little Daudsider something something about kisses that I wrote for @dauded. Enjoy! c:
Daud is twenty-six. He has settled in in Dunwall's underground, taking refuge in the attic of an old mansion. It's deserted, but dry. It will do. He has a mattress on the floor and a blanket, he doesn't need more. The farthest corner of the tiny room is taken up by an impromptu shrine that Daud is always rebuilding and improving. All sorts of trinkets and paraphernalia andorn it: bits and pieces of bone tied to violet string, scraps of fine fabric, feathers, wire, sizzling whale oil lamps illuminating stolen silverware. Between it all, his god sits, legs crossed neatly and his chin propped in his hand, fingers hiding a smile.
"You don't like it?" Daud asks, tying a fork to a string. It reflects the light, throwing blue spots onto the wall.
"I've had people sacrifice their loved ones for me," the Outsider says, leaning back a little where he sits on the altar. "Drink their children's blood, standing naked in the ocean under af ull moon. And you give me cutlery and fish bones."
"It's too cold to be standing naked in the ocean," Daud says flatly. He's not worried that he offended his god: the Outsider teases, but he appears at this shrine every night, every time Daud brings something new to add to the collection. Daud stands, critically taking in his shrine, but deems it worthy and nods to himself.
The Outsider chuckles. "You never fail to fascinate me, Daud," he says. "You certainly are refreshing."
Daud looks up at his god with an eyebrow quirked, and huffs something akin to a chuckle through his nose. He turns away, and the Outsider can't guess why , but he reaches out and grabs Daud's shoulder. Daud stumbles back with the momentum of the force in the Outsider's touch, and the Outsider grabs him with the other hand as well. Tin, white fingers dig through the fabric of Daud's dirty, white shirt, thumbs pressing right below the collarbone. It's no gentle touch, it carries a clear message of dominance. Daud's bright gray eyes carry a sense of dread, not because the Outsider can be so forceful to remind him of his place, but because he wonders if he did something wrong.
"I don't play favorites," the Outsider says. Daud avoids looking into the abyss of his eyes directly, choosing to lower his gaze. "Do not get comfortable, Daud."
And then he kisses him, this man, this mortal. His Daud.
And Daud doesn't fight back, doesn't flinch. His lips are slim and dry, taut where a fresh scar rips through his flesh. There's stubble over his lip that the Outsider can feel, running his hands over Daud's cheeks, thumb tracing the ragged scar that runs from his throat up to hsi hairline. He remembers how much the wound had bled, how it festered and oozed puss and how the Outsider wondered if Daud's life was going to be ended by this one mistake. He... finds himself glad that it didn't.
Daud draws back, carefully looking up. "I'm sorry," he mutters. "I shouldn't have—"
The Outsider looks him in those clear, gray eyes, like the stormy sea. He keeps him close. Daud is apologizing for something he didn't do. How can a man so confident be so humble? The Outsider kisses him again. Daud doesn't fight back. This human is so full of surprises, and the Outsider knows he is his favorite.
Daud is a private man and he doesn't like the openness of the Undine. Lizzy scowls and looks at him like he's crazy, but gives in to the demand to look for somewhere more secluded. Daud finds them an abandoned apartment a few floors above the riverfront that nobody will be able to follow them to. The mattress looks clean enough, too. Blinking them up makes Lizzy giddy with the power of the Void swallowing her, and she's playful and in a good mood again when they start kissing and undressing. Daud follows her tattoos with his lips, and Lizzy burrows her hand deep in his hair until she can tug at the roots.
She is soft and wet when he pushes inside her. "You know, for someone with a face as ugly as yours, you really have a nice cock," she teases, huffing a delightfully sensual little noise as he catches his weight on his arms next to her. Daud gets comfortable, and she wraps her legs around his waist, pressing her heels against the small of his back.
"Yeah? Too bad I can't say the same about you." He can see her face twitch into a frown, her lips pursed with offense, and grins. "Don't worry, it doesn't bother me," he adds, closing her mouth in a kiss before she can protest. She bites instead, and he chuckles into her mouth.
He should have known better than to offend Lizzy Stride, even playfully as it was.
She brings up the idea the next time they see each other, when money passes between them for a favor and Lizzy provides Daud with two crates of fresh food that was intended for the Estate District.
Daud looks at her with disbelief and shakes his head, muttering that she's clearly gone mad. Lizzy laughs and tells him it's a compliment more than anything.
She asks a second time the next time they meet, wiping blood off her hook while Daud goes through the corpses to look for coin and elixir. He looks up at her and frowns and shakes his head. She smiles at him and shrugs. "Have I ever disappointed you?" she asks, and he rolls his eyes and turns his back to her. But still they find themselves against a wall later, alone and in the dark, and the way Lizzy has wrapped her fingers around Daud's cock, squeezing the head until he sighs into her mouth, is more of an answer than his ever-distant attitude. "Let me do this for you, Daud," she says sweetly. "You have no idea how much they make you pay for this kind of service down at the Golden Cat."
"You're right, I don't," he replies, hips stuttering into her grip. She pulls away, and he follows her. "Lizzy," he snarls, and there is an underlying plea in his voice.
"I don't know Daud, you never let me have any fun," she teases with a exaggerated sigh, her thumb tapping the frenulum until Daud groans behind clasped teeth. She laughs at him.
She gets him to give in by the fifth time.
She's usually the one to start things, because despite his job he's far from being physical. Daud is reserved and scarcely bothers to pay attention to what his body tells him. Lizzy likes to make him. She has jerked him off before plenty of times, enjoying the way Daud bites down on the noises he wants to make, as if he's surprised he's capable of them, and Lizzy is trying to coax every single one out of him anyway. She enjoys playing with him, breaking down the walls and the stoic demeanor. She likes getting underneath his skin, digging and twisting.
And she's really done it this time. What she's doing now is a whole new level of making the Knife of Dunwall crumble. Now, his cock is hard against his stomach, skin tight and veins throbbing and the head leaking clear precum. It's truly a sight to behold. His right leg is hoisted up under her grip, his face and chest red with a blush that makes even the most faded of his scars burn bright. He's clinging to the sheets, and she feels his legs kick with every other of her movements.
"Fuck," he groans. Lizzy watches his Adam's apple bob as he tries to control his breathing. "Lizzy..."
"Yes, Daud?" she asks, but he doesn't answer. She doesn't think it was important, anyway. She renews her grip on his thighs. Fucking people is harder than she imagined it to be, but Daud is clearly enjoying it despite her trying this for the first time.
She's slipped her fingers into him before this, and although he never told her she's sure that he never let anyone else do that, and it's so sweet to even consider this. Lizzy is neither exclusive nor attached to the idea of romance, but she values what they have together, and the opinion Daud holds of her. The toy she's using on him isn't overly big, and Daud went a little pale in the face anyway when she first presented it to him proudly. But even Lizzy Stride knows when the joking stops, and with the intent to do this again she doesn't want to scare him away too soon. She's pampering him.
And honestly, the feeling of power it gives her is incredible. It doesn't matter that Daud is getting all the attention, Lizzy can feel her inner muscles twitch and contract, hungry to be filled. She feels warm fluid run out of her and seep into the harness, making her squirm and her hips stutter. Her twitching makes Daud jump, her every movement transmitted to him through the artificial cock strapped to her hips. She's sweating with the extended effort.
Daud doesn't look any better. The precum seeps from his cock in a thin, clear thread, pooling on his stomach. She can see sweat glistening on his forehead, running down the temple. It's collecting in the burrow between his collarbones. She wants to lean in and lick the salt from his quivering throat, feel his throbbing pulse under her tongue. They'll have a lot of cleaning up to do. It's wonderfully messy. She already knows he will complain about it when they're done.
Daud is pressing his hands against the headboard now, trying to get some leverage against the thrusts she forces on him and she watches his knuckles turn white. She knows he must desperately want to reach down and stroke himself to completion. But Lizzy hasn't allowed it, and Daud has wonderful manners for a man of his reputation. He's clay in her hands that she can form to her liking.
He's already agreed to this. Next time she'll ask if she can wrap his belt around his neck too, watch him turn purple as she fucks him into oblivion.
"Lizzy," he chokes out. She watches, waiting if there's gonna be anything more, but that seems to be it. No complaints, just soft pleading. His lack of words is endearing, really.
"Not yet," she says. To her own surprise it comes out more as a coo than a snicker.
Daud seems to notice it as well. He looks up at her, and the pale grey of his irises reflects the light of the whale oil lamps, making them shine warm, bright aquamarine. Lizzy grins. "You look good like this, Daud," she teases, and he grinds his teeth to swallow either complaint or moan, or both. "I could really do this more often," she adds, dipping her head forward to press a kiss to his knee.
This time, he can't bite back on a groan when she moves, and his eyes flutter shut again. She watches his cock twitch. He's so close. She leans further in, aiming for a kiss to his mouth this time, but he jerks his hips up and hisses. Lizzy hears the discomfort and backs away.
"Sorry luv," she murmurs, nuzzling her cheek against his knee comfortingly. "Looks like cuddling with this thing is not gonna happen."
Daud grunts and relaxes back into the bed, half a grin in the corner of his mouth, eyes narrowing. Mixed with his pleasure-ridden look, Lizzy feels her heart ache a little. "If you ever let me come I'll cuddle you for as long as you want," he says. His voice is lower than usual, flirty even, rumbling through her chest and raising the hair on her arms. She closes her eyes for a moment to compose herself, and when she looks up again, he is still staring at her, still a calm, knowing smile on his lips. Lizzy ignores the hot wave running through her body that makes her shiver.
"If," she stresses.
Daud chuckles, but the sound ends in another low moan when she thrusts her hips forward again, pushing the cock deeper into him. Hitting his prostate isn't easy, but this time she seems to have found the right angle, because Daud writhes, leg kicking up as he heaves out a few garbled expletives. Lizzy repeats the movement curiously, and she can see the muscles in his thighs tighten and his stomach quiver. His face and shoulders have turned a quite charming shade of red.
"Amazing," she mutters as she watches him, her hands grabbing around his hips now to steady herself and let her own sway back and forth. Daud tenses up beneath her, his whole body going rigid. His mouth opens. All this, and she isn't even touching him. It sends a hot shiver down her spine, pooling in her stomach. She tries not to think of the bittersweet ache that comes with it, watching instead how the muscles of his stomach move as he breathes.
Daud makes a delightful noise that catches in his throat, and he raises his hands to her to grab around her arms, his grip tense and nails digging into her skin. For a moment, Lizzy is painfully aware of everything around them, their heavy breathing and the sounds they make, the smell of their fucking, the creaking of the old bedframe and the soft humming of the whale oil lamps. Daud is staring at her, but she can't tell he's not seeing her anymore. Lizzy smiles and sighs his name, and Daud shudders and holds on to her as he spills himself over his stomach.
She watches him shudder and twitch through his orgasm, cum running into the ripples between his muscles with every heave of his stomach. Daud's hands relax around her arms and he sinks back into the mattress, all tension leaving his body. Lizzy makes use of his fatigued state and carefully slips out of him, not without giving the side of his ass a gentle pat. Daud's skin is still slick with lubricant; they really made a mess. It's all over her and the mattress, too. Lizzy stares between them and grins.
"What are you so happy about?" Daud's voice is soft and hoarse. He looks at her as he wipes the sweat and a few loose hairs from his forehead. His eyes are cool and grey again.
She flashes him her teeth. "Look at you, master assassin," she says. "You liked it."
Daud grunts and grabs the blanket to wipe himself clean. Lizzy would have loved to play a little and paint a few horrible things to his flushed skin, but she knows she already got away with a lot for tonight. Next time maybe.
Like so often, Daud's silence is his own way of answering. He carefully moves a little, and Lizzy pretends not to watch him as she unbuckles the harness from her hips. The leather was warm on her skin and removing it exposes her to cold air that makes her shiver. She's still feeling warm and on edge as she tosses the harness to the floor.
"You look like you liked it, too," she hears Daud say, and she looks up. He has his temple leaned against his knuckles and watches her. He has regained his composure quickly and is back to being silent and observant. She purses her lips at him, but before she can answer, he tilts his head a little to the side, indicating the space next to him. "Come here," he beckons. "Looks like I won't be doing much walking for tonight, might as well make it worth it."
She snickers and pounces him, earning a muffled grunt before she closes his mouth with her own.
Lizzy is a bony, angular lump under the thin blanket. She didn't regain consciousness for all of the way back from Coldridge to Rudshore. Daud thinks sleeping in a real bed will help her get better, but at the same time it's more than worrying to see Lizzy Stride so calm and quiet. It's nothing he's prepared to associate with her.
Apart from the bruises and cuts in her face, she has two broken ribs, both wrists sprained, and the handprint marks on the inner side of her thighs speaks volumes of the prison's hospitality. Daud had Feodor and Akila patch her up and do everything they could, but after that, it's on Lizzy's will to live alone. She has been out cold for two days now. Daud is in a hurry to get to Brigmore; there's a cold panic in his neck that he cannot explain and honestly, rather wouldn't, anyway. But Lizzy is more important right now: He needs her boat, yes, but he also needs her. Billie is gone and Lizzy is all he has left. Not for the first time, he has to admit to himself that she is his lifebelt.
It's long, quiet hours, sitting alone by her bed. "Couldn't burden anyone of you with her," he tells the Whalers, and they don't argue, of course they don't. He reads, so the silence doesn't grow too big in his head.
She wakes up in the small hours of the third morning. "Daud?" she asks, and her voice is broken and hoarse. Daud startles awake from a light snooze; blissfully void of dreams or nightmares.
"What the fuck," Lizzy croaks, and Daud feels a weight lifted from his shoulders. She's still Lizzy, and she'll survive.
He puts the book away. "How are you feeling?"
"Like shit," Lizzy says. She raises her hand from under the blanket, pushing her greasy hair away from her face. Her choice of words doesn't surprise him: She certainly looks like shit. Honestly, she smells like shit, too, beautifully blending in with Rudshore's natural perfume. The movement makes her groan with pain, but she tries to sit up anyway. Daud leans in to help, but she swats him away with a snarl. She settles with a huff against the wall, looking around. "Where in the Void am I?" she asks, eying the bandages around her wounds. She's wearing one of the uniform Whaler shirts; it's too big on her wiry shoulders, the bone underneath sticking out, but it's clean, at least.
"My hideout," Daud says calmly. The infirmary is one of the few almost dry houses in the Flooded District, a little ways away from the Chamber of Commerce, well-hidden behind ruins, and all entrances sealed shut for everyone but those with his abilities. Even with the Arcane Bond, wounds and illness are a serious threat, and Daud takes the Whalers' health seriously. And Lizzy, although he wishes it was different, doesn't seem to be affected by his benefits.
"Shoulda said something, I woulda brung flowers," Lizzy says, clicking her teeth.
Daud almost smiles. "Do you remember what happened?" he asks then. He watches Lizzy groan and rub her head, feeling the bruises and wounds.
"Edgar sold me out," she mutters. "City Watch comes and takes me away. Killed Malcolm, the little rats." She frowns. "He was a good man. Dumb as horse shit though."
"Not mutually exclusive," Daud says, and Lizzy snorts with a nod before looking away. He knows the pain of losing men, too close for comfort. He shares Lizzy's silence.
She huffs when she gets uncomfortable under his patient stare. "They put me in Coldridge and I think that's it." She shrugs. "What a miserable place to die. The empress' bodyguard aside, who ever got out of that shit hole alive?"
"Lizzy Stride, apparently," Daud says smoothly. "They're looking all over the city for you."
Lizzy perks up. "Did my bounty go up?"
He can't help but grin now. "Didn't check, but I think it should."
"Sweet." She flashes him her small, pointy teeth in a smile. "That means it's higher than yours now, huh."
He leans back in his chair and folds his arms and legs. "That's just because nobody ever gets to see me work. Nobody knows I got you out, and they're blaming Attano for the death of the empress, and he's thirty-thousand coin heavy."
"Yeah, he's—" She pauses. "What the fuck," she says then, sitting up and ignoring all the painful pangs that come with it. "That was you? You killed Jessamine Kaldwin?"
"I did." He stares cold and hard at her, hoping she might get the hint. He's not willing to talk about it.
Lizzy, as always, has a morbid fascination with wounds, even the ones that aren't visible, and pries further. "Who wanted her dead?"
"What's it matter?" Daud asks.
"Come on, tell me," Lizzy reaches out to grab the hem of his coat and give it a tug. "I promise I'm not gonna tell."
He snorts and grabs her hand—mindful of the injuries—to shove it away. "Now that you're awake, you should eat," he tells her. "As soon as you can walk, we're getting you back to your ship."
"Right," she says, slipping back down under the covers to lie down. "You wanted me to take you upriver? Where do you want to go, and why?"
"I'll tell you later," he says as he gets up, putting the chair aside. "First I'll get you some food. Rest."
She doesn't object, only nods. It speaks volumes about how weak and hungry she has to be, not that she would ever admit such a thing. Daud looks back over his shoulder to see her bury herself under the blanket and close her eyes as he leaves the room.
She's asleep again when he returns a little later, a bowl of steaming soup in his hands. A few pale chunks of whale meat are floating underneath big patches of liquid fat on the top. It's not much for taste, but warm and salty. He's also found a bottle of Morley ale. Not very healthy either, but he knows she'll appreciate it more than tea, and it will help against the pain. For that, he has a ration of Sokolov's elixir from his own supply. Anything to get her back on her feet.
"Wake up, Lizzy," he says softly as he puts the bowl down on a little stool that serves as a night table. She doesn't react, and he reaches out to carefully touch her. Her face twitches into a frown. She groans, and between the dark circles under her eyes and bruises, he sees her lids open just a little.
"Daud," she murmurs.
"I can't help but think we're having the same conversation over and over," he says and smiles a little. "I brought you food. You need to eat."
This time she lets him help her into a sitting position, and he hands her the bowl so she can eat. They both hear her stomach growl loudly, but he ignores it. Her hand is shaking as she grabs the spoon, and it takes her a few tries to scoop up a chunk of meat and bring it to her mouth. When the hot, salty soup touches her bruised lip, she lets the meat fall down back into the bowl as she flinches back. She's doesn't look up to meet his eyes. She wipes some soup away from her chin and tries again.
Daud sighs. "Lizzy—"
"Don't you dare," she snarls. "I can eat on my own."
He rolls his eyes and raises his hands with a shrug as he leans back. "Your pride will get you killed one day," he mutters and shakes his head.
"Look who's talking." Lizzy is trying to drink directly from the bowl now, but the soup is too hot and the bowl too heavy for her weakened arms. It's painful to watch, and Daud feels his patience dwindle. She'll starve before she gets the soup eaten by herself.
"I don't have all day," he grumbles, raising himself up just to sit down on her bed and take the bowl from her hands. She snarls at him but her protest is weak, and he waves the filled spoon around before her mouth. "Open up. I have better things to do than watch you embarrass yourself."
"I'll remember this, Daud," Lizzy says, but she opens her mouth.
Daud pushes the spoon in, a little rough to tell her that he's not having any of her shit today. "Yeah yeah," he mutters, filling another spoonful as she swallows carefully. "I'm sorry for saving your life. I don't know why I keep doing it."
He hears her snicker. "Because you love me, you stupid idiot."
Daud looks up from the bowl. Lizzy has whale meat pushed into her cheek and spoke with her mouth full, grease on her lips. She's bandaged and filthy and her head is shaven and tattooed and she has as many scars running through her face as he. She's as ugly and corrupted as everyone in Dunwall.
She raises her eyebrows as she is chewing and watching him as he stares at her. Neither of them says anything. Lizzy swallows and licks her lips.
Finally, Daud rolls his eyes, raising the spoon up to her lips again. "Don't flatter yourself," he mutters. Her reply is an amused, airy huff through her nose as she lets him feed her.
Security at Dunwall Tower had definitely increased. Nevertheless, the Whalers had found the perfect routines to avoid guards and watchtowers. Daud silently considered sending the Lord Protector an anonymous letter about loops in the watch’s patrols when all this was over.
It felt weird being here. He had snuck into countless private bedrooms in his life, usually with the intention to silence someone, not… see if he found anything to help them. Weirdly enough, for the first time he felt like he was intruding.
"Good morning to you," he replies, because we're in different timezones, and it is 9am for me. I turn over, put the phone away, hug my pig plushie, and go to sleep.
About forty minutes later, my doorbell rings. It wakes me up, but I don't get up. I'm not expecting anybody. The doorbell rings again, longer this time. I turn over and try to go back to sleep.
Then, my phone rings. I try to ignore it, but I can't, especially not after seeing my brother's name on the display. It dawns on me that it must be him in front of my door. I don't want to answer, I don't want to get out of bed, I want to sleep. I answer the phone.
"Told you I'm coming by," he says, and I remember that before the holidays, he had said that. That he'd come by. That he'd help. "You gonna open the door for me?"
"Yuh," I mutter, not yet capable of coherent speech. I hang up, throw something over, and hurry to open the door for him.
I'm the littlest sister. My brother has a wife, and a two-year old daughter. No matter if I'm eight, or eighteen, or twenty-eight, he'll always be an adult to me, and I'm just the baby sister. Today, my brother has the oomph of someone who already spent three hours up, had breakfast, kissed his wife and kid good-bye for the day, and then set his eyes on helping his little sister out of her hole. I don't want the conversation to happen. I watch helplessly as he starts cleaning my kitchen. I haven't cleaned the kitchen in over two months. Dirty dishes everywhere. Old newspapers have been piling up. Dust bunnies everywhere. My flat is a mess. It looks like I feel.
I get dressed, first time since last week that I'm putting on pants. I make myself coffee, and try to help my brother clean my kitchen. It gets easier as we go along. I collect some trash from around the flat, I clean up my desk a little. We vacuum the kitchen, living room, and hallway. My flat is not clean, but the dust bunnies are gone. I can see the kitchen counter again.
My brother takes me out for breakfast at Subway. Of all places, Subway? I don't complain. The sub I eat costs as much money as I have left to spend on groceries this week. I have a Sprite to drink. I'd rather have another coffee. My brother tells me he worries about me. I cry. We're in public. I don't want to cry, I don't want to be seen.
He puts his hand on my arm. He tells me things will be alright. We don't mention our father, or Mom, even once in the conversation. We go grocery shopping together. I treat myself to some new sencha. We pick my niece up from day care.
It's still the first week of the new year. It's still time for a new beginning.
Daud had been dreaming of the Void recently. That in itself wasn't unusual, but when he fell out of the Outsider's favor—he told himself it didn't bother him, but he still wondered why—the frequency had dropped significantly. These days though, more often than not, should he ever drift to sleep, instead of being a sole spectator to his nightmares, he found himself surrounded by the beginning and end of all things.
He blinked wearily, standing on a rock that was floating mid-air or... mid-nothing, really, and the water that was pouring upside from tubes beneath his feet made him wonder if maybe he was the one who was upside-down. He looked around, but he couldn't find the black-eyed bastard anywhere, just rubble and ruins and shards of reality. Usually when he fell into the Void, the deity would be there waiting for him, ready to taunt him, but now he found himself to be alone.
Fandom: Dishonored
Characters: Daud, Thomas, Whalers everywhere, and Emily... so far.
Approx. 6k words, eventual Daud/Corvo, but I’m taking my time.
Summary: When the Royal Protector goes missing, Daud trusts nobody but himself to look for him.
“When you see this, share three random lines from three WIPs.”
ugh fine because i totally do not enjoy talking about what I write
Also I’m cheating because three lines is either too much or too little ANYWAY HERE U GO
From that hopefully-multichapter-Daud/Corvo-if I figure out what it will be about:
Daud had been dreaming of the Void recently. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but it hadn’t happened in a while. These days, more often than not, he found himself in the vast blue nothingness when he dreamed. The humidity reminded him strangely of his hometown in Serkonos when he was standing at the edge of the ocean, feeling droplets of water hit his face. It was not a good memory.
A Donquixote Pirates thing I’m writing:
They were a family of outcasts, of freaks; violent and ruthless just has him, and every single one had dirtied their hands with blood for him. If it weren’t for the family, each of them would be alone, and the world would have swallowed them right up, him included.
And a Dofladile thing.
“Enthralling,” Crocodile commented dryly, not taking much pleasure in the suffering of others if he wasn’t the one inflicting it. He had his chin resting in the palm of his hand, thinking how much he craved a cigar and silence. The sad thing about this was that Doflamingo probably thought he was doing him a favor.
@yamineftis has Tsuru dressed up as Gandalf, and very quickly this happened. Tsuru’s dialogue is written by JRR Tolkien.
They met in the hallway. Doflamingo rolled from his heels to hies toes and back as he stood and waited for Tsuru to catch up. "Good morning," he said cheerfully when she walked past him without even looking at him. He'd expected as much.
Now she turned, a thin white eyebrow raised.
"What do you mean?" she said, her tone flat as she looked up to him. He grinned at her confusedly. "Do you wish me a good morning," she explained, "or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or do you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?"
"I'm—" he stuttered, hands sinking to his sides, fingers twitching nervously. "Uhm... I-I... Well, I..." She was already walking on, leaving him to stand where he was. "Dammit you mean old hag!" he yelled after her when he realized what she'd done to him. "I only wanted to be nice!"
I tried my hand at Crocodile and Cobra together. It’s set somewhere in the first year of Crocodile’s arrival. Things aren’t looking too bad yet.
855 words, gen, no beta.
Crocodile loved Cobra’s bedroom. The man was alarmingly modest, still his taste was nothing for Crocodile to sneer at.
He was busying himself with admiring the colorful tilework of the walls surrounding the little seating area at the balcony. Cobra’s room was bigger than his own, and just to remind him that this would absolutely not do, Crocodile made a point of visiting constantly, if only to bother the man. He had never invited Cobra to the guest room be was staying in, and made a point of not doing it, too. “Do you have that wine served already?” he asked, not bothering to turn around. He blew out a plume of cigar smoke that circled around his head as he stared at a beautiful mosaic of lotus flowers and reed. The Sandora river’s banks had started to go back recently, and Alabasta’s trademark flower started to wither. Crocodile found himself amused by how unsettled Cobra was by this.
Not much to say about this. The OTP in the God AU setting. Slight warning for implied vore? Probably gross altogether. I really need to write something decent... Not sure how I feel about this, either. The God AU is super hard for me to pin down. I’m still learning.
Crocodile spread his fingers between Doflamingo's toes, getting the oil everywhere, rubbing his thumb against the sole with some pressure. Even the scaly skin of his left hand was slippery and smooth now. Doflamingo did nothing, only wachted, chin propped in his hand, and chuckled a little when Crocodile tickled him, kicking softly. More often than not, though, what Crocodile did made him moan. The unction was getting him off, there was no denying that. It wasn't so much the act as the one who was doing it; Crocodile on his knees before him, sitting int he shallow water of the baths they had retreated to.
Crocodile leaned forward, Doflamingo's foot still in his hands while the other rested on his bent knee, opening his mouth to just softly nip at the thin, silken skin stretching over the ankle. Doflamingo could see the second mouth open, just barely, at the edges, soft scar tissue tearing apart in the middle to make way for teeth as long as fingers and a wet, red tongue behind it. Steamy breath hit his naked shins, and he noticed the smell of the last thing Crocodile had devoured; just faintly, but the sweetness of a waned, innocent soul was making even his hair stand on edge.
The growl from Crocodile's maw was like distant thunder, threatening and exciting.
"Are you gonna eat me tonight?" Doflamingo asked. There was no fear in his voice, and neither excitement. It was an honest question. He just wanted to know.
Crocodile looked up without moving, wetting his eyes with sheer second eyelids while he stared up without breaking Doflamingo's gaze. The second mouth was open now. Fluid dripped from the teeth and onto Doflamingo's skin. It was so easy to tell Crocodile's excitement, no matter how calm he appeared to be. His brows were level and relaxed, as were his lips and breath, but his maw reacted more honestly, more simply to lesser desires.
"No," he said, and Doflamingo chuckled.
"Such a shame," he teased. "It would've been really exciting to see you start at the bottom of me for once... I could watch."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you," Crocodile scoffed, letting go of Doflamingo's leg to lean up. "There's no way I would ever do that. I would have to listen to your yapping while I eat, that's simply distasteful."
Doflamingo watched the second mouth close and grabbed Crocodile's neck to pull him close. "Maybe next time," he said, but Crocodile saw to it that he shut up quickly, pressing his lips over Doflamingo's.
Summary: Since I hc Doffy as polyamorous and pretty much screwing everyone he fancies, I wanted to write a fic that deals with how his romantic partners deal with it. I really like what I came up with, but it was never enough tzo be called “finished” so here’s what I got for you now.
Doflamingo threw the newspaper onto his desk with a snarl. "Smoker?" he yelled. "And he's getting a promotion, too? What a bitch!"
He ran his hands through his hair with an aggravated sigh, slumping down onto the desk. Suddenly his body felt heavy. What unwanted news: Crocodile had been found out and arrested; the civil war in Alabasta ended by that snotty princess and the wrongly accused king redeemed. The newspaper made it sound like the Marines had known what they were doing, but Doflamingo knew for a fact that couldn't be. Nobody had known about Crocodile's plans, only him and that brat Nico Robin... And Doflamingo himself. Not because Crocodile would have told him, of course, but because Doflamingo kept tabs on everyone.
He rubbed his forehead, grabbing one of the baby Den Den Mushi on the side table by his desk. "Baby 5," he bellowed the second there was a dial tone, "get me Vergo on the line and pronto. I don't care where in the world he is, it's his sick mom calling. Make it sound extra whiny, understood?"
"Yes, Young Master," was her quick reply, not even bothering to ask what was up when her captain was obviously in such a foul mood.
Doflamingo hung up and pushed his hands under the sunglasses to rub his eyes. They stung. He felt angry, but only because he didn't allow himself to feel sad, or worse. Crocodile would end up in jail, so what. Wasn't like it would be Impel Down, right? He could escape.
Yeah, Doflamingo thought. It would be easy, for someone like him. The seastone cuffs might be a hassle, but the rest, once he was free, was but child's play.
The thing was... He had to want out, too. And that was what made Doflamingo's stomach curl. Not that Crocodile had ever downright admitted it, but there had been the insinuation that if his Operation Utopia failed, he had no plans to continue and try to play with the cool kids anymore. Damn his pessimism. Had Whitebeard not crushed the man all these years ago, who knew who Crocodile would be today?
He heaved a sigh and stared out of his dark room to the bright Dressrosan morning. He loved his summer island, he really did. There was always sunshine. It never rained, it never ruined his mood. And now this. Suddenly, he thought rain clouds would be so much more fitting than the annoying sunshine.
A gentle knock on the door made him turn his head. "What," he inquired gruffly.
Monet opened the door, carrying a normal and a black Den Den Mushi on a tray. She had begun to grow her hair out a while ago. Doflamingo had not been aware how long it had been getting, but it already bounced on her shoulders this miserable morning. Like so often she wore not much besides colorful, striped panties and a top. The elastic fabric didn't leave much to the imagination as far as her breasts were concerned. If Doflamingo minded, then only for selfish reasons, but he never said anything because it made embracing her so much more pleasant. If someone had asked him, he would answer he preferred lingerie on a woman, with frills and laces and little bows. Or simply nothing at all. But somehow, the casual, lazy clothes Monet chose to wear enthralled him just as much.
Her thighs looked white and soft. He wanted to touch them the moment she walked into the room, graze his lips against her skin, curl her hair around his fingers. Instead, he asked again: "What is it?"
"Vergo, Young Master." Her voice was so soft and soothing. He felt his anger fade away, if only slightly.
Doflamingo sniffed and waved her over, grabbing the receiver. She stood there silently beside him, holding the tray for him.
"Hey, heard about mom?" he asked.
Vergo answered after a pause that was a little too long for a normal conversation. He sounded so far away. It made Doflamingo guess just how vast these rotten seas were. Where in the world was Vergo right now, anyway? It only added to his misery. "I hear she's getting worse. I need to go home for a while."
"Shame. Give her my regards. Do me a favor though. Have you read today's newspaper yet?"
"No. I have it here though."
"Try the title story."
There was a pause, and Vergo huffed. "Weird," he said. "It was right here on the desk, and now I can't seem to find it—"
"You're holding it in your hand," Doflamingo said without batting an eyelash.
"Oh. Indeed I have. Thanks, Doffy."
Doflamingo waited as Vergo shuffled through the pages. He heard him inhale a sharp breath at the headline and compromising photo that Doflamingo still had before him, too. Normally he would be so happy to see Crocodile, even if it was just in the newspaper. He would run his finger over the thin paper and the black and white that made up his face. Rub them over the pixelated line that made his brain believe it was his scar, like he would do when the man was really with him. To the cheeks, past the scowl, over his broad jaw, slide down the neck, coaxingly under the collar, feeling his Adam's apple. Crocodile was a very handsome man. Some said the scar ruined his otherwise quite conventionally good-looking face. But Doflamingo liked it. He liked how it lit up over flushed cheeks when they were alone.
"Seems unlikely that that would happen," Vergo said, waking Doflamingo from his thoughts. "Smoker's no bad marine, but I don't think he'd ever be a match for Sir Crocodile... Let alone forfeit a plan as well thought through as his."
"That's what I thought." Doflamingo leaned back in his desk chair, rubbing is free hand over his temple. "I need you to get to Smoker and find out what really happened. If it's really been him, I think he needs to have an accident in the near future. We can't underestimate anyone. He's too nosy... I can't have that happening."
"Understood, Doffy."
"I'm counting on your, Vergo." Doflamingo handed Monet the receiver and she hang up for him. She looked at her Young Master and frowned a little. "Sir Crocodile has been arrested?" she asked softly.
"Yeah, he got busted and his ass kicked." Doflamingo sighed, staring out of the window again, chin propped into his hand. "It worries me a little," he added, feeling comfortable enough around his officer to confide in her. And he knew she didn't like to hear of Crocodile, but he needed to tell her anyway. "Crocodile has always been crazy prepared. Uncanny, really. He actually played the hero quite well. I don't understand how this could have happened. The poor Alabastans actually loved him. The king, too! I mean, I make them believe they love me, but him? He was a star!" he sighed, leaning back in his chair.
There was a pause. He knew exactly why. He was almost anxious to see what she would say.
"We love you," Monet finally offered gently. She carefully put her hand on his shoulder, rubbing it a little.
He grinned at her and put his hand over hers. Her words were so carefully worded. She was so humble. It flattered him. "I know," he said, sounding a little less sour now. Her answering smile was curt, and she squeezed his shoulder briefly before she let go. He followed her with his eyes as she rounded the desk back to the door. He liked her backside. All of it.
"Young Master," she said then, turning around again. "What are you gonna do?" Her voice was calm and collected, and had he not known her as well as he did, he might not have detected her hostility.
"Hmm?" He looked up from her body to her eyes again before getting to his feet, throwing his coat around his shoulders. "About the reptile?" She nodded, and he gave a hearty laugh. "Are you jealous?"
"No," she said, solemnly, turning her head to the side a little. "I know my place. I'm content. I have no reason to be jealous. I just thought..."
"Oh, I'm not gonna just fly over and bust him out. He would never forgive me. No, the man can handle himself. If it's really been Smoker who's gotten to him, he's our real problem." Doflamingo chuckled, but the way he lowered his head for a second, averting his eyes that lay hidden away behind mirrored glasses, told her enough to know what he really thought.
"Understood," she said softly, nodded and closed the door behind her without a sound.
