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“You have the goods?”
Varric looked up at Rivaini. She was standing, hips askew, a thick roll of papers in a hand resting on her hip. “That depends,” he replied, smirking a little. “Do you?”
“You know it, dwarf.” She held up the parchment as if it were a treasure map. “Sixteen pages. All for you. If you pay.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Rivaini.”
She grinned at him. “Hard bargains are my favorite kind of thing to drive,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. No doubt, she was thinking about all sorts of rival pirates bound in chains and nothing else, their skin glistening with fine, Antivan oils.
“Alright, alright,” Varric capitulated, pulling out a bag of loose coins and a bottle of rum. Before he could drop it into Rivaini’s open palm, he gestured for her to hand over the papers. Her hands brushed against his as the trade-off took place. He could almost hear Bianca slotting an arrow into place for even thinking about it.
“Enjoy,” Rivaini said, hooking the coins onto her belt. She took the cork on the bottle between her teeth, pulling it out in one smooth motion. She spit it out onto the table Varric was sitting at, the perfect tableau of a pirate queen—both above it all and yet still at home pressing her bosom against the world’s seedy underbelly. “I expect full credit when you inevitably publish it under your own name. And royalties.”
“We’ll see.” He leaned back in his chair. “But I think I could make that work. Twenty percent? Fifteen? Ten.”
“Steal from a pirate, and we’ll see what happens,” she chuckled, starting to make her way out of the room. Her hips swayed like a ship on over-eager waters, back and forth, her skin glistening with the same hue of a dark-stained oak hull. “Oh, and Varric?” She added, turning around as she reached the doorway. One hand was fondling the handle like it was going to pay her for the service. “Don’t let Hawke see this.” She paused. “Or do. Maybe it’ll give her some inspiration.” She smiled, her eyes narrowing like a fox’s. “Maker knows she needs it.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Does she? Mind telling me how you know that, Rivaini?”
“Look at her,” she chuckled. “I don’t need to pull down her panties to know that they’re worn out from rutting against an armchair.”
Varric laughed. “Shit, right as always!”
Rivaini grinned back at him. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said, winking. “Unless you’d like a dramatic reading, of course.” Her eyes raked over his exposed chest.
“Maybe after some edits,” he said back.
“I’ll hold you to it,” she said, opening the door. She looked over her shoulder at him. “As firmly as you’d like.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” With that, she disappeared, leaving Varric alone in his room. The sounds of a bard playing and patrons drinking were slightly muffled by the closed door. The fire crackled.
“Alright, Rivaini,” he muttered, getting comfortable in his chair. “Let’s see what you’ve got for me this time.” He almost debated moving to the bed, but he decided to take the professional route. At least for the first read. Probably for the first read. He wasn’t some clairvoyant—there was no telling where Rivaini’s creativity would lead him.
He unfurled the papers and began to read.
Picking Daisies, she had titled it. By Isabela. Her handwriting was quick, like she’d written the whole thing in a fit of passion before going back to edit. As Varric glanced down at the rest of the first page, he noticed a few lines that had been crossed out, little phrases and sentences written above the discarded ones or in the margins with an arrow penetrating the pre-established line to insert the new idea.
Actual proof of editing, Varric noted, nodding to himself in approval. A step up from her last work about Aveline and Donnic. Good on you, Rivaini. He read on.
Hawke sighed. She looked at herself in the mirror. “Oh, by Andraste’s thick sword, Hawke, what’s become of you?” She took in her appearance. She was wearing her armor, but it didn’t seem to fit right. Her biceps and thighs had gotten bigger in the last few months—all that time spent fighting monsters in the Bone Pit and ne’er-do-wells around Kirkwall. Fighting evil was such a strain on her wardrobe. She pressed her hands to her face. Her cheeks were pink. “Oh, what if I’m too big for Merrill?” She moaned in dismay, looking toward the door. She had flirted with Merrill a bit, and Merrill might have flirted back, but she wasn’t good with the whole “seduction” thing. She knew she should have listened to Isabela more.
“Her little elf-y body is just…” She bit down on her lip as she thought about the blood mage. Hawke would give anything to pick Merrill up in her big, strong arms. Merrill had probably never been swept off her feet before. Elves were always so skinny-looking. Not exactly the sweeping types. Maybe Fenris could do some sweeping. But he still wasn’t the sweeping type for so many other reasons. Hawke imagined how nice it would be to pick Merrill up. She probably weighed the same as a bunch of grapes. Probably tasted the same, too. Sweet and a little firm, but, with just enough pressure on her skin, she’d pop and spill all sorts of juices right down Hawke’s eager throat.
“Interesting metaphor,” Varric hummed to himself as he read. He grabbed his quill and wrote the comment in the margin. “Off to a good start.”
Hawke groaned and shooed her dog out of the room. Stubs whined and looked up at her with confusion as he was pushed. “I’m sorry,” Hawke whined. “But Mummy needs to be alone right now, alright?”
Stubs barked at her. He was a stupid dog, but he still had his balls intact. He curled in the hallway and flopped his big, blocky, drool-y head on the floor. As the door closed behind him, he tried to settle into a nap, dreaming about all the sexy mabari bitches back in his native Ferelden.
Back in her room, Hawke threw open a chest. She kept her thick metal gauntlets on while she dug through it, trying to find a suitable toy to fuck herself with. Thinking about the blood mage always made her hornier than an Antivan in a Chantry staring at statues of Andraste. She pulled out the broken-off hilt of an old dagger she’d picked up from who knows where. Hawke was always picking up junk. She didn’t have an eye for real treasure, but that could be worked on. She closed the lid of the chest and sat down in front of the fire, her armor jingling like Satinalia bells or the costume of a Rivaini dancer. She took off her metal gauntlets, holding the hilt between her teeth. She pulled down her tight, black trousers, leaving them just above her boots. There wasn’t any time to do anything sexy. She needed something in her right away. Her thighs quivered like cold kittens left outside in the winter, pressing together for warmth. Her panties had holes in them, not for easy access, but from spending so many years shoving her big, warrior palm against the fabric. It wasn’t until she met Isabela that she learned what that itch really was, even if she still struggled to really scratch it.
Varric rolled his eyes. Leave it to Rivaini to reference herself twice in the first four pages. Not that it wasn’t deserved, of course. He also had his doubts that Hawke knew that pleasuring herself was an option until Rivaini started making crude jokes around her.
“Oh, Maker, Hawke,” Hawke whined. “There goes another pair…” She pushed the plain beige panties down, wrinkling her nose at the way the wet fabric stuck a little to her womanhood. Her slit was dripping like a waterfall pouring out of a cave, just begging to be explored and plundered. She fought her maiden instincts to keep her thick, muscled thighs closed. Her breasts strained against her chest plate, aching to be let free like-
Around half a dozen similes had been written and crossed out. Clearly, Rivaini had used up her best one on comparing Red’s tits to two wild stallions corralled against their will.
-two mabari bitches in heat trying to bark despite their muzzles.
“Could be better,” Varric shrugged. He jotted a note down in the margins above the carnage of past similes—We need to work on your metaphors, Rivaini—and kept reading.
Hawke grabbed the dagger’s crossguard in both hands and lined the hilt up with her cunt. The pommel was hardly larger than the black leather grip. Hawke muttered out a little prayer to the Maker for forgiveness as she slid the backwards dagger into her pink, wet sheath. She moaned, bucking her hips like a horse that hadn’t been broken yet. She held onto both sides of the crossguard like they were reins, shoving the hilt in and out of her body. The fire crackled like a crowd in the Hall of Valor cheering as Hawke fucked herself, her never-shaven pussy on full display as it was splattered with her wetness like a warrior covering herself in her enemy’s blood. It was a shame that Hawke didn’t know how sexy both versions looked on her.
“Oh, Merrill!” She moaned. She wished it was Merrill doing the pounding, taking one of the daggers she used to cut her palms open for blood magic and instead turning it around to shove inside of Hawke’s body. She wanted Merrill to force her open and pull moans from her like she pulled demons from the Fade, both red-hot, both howling like an alley cat getting fucked at midnight. Her cunt ached as the steel wrapped in leather knocked against her the shut door of her womb like an angry landlord. “Maker’s breath, Merrill, make me come!” She begged the imaginary version of the blood mage in her mind for more and more.
Outside the door, Stubs’ ears perked up as he heard his Master moaning and whining. ‘Hawke must be in trouble!’ He got up and started pawing at the door, barking. He was not the type to sit idly by thinking of bitches while his Master was clearly fighting for her life behind a closed door. He cursed the fact that he only had paws, not hands.
“Not now!” Hawke yelled back, trying to ignore the mabari. She kept fucking herself, her thick arms straining to keep up with the demands of her cunt. “Oh, Merrill!”
Stubs, the ever-clever beast, heard the name that his darling Master kept repeating over and over. ‘Hawke must want me to go get Merrill!’ He thought. ‘I am very smart.’ He ran through the estate, escaping out of the side door Hawke always forgot to lock, pulling the handle back with his teeth. He ran to the Alienage. He knew the route by heart, as his Master had travelled it so often on her many adventures and misadventures in courtship.
He skidded to a halt outside of Merrill’s apartment. He barked, shimmying his little mabari behind as he went into the revered position named after his noble species.
After a minute, Merrill opened the door. She looked down at Stubs. “Hello! Aren’t you loud this afternoon?” She giggled. She was wearing her usual clothes, looking very Dalish-y and mage-y despite all the Templars walking around the streets of Kirkwall. She was a walking temptation to so many, but her big, green eyes never seemed to notice it.
Stubs barked at her again.
“Is everything alright?” She tilted her head down at Stubs, putting a finger to her soft, pink lip. “Did Hawke send you as a messenger?” Her round eyes went, somehow, wider as Stubs jumped up and nearly toppled her over. “Oh, my! Well, lead me to her, then!” Clearly, Hawke was in trouble! She grabbed her favorite blood magic dagger and shut the door behind her. Merrill was to the rescue.
Back in her estate, Hawke was still desperately trying to get herself off. No matter how many times Isabela talked about her adventures with the “pearl,” Hawke still didn’t understand where to press. There clearly weren’t any oyster divers in Ferelden. Such a sad, cold, orgasm-less country, if her two finest examples were anything to go off of. She was sweating like a Sister in a whorehouse, her armor like a prison of metal and cloth. And every muscle in her body was desperately rattling at the bars. Thanks to the way she was heaving her breaths in and out, she didn’t hear the side door going from ajar to open to closed as Merrill and Stubs ran inside.
“Where is she?” Merrill asked, her dagger at the ready. “Oh, Creators, I hope we’re not too late!”
Stubs led her to Hawke’s bedroom, spinning in circles in front of the shut door. Merrill’s elven ears twitched as she heard Hawke groaning, calling out for the Maker and Andraste and Merrill herself.
“Hawke!” Merrill cried out, opening the door. “I came as fast as I- Oh, my.” She started, wide-eyed, at the sight in front of her. Hawke, covered in sweat, her short black hair plastered to her wet, pink face. Her trousers and panties were bunched below her knees, her thighs spread and the broken-off hilt of a dagger trying to pull a disappearing act into her hair-covered pussy.
Hawke was too embarrassed to even scream. Her hands stopped moving, even if her thighs kept quivering. Her grip on the crossguard was so tight the metal nearly bent in her sweaty, rough palms. “H- Hello, Merrill,” she squeaked out. “What- what are you doing here?”
“Lord Stubs came to fetch me,” Merrill said, unable to take her eyes away from the sight of Hawke’s soaked cunt. She’d never seen a human pussy before. It had lots of hair. Merrill’s pussy didn’t have any. It was strange, but… very pretty. “I suppose he thought you were in trouble.”
“I-” Hawke bit down on her lower lip. “I am in trouble, Merrill,” she whined. Her hips refused to sit completely still. “I can’t…”
Merrill slowly walked toward Hawke, approaching her like a scared, sweaty halla. “Oh, Hawke,” she cooed, kneeling down at Hawke’s side and stroking her wet hair with a small, gentle hand. “You know you can tell me anything. We are friends, aren’t we?”
Hawke choked on a sob. She needed Merrill to fuck her so badly, and here she was, in the flesh, petting her hair. ‘How can she not see what I need?’ Hawke thought. She was in agony. In agony over her sweet, innocent, demon-dealing, perfect little Merrill. “We- we are, but…”
“But?” Merrill’s big, green eyes welled up with tears. “Oh, is the blood magic finally too much for you? I’m sorry, Hawke, but you know how much my mirror…”
“I- I don’t care about- about the blood magic,” Hawke panted. “I kind of- I kind of think it’s…” She swallowed. “Really, really sexy.”
“Oh!” Merrill put a hand to her lips like a scandalized maiden, even if her cheeks grew as pink as roses and her heart skipped a beat. “Is that so?”
“Very!” Hawke’s strong arms shook as she fought the urge to keep fucking herself. “I think- I think all of you is really, really sexy!”
Merrill blinked at her. “Well, I suppose I think you’re quite… quite sexy, too,” Merrill admitted. “Wait, is that why you’re-?” She looked down between Hawke’s legs again. She was still gushing out arousal like she’d sprung a leak in her hull. “Oh, Hawke!” Merrill was flattered. And she was starting to get a little wet, too, her bare elven pussy starting to drip into her leggings. Like all Dalish, she didn’t wear any underthings. “I know I’m no healer, but…”
Hawke’s eyes went wide. “Do you… really like me?”
“Of course I do, silly! Oh, Hawke!” Merrill leaned down and kissed Hawke on the forehead. “Oh, you silly, silly little goose. Of course I like you!”
“Maker’s breath, I’m stupid,” Hawke whined.
“Here, let me,” Merrill said, prying Hawke’s hands away from the hilt of the dagger. “I spent quite some time with a Desire demon last week. We didn’t do anything naughty, of course,” she said, starting to pump the dagger’s hilt in and out of Hawke’s body. Hawke moaned, bucking her hips up against Merrill’s slow thrusts of the hilt. “Now, now, don’t be so impatient!” Merrill giggled. “Like I was saying, I spent some time with this demon, and she told me all sorts of stories. It was very, very tempting, but I didn’t think that turning into an abomination would be a very smart thing to do.” She turned, facing away from Hawke’s face and toward her lower set of lips. “You know, I never thought about using a dagger like this! You’re very clever, Hawke.”
“Thank- thank you,” Hawke moaned.
Merrill noticed Hawke’s little pink clit sticking out slightly from her pretty pink folds, standing at attention just enough to poke out from the curly black bush around it. She wondered what would happen if she touched it. With a curious little finger, Merrill reached down and finally touched that precious pink pearl between Hawke’s legs.
Hawke cried out in pleasure as her blood lit on fire, rushing everywhere in her body. “Merrill!” She yelled. “Please, Maker’s breath, do- do that again, I- I’m gonna-!”
“Alright!” Merrill laughed. The Dalish were far more well-versed in anatomy than repressed Ferelden farm girls were, even if Merrill still struggled to tell an innuendo from an observation. “Come along, Hawke! Oh, you make such pretty noises!”
Hawke came with a rush, her cunt squeezing the grip of the dagger like it was preparing to do battle with it. Her thighs shook like a naked Rivaini in the snow. Slowly, Merrill pulled the hilt out of Hawke’s body, and she spilled onto the floor like an uncorked bottle of champagne.
“Do you feel better now, Hawke?” Merrill asked, setting the hilt to the side and turning to look at Hawke’s sweat-soaked and perfectly fucked face.
“Y- yeah,” Hawke said. “I- I do.”
“Well, that’s very good.” Merrill leaned down and kissed Hawke on the lips. It was quick and very innocent. Neither of them had ever kissed anyone before. It was all very sweet. Mainly sexy, but also very sweet.
Varric chuckled. “Buckling right before the end,” he said, tsking. “For shame, Rivaini.” Leave it to the open-legged, closed-heart pirate queen to passionately write frantic smut—likely with one hand on the quill and one hand firmly elsewhere—but struggle to put one word after another when it came to the more tender moments.
And so on and so forth forever and ever, in Andraste’s name we pray for these two to fuck. The end.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Varric agreed. He jotted the sentiment down below the final line. He looked around him. Huh, he thought. He hadn’t recalled leaving his chair, nor hanging his coat up over the back of it. He shrugged and rolled the papers up, tying them with twine and setting the bundle and his quill on his nightstand. He blew out the candle. The noise of the patrons in the tavern below had quieted some as the night went on. As he pulled the covers up over his body, he wondered how his own version of events would differ from Rivaini’s. No matter how the blooming romance between Hawke and Daisy went, he was sure it would be… gripping.