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The snow fell in slow, heavy flakes, pressed against the windshield by the icy wind. Inside the car, the silence was almost absolute, broken only by the engine running and the soft tapping of Rosinante’s nails against his knee.
At seven months pregnant, that gesture was more an attempt to stay calm than a nervous tic.
He was wrapped in more layers than he would have chosen of his own accord: a heavy coat, a double scarf, thermal gloves and a blanket that Doflamingo had practically thrown on him before getting out.
“Don’t move from the car,” the alpha had growled, leaving no room for discussion. At that hour — 3:25 a.m., according to the dashboard clock — there was no one else on the street, just the distant murmur of the sleeping city and the flickering lights of a narrow alley.
Rosinante sighed, bringing a hand to his rounded belly. The little one had been moving a lot lately; he felt gentle nudges beneath his skin. “Calm down, Honey ” he murmured, stroking the area where he had felt the movement. “Daddy will be back… I suppose.”
He wasn’t worried about his safety. With Doflamingo he didn’t have to worry about anything external. He knew him too well: if he said he was going to “take care of something,” it was better not to know the details. He always dressed the truth up so his omega wouldn’t carry more weight than necessary, although no one really fooled Rosinante. But if his alpha believed he was protecting him that way… well, he let him.
A red flash crossed the alley. Rosinante tilted his head to try and see something through the steamed-up window, but he only made out the tall, broad silhouette he knew by heart.
Doflamingo emerged from the darkness as if the snow parted for him, hands in the pockets of his coat, a burning cigarette glowing between his lips. His expression was that usual mixture of annoyance, superiority, and dangerous satisfaction.
He opened the door with a sharp bang, letting in a gust of frigid air.
“Fuck, it’s freezing as hell,” he grunted as he shook the snow from his shoulder. Then he looked Rosinante up and down, appraising him as if he were the most valuable thing on the damned planet. “You okay? You didn’t move a single fucking inch, right?”
Rosinante tilted his head, smiling gently. “No, I didn’t move. You told me to stay, remember?”
Doflamingo snorted, closing the door and filling the car with his dominant, warm, heavy scent — instinctively protective. “Good. Lately you throw a tantrum over breathing differently; I didn’t want one of those episodes to strike.”
The omega rolled his eyes, though the smile remained.
“You exaggerate.”
“Tsk. Shut up,” the alpha shot back, but the harshness in his voice didn’t match the hand that, without asking permission, settled over Rosinante’s belly. His thumb stroked the fabric of the coat, and his expression shifted just slightly — a dark but warm undertone. “And her? Did she kick again?”
“A little,” Rosinante admitted. “I think she’s awake.”
“Of course she is,” Doflamingo murmured, leaning in to rest his forehead against his omega’s. “She always moves when I leave. That brat knows her daddy is working.”
Rosinante sighed, sinking into the seat, letting the alpha’s presence soothe his body and scent.
“We should go home,” he said softly. “I don’t want her getting any colder.”
“Yeah, let’s go. I’m not letting my omega freeze or my pup kick around because she’s uncomfortable,” Doflamingo grumbled, starting the engine with a brusque motion. “And tomorrow you’re staying in bed. Not a single damn complaint.”
“If you say so,” Rosinante replied, letting a hint of irony slip into his voice.
Doflamingo glanced at him sideways with a crooked smile.
“Don’t test me, Cora. You know that if I let you do whatever you want, you end up in trouble.”
“I never get into trouble,” Rosinante lied with perfect serenity.
The alpha let out a low, dark laugh while the car moved through the snowy street.
“Sure. That’s why I don’t take my eyes off you for a single second.”
Rosinante placed his hand over Doflamingo’s, which remained on his belly — a simple, silent gesture. A way of saying I’m fine without having to say it.
Outside, the city slept; they drove home, back to their strange, twisted world.
Doflamingo kept his hand on the omega’s belly as he drove, with no intention of moving it. It was only a few blocks anyway — not too far from the mansion, so Rosinante wouldn’t complain every five minutes about needing something from home.
As soon as the car stopped in front of the mansion’s main entrance, the engine still vibrating, Rosinante let out a deep sigh… too deep. One of those sighs that meant something. Doflamingo recognized it instantly and was already tensing before the omega even opened his mouth.
Rosinante leaned back in the seat, tilting his head with a faintly offended look, and stared at the door with clear reluctance.
“I don’t want to get out…” he murmured, stretching the vowels just slightly, in that soft tone he always used when he began one of his silent tantrums.
Doflamingo raised an eyebrow.
“And now what the hell is wrong with you?”
The omega pursed his lips, one of his blond strands falling over his eyes as he adjusted the blanket.
“I want to be carried.”
The alpha stared at him for two seconds. Three. Four.
“Cora, you’ve got to be kidding.”
“No,” Rosinante replied with absolute seriousness, stroking his belly. “I’m tired. And it’s cold. And the little one is tired too. You have to carry us.”
Doflamingo pinched the bridge of his nose, swallowing a curse that still managed to escape.
“You’re an adult omega, not an injured kitten.”
Rosinante turned toward the window, offended.
“Then I’m not getting out. I’ll stay here. All night, if necessary.”
The alpha’s eyes widened.
“You’re joking.”
“No,” Rosinante said again, with the calm certainty of someone completely decided. “If you want me to go inside, you’ll have to carry me. If not…” — he attempted to shrug, as much as his enormous belly allowed — “I’m staying.”
Doflamingo muttered through clenched teeth:
“Fuck… you really are unbearable since I got you pregnant.”
Rosinante looked at him with big, shiny eyes… far too shiny.
“Are you saying that… that I’m…?” His voice trembled just a little.
A cold shiver shot down Doflamingo’s spine.
Shit… not again. Not crying. Not today.
The last time had been a disaster: tears, sobs, and him threatening to kill the weather because it wasn’t sunny.
“No, no, no, no,” he said quickly, raising both hands. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t mean anything. Just… just stop pouting, Cora, for the love of— Fuck!”
Rosinante’s eyes were already wet, and only a tiny tremor in his lower lip showed he was seconds away from breaking.
Doflamingo slammed his hand against the car door in pure frustration.
“Fine. FINE! I’ll carry you, okay? Happy?”
Rosinante blinked twice.
“…You’ll carry me?”
“Yes! Of course I will!” the alpha burst out, stumbling out of his side of the car. “I’ll carry you, you dramatic princess. Stop looking at me like I kicked a damn puppy.”
The omega wiped away a tear that never actually fell and nodded with exaggerated dignity.
“Then yes, I want to get out.”
“You don’t say,” Doflamingo muttered, circling the car and opening the passenger door. “I get it. I’ll carry you, take you inside, wrap you in ten blankets, and leave you happy, okay?”
Rosinante gave him a small, soft… dangerously effective smile.
“Yes. That’s what I want.”
Doflamingo lifted him with far more care than he would ever admit, settling him securely against his chest.
“You are a fucking problem, Cora,” he whispered as he closed the door with his foot.
“And you spoil me too much,” Rosinante replied, resting his head on the alpha’s shoulder as if that were his natural place.
The alpha grunted, though the hand on Rosinante’s back betrayed him completely.
“Yeah, well… we’re already here. I’m not letting my pregnant omega walk around like he’s anyone.”
Rosinante smiled into his neck.
“I know.”
Doflamingo held him tighter, grumbling:
“One day you’re going to kill me with how insufferable you are, I swear.”
“But you’re carrying me,” Rosinante sang softly.
“Because if I don’t, you cry,” the alpha muttered.
“And it worked,” the omega murmured, clearly pleased.
“Shut up,” Doflamingo growled, carrying him toward the entrance. “You and the kid weigh like demons.”
And still, he didn’t loosen his hold for a single second.
Doflamingo pushed the mansion door open with his shoulder and walked in without stopping, still carrying Rosinante as if it were the most normal thing in the world to be doing at four in the morning. His footsteps echoed against the marble, and the omega’s scent slowly settled, growing calm as he nestled against him.
As soon as they crossed the foyer, Rosinante slowly opened his eyes, lifting his head from the alpha’s shoulder.
“I want a bath.”
Doflamingo stopped dead.
“What?”
The omega looked at him with total naturalness.
“A bath.”
The alpha turned his head toward the clock hanging on the wall.
4:02 a.m.
He let out an almost indignant huff.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Cora. You’re not getting in the shower at this hour. You need to sleep. Sleep, you know? That thing you do when you’re not asking for impossible shit.”
Rosinante stared at him with unbearable slowness, tilting his head.
“I’m cold. I want hot water. And nice-smelling soap. You can bathe me.”
“No.” Doflamingo didn’t filter any of it. “I’m not getting in a fucking shower at four in the morning. You and the brat need to sleep, not splash around. End of discussion.”
Rosinante narrowed his eyes.
That look.
That damn look that announced an incoming emotional catastrophe.
“You’re… not going to bathe me?” he asked in a soft voice, too soft.
“Cora!” The alpha already felt his determination crumbling. “Don’t start. For once in your life, give it up.”
But the omega inhaled, puffing his cheeks just slightly — clearly hurt.
“I wouldn’t be this tired if I didn’t have to go out,” he said, using the wounded tone he hadn’t used all night, “because of the old alpha I married.”
Doflamingo blinked, offended.
“Old? You’re calling me old?”
Rosinante kept talking as if he hadn’t heard him.
“And now I’m tired, freezing… and my back hurts… all because you decided to handle ‘business’ in the middle of the night. And…” — he lowered his gaze with surgical, dramatic precision — “if my alpha doesn’t want to take care of me… then I don’t want him touching my belly.”
He paused.
“For a whole week.”
Doflamingo nearly dropped him.
“WHAT?! A week!? Are you out of your— No. No, hell no. Forget it. That’s not happening.”
“Then bath,” Rosinante declared, crossing his arms awkwardly around his big belly.
A heavy silence filled the foyer. Doflamingo clenched his jaw, looked upward as if divine intervention might help, then looked back at the omega. Rosinante was already beginning to pout—just slightly—and the alpha felt his morale implode.
“Fuck…” he finally muttered. “Fine. FINE, I’ll bathe you. But after that you’re going to sleep, understood? One more hour awake and my patience is going to get fucked.”
Rosinante smiled, sweet as expensive poison.
“Of course.”
“And don’t call me old again,” Doflamingo growled as he adjusted him in his arms and headed toward the stairs. “Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you can say stupid shit.”
“But you’re going to bathe me,” Rosinante murmured, clearly delighted with himself.
“Yes, I’m going to bathe you…” the alpha grumbled as he climbed the stairs with firm steps, “because if I don’t, you’ll cry, and I’m not spending another damn night dealing with that.”
Rosinante rested his cheek on the alpha’s shoulder, pleased.
“You see, daddy… when you want to, you can be very obedient.”
Doflamingo let out a low, dark laugh, resigned.
“Only with you, impossible omega.”
Still grumbling, he continued upstairs, escorting them toward the inevitable ritual of the bath.
...
Doflamingo pushed the bathroom door open with a grunt, switched on the lights, and let out a long, exhausted sigh. It was far too early, he was far too tired, and his omega was far too… demanding.
And yet, there he was: rolling up his sleeves, tossing his coat on the floor, and turning the faucet handles.
The water began to run—warm at first, then hotter. Steam slowly rose, fogging up the mirror. Doflamingo adjusted the temperature with surgical precision, because if it was even one degree hotter or colder, Rosinante would let him know. With tears. And emotional threats. And that damned face that turned him completely useless.
“Fucking hell…” he muttered as he added liquid soap to the water, the soft floral scent his omega preferred. “Why does pregnancy make you like this? A sweet demon, but still a demon.”
He filled the tub to exactly the level Rosinante had once specified—almost as if they had signed an invisible contract titled ‘The Perfect Bath Height.’ Straightening up, he wiped his wet hands on his pants and looked around: soft towels, his favorite sponge, the bath mat positioned so he wouldn’t slip… everything.
Everything exactly the way he wants it.
“You better appreciate this…” he grumbled, stepping out of the bathroom to fetch the omega.
The alpha walked back to the main bedroom and found him exactly where he had left him: sitting on the bed with the blanket over his legs and an empty plate beside him. Empty, because the slice of cream cake had vanished completely.
Rosinante was sucking his thumb, wearing a thoroughly satisfied expression—one that, from the alpha’s perspective, seemed deliberately provocative.
Doflamingo narrowed his eyes.
“You ate all of that?”
Rosinante looked up, smiling with pure innocence.
“I felt like it.”
A crumb of cake rested at the corner of his mouth.
The alpha felt his patience evaporating like boiling water.
“Cora, that piece was enormous. I told you I was going to get your bath ready like you demanded, and then you were supposed to sleep!”
Rosinante tilted his head, licking another smear of cream from his lip.
“But I was hungry. And you took too long. You said ‘wait here,’ and I waited. But…” — he absently stroked his belly, where the seven-month curve rose beautifully beneath the shirt — “the baby wanted something sweet too.”
Doflamingo pressed a hand to his forehead.
“The baby doesn’t eat cake, Cora.”
The omega thought for two seconds.
“Well, she wanted it.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“I’m the pregnant omega,” Rosinante replied with the same gentle tone others used to say ‘good evening’—“so yes, that’s how it works.”
Doflamingo clenched his jaw.
That argument.
That stupid argument that had won every single discussion for months.
“The bath is ready,” he informed, voice tense. “And you better not get dizzy from all that sugar, because I’m not spending another hour holding you up if you faint again.”
Rosinante set the plate aside and stretched his arms toward the alpha.
“Carry me.”
Doflamingo glared at him.
“Cora, you can walk perfectly fine right now.”
“I don’t want to,” the omega said sweetly. “I’m full and heavy.”
“Because you ate half a damn cake,” the alpha grumbled.
Rosinante simply repeated:
“Carry me.”
Doflamingo let out an incredulous, dark, resigned laugh.
“Jesus… you’re a torment.”
But he still leaned down, slid an arm under Rosinante’s knees, and lifted him easily, settling him against his chest. Rosinante let out a blissful sigh, resting his head against the alpha’s neck.
“I knew you were going to carry me,” he murmured, satisfied.
Doflamingo adjusted him in his arms as he headed toward the bathroom.
“You have no shame.”
“I’m a spoiled omega,” Rosinante said, brushing the tip of his nose against the alpha’s skin. “Whose fault is that?”
Doflamingo grit his teeth, barely holding back a smile.
“Mine… damn it.”
And he stepped into the bathroom, carrying the omega in his arms, ready to lower him into the warm water he had prepared himself.
...
The bedroom was completely silent, lit only by the soft glow of a lamp on the nightstand. Outside, it was still dawn—almost six in the morning—and the whole mansion seemed to be holding its breath while the alpha finally had a moment of rest… or something close to it.
Doflamingo sat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, his body still damp in places where the omega had forced him into the tub. His clean clothes clung uncomfortably to his skin, reminding him every second of the ordeal it had been to get Rosinante to do what he wanted for once.
Because at first, it had been simple: helping him into the water, holding his arms, massaging his back with the floral soap, whispering for him to stop squirming so much.
Until the omega decided he wanted his alpha inside, that the hot water made him “sleepy,” and that he needed to feel him close.
Doflamingo had complained.
He had refused.
He had growled every curse known to man.
And in the end… there he was, sitting in the tub, with a seven-month-pregnant omega plastered to him like a living blanket. Two full hours of warm water, skin, soft touches, and endless whims.
Getting him out had been even worse.
Rosinante didn’t want to get up.
Didn’t want to be dried.
Didn’t want to let go of his neck.
The alpha had nearly died drowning in his own frustration, but he managed to get him dressed… sort of. The cloud-pattern pajamas were too small around his belly, the fabric stretched thin over the center of the round bump where the baby slept. Rosinante didn’t seem to care: he was too pampered, too soft, too full of sugar and warmth.
Now, finally, he rested.
Asleep like an angel who had never caused a single problem in his entire life.
Rosinante breathed slowly, deeply, his face relaxed. His short blond curls fell over his forehead and the curve of his cheeks. His body was pressed against the alpha’s as though they had been shaped together from the start. One arm wrapped around Doflamingo’s waist, a leg draped over his hip, and his head nestled beneath the alpha’s collarbone.
The violet mark on his neck—right at the little curve where his claim had begun to fade—stood out against his pale skin.
An irregular, soft blotch, like a barely sketched scar.
Doflamingo brushed his fingers over it carefully, feeling that instinctive, animal urge to reinforce it.
He’s mine. He always has been.
And it’s going to fade again… goddamn it…
The alpha frowned at the mark as if it were a personal insult.
“You have a unique talent for driving me insane in less than a minute,” he murmured quietly, not wanting to wake him.
The omega barely shifted, snuggling closer, seeking his warmth. A tiny sigh slipped from his lips—tender, sweet—and the soft scent of a satisfied omega filled the air.
Doflamingo exhaled, defeated. He felt the exhaustion of hours finally weighing on his shoulders, but still, he didn’t move. He couldn’t. Rosinante held him captive with arms, legs, and essence.
And he… had no intention of pushing him away.
“Spoiled,” he whispered into the blond hair, brushing his lips against his forehead. “You’re fucking spoiled…”
The alpha’s hand rested on the omega’s belly, feeling a faint movement from within—a warm reminder of their daughter.
“And still…” he added with a crooked, dark yet gentle smile, “I’m not letting anyone touch you. Ever.”
He pulled the blankets over both of them. Rosinante didn’t react. He slept deeply, surrendered as if he hadn’t been the emotional disaster who’d kept him awake the entire night.
Doflamingo closed his eyes, letting his breathing match Rosinante’s, offering no resistance as exhaustion finally claimed him.
The room fell into absolute silence.
And, for a few hours at least, even the most dangerous alpha in the country slept in peace.