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dirty-holy-things · 4 years

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The Space Between (your heart & mine)

Chapter 16 has been posted to Ao3, and below to Tumblr. Catch up on chapters 1-15 on Ao3.

Notes: 18+, explicit!!!! This chapter is the ‘burn’ of the slow burn we’ve been developing for 15 chapters. We’re finally there, for those of you who have been long-time readers. Please note, I’ve never written this much smut before. It’s A LOT, and I mean a lot of this chapter. M & F, oral receiving and penetration. Unprotected sex for the sake of storytelling, but please wrap it before you tap it IRL. Praise kink, because Din and Reader need validation. Some fun and adventurous positioning and activities. Also, very romantic ending.

Words: 9.1k update, 75.7k total.

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Having stepped into the dimly-lit club, your eyes took a moment to adjust and take in the scene around you. Low-slung leather chairs and booths were scattered throughout the dark room, their occupants being some of the more fearful individuals in the galaxy. These cruel and cunning men, however, were in varying states of disarray due to the large amounts of alcohol and spice that were brazenly displayed on the tables they were seated at. In addition to the smoke-stained booths, there were several raised platforms that held women who were twisting themselves around metallic poles, their bodies scantily clad as they danced sensually for the crowd of drunken onlookers.

And that was where you would find yourself shortly after being allowed into the club.

They had assumed you were one of the dancers.

A large, burly man grabbed you by the arm and you instinctively threw your elbow back into his gut at the sudden intrusion of your personal space, your arm connecting with a solid expanse of hard muscle. “C’mon, babydoll, don’t be so sensitive,” the man grumbled, hauling you towards the unoccupied pedestal. “Do your fucking job and don’t bitch about it.” He tossed you forward into the velvet-covered platform, and as you caught yourself on your hands, you understood that you had about three seconds to decide what you were going to do next.

Do you confront the man about the mistaken identity, and risk causing a scene? Risk losing the bounty, or possibly getting yourself hurt once they realize you’re not meant to be here?

Or do you get up there and find a way to make this unexpected plot change work for you?

Credit due to @knivesareout for the perfect moldboard and for her undying love for me and my fic.

Also tagging @soyelfuegoquearde for beta’ing my project and giving me all of the constructive criticism and positive feedback that has helped me grow as an author.

And my love @emmikmil / @bdavishiddlesbatch for her never-ending love and enthusiasm for Din and Reader.

I love you all so very much.

Chapter 16 - Read More

The things that you had heard in passing about Corellia were too kind in their assessment, and they had been harsh to start. There was a filmy scum that lingered in the air and clung to clothing, surfaces, even to the air in your lungs. The industrial planet was bleak and grim, and you were almost beginning to regret your offer to assist Din with this bounty; would it have really been so bad to hunker down here in the ship, sleep for a while, maybe even pick up a book in town to keep you entertained? However, you also knew that if you had to spend an undetermined amount of time cooped up in the ship, without Din, trying to manage the kid on your own, no view except that of a dirty industrial cityscape, being constantly terrified that Din could get hurt again — you would probably lose your mind. So you decided to step out into the grisly world of Corellia, Din at your side.

The towers of steel and metal that warped up towards the sky were certainly a departure from the organic beauty of Bardotta that you had grown accustomed to during the last job. You tried to find something appealing in the architecture, your eyes scanning the horizon, and came to the conclusion that there was certainly... dedication and precision in the construction, and that was something that you could appreciate. You needed to find something agreeable within it all.

The kid was sleeping in his cradle, the wampa having been tucked under his short green arm, left to rest in the ship during the course of what was predicted to be a short job. Din navigated the two of you through the dirty, narrow streets of the city and away from the shipyard. He didn’t seem to notice or mind the filth too much, as he stomped onwards through puddles, mud, trash, splashing it onto his clothing and armor — and being a bit more hygienically minded, you took the extra effort to keep yourself clean as you sidestepped what could reasonably be avoided. It was unnecessary self-preservation as the cleanliness of your boots probably didn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things, but it was just in your nature.

Din was leading you both to a well-concealed speakeasy, known for hosting an intriguing assortment of characters that preferred to avoid the prying eyes of the galaxy, and partake in... questionable activities. Din had made contact with an acquaintance who was able to provide you with instructions for how to enter into the underground club, including the password that was changed frequently specifically to avoid situations like yours. It was mean to be a safe haven for the rich and powerful; there would be drinking, music, smoking, gambling, bloodshed, prostitution, drugs, fighting, and that was on a quiet night. Gods only knew what else the oncoming evening could hold. You weren’t particularly worried, however, knowing that the towering bounty hunter that stalked along in front of you would keep you safe if worst came to worst. And you didn’t have any significant worries about this job, the nature of it being simple and familiar.

The setup of this job was similar to the one you had helped with back on Canto Bight; you’d flirt with the target, have a drink, bat your eyelashes, and draw him away from the crowd with a thinly veiled proposition. It wasn’t rocket science, luring a man; there were quite a lot of things in life that were harder, like navigating a ship or even firing a blaster. And yet Din seemed incredibly nervous and stressed on your behalf, holding enough worry for the two of you. While you had grown used to periods of silence from him, this one felt different. This one had an undercurrent of tension that rolled off of him in waves, so thick you could almost see it — or maybe that was just Corellia, and you were reading too much into this.

The sun was beginning to set along the horizon, reflecting beams of orange and crimson and gold throughout the city’s structure; you remembered how Din had shared with you that his favorite color was orange, and you wondered if he was finding some sort of beauty in this moment as well, or if he had even noticed. He hadn’t said anything to you for quite some time now, having navigated you from the outskirts of the city and its shipyard, to the bustling urban center that housed a variety of species and droids that were frankly quite rude. You had been bumped into on more than one occasion without so much as an ‘excuse me.’ You figured you had just grown used to the niceties that were afforded on a planet like Chandrila, and reminded yourself that you had chosen to leave that place in favor of travel — which would include a change in attitudes and social customs. You still made a point to apologize to those you collided with though.

Having seen the industriousness of the capitol city here on Corellia, you were increasingly intrigued by what this speakeasy experience would be like. Din had informed you that it was a popular spot for those working with Crimson Dawn, the Hutts, the Pyke Syndicate — violent, ruthless individuals. The target for this evening was a Twi’lek who had been working for the Hutts, who had ‘mysteriously’ disappeared with a large shipment of spice; it was suspected that he had run off with it for himself, feeling brave enough to try and hide. It was a stupid choice, even you knew that — while Orron had never tell you much about the spice dealings, you still knew that double crossing the Hutts was borderline suicidal. The sheer confidence and conceit of such a bold move was intriguing, that couldn’t be denied; but hiding from the Hutts was nearly impossible, and his bold stupidity would be catching up with him today.

You had worked to prepare yourself adequately for the evening, having brought along a pack of supplies that would transform you into an appealing bait prior to your arrival. You had correctly assumed that dressing for a party before trekking through the city would be a poor decision, and you applauded yourself for your foresight, seeing the grim state that your clothing was now in. The sun was descending lower into the skyline and you knew that you were getting close to the destination, based on the projected timeline for the job.

Picking up the pace so you were now walking in stride with Din, you tilted your head in the direction of a small shop that would likely afford you some space in a fresher to change and finish preparing. He nodded silently in agreement and you disappeared inside, finding a young boy with mousy blonde hair sleeping behind the counter. He was startled awake by your unexpected entrance, and you tossed him some credits to accompany your question about where you would locate a fresher. He pointed to the back of the store wordlessly and you thanked him before disappearing.

You closed the door behind you and locked it securely, before stripping out of the clothes that had accumulated a fair amount of muck in the past hour’s journey. You wriggled your way into a sparkling silver dress that just barely skimmed your thighs, admiring the shimmer of the sheer fabric as it clung to your body. The dress choice had been intentional, the versatility of it appealing; you knew it would sparkle like diamonds when caught by bright lights, and would set off a soft, illuminating glow in low light. Either way, eyes would be drawn to you. You slid on a pair of white boots that propelled yourself a good four inches higher into the air, and added a few pieces of jewelry to round out the look. You pulled your hair out of the buns you had tied it up in, as it now fell around your shoulders in casual waves, and you put on just enough makeup to highlight your features. Assessing that you looked enticing enough, you slid back into your dark grey coat that would hide your glamorous appearance from the city-dwellers until your arrival at the club.

As you stepped out of the shop to rejoin your companion, you readied yourself to say goodbye for the evening, trying to shift your perspective to the job at hand rather than the part of you that was incredibly sad to be parted from Din. Even knowing that the separation was only temporary, you would still be eagerly looking forward to being reunited. Staring up into the visor of the helmet, you stepped closer to him and placed your arms on his hips, wanting to pull him in closely but also understanding that it may not be an appropriate choice as you were out in public. He placed a gloved hand on your shoulder and another on the small of your back, the helmet coming to rest against your forehead.

“Do you have the blaster? And the knife?” He asked, his voice sounding constricted even with the modulator. You were getting better at deciphering that which the modulator tried to hide.

“I’ve got the knife, but the blaster doesn’t really go with this outfit,” you joked, reassuring him that you were protected. “This’ll be easy, I promise.” You whispered, trying to build up his confidence and sense of security. “Just like last time. We can get the job over with quickly, and then go home.”

You heard a soft sigh come through the modulator as he nodded. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll see you soon, Din.”

***

Getting into the club had been ridiculously easy, especially once the guard at the door saw the way that you were dressed. For being so secretive of a club, you were shocked at the ease with which you were able to sneak in; you assumed that they just didn’t worry too much when a beautiful young woman turned up at their door. Din was going to take more of a… back-door route into the club, dispatching the guard who protected the service entrance, and he would find a discreet place to hide and watch out for you and the target. You had kept the knife, and the comm that was connected to his, and you would alert him when you had lured the Twi’lek away from the party and the crowd. Din would then join the two of you, disarm and cuff the target, and then you would go home to the Razor Crest. It was a simple plan, with a hefty payout for an evening of easy work.

... Or so you had thought.

And that was where you would find yourself shortly after being allowed into the club.

They had assumed you were one of the dancers.

Do you confront the man about the mistaken identity, and risk causing a scene? Risk losing the bounty, or possibly getting yourself hurt once they realize you’re not meant to be here?

Or do you get up there and find a way to make this unexpected plot change work for you?

You bit the inside of your lip to the point of bleeding as you quickly came to your decision. You brought yourself up onto the well-worn, blood red platform and into the blisteringly hot stage lights that were turned on you and the other dancers; taking a moment to pretend to bask in the cheers and lewd hollers that followed your entrance, you tried to get a feel for the rhythm of the music that you would now have to dance to.

Fuck, let’s hope they’re high enough to believe this.

Closing your eyes, you sank into the rhythm and melody of the music that the band was playing, and you began to move your body in time with it, trying to put on a show despite never having danced before a day in your life. This would be an awfully convenient time for some Force abilities to show up.

You had no such luck, but the drugged and drunk patrons didn’t seem to mind much; you were there for their amusement and pleasure, to fuel their egos and sense of power. You were also just one of several dancers; subtly turning, you observed the others so you could try and copy their fluid and sensual movements, the muscles in your thighs and core being worked in ways that you had not experienced before. You kept an eye out in the room for the target, and eventually you spotted him sitting about three booths away, a group of nasty looking mercenaries at his side.

Alright, let’s get this over with before my legs give out.

Batting your painted eyelashes at him, you winked at the Twi’lek and blew him a kiss before turning your focus back to the dance that you were trying to pull off.

The band changed songs, and the other dancers kept going, adjusting to the new tempo and you assumed that’s what was expected of you as well. You wondered when this would end, when you would have an opportunity to get this night over with — your legs were burning as you stretched, bent, spun, flexed in different and new ways, all while trying to maintain some semblance of decency — you didn’t want anyone but Din to look at you how these men were.

Keeping your focus on the target, you saw the Twi’lek man gesture to the burly man who had brought you up here; a quiet conversation took place during which he pointed directly at you, and then you witnessed the Twi’lek hand the man a stack of Imperial credits.

He was buying you.

It was a departure from the original plan, but then again everything about this night had been. The original plan had been left in the dust, and you just hoped that Din would be able to keep pace with the changes. Following the men’s transaction, you watched as the Twi’lek disappeared through a hallway into a private room, and the large man made his way to the platform you had been brought to. Coming to a halt in front of you, he grunted something entirely unintelligible over the sounds of the music and the crowd, but the meaning was not lost on you. Your services had been bought.

You climbed down from the platform, the glow of the hot stage light leaving you, and you sighed in relief; the man pointed in the general direction of where the Twi’lek had gone and you wordlessly took your cue to join him. Slinking your way through the tables, you ran your hand along the knife that had been carefully concealed, hidden underneath your dress and pressed against your ribs; you were suddenly very grateful for Din’s insistence that you carry it. You then retrieved the small comm from the bosom of your dress, having cleverly hidden it there; you pressed the button on the side once, twice, three times, alerting him that you were moving and the final phase of the plan was in action.

You arrived at the end of the hallway to find the door to the private room; it was one of many discreet doors, but this was the only one that was cracked just slightly to indicate to you where to go. Feeling your heart start to race, you hoped that Din would be close behind you, as the thought of being alone with this man for an extended period of time was admittedly quite terrifying; the thought that he had bought your... services, and would be expecting you to engage accordingly, made your skin crawl. The nervousness that you hadn’t felt previously was starting to catch up with you, and you had a bit more understanding of why Din had been as concerned as he was.

You could feel an acidic, stabbing pain of nervousness in your gut as your feet carried you closer and closer to the dark walnut door. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, pushing that nervousness and fear away, you knocked softly on the door to indicate your arrival. You stepped into what was a surprisingly clean and relatively quiet room; it was free from the colorful and flashing lights of the rest of the club, instead being dimly lit with candles that illuminated comfortable-looking furniture, and a table with a bottle of sparkling wine.

You turned your gaze to the Twi’lek in front of you; he wasn’t unattractive, but the fact that he had the audacity to try and purchase sex from a woman — no, he wasn’t even purchasing sex from a woman, it was from a fucking pimp — was nauseating, and the smugness that rolled off of him threatened to make your nose turn up in disgust. Forcing aside your personal assessments, you smiled at him and took a seat next to him before pouring you each a glass of wine. You knew you needed to focus on playing your role and getting the job over with.

Taking a sip of the wine you had poured, the carbonation tickled your nose and you giggled instinctively, not accustomed to the sensation. The man took it as an indication of interest, however, and his hand moved to your upper thigh, pushing the hem of your dress to the side. He downed the rest of his drink quickly before turning to place his other hand on your shoulder — and then his body was moving closer and closer towards yours, and your heart pounded, your head screamed at you to get the fuck out of here, where is Din, fuck, should I kill this guy?

Right at the moment that you had moved to make a grab for your knife, the heavy wooden door you had walked through opened quietly and you breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the beskar that glowed in the lamplight. The Twi’lek kept his hands where they were on your body, but turned from you to speak to the intruder, growling, “Hey buddy, get the fuck outta here, can’t you see we’re busy?”

You winced and concealed a laugh, knowing that while this man may not die tonight, he would not be feeling too great once Din was done with him. The door closed and the three of you were concealed from the party, contained in the privacy of the room together. Before the man had time to touch you any further, Din reached out to grab the Twi’lek and roughly hauled him off of you, only slightly throwing his body into the glass table that shattered on impact.

You didn’t need to see Din’s face to know that he was absolutely livid. Having been removed from the unwanted grasp of the Twi’lek, knowing that you and Din were both safe, there was a part of you that got a sort of thrill from the protectiveness that Din displayed for you. It was also shockingly and undeniably attractive watching him rough the guy up, and your biological, hormonal response to the sight caught you a bit off guard.

The Twi’lek was unconscious, but thankfully not dead; after having been thrown through a glass table by your protector, he was... quite easy to disarm and handcuff. After Din had thoroughly secured the situation at hand, he stomped over to you angrily, the force of his steps echoing around you, and you could feel the rage and possessiveness that was positively boiling underneath the armor. “Are you alright?” He asked brusquely, pulling your scantily clad body into his heavily covered one.

“Yes, Din, I’m fine — things didn’t go exactly to plan, but I’m—“

He cut you off as he brought his hand down to cover your eyes— surprised, you started to recoil on instinct, until you heard the click of his helmet being removed; and then his lips were on yours, kissing you greedily and intensely in a way that you had never experienced before. Instinctively, your hands reached out to pull him closer into you and you were hit by an absolute tidal wave of need for him. You bit down on his lip, an animalistic drive taking over your body, and he growled underneath you. “Fuck,” he grunted, pulling away from you but keeping his hand securely over your eyes. “Fuck, fuck, not here — get you home —“

You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or not, but you whined as your body screamed out for more contact, more attention than what you were receiving. You heard the helmet click back into place and your chest deflated, knowing that you would not be getting what you needed; at least not yet. His hand moved away from your eyes and you saw Din standing in front of you, breathing heavily and roughly. You clearly weren’t alone in your own desires, but Din at least had the foresight to know that this was not the time or place.

He wordlessly turned to grab the unconscious man and haul him out, being rougher than you had expected as the man’s head knocked into the door frame with a thud. You followed along behind him, trusting him to know what he was doing despite the adrenaline and the hormones that were rushing over you both like Naboo’s waterfalls. He navigated you carefully out of the speakeasy, until the two —no, three— of you were back into the cool, muggy evening air of Corellia. You saw a guard had been dispatched by Din at the back door, and a M-68 Landspeeder that was presumably stolen was waiting for you. Din lifted the unconscious body into the back seat and allowed it to slump over before he was then reaching out to grab you, his hands planted tightly on your waist as he lifted you up, as though your weight was nothing for him, and set you down into the passenger seat of the speeder before climbing in next to you.

The journey back to the ship was blessedly short compared to the initial journey into the city, thanks to Din’s questionable acquisition of a vehicle, but it was just as silent as the day’s earlier journey had been. You weren’t sure of what was going on in Din’s head, but you knew that you were aching to get back to the security of the ship and to be able to be alone with him. You felt excitement blooming within you as the Razor Crest came into your line of sight, but Din remained maddeningly silent.

He got the limp body securely sealed into carbonite with impressive speed, before picking your tense and wanting body up and out of the vehicle. Much to your surprise, he didn’t set you down on the ground, but rather carried you up the ramp and into the ship you both knew as home.

You could feel the adrenaline and desire pumping through your body as you felt Din’s strong arms wrapped around you, carrying you gently but with a force and determination that was a bit nerve-wracking. You were fairly certain that you could hear his heart hammering against the beskar chest plate that you were pressed against, and his gloved hands just barely dug into your skin, making your heart race in anticipation for what was undoubtedly about to come next.

The lights in the cabin of the ship had already been turned off, and your sense of anticipation heightened with the deprivation. Din takes his helmet off in the dark. He placed you down unexpectedly, your feet fighting to keep you upright, and that coupled with the darkness was momentarily disorienting. He stepped closer into you, his frame eclipsing yours as you were backed into the wall of the cabin and you could feel the steel paneling against the skin that your silver dress had left exposed. The cold steel coupled with the desire that was burning through you, radiating from your core, gave you an intense sensory overload that left your chest rising and falling rapidly as your breaths became more shallow, a soft whine arising from you.

Your hands reached out, grasping for any bit of Din that they could reach, and you somewhat forcefully dragged him into you, using his body to pin yourself against the wall of the ship. You heard a grunt come through the modulator and the fire inside you crawled up your chest as you told him in no uncertain terms to “Take that off, right fucking now.”

You heard the helmet drop to the floor not a second later, with no regard for its integrity — but honestly, it was beskar, you’d be more worried about the integrity of the floor than the helmet — and the impulsiveness of the gesture only fueled the scorching fire that was running through your veins, setting every nerve ending alight. Finally having been freed from the restrictiveness of the helmet, Din growled your name under his breath as he leaned in to kiss you, echoing the fierce desperation with which he had kissed you in the speakeasy. His arms wrapped around you in a vice as his hands grabbed your ass, and he licked into your mouth, the heat and the taste of his tongue making you moan underneath him reflexively. You kissed him deeper, needing to be as close to him as possible — the cool beskar pressing into you made him feel even more domineering, powerful, but you resented its presence and the way it barricaded you from Din’s body.

“Never doing that again — not going on another job with me —“ Din grunted, his words partially lost in the heavy, bruising kisses he was trailing up your neck. “Saw you— saw you dancing, saw that motherfucker pay — should’ve killed him —“

God, the possessiveness and the protectiveness was fucking hot. There was something within you that reveled in his intense desire to protect you and keep you to himself. Memories of the fresher came back to you, how he had called you his good girl, and the prospect of hearing those words spoken into your soft skin again made you achingly wet for him. You sighed into him, your body melting underneath his touch as he kissed and harshly bit at the soft skin of your neck, loving the way his teeth felt scraping and sinking into you. It felt as though there was a storming, angry ocean of desire and desperation crashing into you ceaselessly, so overwhelming that you worried you might drown in it before Din would be able to give you what you needed.

You tangled your hands into the hair that you noticed was growing even longer, the curls feeling so real and so human, despite the forced disconnect of armor and anonymity. “Din,” you sighed, tugging his curling hair gently, trying to pull him out of the smoldering anger he was experiencing, and back into this moment with you. You didn’t want to hear any more about the job, the club, any of it — you wanted to hear Din tell you that you look so pretty taking his cock, you’re his good girl, your pussy feels better than anything in this galaxy.

“My girl,” he whispered roughly, digging his fingers into your exposed skin, the warm baritone of his unfiltered voice setting off butterflies — and for a moment you wondered if he could actually read your mind.

You nodded in agreement —you’re his girl, always — whimpering as one of his hands moved from your backside to roughly cup your breast; you felt the aged leather of the glove against your skin and realized he was all too clothed in comparison to your exposed form. Your dress had shifted to bunch around your waist as Din had pressed you into the wall, progressively revealing more and more of you to him. You reached out to grab his gloved hand, bringing it up from your chest and to your flushed face. He paused for a moment, waiting to see what you were doing; and then you brought his hand up to your soft mouth, gently biting down on his thumb and pulling the glove off with your teeth. The taste of gunpowder and leather lingered on your tongue, and there was some small piece of you that got a thrill from it.

It had been an experimental move, one that you weren’t sure how he would respond to, but the groan that echoed through him shot your adrenaline and confidence sky high, knowing that you made that happen, knowing that you were giving him what he wanted. And although he had you pinned against the wall, you still tried valiantly to remove some of the layers that separated you — you needed to feel his skin against yours, needed to be able to kiss him all over, wanted to taste him, wanted to feel him in new ways.

He took your cue and backed up slightly, allowing your chest the room to expand with much-needed deep breaths as he rushed to pry the armor and equipment off of himself, each thud and clang of beskar on the floor sending stronger and stronger waves of heat through your body; you wondered if this is what it was like to catch fire under the unforgiving suns of Tattooine.

You heard something soft and distinctly not-beskar land next to the two of you, and assumed that he was finally beginning to work his way out of his underclothes. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his pants and yanked him back towards you forcefully, needing to feel the heat of his body pressed against yours. You could feel the defined muscles of his abdomen, the assorted scars that scattered his frame, the broad shoulders and thickly muscled arms; you kissed down his neck and to his chest, biting down harshly and then soothing the area with your tongue, loving the way that he writhed and moaned against you as he held you against himself.

Your hand moved down from the wide expanse of his shoulders to palm at the rock hard erection that was unfortunately still barricaded by Din’s pants; and as you curled your fingers around his cock, Din growled and gathered the sheer fabric of your dress in his hands, pulling it down rapidly and aggressively, leaving you to try and extricate your arms from the delicate straps before he ripped it entirely off of your body. Eventually shimmying yourself free of the dress that had blessedly remained intact, you felt the pile of tulle and sequins fall to your feet. You kicked the garment away from you, a subtle hint to make Din distinctly aware of how exposed you now were. You pulled at the rough utility fabric that concealed the lower half of his body, that concealed his throbbing erection that you so desperately needed to feel within you — and Din stepped out of the clothing, the two of you breathing heavily at the amount of skin to skin contact you now shared; you wondered if he had ever been this bare, this exposed, with anyone before.

Although it was dark within the cabin of the ship, you knew each other’s bodies well, having spent several nights sleeping together, and your previous interactions during the shower having brought you closer than ever before. Your breath hitched in your throat as you had a sudden feeling of nervousness; you couldn’t understand why you were suddenly anxious, as this was something you had wanted for so long — but apparently you weren’t the only one with some nerves. Din’s breath shook as he pulled your body into his, whispering your name. “I don’t know that the bunk will be, ah... comfortable, or, you know, enough... space.”

That was a fair consideration, remembering how close you slept next to him; it wouldn’t offer enough space for anything other than sleeping.

An idea occurred to you; you leaned forward and kissed his shoulder, before you pulled away from his grasp, the chill of the cabin catching up with you as you crossed to retrieve the well-loved blankets from the bunk as you placed them onto the floor, creating a makeshift bed for the two of you. “Problem solved,” you whispered, grabbing his hand and guiding him onto the softened surface with suddenly confident steps.

He laughed gently, and you could feel a smile working its way to his face as you kissed him. He swung you up into his arms with ease, and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carefully brought both of your exposed and nude bodies down to the floor. You were acutely aware of how his muscles flexed and contracted as he held you closely, his sculpted and scarred body feeling incredible as it laid on the floor next to yours. Now, being able to effectively move and maneuver yourself around him, you were emboldened to try something you had never done before, feeling confident as your adventurous ideas had been well-received so far.

Your soft and gentle hands pressed Din’s wide shoulders down into the unyielding floor and he complied, willing to let you have the control right now. You positioned yourself over his body so that your head was pointing in the direction of his feet, while you propped yourself up above his impressive, large frame on your palms, the arch of your back offering him a perfect view of how wet you were for him, damn near dripping onto his chest. He groaned explicitly as you bent forward to take his cock into your mouth, and you could feel the tension moving through his body as you took him deeper into your throat, your tongue swirling around him and tasting every exquisite, velvety inch of him.

You were relieved when Din’s broad and calloused hands came up to rest firmly on your ass, understanding what you were needing from him, and he pulled your aching center down to his stubbled jawline, to allow his tongue to trace gently over your clit, finally offering you the pleasure and stimulation that you had been needing since Din had kissed you feverishly in the club. You felt your eyes roll back with a wash of pleasure and relief as he sucked gently on the bundle of nerves, flicking his tongue across it in rhythmic circles, occasionally allowing his tongue to explore further into your body and enjoy all of the wetness you offered him — and you hummed in satisfaction against his thick cock, as you moved your mouth up and down his length, enjoying the wet sounds sounds it produced as you continually swallowed around him, loving the deep grunts and animalistic groans you received in response. The humming must’ve added some enjoyable stimulation for him, as you tasted his precum on your tongue; and then he slid two fingers into your tight cunt, working to open you up to be able to take the considerable length of his cock. You loved the deliciously wet and sloppy sounds that came from the two of you; your mouth, as you continuously drug your tongue along the underside of the cock that was hitting the back of your throat, and your pussy as Din finger-fucked you on the floor of the ship.

He added a third finger to your tight entrance and you instinctively cried out at the stretching sensation, your body writhing as his thumb moved to tweak continuously over your clit with varying levels of pressure.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Din sighed with a laugh. “If you think three fingers is a lot, you’re in for a surprise.” His voice sounded like gravel, rough and breathy and cracking beneath you, sending you higher and higher with his cocky assessment. Well, you were never one to shy away from a challenge.

You could feel the weight of your orgasm building within you, the heady and hot tension that had coiled at your center spreading its way out to your stomach, your thighs, threatening to break at any moment. Your muscles constricting, you chased that peak, that high, and your mouth slid off of Din’s cock as you gasped for air — “Din, fuck, Din, I’m gonna cu—“

And then he quickly pulled himself away from you, right as you were right there, and you cried out in exasperation and frustration at having been denied your orgasm; your entire body was screaming with anger and deprivation, and you felt as though you might shatter with all of the tension.

His body moved away from underneath you as you came to rest against the makeshift bed of blankets, and in the dark, you had absolutely no idea what was going on or why he had done this to you. “Din, what the fuck?” You hissed angrily, your hands reaching out to try and grab him and bring him back to you. But then you suddenly felt two strong, familiar hands grasp your waist from behind, and you were abruptly yanked upwards by your waist and onto your knees, the blankets ruched up underneath you; the disorientation of the darkness was intimidating but also incredibly exciting — although you were still somewhat pissed at Din for his asshole move.

You were on all fours, desperately waiting for Din to do something, anything.

“Look at my pretty girl, waiting so nicely for me.”

You felt Din’s muscled thighs and his thick cock press up against your exposed backside; you were able to determine that he was on his knees behind you. You whined in anticipation, not minding the hint of desperation that crept in with it.

“Gods, look at you. Fucking dripping wet, making a mess for me. Is that all for me, sweet girl?” He hmmed confidently, dipping his finger inside of you and bringing your wetness up to his mouth for a taste. “Bet you’re just dying to take this cock, to cum on it for me, aren’t you?”

You whined once more, a small, needy sound that would’ve been embarrassing had you not been so desperately wanting to cum after your earlier denial; your muscles still quaked and tensed as you hovered right on that edge. You pressed your ass further back into him, trying to get some sort of stimulation against your aching cunt, but Din just cupped your ass and pressed your shoulders down into the floor; you felt the wool blanket against your cheek as you writhed against him in frustration.

“Please,” you whispered.

“Please... what?” There was a somewhat maniacal edge to his voice and you felt a thrill of anticipation shudder through you.

“Din, please!”

“Please what?” His voice cut through you like steel.

You could feel the blunt and swollen head of his cock pressed against your throbbing entrance, and fuck, while you didn’t want to beg you couldn’t help it any longer, the unyielding desperation coursing hotly through you as you just gave in to what Din wanted. “Fuck, Din — please, please fuck me, please let me cum for you —“

A satisfied chuckle coming from deep within his chest, Din finally pressed forward into you with a ragged, shaking moan — and the resulting moan that came from your body echoed his own, as he buried himself impossibly deep into your tight and soaking cunt, while effectively pinning your shoulders to the floor and rendering you immobile. You had thought you would be prepared for the sheer size of him, the girth, the length that you had taken in your mouth and throat, but it was unlike anything you had ever experienced before — he really had been right in saying that three fingers wouldn’t compare.

For a brief moment you wondered if you would even be able to take all of him inside you — and your question was quickly answered as he pulled back from you, dragging his cock along your inner walls, before his hips snapped forward to slam into you with a shocking and devastatingly incredible force. Feeling his cock sink deeper and deeper into you, your body offered little resistance to this pleasure as you cried out at the stretching and filling sensation, hurting but in a good way that just made you crave him even more.

Din’s hands found their place along the bend of your hips as he pushed and pulled your willing body into his; and with each thrust forward penetrating you even deeper, you felt the edges of your mind starting to go white-hot with pleasure once more. You reveled in the sounds he made, needy and wanting, loving that he wasn’t one to shy away from letting you know just how fucking incredible this felt for him, too.

This was unlike anything you had ever experienced with a man before, Din was unlike anything else in this galaxy, and you knew that even if you spent a hundred years with him you would never get enough of this feeling — the feeling of his throbbing, veined cock dragging against your sensitive walls, hitting spots inside of you that you never even knew existed. You could feel the ever-increasing slickness of your cunt that allowed for him to slide in and out of you repeatedly, while the lower half of your body started to constrict with that same heat of pleasure that he had ripped away from you just moments ago — but that didn’t matter anymore, you had no room for grudges as he completely filled both your body and mind.

He said your name over and over, the sound spilling from his lips like a prayer, like a curse, like a promise — and you reveled in the sheer adoration of each utterance that tumbled from him. You wished that you could give him the same verbal adoration and praise that he offered you, but you were completely incapable of doing anything except making lewd, high-pitched, unintelligible sounds that echoed and radiated through the walls of the ship, becoming more desperate with each powerful thrust into your clenching and tight cunt.

“Gods, I knew you’d take my cock so f-fucking good, look at that — such a pretty girl, such a g-good girl — fucking knew you’d feel incredible from the m-moment I saw you, wanted to fucking split you in half on my cock —“

The praise and dirty words Din offered you tickled a previously-repressed, unexplored part of yourself and after this awakening you wanted more of it. Seeking out that praise and reinforcement, you decided to take back some control in this situation and initiate something more — Din had you fairly well pinned against the floor, his hips ramming his cock into you relentlessly, but you were able to shift your arms in a way that allowed for you to reach around the back of your thighs and spread yourself open even further for him. Your movement caught him off guard as his hips snapped into yours forcefully, his cock penetrating so far into you that you thought you may never recover from it — and the force of his thrust collapsed both of your bodies into the floor as a guttural fuck escaped from him.

You felt his broad chest and the heaviness of his frame crushing you into the floor, but you didn’t mind, loving the pressure of his full body weight against you while his cock was buried inside you so deeply that you could feel him twitching inside of you, could feel each beat of his heart pulsating through his body.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” he gasped, pushing himself up off of your body and off of the floor. “I don’t know what the fuck you just did, but I’m going to need you to do that again for me.”

You grinned, somewhat delirious from all of the stimulation and physical sensations you had experienced here on this makeshift bed. And yet for all of the wonderful, amazing, beautiful things you had felt — you still hadn’t cum, and your very skin felt as though it was crawling with a fire that left you aching with every second that passed by. You wanted to cum, wanted Din to make you cum; and you wanted to make him cum in return, giving each other the release and bliss you had been wanting since your first meeting on Chandrila. If you were to tell the truth, you’d tell Din that you had wanted him from the very first day, even though you had fought so hard to quell those feelings.

You couldn’t see well in the darkness that shrouded the cabin — couldn’t see anything, to be honest — but you could feel your hands connect with Din’s shoulders and you shoved him back down onto the floor, appreciating his willingness to follow your lead. Your hands traced gently down his body, feeling every hard line and ridge of him, feeling every scar, and loving every inch of him that he had allowed you to see, at least in this way. You swung your legs over his waist and positioned yourself above him, guiding his thick and still-wet cock back inside of your tight and enveloping cunt; the two of you gasped at the sudden, clenching contact and rush of adrenaline, and you began to ride him in earnest, loving the sound of your skin slapping against his as you crashed into him over and over and over again.

“Gods, you just love it when I ride your thick cock like this, don’t you, Din?” You said with a malicious grin, hoping to draw out the same kind of dirty words he had given you earlier. “Just falling apart for me so easy—“

“Fuck, yes, I do love it my sweet —“ He choked out, his hands finding their way up your body and coming to rest at your breasts, tweaking your hardened nipples with his rough touch. “Love watching that tight pussy take my cock, love how you feel on me, love how you taste — you’re just so fucking incredible—”

“Show me how much you love it,” you challenged, an edge creeping into your voice. “Cum for me.”

His groans turned into irregular grunts of pleasure as he moved to hold your body in place, restricting your movements as he fucked up into you, sounds spilling forth from him. “Believe me, I will cum for you — I’ll cum inside that sweet, perfect pussy. But you’re gonna cum for me first, sweet girl.”

Din’s threat— or promise, depending on your perspective — echoed through you and a crashing tidal wave of need threatened to collapse your chest and inhibit your very breathing. Your body was positively aching with tension and strain now, your muscles screaming out in exhaustion — you needed to cum, you needed the release, you needed to fall over that peak and then rest next to Din. “Yes, please, please, please,” you cried, each word becoming more and more deranged and desperate than the last.

“Tell me what you need, sweet girl,” Din panted roughly, continuing to hold your shaking body in place as he fucked into you relentlessly.

You weren’t sure what you needed except more of Din, and you didn’t even know how to ask for that as he was clearly giving you everything he had, thrusting up into you and offering up each and every groan of pleasure that your pussy wrung from him. More. You just needed more.

“Kiss me, Din Djarin.”

He laughed softly and you could hear the smile in it; for all of the dirty words and debased, debauched actions, this sweetness was what you wanted and what you needed. He pulled your body in close to his, planting a soft kiss on your cheek before rolling the two of you over so you were now laying against the blankets. His cock never left your center, even in the transition; and then his hands brought your legs up to rest on his shoulders and he began drilling into you with an unholy force, crumpling your body in half with each thrust as he bent downwards to kiss you. He was panting and you could feel a bead of sweat drip from his forehead as he worked to get you there, fighting off his own orgasm, needing to get you there first.

As his lips pressed repeatedly into your soft and hot flesh, you could feel it coming on; that tense and aching heat coiled within you, your back arched up from the floor, and your hands rose up to pull Din in closer to you, gripping his hair forcefully. You couldn’t see anything in the blackness of the ship but your vision was changing regardless, as your body readied itself to jump from that cliff, giving you the release you needed. “Din—“ you gasped out, your muscles constricting.

“Yes, yes, cum for me sweet girl — wanna feel you cum on my cock,” Din grunted, thrusting into you with each word. He leaned in to kiss you once more and it was everything you needed.

It felt as though a seismic charge went off inside the small ship, your muscles contracting and quaking as your body was taken over by wave after wave of undulating pleasure. Your skin felt like it was vibrating at a new frequency, each nerve ending heightened and feeling overstimulated as you cried out in unintelligible but unmistakeable pleasure. Your cunt clenched around Din’s cock, spasming with each new wave of pleasure that overtook your body.

Din snarled at the feeling of you clenching and coming undone around him and you knew that he was close; you drug your nails against his scalp, his hair tangling between your fingers, and you leaned up to gently capture his earlobe between your teeth, tugging slightly. “Want you to cum for me, Din. Want you to cum inside me.”

The rapid movements of his hips became increasingly irregular until you felt the heat of his release within you, his body collapsing on top of yours as he inhaled deep and ragged breaths, you could feel him shaking on top of you, could feel his muscles and his cock twitching as he was lost to the overwhelming pleasure of his orgasm. Hot ropes of Din’s cum coursed through your pulsing and throbbing cunt, coating you and filling you in a way that made you writhe in pleasure and self-satisfaction; you couldn’t help but think of the way you’d be left dripping from him, a mix of both of your orgasms coating you in a messy, magnificent bliss. When he finally pulled away from your feverish and trembling body, you felt the mix of fluids cascading down your thighs in a way that almost made you want to climb on top of him again.

You were both left entirely breathless, every ounce of energy spent in giving the other what they needed and had been denied for so long. Din’s body rolled off of yours, allowing you to breathe deeply and you inhaled lungfuls of cool air, quieting the fire that coursed through your body. His chest taking deep and ragged breaths, he pulled you in close to his chest, his arms wrapping around you securely as he sighed and kissed every inch of exposed skin that he could reach. You were utterly wrecked, entirely devastated, and more blissfully happy than you ever could have imagined you could be.

This life was turning into everything that you had ever wanted, and feared you would never get. You felt tears of happiness pricking at the corner of your eyes, and you smiled into Din’s chest, never wanting to leave this moment.

He must’ve felt the tears that had slipped out and onto him; bringing your face up to his, his hand cradling your cheek gently, he kissed your forehead. “Sweet girl, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, a brilliant grin spreading across your face. “Everything is perfect. You’re perfect. This life here, with you, is perfect.”

You would later blame it on the rush of dopamine and oxytocin, but truth be told, you could no longer deny the truth to either yourself or to Din. Feeling emboldened and safe in this space with him, the truth tumbled forward from your lips, unable to be concealed any longer.

“I love you, Din Djarin.”

It felt beautiful and exhilarating to speak it out loud, to acknowledge the truth of your feelings. You didn’t even necessarily need for Din to say it back; that’s how secure you felt in this moment, in this feeling of love. You would love him endlessly, would love him through hell or high waters, would love him whether you were right next to him or lightyears away. You couldn’t hold back the truth, and nor did you want to. You loved Din Djarin, more than you had ever loved anything in existence, and while it was exhilaratingly terrifying, it also felt like the safest, most comforting thing in this galaxy.

And it was a whole new kind of bliss that was revealed to you when he spoke to you in response.

“And I love you.”

#Din Djarin #Pedro Pascal #Din Djarin fic #Din Djarin x Reader #the Mandalorian #Mandalorian fanfic #Din Djarin fanfiction #the space between

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 14 (Mafia AU)

Summary: Rus ran away after his argument with Blue, what new trouble might he find himself in?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Cherryberry, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warning: Warnings for implications of prostitution.

~~*~~

Read Chapter 14 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Rus didn’t remember falling asleep and when he woke to the furtive whispers around him, enough time had passed that his joints were aching from being curled into the corner, his sockets itchy with the remnants of tears encrusted around them. He recoiled from the sudden light filling the room, burying his face into his updrawn knees as he cringed away from the tittering voices above him.

“…who do you think…”

“…even get in here…”

“…such a cutie, don’t call the bouncer, sweet thing can’t mean any harm…”

“Mona, isn’t this one of yours?”

That name registered through his foggy thoughts and Rus jerked, looking up into the half-circle of unfamiliar Monster faces surrounding him, Buns and Cats and Lizards, each one heavy with eye shadow and lipstick, dusted in flecks of glitter that flashing in the overhead light.

One figure pushed through the rest, and Rus could have cried in relief as he recognized Mona, her long ears drooping in concern. She crouched down, her thin robe hanging open over a tight-cinched corset and her breasts threatening to overflow from their confinement. She made an impatient shooing gesture at the others. “Go on, now, all of you, I’ll take care of him.”

The others filed out reluctantly, their heels clicking on the tile floor. The strip club break room, Rus abruptly recalled, he’d shortcutted down here thoughtlessly, only wanting to get away from Blue and his anger. Remembering the accusations his brother had thrown at him made renewed tears well in his aching sockets and Mona made a concerned sound, her hand hovering close to him but not touching.

“Honey,” she said, gently, “what are you doing down here?” Her kind gaze sharpened, moving over his tearstained cheekbones. “You in some kind of trouble, sweetheart?” Something in her voice implied heavily that if he were, she had a thing or three to say about it.

“no,” Rus croaked out. He was, but it wasn’t anything Mona could help him with. “just…arguing with my brother.”

Mona sank back on her bright red heels, relief flickering over her pretty face as she laughed, “Oh, is that all? Me and my sisters, we fight like sabretooth tigers, but we still love each other to bits! It’ll be all right, sugar, you’ll see.”

Despite her clothes, her reassurance was motherly sweet. But Rus wasn’t so sure she was right. If life Aboveground taught him anything, it was that he couldn’t depend on the kindness of strangers, none of them had much to spare, not even other Monsters.

Maybe not even brothers.

The thought left him weary and Rus shifted, starting to painfully uncurl his way out of the corner, wincing as his joints grumbled in protest. “sorry, i shouldn’t be here, i’ll get out of the way.” He had no idea where he might go, only a vaguely formed thought of heading back upstairs to the room with the books to sleep on one of the leather sofas for the night.

Mona only shook her head, her ears tousling around her slim shoulders. “There’s no rush.” She snagged a worn cushion from the shabby sofa and sat on it next to Rus, her long, bare legs curled underneath her. When she held out a slender arm in offering, Rus wavered for only a moment before he gave in, leaning into her gentle embrace. She smelled sweetly floral, almost like Blue and renewed tears pricked Rus’s sockets. “We can sit here awhile, honey, I don’t start my shift for a little bit yet. I’m early, came over right from class to help the other gals get ready.”

“you take classes?” Rus asked, eager for any kind of distraction.

“Sure do. Studying to be a nurse.” An unexpectedly cynical note dropped into her light voice as her long nails scraped soothingly over Rus’s skull. “Monsters need all the medical staff they can get, not like the Humies are too eager to have us in their hospital wings.”

Everyone in the city had a story, Rus knew, some more interesting than others, and like Edge, Mona’s was not at all what he’d been expecting. Unlike Edge, it was very easy to see Mona working as a nurse, caring for her patients as kindly as she was Rus. Her slim fingers kept stroking lightly over Rus’s bare skull, easing his lingering headache. He sighed, pushing into her touch, “i think you’ll be an excellent nurse.”

“Aw, you sweetheart!” Mona exclaimed. She pressed a light kiss against his skull and Rus told himself to make sure he wiped away any lipstick stains when he had the chance. “I sure hope so. Classes are expensive and it was hard to get a job that’ll pay for it, until I came here.” Her voice rose, consonants sharpening into defiance, “Some people think its trashy and maybe it is. Sure, I take my clothes off for money, but I know that this is a safe place to work. The bouncers keep any of the customers from getting handsy and there’s cots where we can sleep in the back room if we’re nervous about heading home before daylight.”

She sighed softly, her hand working its gentle way down to Rus’s cervical vertebra. “The only girls I worry about are the ones making money on the side. The boss can’t stop them, of course, but he can’t protect them if they go off on their own. Customers who seem like nice fellas at the bar can get rough on their own, if you know what I mean. Better to keep it in house.”

“it doesn’t bother you?” Rus couldn’t help asking. He thought of being out on that stage, exposed to the hungry stare of the people in crowd, and shivered. It reminded him a bit of Blaze whispering to him in hazy flame-speak, cruel words about his pretty mouth as burning hands moved painfully over him. “the way the customers…are?”

Mona shrugged, jostling Rus against her side. “If I were on the street any one of those assholes could catcall me, grab at me, and all I could do is run. When I’m up there dancing? I’m the one with the power. It’s my body and they can look but not touch.” Her philosophical tone darkened. “Still gotta be careful, though. Once you decide to sell any part of yourself, some guys think it's all up for grabs and all that’s left is haggling over the price.”

Haggling over the price. Was that what he and Edge were doing now?

You’re so eager to be used up and tossed aside, I hope at least it pays well!

Rus shuddered, burying his face into Mona’s shoulder and breathing her floral perfume again. She was taking care of herself, earning her own money without having to depend on mysterious benefactors or brothers. Not only that, she was paying for classes to further her education and once she became a nurse, she’d be able to hang up her fancy brassieres and set her high heels aside. Would it be so bad, he wondered, to get up on the stage for a paycheck? It wasn’t at all like what Blaze had done, not really, they could look but not touch, Mona said, she was the one with the power here; she chose to be on the stage, no one dragged her up there with brutal hands to force anything, not from her.

Could he possibly…?

It couldn’t be here, of course, but there were other clubs. Surely they would be as protective of their staff as this one, perhaps even more so without someone like Red in charge. If Blue was…if he didn’t…well, Rus might well need a quick way to earn a little money of his own and he very much suspected there weren’t many florist shops hiring Monsters out there at a decent wage.

He drew away from Mona, meeting her curious brown eyes as he asked, “could you maybe…show me?”

Her gentle smile slipped, “You want me to dance for you?”

“no!” Rus gasped, horrified, hastily shaking his head, “no, no, i meant—show me how? to dance? a little?” He doubted he could manage any of the gyrations he’d seen through the glass when he’d arrived here on his first try, but, well, his first few bouquets wouldn’t have won a Gala award, either.

Mona’s almost hurt expression faded, taking on a more mischievous cast, “Oh, I see how it is!” She laughed teasingly and elbowed him gently in the side. “You want to impress someone with a few moves, is that it?”

It wasn’t, not at all, but Rus let the fiery blush flooding his cheekbones speak for him.

Mona’s grin widened, showing off her prominent front teeth. “Well, all right then, sugar, come on! We can head to the green room, it’ll be empty ‘til after midnight.”

She scrambled graceful to her feet despite the tottering height of her heels, pulling Rus more clumsily along behind her, “But first, let’s find something else for you to wear, sweetheart. You’re as cute as a lil’ ol’ punkin, but I think we’re after a different kind of appeal.”

He followed her from the room and couldn’t help noticing that through a discreet slit in her sheer panties, her fluffy tail was wriggling excitedly.

What had he gotten himself into this time?

~~*~~

It didn’t take very long for Rus to start regretting his life choices. Again.

Mona led him to a dressing room where other strippers were busily preparing for their sets. None of them gave him more than a curious glance and were completely unbothered by their own nudity as they stepped into filmy panties or tugged lacy bras that exposed more than they hid into place. More breasts than he’d seen in every movie he’d ever watched were on display along with a kaleidoscope variety of pert nipples, some pierced with bars or hoops, linked by a chain between them. He didn’t mean to stare but the alternative was either focusing on their poufy hair or dropping his gaze even lower to inspect a new variety of piercings in places he could hardly fathom.

The sprinkler system on the ceiling was fascinating, Rus decided, and he tried to keep his gaze there.

At least the clothes Mona chose for him weren’t terrible. She made no attempt to get him into any sort of thong and instead handed over a pair of faux black leather pants that were so tight on him that he couldn’t imagine a fleshier monster squeezing into them. They rode low on his pelvis, lewdly exposing the upper curves of his iliac crests. Not that he had much shame left after dropping trou in the same room as the others, yanking those trousers up over his legs so hastily friction burned against his femurs.

They were a little short on him, reaching only mid-calf and exposing the delicate bones of his ankles and feet. Mona took advantage of it to thread a slender golden ribbon around one of his tibias, braiding it up and around his fibula in a delicate weave and tying it off in a bow. A half shirt that clung to his ribcage and left the length of his spine exposed completed the ensemble, if it could be called that.

There was a full-length mirror on one wall, blurry with fingerprints that only increased the sureality of seeing himself like this. He’d sat unblinking while Mona applied makeup and now he could see his wide sockets were lined in burnt orange that darkened into shadowing wings of kohl. Powder dusted his cheekbones, hiding most of his bright freckles and giving the illusion of narrowing his nasal aperture. The tight shirt was nearly translucent over what little it did cover, showing off his ribs, smooth and unblemished, a match to his exposed iliac crests rising over the tight waist of the pants. His slim feet were bare, the glittery ribbon woven through one leg inexorably drawing the gaze downward to the delicate intricacies of the bones there.

He looked like someone else, someone coolly distant and beautiful. Someone he wasn’t sure he wanted to be.

“Honey, you look a treat,” Mona clapped her hands together in delight and the other strippers crowded in close, chorusing their agreement. She gathered him up and led him back through the gauntlet of bared breasts to the door despite his burgeoning reluctance. “Come on, let’s go see what you can do with it!”

Despite Mona’s enthusiasm, Rus figured out very quickly that this career path wasn’t for him. The green room was for private events, Mona confided, with its own little stage and an array of overhead lights that flashed along with the growling music she chose. But even without the high heels, Rus wobbled clumsily as he tried to circle the platform to the low bass tempo. He was sweating in mere minutes, slick bony fingers sliding frictionlessly off the metal pole as he tried to swing around it and sending him tumbling to the ground.

Mona’s helpless giggles weren’t unkind as she helped him back up. “All right, sugar, first of all, put on these, it’ll help.” She held out a pair of fingerless gloves and Rus slid them on, flexing his hands against the soft leather. Then he squeaked in surprise as Mona came up behind him, pressing the lithe, furry length of her body against his own. Her hands settled firmly on his pelvis and Rus barely bit back a yelp of protest at the unwanted intimacy of it. Her touch was professional, the way she guided his hips decidedly not.

Although he supposed it depended on the profession

Over the music, Mona said, “Now, you gotta have some kinda rhythm in those lovely bones. Listen to the music, sweetheart, you’re no beater, pretty thing, I know you can feel it.”

He tried to do as she said, listening to the music, following the guiding pressure of her hands. At first, it felt like he was at war with it, battling against the notes and her touch as one. Then just as he was about to give up, it suddenly clicked.

Under pressure, the singer crooned thickly overhead, the thrumming beat heavy in the room, under pressure. Rus obeyed the pulse of it, the command, sockets drifting closed as he swayed dreamily along.

“There you go, honey,” Mona’s voice floated to him. Her hands fell away, leaving him alone with the rhythm. “You got it, just like that.”

He obeyed, twirling around the pole and shifting his hips along with the beat. He twisted into a little shimmy, following the call of the song, and he might not be the most talented dancer, but a lack of ligaments to hold him back meant he was very flexible. He curled a leg around the pole and managed a decent half spin around it, dipping down low and barely hearing Mona’s appreciative whistle. His pelvis grinding against unyielding metal pressed tight between his legs sent an unexpected trill up his spine, and he imagined a crowd watching him, a once terrifying thought strangely exhilarating. No matter how they wanted him, they couldn’t have him, could only stare in furious need at the way he moved, his sleek bones untouchable for them, his body offered only to the one he desired and—

The music cutting off abruptly caught him off guard and Rus stumbled, panting, blinking stinging sweat from his sockets as he looked out through the glaring lights in confusion and his soul froze like a solid lump in his chest at what he saw.

Edge was standing inside the doorway, tall and imposing, a curled fist still on the sound system controls. His crimson eye lights cut through the darkened room like burning hellfire and instead of the heavy tension from the music, the air between them was filled with a seething, unnamed emotion. Not anger, not quite, and Rus stood frozen, barely noticing the ticklish trickle of a sweat droplet running down his ribs, dripping off to patter wetly on one exposed pelvic crest.

“Hello, you two.” The cool evenness in Edge’s rough voice belied the fire blazing from his sockets. “Are you having fun?”

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #mafia AU

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lenartdzsc506 · 3 years

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Wymarzone biurko pod laptopa - Blog

Dziennie spędzam więcej godzin przy biurku niż w łóżku (niestety), więc ostatnio postanowiłem dokonać lekkich nowości w bezpośrednim życiu.

Biurko było dla mnie zawsze czymś więcej niż meblem. Dawał je jako naszego rodzaju centrum zarządzania swym światem. Nawet pozycja w łóżku albo na kanapie nie stanowi dla mnie wygodnym rozwiązaniem, bowiem w obecny rodzaj ograniczam swoją produktywność. Właśnie – produktywność. Stanowi ostatnie dla mnie najistotniejsza sytuacja w sztuce. Dlatego choćby z kilku lat idę na laptopie z podłączonym monitorem. Na dwóch ekranach mogę zmniejszyć ilość zmieniania się między ekranami o kilkadziesiąt dziennie. Zaś to obecnie zapewne kilka, oraz zapewne także kilkanaście minut każdego dnia.

Ale powróćmy do indywidualnego biurka. W współczesnym mieszkaniu, skromnej kawalerce, jestem już 4,5 roku. Większość ostatniego okresu funkcjonował na etacie oraz inwestowanie w biurko wydawało mi się zbędne. Po pracy coś tam zawsze pracowałem, raz dużo, raz mniej, ale generalnie wymagał czas przeznaczany na praktykę w zakładu ograniczać. Dlatego biurko, które zastałem w staniu, bardzo głupie również zmniejszające moją produktywność, nie bardzo mi przeszkadzało. To stanowi przeszkadzało bardzo, bo po rozłożeniu jego “skrzydeł” był tanio niż połowę jego powierzchni jako przestrzeń roboczą, co stanowi każdym absurdem.

Wciąż miałem w świadomości biurko, jakie prowadziło mi w lokalu przedtem. Byłem do niego bardzo przywiązany, bo rozgrywał się spośród nim z Gdańska do Warszawy, i następnie nawet dwukrotnie w Stolicy. Prowadząc je… Autobusem miejskim. Ucząc się do małej kawalerki potrzebował je porzucić, ponieważ było silne, a ponadto… Nie zmieściłoby się w windzie oraz na klatce schodowej. Jakieś dwa lata temu zacząłem wspominać o czymś lepszym, ale brakowało mi jakiegoś uzasadnionego powodu.

Kiedy kilka miesięcy temu przedsięwziął się zostać wolnym lanserem (freelancerem) i zarabiać głównie z budynku to raz posiadał poważny pretekst. Ciepło wspominając poprzednie biurko, kochając drzewo i myśląc o produktywności wyobraziłem sobie biurko moich marzeń (na ostatnie mieszkanie, stanowiąc istotniejszą odległość pewnie wymarzyłbym sobie nieco ważniejszego :D). Moje oczekiwania były swoje: drewno, jasne, narożne o dobrych wymiarach do ustawienia monitora, kolumn stereo i mało pierdół pod ręką. Dodatkowo, nie chcąc interesować się w kolejne szuflady czy szafki postanowiłem wykorzystać dotychczasowe biurko. https://biurkonawymiar.pl/nowoczesne-biurka-gamingowe-mkdesk-pro/

Na cel ozdobiłem biurowy kącik nowymi plakatami filmowymi, jakich w moim byciu parę wisi. Dostałem od znajomych bardzo ładny plakat serialu “Legion” (że od drugiego etapu się odbiłem, a tenże plakat jest wielki, wydajny oraz kupuję, że moją kreatywność też pobudza), oraz na drugiej ścianie miał zawisnąć plakat mojego ulubionego filmu. Również chciałoby mi na plakacie filmowym, nie jakimś fan arcie czy ładnym projekcie promocyjnym. Niestety, dystrybutor “Zwierząt Nocy”, który planowałem piękny plakat, nie odpowiadał mi czy są jakikolwiek zagubiony egzemplarz na etapie, w interesach na pełnym globie nie było odpowiedniego projektu, dlatego musiałem wybrać inny film. Wybór był lekki, ponieważ jestem tylko 3 filmy, jakim dałem 10/10, a plakat z “Fight Club” mi się nie podobał, to został tylko “Mroczny Rycerz”. Tak z Heathem Ledgerem.

O rada w wykonaniu biurka poprosiłem kolegę, który ceni interesować się drewnem (nie został drwalem gdyż jest łysy), buduje drapaki oraz instalacje dla kotów, a dla mnie zaprojektował, opracował, wylakierował, zrobił również złożył całość. I kurde, efekt jest świetny. Wreszcie pracowanie przy biurku sprawia mi przyjemność, mogę w cali wyciągnąć nogi, mam przestrzeń roboczą do lektury z kartą papieru oraz długopisem (natomiast wtedy w książki kreatywnej najważniejsze dla mnie narzędzia), mieszkanie na indukcyjną ładowarkę telefonu i kawę, której nie trącę ręką. Także zajmuję plakat, który pomaga moją kreatywność. I korzystam karcące spojrzenie Jokera, który patrzy mi na ręce czy grzecznie robię również utrzymuje aby się nie obijał zbyt bardzo.

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klarysaoygk168 · 3 years

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Biurko do komputera z moich snów - moje kroki

Dziennie jestem wiele godzin przy biurku niż w łóżku (niestety), więc ostatnio postanowiłem dokonać lekkich kolei w domowym miejscu.

Biurko stanowiło dla mnie jednak czymś daleko niż meblem. Traktowałem je jak swego rodzaju centrum zarządzania swym światem. Nawet praca w łóżku czyli na kanapie nie jest dla mnie dobrym rozwiązaniem, gdyż w współczesny forma ograniczam swoją produktywność. Właśnie – produktywność. Stanowi toż dla mnie najistotniejsza kwestia w sztuki. Dlatego nawet od paru lat gram na komputerze z podłączonym monitorem. Na dwóch ekranach mogę ograniczyć liczbę zmieniania się między ekranami o kilkadziesiąt dziennie. Natomiast więc szybko zapewne kilka, a że dodatkowo kilkanaście minut każdego dnia.

Ale powróćmy do indywidualnego biurka. W obecnym mieszkaniu, skromnej kawalerce, istnieję już 4,5 roku. Grupa obecnego okresu zarabiał na zawodzie i wkładanie w biurko wydawało mi się zbędne. Po pracy coś tam zawsze pracowałem, raz więcej, raz mniej, ale generalnie chciałem czas wykorzystywany na sztukę w zakładzie ograniczać. Dlatego biurko, które zastałem w byciu, bardzo głupie również ograniczające moją produktywność, nie bardzo mi przeszkadzało. To świadczy przeszkadzało bardzo, bo po rozłożeniu jego “skrzydeł” był kilka niż część jego wielkości jako przestrzeń roboczą, co jest wszelkim absurdem.

Wciąż zawierał w świadomości biurko, jakie towarzyszyło mi w zakładu przedtem. Byłem do niego bardzo przywiązany, bo rozgrywał się z nim z Gdańska do Warszawy, a potem nawet dwukrotnie w Warszawie. Prowadząc je… Autobusem miejskim. Wprowadzając się do małej kawalerki musiałem je usunąć, ponieważ było znakomite, a też… Nie zmieściłoby się w windzie natomiast na klatce schodowej. Jakieś dwa lata temu otworzył dbać o czymś lepszym, ale brakowało mi jakiegoś uzasadnionego powodu.

Kiedy parę miesięcy temu postanowił się zostać wolnym lanserem (freelancerem) również robić głównie z budynku to raz był dobrzy pretekst. Ciepło wspominając poprzednie biurko, kochając drewno oraz wnioskując o produktywności wyobraziłem sobie biurko moich marzeń (na ostatnie mieszkanie, posiadając większą powierzchnię pewnie wymarzyłbym sobie nieco ważniejszego :D). Moje wymagania były swoje: drewno, jasne, narożne o dobrych wymiarach do miejsca monitora, kolumn stereo i kilku pierdół pod ręką. Dodatkowo, nie chcąc gościć się w pozostałe szuflady czy szafki postanowiłem wykorzystać dotychczasowe biurko.

Na efekt ozdobiłem biurowy kącik nowymi plakatami filmowymi, jakich w moim mieszkaniu parę wisi. Dostałem od swoich bardzo ładny plakat serialu “Legion” (może od pozostałego czasu się odbiłem, ale tenże plakat jest ogromny, oryginalny oraz liczę, że moją kreatywność i pobudza), natomiast na kolejnej ścianie miał zawisnąć plakat mojego ulubionego filmu. Również chciałoby mi na plakacie filmowym, nie jakimś fan arcie czy ładnym projekcie promocyjnym. Niestety, dystrybutor “Zwierząt Nocy”, jaki zajmował śliczny plakat, nie odpowiadał mi czy mają pewien zagubiony egzemplarz na poziomie, w zakładach na całym świecie nie było drogiego projektu, więc musiałem wybrać nowy film. Wybór był jednoznaczny, bo jestem tylko 3 filmy, którym dałem 10/10, a plakat z “Fight Club” mi się nie podobał, więc został tylko “Mroczny Rycerz”. Tak z Heathem Ledgerem. Biurka Gamingowe Led

O ochrona w osiągnięciu biurka poprosiłem kolegę, który lubi interesować się drewnem (nie został drwalem ponieważ jest łysy), buduje drapaki oraz budowy dla kotów, i dla mnie zaprojektował, opracował, wylakierował, wykonałem i złożył całość. I kurde, efekt jest typowy. Wreszcie pracowanie przy biurku sprawia mi przyjemność, mogę w sumy wyciągnąć nogi, mam przestrzeń roboczą do produkcji z stroną papieru oraz długopisem (zaś zatem w praktyce kreatywnej najistotniejsze dla mnie narzędzia), miejsce na indukcyjną ładowarkę telefonu oraz kawę, której nie trącę ręką. Także zajmuję plakat, który umożliwia moją kreatywność. Również jestem karcące spojrzenie Jokera, który kieruje mi na ręce czy grzecznie robię i pamięta aby się nie obijał zbyt bardzo.

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theherocomplex · 5 years

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If you're still feeling it, #3 with Fenris/Hawke! (kissing so desperately that their whole body curves into the other person’s)

kissing so desperately that their whole body curves into the other person’s

(This got a bit out of hand, I’m sorry!)

***********

The gleam in Isabela’s eye is a warning, one Fenris chooses to ignore in favor of savoring the last sip of wine in his glass.

“You know,” she says, leaning in close over the table, “it is your birthday. You could stand to have a little fun, just this once.”

“I’m perfectly content,” Fenris says, before his wince at the cheers coming from in front of the fireplace makes him a liar. “I will be perfectly content,” he amends, while Isabela rolls her eyes, “when the Fereldans leave.”

Varric snorts into his stein. “Yeah, fat chance of that happening any time before dawn. Have you ever partied with a Fereldan? Even the Coterie doesn’t play around with them when they’re like this. Too many cases of alcohol poisoning.”

Isabela drums her fingers on Fenris’ shoulder. “We could go somewhere else,” she offers. “Maybe that club in Lowtown — they do the most wonderful cocktails, and I know the bouncers —”

“Of course you do.” Fenris sets his wine glass aside and shoots a futile glare at the clump of Fereldans, who are now cheering on a small woman in a ridiculous, filmy dress as she spins and hops her way through what he assumes is one of their atrocious folk dances.

Fereldans, he thinks, with an internal sneer. Now everyone in the Hanged Man will get it into their heads to dance — or worse, do karaoke — and his hopes for a quiet birthday drink with friends will be truly dashed.

But Isabela’s cocktail bar will be even worse; the last time she begged him into going, his drink arrived in some bizarre gelatinous form with a toy car inside, and he hasn’t yet recovered. What’s wrong with simple wine, served in a simple glass, that doesn’t cost half a day’s pay?

“Uh oh,” shouts Varric. The dancing woman whirls to a halt and falls laughing against a dark-haired elf. “You’re looking mutinous. Or you’re about to go over there and start a fight.”

“Ooh, are you?” Isabela perks up, and peers over the back of their booth at the ludicrous Fereldans. “Can I make a request? Take the big one in the suit, with the shoulders like a barn door. It’s always funnier when you knock down poor sods who’re twice your size.”

Fenris waves at Edwina, and then at his glass when he catches her attention. She rolls her eyes and stalks off to the bar, which he knows by now means she’s taking his order. The pleasures of the Hanged Man are few, and its miserable excuse for service is not one of them — but the drinks are cheap, it’s close to his apartment, and it usually does not have a mass of singing Fereldans in it.

He’ll have one more drink, he decides, and then go home. Isabela will pout and say he’s ruined his birthday for her, again, and Varric will make some pungent commentary about how he’s becoming a creepy hermit instead of just an angry one — but it’s his birthday, to spend or ruin as he sees fit, is it not?

One more drink, he tells himself, as Edwina starts to weave toward their booth, his wine balanced on a tray before her. Just one, and then he can sleep, and forget he’s a year older with nothing to show for it.

“Now look at that, Varric.” Isabela pokes Varric in the chest until he turns with a sigh. She nods at the Fereldans, eyebrows inching toward her hairline, and then grins when Varric sits back, whistling. “Short and ridiculous.”

Varric makes a thoughtful noise. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

“What is?” Fenris asks, before he can stop himself. And before Varric can reply, Isabela jams her elbow into Varric’s side and leans across the table, biting her lip.

“I bet,” she says, her mouth curling in a warm, sly grin, “you don’t actually know how to have a lick of fun.”

The gleam in her eyes has returned, and brought with it a challenge Fenris already knows he’ll accept. Isabela is near-irresistible when there’s a wager at hand, and the years have not taught him how to say no.

“And if I said I did?” He takes the wine and sips it without tasting while Isabela pretends to think and winds a lock of hair around her finger.

“Then I would say — go over there, and ask little miss dancey-pants if you might have the honor of the next waltz.”

Varric clears his throat. “Rivaini…”

She waves Varric off without looking away from Fenris, still smiling. “Well?” she asks, sweetly, then steals his wineglass and drinks half of it in one gulp.

Fenris flicks his eyes toward the Fereldans. They’re subdued, for now, listening intently to a blond man tell a story that involves a lot of arm-waving and dramatic swooning. The dancing woman’s back is to him, her hair blue-black in the terrible lighting that hasn’t been updated this entire age. He watches her lift a glass, then prop her chin on her fist and lean toward another black-haired woman.

All you have to do is ask. You don’t actually have to dance with her, or any of them. And then you can go home, point proven.

“Fine,” he says, snatching back his wineglass and finishing it off before he stands, and straightens his shirt, and makes for the Fereldans.

“Fenris, before you —”

“Shut up, Varric,” hisses Isabela, just before Fenris is too far away to hear. “I want to see this.”

Ten steps take him across the bar; fifteen take him in reach of the woman’s bare shoulder. The big suited man — he of the barn-door shoulders — turns a glare on Fenris as soon as he passes into the firelight, and one by one the rest of the group turns to follow his gaze.

The dancing woman is almost the last to turn. Only the storyteller lags behind, throwing a glare of his own in Fenris’ direction before crossing his arms over his chest and sighing.

No one pays him any mind, least of all the woman staring at Fenris with a dark eyebrow raised. “Hi?” she says, loud enough to be heard over the music. Her voice is clear, and bright, and her eyes are a hot summer blue.

She is, Fenris realizes, alarmingly beautiful. He realizes this at the same moment he remembers he’s only had a bottle of the Aggregio and half a plate of fries so far tonight, and then he realizes he’s been staring at her long enough for the barn-sized man to stand up.

“I’m Fenris,” he says, when nothing else comes to mind. “Hello.” Shit.

The woman smiles — the curve of her mouth echoes in his mind, but he can’t place the memory, if memory it is — and holds out her hand. “I’m Hawke,” she says. “What can we do for you, Fenris?”

I’m here to ask you to dance on a dare, to prove a point to a friend who has probably already lost interest, and I have no idea how to extract myself gracefully from this situation.

Because he is just drunk enough to be balanced between impulse and regret, what comes out of his mouth is, “It’s my birthday.”

The Fereldans lose their minds.

“Happy birthday!” squeal Bethany and the dark-haired elf. The blond man rolls his eyes, and Barn Door pounds an enormous fist on the table and says one terrifying, perfect word:

“Shots.”

“Shots!” yells Hawke, throwing her hands in the air. “Shots?”

And then she licks her lips, and Fenris’ brain goes a little fuzzy, and from a long way away, he hears himself say, “Yes, shots.”

***

Hawke would fit perfectly under the curve of his arm, if Fenris let himself lean just a little farther to the right. Their arms brush, now and again, as she tells a story about something called a frog jump, which Fenris chooses to believe is a joke Fereldans play on unsuspecting Marchers instead of an actual event.

“— and then he peed on your leg, we’ve heard this before,” says Bethany. “Well, Fenris hasn’t, but —.”

“And I’m sure he finds it fascinating.” Hawke turns to him, a conspiratorial smile lighting up her face. Fenris’ chest aches as he looks at her, though her makeup is smudged and there’s a wine stain down the front of her white dress. “Don’t you?”

He does not, in fact, but her smile almost makes him say yes. “It is…certainly a thing,” he hedges, borrowing Isabela’s all-purpose phrase.

Hawke elbows him. “Fine. It’s a stupid story. Let’s see you do better.”

Is he never to be free of beautiful women daring him? Fenris taps his finger on his empty shot glass, and tries to ignore the eyes of the table falling upon him.

What about the story about how I walked over here on a dare an hour ago, and haven’t yet left?

He’s saved from answering as a strident guitar line comes over the bar’s speakers, and everyone — not just the Fereldans — start cheering.

“Oh, hell yes,” says Barn Door. He slams his fist into the table again and hauls himself to his feet. “About time they played a banger in here.”

“And this is one for the ages.” Hawke hops down from her stool, stretching her arms over her head.

Something tightens in Fenris’ chest when he realizes how tiny she is, and then he thinks of how easily he could lift her, and move her, and he has to dig his nails into the table’s soft wood to distract himself with a splinter or seven.

“Fenris?” He looks up to find her smiling, one hand held out to him. There’s something familiar about the gesture, and about her smile — as if they’ve stood facing each other just like this a thousand times before, her hand waiting for his, her smile warm and a little hopeful.

“Want to dance, birthday boy?” Hawke asks.

His mouth a few leagues ahead of his brain, he says, “In general? No.”

“Oh, I meant with me,” she says, easily. The song throbs around them, and it seems the whole bar is on the dance floor, shouting along with the lyrics and whirling in a sweaty mass of bright colors and laughter. “One time only offer, get it while it’s hot.”

His heart stutters — take the chance, take it — and he clasps her hand before he can think twice. “For you?” he says, aware of her pulse and the smell of her perfume — roses and honey, as ever the same — and the faint crinkling of skin at her eyes as she beams, and leads him into the dance.

It’s too hot and too loud — there’s a reason why he never dances, especially not like this — but Hawke’s hands are steady on his waist and shoulder, so there’s nothing to do but follow her as the song crests, and falls, and crests again.

He spins her out, far as his arm will go, and reels her in, her back against his chest. She tilts her head to his shoulder, laughing at the ceiling.

“Last time we did that, I think I broke two of your toes,” she says. “So we’re already ahead of —”

She blinks, eyes unfocused, then shakes herself, and whirls away, still laughing, if shakily. “Sorry about that,” she says, when he catches her by the hip and draws her close again. “I get a little silly whenever I hit that Marcher whiskey. Don’t pay me any mind.”

Fenris’ foot aches, briefly, as the song comes to a close. Easy enough to ignore, especially when she spins so lightly in the cage of his arms. But the song goes on, and on, and he’s dizzy, pressure building in his temples and chest, and these things he can’t ignore.

He looks away and holds his breath, long enough for the song to wail its way through its final chorus. When he turns his gaze back to Hawke, her dress is no longer white, but red; there are gold ribbons in her hair, and deep scars twisting across her cheek.

Their last Satinalia ball, at the Keep. How could he have forgotten?

The image lasts barely a moment — just long enough for the next song to start playing, another jangling guitar line that makes his head ache and his stomach churn. Hawke stares at him, wild-eyed, her dress white once more, and her face unmarked.

“I don’t — Fenris?”

He turns away, sick with an abrupt yearning that is not his, cannot be his, and shoves out of the dancing, laughing crowd. Hawke calls his name, but he keeps moving, staggering when he catches his knee on a chair and plunging onward, onto the empty, chilly balcony.

There he falls against the railing, gasping lungfuls of cold air and trying to breathe through the waves of nausea. Below him stretches Kirkwall, stained by smog and rain, the streetlights blue and unsympathetic above the eternal gridlock.

But — another Kirkwall lies beneath it, just as filthy and rain-choked, but made of stone, not steel, and he can hear the gulls crying overhead, where before he only heard car horns and the muffled noises from inside the bar.

“No,” he says, through gritted teeth. “No, no.”

He’s drunk, and sleep-deprived, and there is no meaning to what he sees. There is no memory here, not of another life, and certainly not of her.

“Something in the wine,” he tells himself, again and again. “Something —”

The door behind him opens on a blast of noise and heat. His stomach turns at the smell of spilled ale and stale fries, and he hunches over, willing himself not to be sick.

Then the noise is gone, and the stench, and he could be alone once more, save for the patient smell of roses falling all around him.

“I’ll go, if you want,” says Hawke. “But just tell me if you’re all right first. Please.”

A hard laugh works its way out of Fenris’ mouth. “I’m fine,” he snaps, without looking at her. “Overheated. That’s — all is well.”

He can’t bring himself to say her name. Even thinking it is too great a risk; the other Kirkwall presses in, close and hungry, and he hears his own voice, almost breaking: Hawke, promise me you won’t die.

“I find that hard to believe, especially when I’m —” A quick catch of breath. On reflex, Fenris turns around, and sees Hawke standing at the door, a hand at her throat. “You hate fish,” she begins, shivering now, her eyes wet but unflinching. “But you love apples. I brought them to you when you were sick that winter, and —”

“Stop,” he half-yells, and she does, so quickly her teeth catch her lip. “I don’t know you. I never — we —”

She brought him the apples, ground to a fine paste, cooled by her magic to be easy on his sore throat. And then she read to him until he slept, and when he woke, she was still beside him.

“We don’t know each other at all,” he lies, but he takes a step closer to her when she sighs. “It is not possible.”

Hawke tilts her head back to meet his gaze. There are tears along her lashes, but he does not let himself brush them away. “I said I would take you to stranger places, didn’t I?” she asks, a final dare.

She did. She had. Something gives way deep in his chest, and he touches her cheek with the tips of his fingers. Hawke shudders, but doesn’t move save for closing her eyes.

“You did,” he says, at last, when the pain below his ribs has passed, and a great lightness has replaced it. “And it seems you have.”

Hawke smiles, wistful, not yet opening her eyes, as he strokes trembling fingers along her jaw. It will hurt, this he knows — there is so much yet to remember, and in his heart he knows the balance falls so often toward pain.

But there will be Hawke, somehow lost and now found again, her heart beating once more against his palm. So he kisses her, gently at first, and then giving up all pretense when she makes a helpless little noise and falls against him. She is so warm, so small, and every bone and muscle is familiar. His teeth on her throat will make her cry out; his hands in her hair will make her gasp. He cannot get close enough, and he never could — but he will never stop trying, not while they both have breath.

“Hawke,” he says, the old, unforgotten prayer. “We —”

“Yes,” she says, weeping now. “Yes, love, yes.”

#Dragon Age 2 #Fenris #FenHawke #Rhyssa Hawke #FenRhys #otp: by all flowers #beefic #dsavfic #meme replies #thank you! <3 #loquaciousquark #long post

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