “You gonna stare or you gonna hurry it up, then?”

Caught, you can only flash him a playful grin before you dart into the kitchen. (Wandering through someone else’s home nude always feels a bit awkward, but knowing it’s been abandoned helps ease the discomfort somewhat.) The coconut oil is unrefined, thankfully. Bringing it back to the couch, you scan the label to make sure it’s still in date. The lid is stuck tightly enough to prove it’s still sealed, resisting your attempts to open it until Rosinante twists it off in one easy motion that has you staring at his flexing forearms. He sniffs the contents before offering it to you to inspect. It smells light and faintly sweet, and the pure white color along with the smooth consistency reassures you that it’s safe.

You straddle Rosinante again. He’s so broad your legs don’t reach the couch when you do, but his muscular thighs are sturdy enough that it doesn’t matter. He bites back a whine when you start applying the coconut oil, bucking into your hands.

“Oh, shit. Your hands are so warm,” he moans.

“I’m even warmer on the inside,” you joke.

His chuckle breaks into a gasp when your hand passes over the head of his cock. You keep eye contact while you work, reveling in the flushed, needy way he watches you, this giant of a man now putty in your hands.

“You need–mm, fuck–you need some, too,” he pants, dipping two fingers into the jar and prompting you to raise your hips. Slick with oil, both of his thick fingers slip inside you without resistance, causing you to grab his forearm for stability as pleasure buzzes through you like static. He fingers the oil in deep, eyes half-lidding as you grind into his palm. “There you go…”

While Rosinante seems content to watch you fuck yourself on his hand, you have no intention of getting this messy only to not go all the way.

“I’m ready, I’m ready, come on,” you insist, and he curls his fingers teasingly before he withdraws them just to hear you moan. He wipes the excess oil on his hips before grabbing hold of yours, helping you position yourself again.

“Take it slow,” he says softly, watching your face for signs of pain.

The lube makes a world of difference, eliminating that threshold of friction that stopped you before. Holding your breath seems involuntary, an instinctive response to the feeling of your walls gloving the broad head of his dick. The stretch seems endless as you gradually lower yourself, slick flesh sliding past with little resistance until you’re spread impossibly wide around the first few inches. Rosinante reminds you to breathe through gritted teeth, his strained expression telling you just how good it feels. You don’t need the added motivation, plenty resolved to keep going for the euphoric stretch alone, but knowing it’s just as good for him only makes it better. A helpless little whimper falls out as you take a few more inches, holding onto his forearms for support. He’s thicker toward the tip, so once you conquer the first half, the rest is a matter of patience rather than struggle.

“Gods, Rosi,” you breathe, legs trembling as you work your hips in little up-and-down motions to open yourself further. “You’re so big. So big...”

Rosinante moans, head falling back on the couch. “Oh, fuck. Say it again.”

“You’re so big, Rosi!” Your eyes roll back as you sink another inch, his girth stretching you to your very limit until, finally, he’s more or less bottomed out. There are a few inches of him still left out, beyond what you can physically fit, but the fact that you can manage to take the majority of him at all is an amazing feat on its own.

You stay still for a moment, basking in the bliss of being filled near to bursting, the taught stretch of your walls shooting hot pulses of sensation through your pelvic floor without him moving. Even the slight edge pain feels incredible, cutting through the pleasure and keeping you grounded and aware of everything you’re feeling.

“You are warm,” Rosinante says, and even with him essentially in your guts, you can’t help but giggle. He shifts just slightly, but the slick movement inside you has you gasping and clenching down hard, making him groan and tighten his grip on your hips. He bends down to press his forehead against yours, lust morphing his expression into being both broken and ravenous as he looks into your eyes.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands breathily, almost against your lips.

“It feels so good!” you moan without shame. “Rosi, it feels so good.”

“There’s my girl.” He splays his fingers over your abdomen, feeling the distinct bulge of himself through the flesh with a pleased hiss. “You look so damn good like this. Love the sight of you stuffed full of my cock.”

You clench at the words and rock your hips forward, making you both moan in tandem, and again when you start steadily moving up and down his length. His hands on your hips keep you stable, supporting but not guiding your movements, letting you go at your own pace while he mutters filth in your ear.

“Can’t believe you took all of me… What a greedy little cunt you have, Y/n. Such a good girl, opening up for me…”

Rosinante kisses you roughly, drawing messy stripes on your tongue while you fuck yourself on his cock. You try to pay it back once he pulls away, praises spilling from your lips when you have enough presence of mind to do something other than whimper. But where Rosinante can dish it out, it seems he cannot not take it, because after only a few enamored ravings of how big he is and how good he feels, he’s suddenly stuffing two fingers in your mouth to silence you.

“If you keep talking like that, I’ll cum too soon,” he rasps, but it immediately backfires when you start sucking on his fingers, making him twitch and curse. “Fuck! Little demoness, you like that too?”

He’s plugging your mouth with the fingers that were inside you earlier, and maybe it’s just because of the sex high, but the lingering taste of yourself alongside the sweetness of the coconut oil combines into something incredible. You let him know with a moan, sliding the tip of your tongue between and around his fingers as he presses down on the back of it.

Your body’s more adjusted to him now, letting you ride him harder and faster. His gaze flicks between your fucked-out expression, a little drool trailing from the corner of your lips, to the point where your bodies meet, watching himself disappear in your heat. After the rigors of the mission, you can’t maintain the pace for very long, tiring earlier than you normally would–unfortunately, your stamina can’t keep up with your need, but Rosinante always has plenty to spare.

You pull his fingers out of your mouth with a wet gasp. “Rosi, I need help. Please–”

“I got you, baby girl.”

He adjusts his grip on your hips, getting a more secure hold so he can lead your movements rather than just guide them. The passing of control to him is unspoken, an agreement given with intent gazes instead of words. You feel completely safe in giving yourself to him fully, letting your tired legs relax as he takes over, and in turn, he’s careful in the way he bounces you on his length. He sets a faster pace than how you were taking him, but doesn’t go as hard as you’d like–thankfully, at this point in your relationship, you’re better at communicating your needs.

“Harder, Rosi,” you pant, “I need it harder.”

The brief flash of his grin is your only warning before one of his hands wraps around your thigh and yanks you further down onto him, spearing his length in as deep as it’ll go. The breath is knocked out of you as his cockhead nudges your cervix, but the intensity with which you clamp down on him, along with your full-body shudder, tells him all he needs to know.

“You even like that, huh? You like when I use you like a plaything. Filthy, needy girl…”

You cry out in agreement as Rosinante takes you harder, thrusting up into you while pulling you down to meet his hips. The furrow in his brow and the grit of his teeth indicates he’s close and trying to hold out, tapping into that crazy willpower of his in order to please you for as long as he can. Each deep thrust works you further into a blissful haze, coiling pleasure in your gut until you can barely keep your head up–you can barely do anything aside from moan. He tilts your chin up with one finger, slowing down slightly so he can steal another kiss. Neither of you can maintain it very long with you both breathing heavily from exertion, but you stay close, lips parted and panting against each other.

You go from bracing your arms on his chest, to his shoulders, to raking your nails down the scarred expanse of his arms, feeling the muscles flex beneath your fingers. His gaze is fixed on yours, and you couldn’t look away if you wanted to. Even with his pupils blown wide and his eyes half-lidded, it’s every bit as adoring as it always is in private, but there’s something deeper to it now. It’s in the years of him having watched your back, it’s in the long process that was the gradual lowering of your defenses, it’s in getting to the point you could be so mutually vulnerable, it’s in wanting to make each other feel good out of love and nothing else. You wished you could exist in this moment forever, just to be close in the ultimate way.

No matter how good Rosinante feels, it never builds right. You wish you could cum. You want to experience that with him. But at the same time, you know he won’t be upset with you for it. And so, when you inevitably feel the pleasure start to wane in a way that indicates oncoming discomfort, you feel no shame in speaking up.

“I can’t… Rosi, I can’t go much longer.”

Rosinante immediately slows down. “Want me to stop?”

“No, I–I want you to cum.”

His eyes darken, and he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Where do you want it, baby girl?”

“Inside.”

You can feel his dick twitch when you say it, and he rests his head on your shoulder with a low groan.

“Fuck. Okay. Sure, I can do that for you.”

Rosinante plants a sloppy kiss on your neck before turning toward the long end of the couch, gently laying you back without pulling out. He repositions you both into a more comfortable missionary, resting his burly arms above you.

“This feel okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, s’good.” You raise a hand to touch his cheek. “This way I can see your face when you cum.”

Got him. It took all day, but you finally turned the tables for once, and the result is a wonderful sight to behold. Even flushed with exertion, the blush across his face deepens to a shade you’ve rarely seen before, his jaw going slack. To his credit, he recovers quickly, bringing a hand to cup yours on his cheek and grinning down at you.

“Guess I deserved that after all of today.” He turns his head to kiss your hand. “I won’t be much longer, but stop me if you need to, yeah?”

“I will.”

“Good girl.”

Rosinante lets go of your hand to trail it down your side, settling on your hip to anchor you in place as he starts thrusting. He’s only slow for the first few thrusts, quickly working himself back up to a firm, brisk pace. Having held out until now, it doesn’t take him long to get back to the edge, evident by the way his groans deepen and intersperse with broken gasps. Just as erotic as the sound of him is the sight of him, abs flexing as his huge body rolls into you. It’s enough to spark your weary nerves back to attention, dragging the pleasure out one last time. 

“Fuck, it’s so good,” he moans, “always so tight, every damn time.”

Rosinante curls over you like he can’t hold himself up anymore, his head pressed to your shoulder, but it doesn’t slow the pounding of his hips at all, nor does it stop him from singing your praises into your ear.

“My sweet girl, so good to me. Love you so much, love that you’re mine…”

The husky devotion with which he says it has you throwing your head back onto the cushions and arching into his thrusts, whimpering when it angles him perfectly into your g-spot. The sound must trigger something in him, because his talking plummets from praise into filth faster than an angel falling from grace.

“You’re right, Y/n. We should tell my brother about us. That way I could fuck you every night, ‘til I’ve molded you to the shape of my cock. You’d get so used to it I wouldn’t need to hold back, and you’d fucking love the process, wouldn’t you? Begging me to fuck your pussy even though you can barely take it. We could even fuck in the room right next him and thanks to my power, he’d never even hear you screaming my name.”

“Rosi!” you cry, throwing your arms over what part of his back you can reach and digging your nails in. “Don’t you dare hold back! Give me everything, right now!”

It’s not a request he’s ever really granted you, but drunk as he currently is on the pleasures of your body–and maybe because it’s your birthday–he relents this once. A deep, uncharacteristic growl rumbles in his chest as his thrusts turn brutal, one arm braced above your head. His other hand’s wrapped around your thigh to keep you from bouncing off him from the force, ironlike grip keeping you in place so he never slips out. For a short but wonderful amount of time, you’re at the mercy of the brunt of him, just like you’d asked. At no other time does the scope of his size come into perspective like when he’s throwing all that weight behind his thrusts, three meters of solid muscle bullying your insides. It hurts a bit, but you’re treated to the incredible sight that is Rosinante on the edge, gritting his teeth and groaning like a beast, completely lost to higher thought.

“Gonna cum,” he gasps, and then he’s chanting your name like a sacred incantation, each time a little louder. His pace stutters, grip on your thigh tightening, and he pulls you down on him one last time, thrusting as deep as he can go and staying there with a penultimate moan. You can feel his length throb and pulse as he releases, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

For a minute, neither of you move, catching your breath and weakly holding each other. Then he pulls out, the absence feeling like a gaping loss as much as a relief. He has just enough presence of mind to collapse next to you rather than on top of you, trembling with what must be little aftershocks. A gentle touch to his cheek grounds him, making him blink and focus on you. He breaks into a dopey grin, pulling you close.

“You’re perfect.” He kisses you softly, all traces of roughness vanished. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You beam, somewhat giddy after having your craving sated so thoroughly. He’s no better off, giggling and kissing you again.

The post-orgasm clarity must hit him around then, because his face suddenly falls, levity turning to concern in an instant.

“Oh, shit! Oh, Y/n, are you okay?” He cradles your face in his hands, inspecting you as if it was your face that endured any of it. “I’m so sorry–I got a bit rough there, and we never went over a safe word–does anything hurt?”

“I’m okay, Rosi!” You cover his larger hands with yours, rubbing your thumbs across the back like he does for you when you’re stressed. “It hurt a little, but I would have stopped you if I didn’t like it.”

That helps him relax somewhat, though the worry doesn’t fully leave him. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not much. Might be sore later. Nothing I can’t handle.”

It takes some more reassurance before he’s satisfied, listening to you soothe his concerns while he massages your hips and thighs. You help each other come down, sometimes with touches, sometimes with soft words, sometimes just holding one another close and listening to the sounds of your breathing. You can only ignore the aftermath for so long, however, in this case being the trickle of his cum down your thigh.

“It is far too late for me to be realizing this,” you say, “but we forgot to put a blanket down, and now there’s stains on the couch…”

“Yeah,” Rosinante says, “I’m gonna be honest. I don’t feel bad at all.”

You snicker. “A pirate’s a pirate, huh?”

“Actually, that’s the Marine side of me.”

“No way. Pirates fuck way more than Marines.”

“I have news for you about shore leave.”

You mirror his grin. “You can tell me all about it, but I’d prefer a demonstration.”

“I bet you would.” He pulls you in for a kiss.

The last movie had long since played and ended without your noticing–thankfully, the snail put itself to sleep after the end of the movie (you sure hope so, anyway.) The shower isn’t large enough to fit both of you, so you take turns, each helping wash the other from outside the tub. While Rosinante’s no worse for wear, you benefit more from the hot water, easing your tension while he runs his hands over your sore muscles in an echo of his earlier worship.

After you’ve both cleaned up, you rehydrate with some tea before bed, sitting in his lap at the kitchen table and talking.

“Rosinante?” 

“Hm?”

You turn in his lap so you can look at him clearly. “Thanks for today. I really enjoyed my birthday. Probably for the first time in a long time.”

His smile lights up the room, and he hugs you tight, pressing his face into your hair. “I’m so glad!”

You giggle. “This is kind of dumb, but I kind of wish I had a cake after all.”

Rosinante pauses. When he lifts his head, his expression is hard to read, some odd mix of contemplative and sheepish that you can’t discern.

“Rosi?” you ask.

“Um…”

“What is it?”

He glances to the side. “...Well… I actually got a little cake this morning, but I dropped the box it was in when I fell… It’s still in the fridge.”

You sit up straighter. “Wait, seriously?”

“Don’t get excited! It’s totally ruined, at least in appearance. Still edible, but I was so embarrassed I didn’t want to say anything…”

You’re sliding off his lap before he finishes his sentence, going to see for yourself. Sure enough, there’s a little box shoved in the back of the fridge that you didn’t notice. It’s bent in a few places, and the clear plastic window on top of the box is smeared on the inside with cream, blocking your view of the damage.

Rosinante covers his face as you open the box. It’s a disaster; the layers of the cake are in different places, the whipped cream frosting is more on the inside of the box than on the cake itself, and the fruit pieces that must have been a beautiful outer decoration are now scattered. It’s hard not to laugh at the chaos of it, but you manage for his sake, especially considering the circumstances. The thought that he got up early after a tiring mission in order to find a bakery for you is more than a little overwhelming, and you know you’ll cry if you dwell on it too much. You’d take a dropped cake over a flawless one any day if it was coming from him.

“For the record, Rosi,” you say, “I think it’s perfect.”

There’s no way to cut a uniform slice out of the cake, so you fork a piece directly from the mess. It’s delicious, fresh and not too sweet, and even though Rosinante doesn’t care for baked goods, your pleased look convinces him to try it, too.

There’s some symbolism there, something about appearances and damage and sweetness in spite of it all, but for once, you don’t overthink it.

Rosinante has one last surprise for you when you snuggle into bed, getting your attention once you’ve settled in. “I had an idea,” he says.

“What about?”

“It would be a few days late for your birthday, but… I looked into the next island we’re going to stop at. Apparently, it’s famous for its zoo. And, you know, Law told me he’s never been to a zoo before.” He gauges your reaction, hesitant. “...I’d love to take you and the kids.”

Your love of animals didn’t escape his notice either, then. You smile at that, though it falters. “Sounds kind of like a date… What will we tell the others?”

“I won’t say anything. You will mention the zoo in front of the kids. Law will pretend not to want to go, but Baby 5 and Buffalo will jump at the idea, and he’ll end up tagging along. I’ll accompany you all as a ‘bodyguard.’ There’s a chance others in the family will want to come, but it could still be nice.”

It does sound nice. Even if you won’t be able to hold hands as you go, even if you’ll have to keep up pretenses–he’ll still be there, and the two of you will know the true meaning behind the visit. That’s more than enough.

Rosinante’s presence alone has always been enough, but the little ways in which he’ll go out of his way for you serve as comforting reminders of his devotion. It’s not as easy to harbor doubts when he always shows up to chase them away.

“I’d love to go with you, Rosi.” You scoot backwards until his chest is against your back, solid and warm as always. His arm automatically drapes across your body to bring you just a bit closer, and you both drift off like that–sated, secure, and looking forward to the coming days.

[captain-price-unofficially]

Spanish frigate Numancia (F83) with a near by water spout in the bay of Cádiz, 2015

[luffysinterlude]

here with some of my oc’s backstory!! (i love her) / (warnings: ooc!doffy & sengoku, oc’s mother (x rosinante), timeline might be off (i envision her to be 21/22 post time-skip), brother!law x oc) / (note: i mention cupid having dark hair, but that’s about it. you could imagine it from a reader’s perspective as well!! not really sure how i envision cupid yet, just her fits)

(inspired from this one moment where i was sick in bed and let my imagination run wild.)

donquixote rosinante’s daughter cupid was to be kept a secret from the world.

he hadn’t known she existed until she was five, through a letter that held tear stains and smeared ink. his one and only ex-lover from the east blue had fallen ill and had a month to live. in less than three weeks later, corazon finds himself standing in front of a newly added gravestone, a small dark-haired girl sleeping peacefully in his arms.

i promise i’ll keep her safe. she is your legacy. thank you for trusting her with me, i’m sorry we missed the chance to be a family and i’m not sure if i’ll ever be able to get over losing someone so great. i’ll make sure she grows up the way you want her to. i’ll see you in the next life, my beautiful alia.

when sengoku found corazon sitting in his office with a child in his lap, he nearly had a heart attack. corazon explained the situation…even letting some of his feelings slip. when sengoku pried about the mother, he thought he’d died and resurrected on the spot. monkey d. alia…a familiar name, someone he’d watch grow up with his adopted son. he wasn’t upset though; he and garp had raised them both to be young naval commanders. although alia had suddenly disappeared six years ago and garp refused to tell anyone his daughter’s whereabouts, he was proud of them, a warmth swelling in his chest.

yet his blood ran cold as he realized he shared a granddaughter with garp. he made a mental note to ask garp if he had any idea and if so, why he didn’t feel the need to tell him.

sengoku agreed to keep the child a secret, but only if he was allowed to raise the girl and train her to be a marine. corazon hesitated a bit; not wanting his adoptive father to shove his views of justice down his daughter’s throat, but he trusted sengoku enough, nodding his head at the idea. he promised her he’ll stop by every chance he had.

unbeknownst to them, a certain man sat just below the open window..smiling at the precious news from his little brother.

within just a year, sengoku watched so much potential grow in cupid, she was such a strong girl who seemed to excel in everything he put her through. for a six year old, she had more self-discipline than most marines. she never gave up and proved herself every time.

so imagine the feeling he gets when his oldest son pays him a visit, asking for a favor. doflamingo has never been forgiving; a silent threat in the air as he demanded a warlord position and custody of cupid. sengoku silently prays for corazon’s mercy and gives him want he wants with not much of a fight, only asking that cupid never ends up dead or on a bounty poster.

corazon’s heart shatters as he hears the words fall from sengoku’s mouth. tears welled in his eyes at the sudden wave of grief that hit him, a small amount of anger bubbling under his skin. he told me he wouldn’t hurt her. cora clenched his eyes shut at the words, an image of both cupid and alia flashing through his mind. his decision was then made:

i’ll go undercover. i made a promise to alia and i won’t let him be the reason i break it…and i’ll stop whatever madness doffy has planned.

x+x

hearing the news that her father was joining her on the numancia, cupid allowed her mind to ease. she trusted and loved her father to take care of her, and stuck to him like a parasite. you’ll never be alone, he told her. i’ll always be with you.

some time passes and cupid quickly becomes a main asset to the donquixote family. she’s always being watched by doflamingo though; something she noticed the minute she stepped foot aboard. he didn’t have to be present for her to feel his strong gaze. she trained restlessly, sometimes in secret so her dad wouldn’t scold her. she wanted to be as strong as her parents…maybe even stronger.

she soon meets a boy named Law, her interest in him beginning when he shows up seeking refuge in the family, saying he doesn’t have much time to live; words she’s heard before. she soon finds herself following him around the ship, observing him and trying to help him get away her father…

one day though, she feels a familiar pain in her chest: her father was taking Law around the world in hopes to find a doctor that’ll heal him. she cried silently as she eavesdropped on the quiet conversation between the two brothers, her heart desperately wanting to go, but she knew doflamingo would never allow that.

that night, she stares out into the dark sky, searching for a ray of hope; for herself, her (new) brother, and her father. even though she was a child, she was able to piece together her uncle’s plans for dressrosa. she’s always been able to read people’s next move and sometimes hear their thoughts — something she noticed when her grandfather sengoku trained her alongside marines — yet around those she trusted and loved, she never felt the need to.

the day Law and Corazon parted ways with the family, she hid in her room—she had told them she’d see them again, a stern look in her eyes. she formulated an escape plan to follow the two, one that involved a lot of thought: every second matters, i can’t fail.

when the news that cupid had suddenly disappeared a month exactly after the departure of Law and Corazon, and just before her birthday, doflamingo could only laugh. he knew Corazon was smart enough not to break a promise with him, so the thought of a nine year old girl somehow being smart enough to escape from him drove him insane.

you’ll come back to me eventually. just because you’re blood, i’ll allow you to escape this once. consider us even, rosi…because your life is mine once i find you.

+x+

here’s my vivre card! don’t tell anyone i’m giving this to you, it’s our secret.

the warm voice of her father clouded cupid’s mind as she stared at the small paper in her hand, the freezing temperature suddenly causing her arms to wrap around her body. a familiar voice caused her to untuck her chin from her chest, yet when she looked, nobody was near.

it’s been almost six months since Law and Corazon began their journey. a part of her wishes that her father had tried harder to include her in their search, but she knew that he only wanted to keep her safe. she also knew that by leaving, he would suffer more.

she figures that by now doflamingo had figured out cora’s secret. she prayed every night hoping the evil man didn’t beat her to them, and so far he hasn’t. yet that thought alone made her move her legs just a bit quicker in the thick snow, fighting against strong winds.

a tall pink silhouette caught her eye as she was beginning to feel tired, a small burst of adrenaline causing her to run towards the figure. she tried using her haki — a term she learned about after confiding to baby 5 about her power sources — to hear what they were talking about, but using it at a distance isn’t something she learned yet.

and so she did the next best thing she could think of:

“DAAAAAAAAAAAD!! LAAAAAAAAAW!!”

corazon froze in his spot when he suddenly felt his daughter’s presence in the surrounding area. neither of the males could hear her voice due to corazon’s devil fruit power, but the wide-eyed look on law’s face as his eyes traveled behind cora’s head caused law to slightly panic.

“she’s behind me, isn’t she…?” corazon spoke. his head hung low, his eyes clenching shut as he grit his teeth. he should be angry. angry at cupid for acting on impulse and following them. angry at cupid for leaving his brother’s ship without thinking of the consequences she’d face. instead, he chuckles. its a light-hearted chuckle, an image of alia popping up in his head.

law nodded, still in a slight panic and shock. he was happy to see his sister again, but he was hoping that the next time they met was when he was fully healed and recovered. in a way, cupid reminded him of lami; he thinks it’s because of how she clung to him like they’ve known each other for their entire lives, or how she’s the only other person (after cora) he trusts.

+x+

“you understand, don’t you cupid?” she does, but wishes she didn’t.

cupid was speechless; she wants to scream at her father for getting himself into trouble, the sense of danger continuing to grow with every second. she wants to beg her father to take her and law and leave immediately, she just reunited with them both, she doesn’t want to leave this land without the two of them alive.

her loving, protective father, was going to give his life in exchange for her and law.

whether her brother was aware of this or not, it was going to happen. she knew her father didn’t have it in him to kill the man, and even after she tried convincing him to let her be a distraction while the two got away, he refused.

tears welled in cupid’s eyes as she realized that this was it. the long time of waiting for her father to finally come back for her, has gone down the drain. the four years she has spent knowing him has felt like two days. both of her parents have sacrificed themselves for good reasons, and the thought makes her angry. she wants to destroy all the evil people in the world for causing pain to those she loves — including those who’ve caused harm to Law — and make them suffer. she cries uncontrollably, the cold air around her disappearing due to the heat rising in her body.

the look on his daughter’s face broke his heart. cupid was a perfect mix of him and alia; a reminder of the love that once bloomed between the two, a period of time where cora felt nothing but bliss. alia was a major inspiration to him, both as a human-being and a marine, and he prays that alia isn’t too harsh on him when they meet again.

her name’s Cupid. i named her after the god of love, because she’s so full of it and she reminds me of the love we shared share. she’s a bit shy at first, but as soon as she warms up to you she can be a bit much to handle. she likes to observe everything: people, animals, places…she’s a very adventurous being, and through that, i think she’s unlocked part of her observation haki. she’s only five, yet she’s so strong and so smart.

please, as a dying wish of mine, do not let her be forced into anything she doesn’t want to do. let her grow into her own person. i’ve been thinking more about our fathers’ ways of living…and i can’t imagine a soul like hers serving people like them. i have a strong feeling that cupid will be a big threat to both the government and pirates alike.

she’s always been special; this whole island loves her. at first i thought maybe it’s due to my dad’s reputation, but i’ve come to find out it’s just because of her spirit and humanity. she’ll make history one day. she knows i don’t have much time left, and she’s been so understanding. i can tell with every passing day that she’s trying to make this time more enjoyable and peaceful for me. she also knows about our separation and all about you, and she says she’s excited for the day for the two of you to meet — it’s kind of some sort of bragging right for her.

please, take good care of our cupid. one day she’ll understand the importance of her life, but as for now, she’s too young. attached below is some ways to contact my brother and his colleagues, they’re trustworthy people and dragon owes me one. if you ever need to contact them, please do so for any reason. be safe, rosinante. as long as cupid is alive, so is our love.

corazon was prepared for his death the moment he decided to go undercover. he had written dragon a long, long letter, explaining to him the situation that he’s in. as long as cora stays alive long enough to carry law and cupid to safety, his mission ends then, and he can rest peacefully (while hoping his body is found). silencing both children, he hides them in a wooden box, waiting for doflamingo to finally find him again.

+x+

“you’ll both be safe here. and,” corazon took yet another, bloodied, deep breath; his eyes bouncing between both of his kids, desperately hoping that in his next life he remembers their faces. “i love you.”

the last memory cupid has of her father is one that’s bloody, gruesome, and heartbreaking. but the words he spoke to her are engraved in her mind.

as long as she remembers she’s loved, this life is worth continuing to live.

+x+

★ an: i still have sooo many more ideas for cupid’s backstory (involving cora and alia) but for now i’ll settle for this. please let me know what i could work on!! i’m still getting back into the groove of writing :p

[onei-ro-piss]

it's hot on the numancia flamingo. drew this bc I live in texas and it's sweltering :) we finally dropped out of the 100s and 90s though!

[mercyannmay]

WIP Title Tag Game - OnePiece

Prompt: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Big thank you to @flamboyant-vampire for tagging me✨! Here we go:

Current WIPs:

My Wani Point - Dragon/Crocodile (NSFW)

Scars don't heal - Killer/Zoro

Island of echos - Law/XDrake

Golden Hooked - Tesoro/Crocodile

The lazy river job - Numancia fitness AU (cleaning the lazy river - Rosi)

Scales, feathers and the Dragons maw - Dragon/Crocodile/Doflamingo

Just one more Hermano~ - Doflamingo and Rosinante do yoga for the fans (Numancia fitness AU)

Desk Job - Law/Smoker

Hurricane Forced - Doflamingo/Dragon

I do have a few at the moment!

'My Wani Point' is probably my biggest one and is posted on AO3 and im still working on chapters. But yes, ask any questions you have about any of these and if you are a writer, try this challenge yourself!

[mingos]

hc + fashion/style

[ send me hc + a word & I’ll write a headcanon based on it ]

　y'all ever wonder where this man got his stupid coat from?

no? well, i'm dropping the lore anyway because otherwise it will just sit in my head for the next year or however long it takes for me to finally start publishing my fic about this bastard's life.

when doflamngo first decided to become a pirate at ye olde age of 16 (we know he was 17 at roger's execution ー so, wind that back at least 6 months to get from the north blue to water 7, have his pirate ship built, and then sail to the east blue to get to loguetown) he quickly realized just how much colder the air on the open seas was to the air on land.

he doesn't deal with cold well. never has. he hates it. and that's just under normal circumstances, nevermind the storms, snow, or any other inclement weather the crew would have to face. basically, there's a reason that the island he decided to take over later in his life was a summer island ー because if dressrosa was a winter island he never would have touched it.

so, doffy wanted a new coat. a sturdy one that would last, with layers of thermal insulation & padding, had moisture-wicking properties to keep him dry, but was also versatile enough to keep on when it got hot. the grand line has unpredictable weather patterns, after all, so he needed something good for all weather.

while the numancia was still being built at water 7, he heard from locals about a neighboring town called san faldo. san faldo was known for its carnivals & costume parties, so it seemed like the perfect place to get doffy's coat made.

and it was! he loved the quality so much, he got several made over the years and, later after rosi reunited with him, commissioned him one as well.

[corajexcorazon]

Numancia - Atleti, 24.08.2023

[rimetin]

trick or treat!!

can i offer you a snippet of a doffy fic in this trying time

__

He mourns his Hearts; the first one for his failure, his fateful lapse that cost them so much. The second for his lies and having the gall to steal what wasn’t his. The third for his wasted potential and the madness he’d been fed until it tainted what should have been the gem of these seas. And his own for having believed in childish notions of blood and bonds, for having been blind to the blight festering right under his nose.

By the time dawn breaks and paints the ghosts of black feathers and white spots over with crimson, the Numancia Flamingo is halfway across the sea and Doflamingo is halfway through a bottle of vintage port from West Blue.

(trick or treat me for a fic goodie?)

[gendervapor14]

DoflaminBROS Week 2023 - Day 3: cigarettes

here is my next submission for the DoflaminBROS Week 2023 event! this one is less overarching than the past two. a proper snapshot, playing with my headcanon that doflamingo, contrary to that one canon doodle of him when he's like 10, doesn't like smoking. well, have at it!

characters: rosinante, doflamingo additional tags & cw: canon compliant, fluff...? less angsty than the others at least, mentions of injury, smoking, implied alcoholism and drug use

special thanks to @gali-la for beta reading!! <3

The mission did not go well. The infirmary was packed. The seas were stable at least, so the Numancia Flamingo drifted along easily. A glimmer of light pooling down from a hole atop this tunnel to hell.

Corazón feared his arm was broken at first, since his fingers were so reluctant to cooperate, but after some time and ice, he was sure it’d heal on its own. Foolish of him to try and engage in physical combat unarmed, but one of the damn rugrats must’ve bummed his explosives, Baby 5, undoubtedly, and left him in quite the lurch. The good thing was, despite the pain, there were no open wounds. Last thing he needed were those nasty strings in his flesh.

It was an old habit. Decades old, at this point. The best way to distract pain was a hearty meal. Even if that meant that hearty meal was being consumed well past midnight, alone. Even if that hearty meal was cold, because he wasn’t allowed near the ovens. He’d accept that small nugget of defeat if it meant these cretins would cook for him. Only, those cretins were all laid-up. 

Oh well. At least cigarettes went well with cold fish.

The cabin door opened. Corazón would be lying to say he didn’t jolt. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that it was none other than his beloved brother, limping across the room with a bandaged gash on his thigh. How they managed to get through to Doffy was more than a bit troubling, but he supposed it was dealt with now. And it’d likely be a while before Doflamingo decided to tangle with anyone on a similar playing field.

His eyes drifted from his fork to his brother when the taller of the two crashed there in a dining chair with limited coordination. Corazón’s chewing rate slowed. He waited for the next stir of movement, the rumble of an order, the mind-boggling questions.

Fingers grazed across the surface of the table. The captain sat up. “Do you have an extra?”

Mind-boggling. If only the bastard wasn’t so predictably unpredictable. Corazón just stared, until his brother pointed at his left hand, where his cigarette rested on standby until his meal was finished.

He wanted a smoke? Doffy never smoked. Did he? Rosinante had been here for almost two years now and never saw him smoke. Señor Pink was a furnace and occasionally, Diamante or Giolla would pester him for a light, but never Doffy. Strange time to pick up the habit, but he knew he had no room for judgment, and just handed over the entire box. Lighter, too.

Doflamingo fumbled to open the container with lazy, delayed movements. Likely treated himself to a nice cocktail of liquor and painkillers. Finally, the flap unfurled and he wrangled one of the cigarettes free. Lit it up with enough precision to reveal he had done it before, at some point in his probably-too-long life. Took it into his lungs without a trace of a cough. 

“It’s not going to happen again.”

Behind his cigarette, Rosinante’s bloodshot eyes stilled.

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

thanks again for hosting this @opdoffyzine and @corazine !!

previous entry here!

[code01746]

@enruiinas ❤️'d for a starter.

　❝ law, did anyone in the family get around to teaching you how to fish before we left? ❞

he rifled through scattered memories in his mind's eye, and at the very least didn't remember seeing him be taught by anyone.

he remembered law spent most of his time aboard the numancia learning whatever it was doflamingo wanted him to learnーand rosinante knew his brother enough to assume that fishing was not on that list.

　❝ i can teach you how, if not. it's a useful skill to have, and y'know what they say: 'you give a fish a man, you...' ❞ wait. hold on, that's not right. ❝ uh... you know what i mean. ❞

[ancientoriginses]

La historia de Numancia es la emblemática narración del valeroso combate de un pueblo nativo ibérico en una batalla que tuvo lugar en una pequeña población peninsular en el año 134 a. C. Enfrentados los numantinos a una poderosa legión romana, ni siquiera su bien construido poblado fortificado pudo salvarles de encontrar la muerte en el filo de una espada romana.

[nehswritesstuffs]

banish every gaslight; let clarity shine - Part 8

Okay, I'm back! Hope everyone's ready to cry. :D

Part 1 [FFN/AO3] - Part 2 [FFN/AO3] - Part 3 [FFN/AO3] - Part 4 [FFN/AO3] - Part 5 [FFN/AO3] - Part 6 [FFN/AO3] - Part 7 [FFN/AO3]

As one sibling back home tries to make the best of things, the other two realize exactly what lengths Cora-san is willing to go for them. [3433 words; AU where there is a Third Corazón, whose existence makes Law’s life hell]

Baby 5 hid the Den Den Mushi in her hoodie as she made her way out of headquarters and over to the garbage dump. Although it was her job to stay behind that time, she wanted to make sure there was nothing that could watch or listen to her, just in case. It was really one of Law’s hoodies that she was wearing, her having started to wear them with him not around to protest. She found a good spot and took the snail out, giving it a piece of lettuce before making the call.

“Crackers.” The snail made the person on the other end look so tired. Why was he so tired?

“Cookies,” Baby 5 said. A moment’s pause and the snail peered at her.

“A… child…?”

“Um… I don’t know who you are, but Cora-san told me to call you,” she explained. “He said he needs me to tell you whenever the Young Master leaves Spider Miles. He left.”

“Cora-san…?”

“Yeah.” Her hands trembled as she held the snail in one hand and the receiver in the other. “I’m not allowed to ask questions. I’m not allowed to lie to you. I’m not allowed to let the others know I call you.”

The man—Baby 5 knew it was a man on the other end, because he sounded like Lao G if he was nicer and more tired—regarded this carefully. “Do you know who I am? Any idea?”

“I told you: no—Cora-san just told me to do this while he helps my brother and sister.”

“Does he have a snail I can contact him on?”

“No, sir. This was his only one. He said he’ll call you when he can.”

“Sounds like Rosi, alright.” The man gave a weak chuckle. “You are very brave, child. He chose well when he gave you this job.” He seemed to sigh heavily and there was the sound of papers shuffling. “Due to the unofficial shift in protocol, I am not going to ask your name. I shall refer to you as Child, and you can refer to me as Grandfather. Just keep doing this, alright? I am proud of you, Child.”

“Thank you, Grandfather.”

Baby 5 gave the man on the other end of the line the course of the Numancia Flamingo to the best of her ability before the line cut. The snail fell asleep and she held it close to her chest, trying to keep it warm as she went back to Headquarters.

What sort of people was Cora-san talking to, and why did they need that information? She put the snail back in its habitat before she went back to cleaning, wanting to make sure everything was nice and neat and orderly for the others to get back. They needed to not suspect anything.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Months began to creep by and hospitals continued to burn, while information continued to be passed along. Baby 5 made it a habit of staying behind at the base when the rest of the Family was on missions, wrapped in her brother’s sweatshirts during the day and holding her sister’s stuffed animals at night. She felt the eyes of the other Family members as they would come home to a spotless headquarters and somehow knew their suspicions. Her being alone was not normal, so why was she alone so much now? Did they know she searched through their things for information? How long would it be before they discovered that Child was passing information to Grandfather, and that it was happening via Cora-san’s old transponder snail? What would it take for her cover to be blown and what would happen when it finally happened? Would they know it was all in the name of protecting her siblings?

There was only one way to find out, unfortunately.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

[CLASSIFIED]

Official Transcript of Military Den Den Communications – Operation: FALLEN DRAGON – File Number 01746.100059.1511.00234

Listen: I don’t have much time. There’s these five kids in Doffy’s group. Two of them are likely beyond help, but the middle three… no matter what, I need them to be saved. Whatever happens to me, you have to sa…

[INDECIPHERABLE]

She’s the one I gave the snail.

[INDECIPHERABLE]

…I know about [REDACTED] and what [REDACTED] did! Did you really think that was [REDACTED]

[INDECIPHERABLE]

Remember… it’s two girls and a boy. Raise them if I’m not there to do it. Please. I fear what Doffy will do to them if this all is blown to hell.

[INDECIPHERABLE]

They deserve so much more than this. We both know it.

[END COMMUNICATION]

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was very cold as Law and Lami sat huddled together on what seemed like a deserted island, waiting in the small alcove where Cora-san had told them to stay while he went somewhere. Law tried to wrap his cloak around his sister as well as himself and failed at getting more than half of her in the extra fabric.

“What do you think he’s doing?” she shivered. He tucked her head underneath his chin as coughs began to wrack her body.

“Hard saying,” he lied. He knew exactly what Cora-san was doing: trying to raid the pirate base that was on the other side of the island. Their adult had trusted him with the information in case anything went sour, because someone needed to get Lami out of there if the need arose. He had even left them with a knife, despite the fact he hoped they didn’t need to use it. “He better not be too long.”

“I want Bee-nee,” Lami sniffled. She rubbed her face in her brother’s shoulder and tried not to cry. “Why couldn’t Bee-nee come along?”

“It would be too much for Cora-san to travel with all three of us, remember?” Law said. He hugged his baby sister a bit tighter and hoped that Baby 5 had not been caught yet. “We’re gonna be okay—Cora-san will be the adult who helps.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“No… but it’s important that you do.” Lami began to sob, knowing that their time—her time specifically—was running out. “Hey, we’ll see Bee soon enough. Cora-san is gonna find that cure for us.”

“Why… why are you allowed to be sad about it, but I can’t?!” she cried. “I’m scared, Law-nii! I’m so scared!”

“I know you are, but you have to know it’s gonna be okay, no matter what,” he replied. He went back into his memory for words of comfort from before… from when they had both their parents and school and friends and… fuck… it had been a wonderful life, hadn’t it? There was something too calm about it, as though it was just the peace one felt before a storm came barreling through. Was finding their sister just the eye of the storm? Was that Cora-san? Damned if he knew. “Everything happens for a reason…”

“It’s not reasonable!” she snapped tearfully. “Don’t say things the sisters said! It doesn’t make me feel better!”

“It doesn’t make you feel better because you know they were right!” he fired back. She looked at him, her eyes puffed up from crying, and didn’t know how to respond. “They were right! I don’t know how, but they were! Do you think I like not knowing how?! Do you think I like not knowing the reason?! It’s fucked up, yeah, but what else do we have?! If none of this had happened, we would have never met Bee! Or Cora-san! We’d still be in Flevance, having never seen anything beyond her waters! Nothing changing!”

“…but we’d still have Mom and Dad! Our family! Our friends!”

“…and we could still be dead anyhow! People die every day from things not bullets or poison! Kids, even! If we hadn’t needed to escape, we would have never gotten here, and I’d rather be here knowing more than I did then instead of dying ignorant! I don’t know why, but we were meant to live this!”

That set off Lami again, fresh tears flowing from her. Law gathered her in his arms and pulled her into his lap, which better allowed him to pull his cloak around her as she sobbed into his shoulder. He grit his teeth as he tried to hold back his own tears, wanting to be the strong one… needing to be the strong one…

“Kids! Kids! Where’d you go?!” Both of them gasped and went to wipe the tears and snot from their faces—it was Cora-san! He stumbled into the snow in front of them, looking exhausted and rather worse for wear.

“What happened to you?!” Law gasped. Shit—it had taken fewer bullet wounds to kill both his parents.

“That doesn’t matter,” the man said. He took a heart-shaped fruit out of his coat pocket and held it out. “This is what we were looking for… this is what Doffy was looking for…”

“That’s a Devil Fruit…?” Lami wondered. “It doesn’t look like any fruit I’ve ever seen…”

“It’s a really special thing,” Cora-san explained. “It’s gonna help Law fix you both up, good as new.”

“…but Cora-san, I…!” Law began to protest, only for their caretaker to shove the fruit into his mouth, forcing him to eat it. “Oh, gross! Why the fuck did you do that?!”

“I sure as fuck couldn’t do anything with it, even if I hadn’t eaten my own Devil Fruit,” Cora-san smirked. Although Law was still freaking out over the nasty, meaty taste of what had just been force-fed to him, Lami saw the intense sadness in Cora-san’s eyes… he knew something sad and wasn’t telling them. “You’re the one who’s going to become a great doctor some day, Law. It’s supposed to be yours.”

Just then, the three of them could hear men shouting off in the distance, making them tense.

“Okay, you two find a place that’s not here,” Cora-san ordered gently. “I’ll find you soon as I can guarantee that we can make a clean getaway. Then you’ll be free.”

“Free…?” Lami wondered as they stood.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Free of this disease, free of Doffy, free of everything you never wanted. You can rescue Baby 5 and the three of you will be freer than anyone on this sea. Do you understand…?”

“I think so…?”

“Good. Now be good brats, for fucking once in your lives.” At that he scrambled off, the kids just barely able to catch him pulling out one of his guns before he turned a corner.

“Asshole,” Law hissed. “Didn’t even ask me if I wanted it…” He saw that Lami was staring at him as they ran and he swallowed hard. “What…?”

“Do you feel any different…?” she asked. He stopped to look at his hands, brow furrowed.

“No, but…” He trailed off, desperately attempting to put what he was feeling into words. “It’s like… the Devil Fruit is trying to tell me what I can do…?”

“Really…?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to figure out what was attempting to be said.

Heed me, boy, and I shall make you powerful.

Eyes snapping open, Law looked at his sister with a nearly crazed expression. “Lami, hold still; I’m gonna try it on you first.”

“Why?”

“You’re the one with days left,” he replied. The siblings hugged tightly before Law had Lami lay down in the snow, hidden from the snowy path they’d been on. He held his hands palm-down over her and took a deep breath.

“ROOM!”

Suddenly, a blue sphere grew from Law’s hands and enveloped the both of them. Once that was up, he took Cora-san’s knife and held it to his sister’s arm. He pressed down and it made an incision… one that didn’t bleed.

It was working.

Law quickly worked, taking what he knew to be Amber Lead out of his sister’s body. There was so much of it, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. The only time he did was for thirty seconds, tearing off a bit of his cloak for her to bite on to help with the pain. Okay… anesthetic… he needed to remember that for next time…

Then, all of a sudden, the Room dropped and Law collapsed in the snow. He and Lami were breathing heavily as they looked at each other, both afraid for the other to speak. With a shaky hand, he held up a small rock, not much bigger than a decorative pond pebble. It was much more jagged and rough-looking, however, and a reddish brown where it did not gleam whiter than the snow.

“Five years,” he said shakily. “This should give you five more years.”

“Yeah…?” There were tears in their eyes—that would make her older than he was now.

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, there you kids are!” The siblings looked and saw Cora-san was clamoring over towards them, snow stuck to his hair and coat. “Doffy and his crew are nearly here—I can’t let them find you!”

“Cora-san, look!” Lami gasped. She took the pebble from her brother’s hand and held it up. “Law took this out of me!”

“Wait… you did…?” he marveled. He looked at Law, the boy nodding weakly in the snow as hot tears ran down his face.

“She’s gonna be at least fourteen,” he sniffled. “My sister is going to live!”

“Oh… that’s great!” Cora-san replied through tears of his own. He gathered the children up in his arms and they all shared a hug. “We’re going to get through this—just a little bit longer, and we’ll be free. I promise.”

“Cora-san…?” Lami squeaked. She was clammy with sweat and breathing heavily. “Can we go get Bee-nee? And then we can live somewhere nice?”

“I’m sure you will,” he replied, but she shook her head.

“No, you too, Cora-san!” she insisted. “You can be our dad! And we can live together! All four of us!” She gripped his shirt as her breath became staggered. “The four of us can be each other’s new family!”

“Lami…” Law touched his baby sister’s shoulder and she whimpered. “Is that what you want?”

“Yeah!” She looked at him, then at Cora-san, whose makeup was running from his own tears and sweat. “We can have a real parent again, and Law-nii can continue learning how to be a doctor, and Bee-nee and I can figure out what we want to do, and we’ll all do the best thing we can to make the people who tried to kill us suffer!”

“…and what’s that?” Cora-san asked, his voice wavering.

“We can live!”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Remember something kids: I love you!”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A heavy thud rammed against Law’s treasure chest as Cora-san was shot—one, two, three, four, five—making the blood in his veins run cold.

Cora-san! You can’t! Law barely heard the order to leave the Corazón for dead and take the treasure. He pressed his limbs to the wooden walls in panic when he felt the chest being lifted up—this was it! His entire world, dark and filled with fear, swayed with the movement of… yeah, Machvise’s steps as he was carried off and away from the scene of the crime.

It was just like three years ago, when he and his sister hid from their executioners in plain sight, except this time they were in separate hiding spots. Cora-san had been reluctant to do it, but they would not fit together in the biggest chest, and besides… he didn’t want Doflamingo’s crew to take what they thought was the most valuable haul, only to get something invaluable instead. Law kept his mind focused—the clearer he could make decisions, the quicker he could grab Lami, get back to Cora-san, and they could begin figuring out a way to rescue Baby 5.

“Is that everything? Good. Let’s make sure we have enough space first…”

Law listened closely for signs that the Doflamingo Pirates were all occupied before lifting the lid off his treasure chest and carefully slipping out. He couldn’t tell which one had Lami in it before he heard Trebol attempting to swallow the innards of his nasal cavity—he couldn’t get caught! Not yet! He ducked behind a nearby pile of rocks, there already being prints going over there he could step in to hide his tracks. Sure enough, there was a yellow divot against the cliff-face—apparently the ship’s latrine was just too far an ask…

Just then, Law heard the telltale whizzing sound of cannonballs hurtling towards them. They hit the cliff-face opposite him with two loud explosions; it was the Marines.

That’s right… Doflamingo had accused Cora-san of being a Marine, not only by the treasure chests, but after they stole a burner snail a few weeks ago as well. Law and Lami had even accused Cora-san of being a Marine. The only problem was: if Cora-san really was a Marine, then who was he having Baby 5 talk to over the transponder snail? Was she caught? Did she get in trouble? Had… had Doflamingo found out because Baby 5 told him…? It made him sick to think about…

“Leave the rest!” Doflamingo snapped. “We have to get out of here!”

At once, everyone scrambled to board the Numancia Flamingo and escape what was most likely Vice-Admiral Tsuru and her command. Law remained hidden behind the rocks while he waited for them to leave, seeing that they had truly left behind much of the load. Ha… Doflamingo was going to be pissed when they returned to Spider Miles…

Before long, the ships were off in the distance, the only evidence they were even around being the distant sounds of cannonfire. Law shuddered as he heard himself let out a sniffle—Cora-san was dead.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit! The teen began to tremble as he realized that things were going to become infinitely more difficult. Having to go rescue Baby 5 with just him and Lami wasn’t completely out of the question, but it was going to take a lot longer than it would have otherwise. He waited until he couldn’t hear the ships anymore before standing up and poking his head out from behind the rocks.

“Lami…?” He carefully picked his way over towards the heaps of discarded treasure and began to search through what remained. It looked like a lot of the chests were weighed down by rocks as just another way for one brother to get back at another. “Lami…? Where are you…?”

As Law continued looking through the chests, a sense of dread settled over him. Lami wasn’t answering, nor was she in any of the other chests. He got to the last one and asked whatever might be listening to let her be inside…

…and found rocks.

“Lami…?!” Law dropped to his knees and cried, knowing that the worst thing must have happened: she must have been taken aboard the Numancia. “LAMI! NO! YOU CAN’T—!” He stopped to vomit, hot and burning over his tongue and throat.

His sister was gone.

He was alone.

His sister was still dying and there was nothing he could do.

He was alone.

His sister was somewhere off in the far-reaching, icy sea, far beyond where he could feasibly go on his own.

He was alone.

His sister was going to suffer.

He was alone… truly alone.

All while she remained trapped.

Once all the contents of his stomach were melting the snow, Law scrambled onto his feet and began to stumble away. His legs were shaky and he felt like hell, but he kept going—the Marines were likely to come back and he didn’t want to be there if they did. He couldn’t go chasing after the Numancia and rescue Lami in the state he was in, barely able to stand upright or move of his own volition.

If this was freedom, then he didn’t want it.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was difficult for Lami to hear outside of the treasure chest—she wasn’t sure what was going on or where she was, but she had the feeling that she should not move… not until her brother opened the lid and took them both away. The chest had moved a couple of times, which made her cautious, because she didn’t know what sort of place she was going to escape from. All she needed to do was wait until the right time and…

…except, the lid lifted on its own, only for a confused-looking Gladius to be staring down at her. Not Law. Gladius. Not Law. Someone else. Not Cora-san. He was dead.

It was not Law.

She was not free.