She's been riling him up all day. A soft touch here, a covert arse grab there, a lingering trailing of fingers at the small of his back as they duck under a moss-covered overhang in a Hightown alley in pursuit of some gang leader she's convinced has some book she needs for...something.
To be honest, Journey had started chewing on her lip Like That mid-explanation and he'd promptly stopped listening, much to Justice's endless displeasure.
I'm only a man, he'd protested. And she does this on purpose.
And you swore she wouldn't distract you, came Justice's disgruntled response in the back of his mind.
Please. She distracts you just as much.
Does not, he grumbled.
Lying is unjust, remember?
He was hilariously silent at that, which Anders chose to take as a victory.
At any rate, the book is theirs now, Gerard Gingerbeard is decidedly less bearded at their feet on account of the fact he's missing his head, and Journey is carelessly wiping her bloody hands on her trousers. "Well," she says finally, breath still coming in short gasps after their exertion. "That was fun. Ready to head home?"
He grabs her wrist and backs her up against the alleyway wall. "Not quite," he murmurs. She gasps as her back hits the stone. "Don't think we haven't noticed the way you've been behaving all day."
She's wearing that bratty, shit-eating grin she pulls out when she knows she's been caught. "And how have I been acting, exactly?" she asks, except her breath catches in her throat and the final word trails out in a gasp when he grinds his knee between her thighs.
"Wanton," he whispers into her ear. "Insatiable. An infuriating tease." He feels Justice mirror his words at the end, and he doesn't miss the way her eyes widen in delight when blue fire flickers through his eyes.
She folds to her knees with a smirk and palms his cock through his trousers, achingly hard and throbbing with need. He hasn't been able to think straight for the past...almost two hours now, if he's hearing the chantry clocktower correctly, and when she opens her mouth and gently scrapes her teeth across his length through the fabric he curses and has to catch himself on the stones.
He unlaces his trousers and grips her by the jaw with one hand, his cock in the other. "Open your mouth," he hisses.
She just grins at him defiantly. "Make me," she mouths.
They've played this game before, and he knows exactly how to make her fold. He steps a foot between her knees and pins her to the wall before holding her nose shut with one hand as he waits expectantly and counts the seconds in his head.
Sure enough, despite her struggling, she finally opens her mouth to gasp for air, and he slips the head of his cock between her lips and thrusts roughly into her mouth.
She chokes, gags, and then her fingers are clinging to his thighs as she takes a deep breath through her nose and relaxes her throat to take him deeper. He tangles his fingers in her hair and pulls just hard enough to draw a whimper from her lips as her eyes flutter closed and she flattens her tongue against his cock. He fucks her face roughly for a few counts, then pulls back again to let her breathe.
"Oh, love," he croons, trailing fingertips softly down spit and tear streaked cheeks. "You're drooling everywhere."
She nods and looks up at him, pleading hazel eyes watering with tears and still full of so much affection it makes his heart ache.
Maker, he loves her. And if she keeps looking at him like that, he's liable to do anything she wants him to.
He grabs her by the hair and thrusts into her mouth, and this time her fingers circle his sack and trace lines of magic into the base of his cock, and suddenly he's right there at the edge of his pleasure.
"You dirty girl," he gasps with a breathless laugh. She just hums around his cock and begins to suck with the most wonderful sort of pressure. Heat curls at the base of his spine. He pulls back to give her one last good breath, and then, when she taps on his thigh and gives him a thumbs up, he grabs her by the hair again and chases his climax with rough, bruising thrusts. The alleyway fills with the wet sound of his cock in her mouth and her feverish moans. Her nails dig into his legs, liquid pleasure pools in his limbs, and then he's spending in her mouth with a ragged groan as he sags limply against the wall.
She milks every drop from him with her lips, swallows, and sits back on her heels as she catches her breath. She pats him fondly on the thigh before he grips her beneath the shoulders and hauls her unceremoniously to his feet. "Satisfied?" she says with a smirk.
He cradles her face between his hands and kisses her deeply. The taste of his spend on her tongue fills his chest with a crazed and possessive sort of hunger. "Never," he whispers with a grin. "When we get home, I am going to unravel you until you're screaming my name."
"Well then," she breathes against his lips. "What are we waiting for?"
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KNIFE PLAY KNIFE PLAY KNI sorry I was worried I'd forget this. happy Friday! anyway KNIFE PLAY KNIFE PLAY K
ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE. This uh. This whole thing is going under a cut ok. (ahahah. a cut. see what i did there).
tags are as follows: knifeplay, as requested. bloodplay. breathplay. pain kink. biting. spicy roleplay. magic during sex. temperature play. anal fingering. anal sex. kinda sorta double penetration. cuddly aftercare.
Behold, the only scenario I will ever accept of Hawke stabbing Anders at the end of DA2, and the filthy, filthy retaliation afterwards. :>
neither safe, nor sane, but definitely consensual. read at your own risk. happy @dadrunkwriting.
Journey jolts out of a dead sleep to a hand tightening around her throat. She draws magic to her fingers in a panic, struggling beneath the weight of someone pinning her to the mattress, and discovers her wrists are secured tightly to the bedposts behind with rope so scratchy she swears it's already beginning to break the skin.
"Shh," Anders whispers, lips inches from her ear. She relaxes with a sigh of relief, heart still thudding with fear-fueled adrenaline, and then he jerks a knee between her legs and claps a hand roughly over her mouth. "Did you think I would forget?"
—
Kirkwall burns around them. What's left of the Chantry lies in ruins, a great and magnificent backdrop of destruction that floods her chest with a victorious sort of elation.
There can be no compromise.
Well, they bloody well can't now, can they?
Anders sits on a nearby crate, shoulders slumped in a perfect picture of contrition. It's unbelievable, really, how convincing his deception is with a spirit inside of him who refuses to let him dabble in falsehood, but then again, she's always been particularly convincing when it comes to Justice. He likes her quite a lot, after all.
And besides. After what the three of them had just accomplished together, he owes her this one.
She supposes she should shore up her own mask before anyone steps too close and manages to spot the victory in her eyes. Better make this big.
"I've always been ready to die for the cause," Anders says morosely as she approaches.
"I know," she says. She makes a show of trembling hands when she pulls the dagger from her boot. "I'm sorry, Anders."
To anyone watching, her knifework is clumsy, fumbled with grief and fear and hilariously fabricated disbelief. She traces her fingertips against his back — to steady herself for this visibly awful deed, and also to find the exact place he'd shown her that would do minimal damage he could heal stealthily without drawing attention to himself — and drives the knife between his ribs. Exactly the way they'd practiced.
She leans in to kiss his temple and whisper her last words into his ear. It's all a very tragically romantic scene. Varric is furiously scribbling notes, she's absolutely certain of it.
"I'll punish you for this later, love," he chokes under his breath.
She runs her hand (mournfully, she hopes) through his tousled, sweaty hair and touches her lips to the crown of his head.
"I'm counting on it, sweetheart," she whispers, and yanks the knife out of his back with an exaggerated grunt.
—
Journey bucks against the way Anders holds her down. She loves the way his fingers feel, long and slender and squeezing against her neck just enough to send her heart racing. She can feel the arousal already beginning to build, the slick warmth pooling between her thighs at the way he grinds his knee into her cunt and trails his teeth menacingly (probably) down the slope of her jaw. His breath ghosts against her chin, his loose hair brushing across her cheeks as he claims her mouth for a bruising kiss. He bites down on her lip just hard enough to draw the tiniest amount of blood, breathes in her gasp of pain with a soft chuckle as he releases her throat and traces his fingers down her face.
It had been almost two weeks since that night, two weeks since he'd breathed a tantalizing promise into the ash-dusted Hightown air and offered not another word of it since. If he hadn't brought it up in a few more days, she'd probably have cracked and broached the topic herself, but now she's glad she's kept her mouth shut.
Really, this is the best sort of surprise.
She catches his lip between her teeth in retaliation and tugs at it greedily. "I was hoping you wouldn't," she gasps. She'd intended it as a bratty sort of statement, but the way he trails his hand down her chest and slings a thin sheen of ice across her stomach sends her coherent thoughts spiraling into smoke. Her hands ball into fists, wrists tugging at the ropes burning friction into her skin as she writhes beneath his touch. "Fuck—" she whimpers.
"Did you think you would get away with something so audacious?" he purrs into her ear. "That I would let you drive a knife between my ribs without consequences?"
"It's — oh, fuck — what you deserve for being such a smarmy arsehole," she pants with a cheeky grin. "Did it hurt? Did you ache at my betrayal?"
"I've never been so heartbroken," he says, his lips trailing wet kisses down her neck before his teeth clamp down on her skin hard enough to make her yelp in surprise. "I've dreamed of revenge ever since."
"Have — have you, now?"
She's long since accepted that her particular proclivities occasionally get very questionable. She knows who she is, and she can't help the way her thighs twist together in anticipation at what he could mean by that.
The sharp bite of cold steel trailing down the outside of her thigh draws out a surprised and needy gasp. "Oh, fuck me," she breathes, eyes fluttering closed in excitement.
"I intend to," he says. He trails the blade down her leg before drawing it back up to her hip, pressing just hard enough to cut a searing line into her flesh before sealing it back up with his magic. "Did you know, the human body contains roughly sixty thousand miles of blood vessels?" He traces the tip of the blade across her stomach, numbed by the ice he's only just dissipated. "I have so many choices."
"I'm not — hnng — not even going to ask how you know that," she gasps.
A gentle draw of the blade against her belly blooms the warmth of freshly drawn blood against her skin. She shudders under the sensation, the sudden agony melting into a wave of euphoria that only fuels the insistent throbbing between her legs.
Every carefully placed cut is precise, every draw of blood followed by the prickle of skin knitting back together that she ordinarily hates but is too turned on now to mind much. The discomfort is nothing beneath the burn of arousal flooding her body.
He latches his lips onto her nipple and sucks, dragging it between his teeth before laving his tongue over it, and when he grips her other one between his thumb and forefinger and twists, she lets out a desperate cry. "Oh, fuck, please, fuck me," she gasps, thighs twisting against one another in needy desperation.
"I don't think you've earned that yet," he growls into her ear. She squeezes her eyes shut and swallows her whine as he drags the knife between her tits and cuts a fine line up her sternum. It stings, it burns, it hurts, and then pleasure ripples through her body, shivers sending goosebumps down her arms, and she needs — oh, Maker, she needs him to touch her, needs it so badly she forgets how to breathe.
"You shouldn't move so much, love." He pulls back just enough to trail the tip of the knife across her cheek. "Never know what you might break by mistake." The blood itches as it drips down her face. He seals the cut that drew it and carves another one beneath it, shallow and delicate against her skin. "Do you know how hard it was?" he whispers. "To play dead while staunching the hole you poked in my right lung from driving the knife a hair too deep?"
"Aren't you—" She bites back a whine when he pulls the blade across her shoulder, a fresh wave of pain cascading down her arm. "Aren't you supposed to be the best spirit healer in all of Thedas?"
"Mm, didn't make it bloody hurt any less, though, did it?"
She means to respond, but the words die in her throat when he repeats the motion three more times in succession down her upper arm before sealing them all up at once. She's floating, she thinks dimly, in a wavy haze of stinging pleasure, and all she can think about is the desperate ache between her legs and how uncomfortably empty she still is.
And then he's trailing slick fingers up the cleft of her arse, teasing and prodding at her entrance, and when he finally slips one finger in, she can't hold back the litany of pleas that fall from her lips.
Her cunt is so fucking empty, it aches.
"This is your punishment, remember?" he murmurs. "I intend to take my time with your suffering."
"Fuck you," she manages to grit out. He silences her with a second finger in her arse, setting the knife aside and swallowing her moans in a needy and overwhelming kiss. She grinds desperately against his hand as he fucks her open, and when the tip of his thumb grazes her clit she can't help the way she yanks at her bindings with a frustrated groan.
His fingers are warm and sizzling with magic when he pushes her legs up and lines up his cock to her arse, the head stretching her with a pleasant sort of burn that leaves her babbling, begging, pleading for more. "Please, please, fuck, Anders—"
When he finally begins to fuck her in earnest, she tips her head back and loses herself in it, in the way he stretches and fills her with euphoric friction, in the obscene slap of flesh and the way her fingers find the ropes tugging at her wrists, hooking around them and gripping for dear life.
And then, he stops. She swears violently and yanks at her bonds, but he just laughs. He doesn't pull out, just reaches over her, and when curiosity wins out over her arousal and forces her eyes open, she can't help but whimper in anticipation.
He's grasped the knife by the blade, a shimmering barrier protecting his fingers from the sharp edge, and positioned it at her cunt with a wild grin on his face. The pommel is cold against hot, aching flesh, and she groans when it goes in. She can feel every rounded ridge of the hilt against the barrier between her cunt and where his cock is nestled in her arse, every moment of friction sending her to new heights of arousal.
He begins to fuck her again, pistoning in and out of her with both his cock and the hilt of her blade in a rhythm that sends sparks racing down her spine. She's so close, she's sobbing in desperation, a fresh litany of begging falling from her lips with every thrust. It's so good, so good she can hardly think beyond the pressure building in her belly, uncoiling in her core, rippling out through every inch of her skin.
"Beautiful," he whispers. He stops thrusting with the dagger and simply holds it in place, and she can feel the way the magic radiates from the barrier he's holding around it as it buzzes against her flesh. His own thrusts become harder, less controlled as his breath catches in his throat, and when he comes in her arse with a flood of wet warmth he sends a pulse of shock into her through the knife that drives her over the edge with an unrestrained wail that practically echoes on the walls of their room.
Their rented room.
He pulls the knife out of her and tosses it aside where it falls on the floor with a clatter before collapsing on top of her with a breathless laugh as he claps his hand across her mouth. "That's one way to wake up all of the neighbors," he pants, head falling against her neck, lips finding her pulse point for kisses far more delicate than any he'd given her all night.
"Please," she mumbles. "We're probably never coming back here again after tonight anyway. Isn't — fuck, that was amazing — isn't that half the fun of being on the run?"
"Maker, I love you." He nuzzles his nose into her cheek and trails kisses across her jaw before pressing his lips against hers. "So much."
"I love you too." She returns his kiss with the gentleness he deserves, a soft contrast to the way he'd just fucked the absolute life out of her, admittedly, but the adoration in his eyes draws affection from her as naturally as breathing. Love isn't a strong enough word for what she feels, for him and Justice and everything they've shared the past few years.
"Have I been punished enough, then?" she asks sleepily as Anders pulls out of her fully and rolls beside her before pulling her into his arms with a contented hum. "Or does Justice get a turn next?"
"You are insatiable," he mutters. "I shudder to think how you'd be if you had Grey Warden stamina."
She snorts as she feels the telltale hum of creation magic as he checks her over for lingering injuries. She's probably got blood all over the sheets, but she won't have so much as a scratch on her come morning. The bruises on her neck, though — he always leaves those for her to keep. To treasure.
"We should clean up before we sleep," he says softly, his breath tickling her ear as he leans in for another kiss on her temple.
"Yeah," she mumbles, with no intention of getting up whatsoever. "Probably."
He shakes her gently by the shoulder with an amused chuckle. "Are you going to get out of bed now, then?"
Journey snorts and burrows further under the covers against his chest. "Absolutely fucking not."
I was wondering what your Hawke + Companions answers would be for the following if you would like to answer :) 5. What motivated your Hawke to be either a friend or a rival to Fenris? Were they indifferent to him? 4. How did your Hawke’s relationship with Aveline change throughout the Acts? Did they connect to her because of their mutual escape from the darkspawn in Ferelden?
Fenris
To quote the rival tab in the abilities window, Journey and Fenris have agreed to disagree. 😅
I think they frustrate one another for different reasons. Journey is pretty hotheaded and obviously spent her entire life being raised by a mage parent who was very staunchly pro-mage freedom, and Fenris is very vocally disapproving about her choices from day one. Like the night they meet, they get into an argument right in the middle of the street after he makes that comment about her using magic and not realizing what she is.
Despite their differences in opinion, they do share some common ground. They have very compatible senses of humor, she's always down for getting drunk and bitching together and they end up doing quite a bit of that (even if every once in a while they end up arguing bitterly over something).
The thing is, during Friction, which takes place over the year of service with Meeran and act one, Anders is kind of a major asshole to Journey. In this AU, they met in Lothering and are very surprised to see each other in Kirkwall and have a very emotional reunion. But then something goes wrong during one of their jobs together and Justice ends up injuring Journey pretty critically, and Anders decides he can't watch himself hurt her again, so he essentially breaks up with her and tells her they're different people now, etc. And proceeds to be very aloof and a bit of an ass. And like, they disagree very bitterly on a lot of things, but they're still friends regardless by this point, and to some extent they do care about each other. So Fenris hates watching her deal with this, doesn't understand why she's pining after an abomination who almost killed her and now refuses to give her the time of day, but it's never received well when it's brought up and always ends in an argument where one of them storms away.
I haven't developed their relationship much past the Deep Roads, but the whole business with Bartrand trapping them down there leads to the three of them having to resolve a few of their issues while a very tired Varric prays for death to claim him. 😂
Aveline
Journey's initial friendship and camaraderie with Aveline deteriorates to almost nothing by the end of Act 3. In the beginning they do have that "we went through this terrible awful thing together" bond, and they might have different opinions but they do respect each other after having to watch each other's backs for a year. But the longer Aveline runs the guard, especially once Journey starts getting more involved with the Underground, they start to drift apart. Journey stops trusting her. Aveline tries to convince Journey that more civil unrest is only going to hurt the city, and it turns into a huge falling out where Journey accuses her of forgetting herself and caring more about her position than helping real people who are suffering. And Aveline calls Journey selfish and naive and says her hands are tied and she's doing the best she can, and Journey just says "the best for who?" and walks off.
They're very much two people with shared trauma who personality clash more and more as they grow in starkly opposing directions. 🥲
For the Hawke asks - 3. Did your Hawke understand Merrill’s attachment to her clan? Were they confused by her dedication to her clanmates? or... free choice :'D
Oh snap this one is a hard one too, good question!!
Yes and no. Family is kind of a complicated topic with Journey because on one hand, she understands loyalty to family. It's what drives her forward in Kirkwall, the desire to build a better life for her mother and brother, and maybe her father one day, because she's holding out hope that he's still alive and might come back despite knowing there's a very significant chance that probably isn't the case. So she knows what family attachments and loyalties feel like. BUT.
Her family has always been very close. They sort of had to be, to survive the way they did. Her father's magic practices weren't always super orthodox, and while she's never openly seen him practice blood magic, he never raised her or Bethany to be afraid of it. So it's kind of unfathomable to her the way some of Merrill's clan treat her, and her gut response is "if that's how they're going to be you're better off without them." The fracturing between her and her mom and Carver after Bethany dies is very recent, fresh, and painful, and it takes her a long time to really unpack the bulk of it. Especially after she and Carver have the falling out over him joining the Templars. She does a lot of re-evaluating what she thinks she knows about family while she's in Kirkwall and it's. A Bad Time.
Part of her and Merrill's bond is over that sort of, rebuilding the idea in your head of what you thought family was supposed to be. 🥲🥲🥲
for the hawke askmeme! 4. Did your Hawke relate to Varric’s rocky relationship with his brother? How did they feel about Bartrand’s betrayal?
She relates in the broad sense that she and her own brother have kind of a rocky relationship, but she's sort of on the other side of the coin where she's the eldest struggling to hold the family together. Varric helps her understand and feel a little better about why Carver is Like That towards her, but the common ground here is less "I relate" and more conversations like "man brothers are a pain sometimes" "I'll drink to that."
Bartrand's betrayal is like, if she were a supervillain that could have been her origin story. She walks out of the Deep Roads with a crippling fear of the dark and debilitating nightmares about being buried alive that will stick around and haunt her for YEARS and for a long while she and Varric both spend long hours talking about all of their creative revenge fantasies. ESPECIALLY because she comes back home after all that to find Carver in Templar armor, which feels like another betrayal all over again. Brothers, amirite. 💀💀💀
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