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noobsydraws · 2 years

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FLUFF HC:

When she can manage Lavellan visits Solas on his Desk once a day to get a hug or smooch, before moving on to her inquisition duties.

#Solas #Dragon age #Dai #Da inquisition #Lavellan #Solas x inquisitor #solavellan #Solavellan hell #Dragon age fluff #fluff headcanons #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #noobsydafanart #art #fanart #dragon age fanart #Dragon age oc #Myrra Lavellan

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deedeemactir · 1 year

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Jowan to Lexi, at least once a day:

Lexi, always:

*does whatever it is anyway*

#dragon age headcanon #dragon age fluff #jowan dragon age #alexia surana #alexia surana howe #just sibling things #character dynamics

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greypetrel · 6 months

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✨Rise and shine! ✨

The Commander is not a morning person, the wake up call must come with extra fluff.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #cullavellan #cullen rutherford #cullen x lavellan #illustration #greypetrel #orange is not that bad for colouring uh #aisling lavellan #I swear I'm going on with prompts it's just been *a week* and I needed something simple and fluff to colour

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an-established-butt-dent · 1 month

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One of my many Solavellan head cannons.

They traveled together for months, years even. Don't tell me these lovesick fools didn't regularly disappear into the woods together, to have a quiet romantic moment away from the prying eyes of the other companions.

Mixed media on paper.

#Only to return to the morning back to camp with Lavellan having slightly more dishelved hair than usual.#and Dorian commenting on it immediately ofcourse #Like their romance is incredibly angsty but i really wished there had been more scenes of them just them having a sweet and intimate moment #I mean yes there is the balcony scene at skyhold #but solas literally runs off when he confesses his love for Lavellan. LOL #talk about running away from his feelings #kinda hard to run away from your love when you are travelling months together. I imagine they have had moments where they basked-#-in the newness of it all. A moment of quiet understanding and feeling alive. Of new love.#Ugh these two #solasmance #Solavellan headcannons #solas x female lavellan #solas x inquisitor #inquisitor lavellan #my art #solas #dragon age inquisition #art #my fanart #dai #drawing #traditonal illustration #pencil art #the dreaded husband rises #the dread egg #solas dragon age #solavellan fluff #solavellan fanart #dragon age dreadwolf #da: dreadwolf

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rainydaygt · 11 days

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Hi. Today is my birthed day. I'm celebrating with some shamelessly indulgent Alistair g/t art because I do what I want and he is my husband and SNIFF i love him and and uuaaahhhhhh

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liatorii · 7 months

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Dragon Ezra everyone? :3

#yes #he has galaxy wings after his road-trip with Thrawny boi #very fluffy #if you’re asking #the white fluff on him is bc of the connection he has to the white loth cat #plus it looks rad #it was super fun aging up his force dragon #so big #so fluffy #I hope tumblr user tobytost will like him #from noddle boi to big noodle boi #star wars dragons #star wars rebels #star wars rebels fanart #ezra bridger #my art #dragons

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godsofyfirheim · 1 year

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"I was thinking about when we went to the ruin, when we found the badge. Everything seemed clear then, like I could do anything with you by my side."

- Blackwall, Dragon Age: Inquisition

So who slips / trips and falls over first?

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rosieofcorona · 2 months

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In the Blue Morning

BELOVEDS, a soft little Solavellan fic for you. Mostly fluff this time around to soothe the eternal, unyielding hurt. Also on AO3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕

She cajoles him, some mornings, away from his office, from his maps and his books and his paintings and out among the newly-planted gardens, all their tight, unfurling blooms.

It’s always empty at this hour, when most of Skyhold is still asleep save for the guards in their high towers, the recruits in the practice yard. The only sound is the clang of their swords ringing through the mist like distant bells, the only light the pink and gold of the nascent sun.

They have been careful, desperately careful not to draw undue attention, not to generate rumors that could harm the Inquisition in the future. It is easier on the road to find a quiet moment alone– to steal a kiss or hold a hand or put words to their love– but the castle, however safe, is full of eyes, forever watching.

It is only in the narrow, muted hours before dawn that Solas weaves his fingers with hers as they orbit the courtyard, side by side.

He names the blossoms as they pass, first in the trade tongue and then in Elvish, the softened syllables like music on his tongue. She repeats them half as gracefully, but he smiles at every attempt, correcting her gently now and again, praising her efforts.

“Gail’lealis,” he says, pointing out an elegant bellflower, its blue-white petals bundled tightly in green sepals.

It sounds off, even to her ear, when she says, “Ga’lealis,” back.

They pause for a moment, and Solas turns and bends and plucks an early bloom from the same plant, rotating it slowly between his fingers, holding it up for examination.

“Ga-il,” he repeats softly, separating the sounds. “Meaning ‘bell,’ in the common parlance.”

“Ga-il,” she says again, correctly this time.

“Followed by lealis, meaning ‘glass.’”

“Gail’lealis.”

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, tucking the flower behind her ear, the meaning vague yet all-encompassing. It is all beautiful– the morning, the garden, how she catches the light, his ancient language in her mouth, her mouth–

Solas kisses her in the empty courtyard, parts her lips with a linguist’s tongue, and she kisses him back again and again as if each time might be the last. He wants to stay like this forever, wants the sun to forget to rise, wants the castle to sleep and sleep in an endless dream.

But the light keeps coming, every moment. The castle will wake, and they will see.

And this will cost them, in the end.

She is pink as the sky when they finally come apart, and continue their long walk around.

“I hear you were out here yesterday,” she says, breaking the silence as they turn a corner. “Cullen says you beat him soundly at chess.”

“It was a closer game than he thinks,” Solas says, but she has learned when he’s just being modest.

“Must not have been that close, because Bull says the same. As do Blackwall, and Varric, and Dorian, though he swears that you cheated.” “I did no such thing!”

When they turn again, the chessboard in question comes into full view, set and waiting on its table beneath an awning.

“He seemed very certain,” she shrugs. “Though I suppose I could find out for myself.”

They stop again before the table, and Solas looks at her intently. “Is that a challenge, dear Inquisitor?”

“That depends on your level of skill.”

She’s teasing him now, enticing him, a dynamic he’s come to enjoy. There are so few who impress him with thoughtfulness, who make him work at being clever.

“Very well, but you should know that I am merciless,” he warns, a contradiction to the chivalry of pulling out her chair. “Even to one I love.”

He takes the seat opposite her, the board and the pieces adorned in glittering dew.

“I believe the Lady Inquisitor moves first.”

**********

He sets a dozen little traps for her, a dozen clever gambits, and she evades them every time, to his astonishment. Where he moves to attack, she counters; where he baits her, she defends or retreats. By the end, with the sun fully risen overhead, they reach a deadlock, both depleted, neither victorious.

“Again?” She asks cheerfully, when they’ve finished. Already she is freeing her captives from his end of the table. “Don’t look so stunned, my love. Unless you’re trying to offend me.”

“Forgive me, vhenan,” he says, shaking his head. “You surprise me as always. It is rare to find an opponent so…discerning.”

His beloved laughs with the morning breeze, a sound like air that surrounds and envelops him.

“Rare to find one you can’t beat, you mean.”

She’s right, of course– it is rare that he loses, even rarer that he plays against someone so evenly matched. He still can’t quite puzzle through it, where he went wrong, where she figured him out.

He had gotten a lead on her early on, or so he thought– he had taken a tower, a mage, and two pawns– and left his queen open for the taking, which she had entirely ignored. She caught onto him quickly, though too late to win, and when she realized she couldn’t beat him, she had blocked him instead.

Solas leans thoughtfully back in his chair, replaying their game in his mind. No matter how he tries to beat her, he finds no way through. She sees his scheming, sees him coming, cuts him off.

“Why did you not take my queen, given the chance?”

“Because you gave me the chance,” she reasons. “You wouldn’t do that except to win.”

“It could have been a tactical error.” “It wasn’t,” she says assuredly, resetting the pieces along their battle lines. “If I had taken her, it would have left my king undefended from your mages.” “You could have moved him.” “For a turn or two. Then your knight would have circled back. Isn’t that right?” She looks up at Solas, her eyes smiling and sharp, affirmed in her answer already. “Or shall we call that a ‘tactical error?’”

“Mm,” Solas nods his approval. “You’ve become quite the strategist. Have you been spending time with our Commander?”

“I’ve been spending time with you,” she counters. “Learning all your little tricks.”

Not all, it occurs to him, but Solas smothers the thought with a laugh. “It seems to me you have a few of your own.”

“Our Keeper used to call me harellan,” she tells him. “Trickster. Though I needn’t explain that to you.”

He fights to keep the easy expression on his face, feeling suddenly caught in the snare of her gaze, as if she sees directly through him, sees him fully, all he is.

Harellan, his mind echoes. How could she know?

The wait for her judgment feels infinite, inevitable– but it does not come, and does not come, and does not come. She only moves a white pawn toward the board’s center, the leaves rustling softly around them.

No, he decides. She does not know. She only means he knows the word.

Solas mirrors her opening move, their pawns face to face on the battlefield. “And still, your Keeper named you her First.”

“I was more troublesome as a child,” she says, with a grin that implies that the mischief has never left her. “I’ve settled down a great deal since. Can’t you tell?”

This time, when Solas laughs, there is nothing else hiding beneath it. No uneasy feeling, no great fear that she will discover him, cast him out. There is only happiness for a moment, the war reduced to a board between them, as if sorrow and death are nowhere, and the end of the world is far away.

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demigoddessqueens · 1 year

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idk if u take requests but can u do cullen x reader fluff bc there's not much stuff for him :((

Oh sure thing! 😉

Fluff headcanons

He is a cuddler!! Man’s WILL NOT admit it but Cullen is absolutely a cuddler, especially if you and/or are asleep

Doesn’t really show it or overindulge, but he does have a bit of a sweet tooth. If you make anything sweet for him, he automatically loves it

As much as he is a workaholic, I’d imagine Cullen likes to relax and ENJOY some TLC with his s/o

Lives for massages, both giving and receiving

Is such a sweet kisser, takes him time and considerate to how you respond

Hand!! Kisses!! Also cheek kisses!!!

You both have little inside jokes with each other

If he’s stressed or just not in a good mood at all, he wants you to hold him

He’s thought about kids with you at one point, here and there

If this is in-canon or Modern AU, I feel that Cullen is a bit of the sentimental type, especially now that he has someone to care for.

Like he would set aside time to celebrate special occasions and milestones with you

#inbox request #dragon age #my writing #cullen x inquisitor #headcanons #cullen rutherford x reader #fanfic #writeblr #cullen rutherford #dragon age x reader #fluff headcanons #dragon age imagine

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smuttyfang · 9 months

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Iron Bull, You Being Clingy

"You totally should write something like the reader is clingy to Iron Bull. Or he gets jealous! I've never requested anything but damn I'm going to be thinking of smth because your stories literally make my day"

Words: 386

Headcanons below the cut!

If you're clingy, you do NOT need to feel guilty or like you're 'too much'. Not with this guy. He literally loves it so much that you cling to him and want to always be with him! He will make sure that you are aware of that too and that you never feel bad about being the way you are.

"Don't feel bad, Kadan. I do enjoy your company after all."

He is super proud of you if he is with you, so he will always be happy to have you close by. It's the best way he can show you off to others and show you how proud and happy he is to have you.

Will literally pull you by your hips into his lap so that you're sitting on him, no matter where you are. Always laughing while he does it. He does not care and does not have any shame whatsoever.

“Come here!"

If people stare at you both for being so touchy with each other, he just grins at them and finds it really amusing. He finds it somewhat funny how some people cared so much and acted like it was a big deal when it's not at all in his eyes. He will just shrug it off.

“I guess they must like the show."

The rest of the Chargers are so used to seeing you two be physically affectionate with each other, they never really pay it much mind. They might make comments once in a while, just picking and making fun a little bit, but they really love seeing Bull so happy. That's all that matters to them.

Bull also loves that you're even more affectionate when you're alone together. He loves that you always want so much physical affection and touching. Always wanting kisses and always wanting his hands on you.

He also always assures you when you're alone that your feelings are okay and that he does not mind your clinging one bit. He assures you that he only wants you. He is literally the best at letting you express how you feel, and because he is so good at reading people, he often understands how you feel even when you don't quite know yourself what you're feeling.

"I love everything about you, especially you always needing me."

Original post on AO3 if you’d like to check out my other fics there instead ❤️.

#dragon age #iron bull #iron bull x reader #headcanons #dai #dragon age Inquisition #fluff

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inquisimer · 6 months

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i carried my own ashes to the mountains

for day 1 of @zevraholics' Zevwarden week 2023, tradition and trying new things - some pre-ship Nika and Zevran, a discussion of what will come of her return to Orzammar.

pairing: f!Brosca & Zevran word count: 1200 rating: general audiences tags: hurt/comfort, platonic relationships, fluff, a hint of pining if you squint

Nika stared at her reflection, warped and hazy in the frozen puddle outside their camp. A few hundred yards back through the trees their tents formed a half-circle around the fire. Beyond that loomed the peaks of the Frostback Mountains and within them, the gates to Orzammar.

Orzammar. Nearly three years gone since she’d left and going back now felt as intimidating as leaving with Duncan had then. Her fingertips traced over the faded brand on her cheek, newly bisected by a long, fresh scar. One of three—souvenirs from their battle with the dragon in Haven. Between that, and the weight on her shoulders, and the harsh cynicism regret had etched into her, she wondered if anyone in Orzammar would recognize the rebellious little casteless who dared defy their laws.

Part of her hoped they wouldn’t. Then she wouldn’t be alone in seeing a stranger in her face.

“Reminiscing, chapparita?”

A twig snapped under Zevran’s weight and Nika’s hand fell from her cheek as she glanced at him over her shoulder. She shrugged.

“Something like that, I suppose.”

Zevran hummed his doubt. Of all her companions, he would know. When they stumbled across his ill-conceived trap, she was still fresh-faced and sun-blind, lost without the cavernous Stone to ground her. She'd nearly shanked him in her anger. But his eyes shone with the wild desperation of someone who had absolutely nothing left to lose—he would have welcomed her blade, and it was a look so familiar that to see it in another shocked the rage right out of her.

He repaid her mercy with a curious devotion, sitting up with her through the coldest, darkest watches and fording paths when their inane quests took them through wilderness where even the smallest plants stood well above Nika's head. Bit by bit, he came to know her history, wheedling it out of her as none of the others had even tried to.

Things weren’t so different between the Carta and the Crows. Antiva's operation was larger and more storied, of course, but both were ruthless and cutthroat to a fault and you were only worth as much as the success of your last job. Nika didn't know many assassins, but she knew how they worked, and nothing builds trust like a mutually assured dagger in the back.

Zevran leaned against a tree and regarded her with a knowing look.

"You are apprehensive about returning to Orzammar."

"Am not."

He huffed, an aborted laugh that fogged the air around his mouth. "Dear Warden, there are at least seven paths that could have gotten us here sooner. And don't tell me you don't know of them," he added, for she'd opened her mouth to do exactly that. "I showed you how to read the map myself."

She rolled her eyes. "And?"

"And I think you should know that you do not need to run off into the woods with your woes." Zevran squatted at her side and tilted her face toward him with a knuckle on her chin. "You do not need to hide from me, chapparita. Not after everything."

"I know it's just..." Nika pursed her lips. "It's stupid. I just need a few moments to get it together."

"If it causes you distress, it cannot possibly be stupid."

"Yes it can," Nika grumped. "I get distressed by stupid things all the time. Rain and wagons. Broken lockpicks. Alistair."

"While amusing, this deflection won't save you." Zevran caught one of her hands and traced the calloused lines of her palm. "What troubles you so about returning home?"

"Home?" Nika scoffed. "Hardly a home. A place of origin, perhaps. But there was too much anger and never enough food to really call it a home."

"But you have family there, yes? Your sister and the young man...Lester?"

Nika's gut twisted. "Leske. And Rica, yes, they're still there. Or at least, I think they are. Some of the rumors coming up from Orzammar make me think there may well be nothing but carnage when we get there."

"Is that what troubles you, then?"

"Mmm not really. The city can tear itself to shreds for all I care, 'slong as Rica and Leske got out."

"Not worried about the city, not really worried about your family." Zevran tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Your reception upon return, then?"

Nika scrunched up her face. She really was quite transparent these days—if Behraht had been able to read her that well, she'd've never been allowed in the Carta, no matter how well Rica cleaned up. She glanced down at her griffon-stamped chestplate and sighed.

"I'm not the same person who left Dust Town," she finally said. "You know—you were there for most of the changing, the struggling, the growing."

"Not too much growing," Zevran teased, waving his hand over her head. She swatted at it and stuck her tongue out at him.

"The thing is, the time and the experience and even being a Warden—it won't matter to the people down there. You can't change your lot in life in Orzammar, so..."

She brought her fingers back to her marked cheek and Zevran’s gaze followed. "Once a brand, always a brand," she said bitterly. "I'm not even sure they'll listen to the treaties, not if I'm the one asking."

In the silence that followed, Nika stewed. She could feel Zevran considering her, but she didn’t want his comfort or his pity. Not when she had to walk back on the way the surface had changed her perspective. Not when she needed to be as cold and cruel as she’d ever been, to survive a return to Orzammar.

Gentle fingers caught her chin once more and this time the pad of Zevran’s thumb ghosted over the raised skin of her brand.

“They know you by this, as you were. But that is not who you are any longer so: have you considered…changing it?”

“How can I? It’s as much a part of me as my nose.”

“You misunderstand. I am not suggesting you attempt to remove it, anymore than I would suggest expunging your history before the Wardens.” Zevran dropped his hand to her shoulder and gently squeezed. “But the rest of you has changed on this venture. Should your face not change as well?”

Nika went very still. Her eyes darted back to the frozen puddle and the stranger reflected there. She imagined dark ink spiraling out around the blocky lines of the brand, weaving in and around the scar tissue, softening the hard border of the burden she’d worn like a prize all her life, just as this journey had softened all of her sharp edges.

In her heart, the idea slotted into place, so right that it immediately drew her out of her anxious melancholy. With eager eyes, she grabbed Zevran by the wrists.

“Can we do it now? Right now?”

A soft, warm smile crinkled the corners of Zevran’s eyes, a hint of wistfulness keeping it from catching at his mouth proper. But it swiftly gave way to his usual grin and he lifted her small frame effortlessly, swinging her onto his back.

“Of course, chapparita. We can begin whenever you like.”

#zevwarden week 2023 #zevran x brosca #zevran x f!warden #fanfic #hurt-comfort #pining #fluff #oc: nika brosca #zevran x nika #dragon age fanfic #dao #zevwarden

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noobsydraws · 2 years

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I have this headcanon where Dalish have this thing where they lean their forehead against each other's when someone is really upset. And Myrra is teaching that to Solas when he is caught in some really horrible flashbacks and he returns the gesture when she reaches her breaking point later.

#dragon age au #Dragon age oc #myrra lavellan #da solas #solas dragon age #dragon age inquisition #Dai #fanart #Dragon age fanart #Noobsydraws #noobsydafanart #Headcanon #fluff headcanons #Lavellan #solavellen hell #solavellan

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an-established-butt-dent · 1 month

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'Dreamers' A quiet evening

Solas x Lavellan, available as print here.

Mixed media on paper

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spicywarl0ck · 14 days

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happy friday!! how about "a family recipe" for fenhawke? :>

Thank you for this prompt for @dadrunkwriting <3 I had a lot of fun with it x3 It turned out to be something fluffy and silly Pairing: Fenris/male Hawke Rating: G Length: 591

“This doesn’t look right to me.” Fenris arched his eyebrow at the ominous-coloured dish Hawke was cooking up.

The mage had started the process hours ago, happily humming to himself as he cut and tossed ingredients into the pot. It was the first time he witnessed Hawke cooking by himself, and the longer he stared at the pot, the more he understood why.

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Hawke hummed, throwing a turnip into the stew. “I know what I’m doing.”

Fenris doubted that.

“What are you cooking up anyway? I can’t tell if it’s soup or a stew but… are you sure it’s supposed to look like that?” The elf added, pointing at the liquid that had just turned into a sickly yellow.

“I don’t know. It’s an old family recipe. I found it in a small chest in my mother's room.”

Hawke bowed his head down, for a second, his eyes shining with emotion after he mentioned his mother. He remembered the night and the circumstances she passed vividly. They never talked about it more, and Fenris was thankful for it. He wouldn’t know what to say anyway.

“I never watched her make it. But I am certain it will be good.” Hawke’s expression remained a tad sad, but he swiftly brightened up. “Anyway, it won’t need much anymore. Do you want to help? Or would you rather make a sour face and comment on it?” he added in a tease, brightening up the mood again.

“I’d rather keep a safe distance, from whatever you brewing.” Fenris's lips twitched into a half smile.

“Someone has to be able to pull you out of the rubble swiftly if it explodes yes?” he added, suddenly feeling Hawke's warm and kinda calloused palm stretching over his cheek.

“I’m grateful that you’d pull me out. Before or after a remark?” The mage chuckled before he robbed Fenris of a chance to answer.

Hawke’s lips were soft when they pressed against his. Of course, they were roughened by the weather and their adventures, but the kisses were so soft. He didn’t care about anything but the mage’s lips brushing against his slowly and carefully.

His hands wrapped around Hawke’s neck, softly hooking and stroking the black hair on his back as he got pulled closer.

Their bodies were so close that they felt each other's heartbeats through their clothes, the constant bubbling of the nearby pot pushed into the background as they got lost in each other for just a minute.

Fenris could get used to the kisses, standing in the comforting warmth of their own home.

It was something unknown to him before, but by now it had become something he needed and wanted. Of course, a part of him was scared of what that entailed and equally scared of the unknown future. But it was also worth the risk as long as Hawke was there.

They only pulled away once they needed to breathe, suddenly aware of the sizzling and bubbling noise.

“Shit.” Hawke cursed as he pushed towards the slightly burned dish. “I’m sorry, that was my bad.” he sighed. “I guess I have to start again.” The man added as he poured the burned liquid away.

“Or, we could go to the Hanged man and ask for some decent food.” Fenris fell in, his eyes flying over the recipe as it lay on the counter. “Seems to me, that whatever you tried to cook up, wasn’t food but a potion of some sort.”

So, he had been right after all.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #writing #prompt #fenhawke #dadrunkwriting #dragon age 2 #fenris #male Hawke #fluff #silly fluff #my writing

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greypetrel · 1 year

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Surprise kiss (and sneaky hair ruffling)

Two silly, goofy idiots in a silly, goofy pose referenced from a 50s advertising.

Don't ask me what's going on with the chair I wasn't able to devise what mid-century weird contraption is going on.

#dragon age inquisition #dragon age #cullavellan #cullen rutherford #lavellan #cullen x lavellan #fluff #greypetrel #drawing #doodle #fanart #da fanart #da: i #sketchbook #I suspect either some ground level chair FOR REASONS or a sunken floor #dude in the reference had the newspaper propped on bent knees...#Mid-century Skyhold with the throne on a sunken level and the Great Hall all covered in carpet

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shivunin · 1 year

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The Small Hours

(Maria Hawke/Fenris | 1496 words | No warnings)

They’d started the evening with a book.

Fenris was managing the experience of reading better now than he had at first, even if he was still slow enough to make him self-conscious with anyone but Hawke. In truth, he didn’t need as much help as she thought he did—they’d been working at it for several months now, and he read often when he was alone—but he kept coming back to her manor for informal lessons anyway. There was a quiet warmth to these evenings that had taken him by surprise, and he could not seem to let it go just yet.

So—tonight, they’d begun by reading. It was something relatively inconsequential—a collection of limericks, easy and fast to read. Fenris suspected Hawke just liked to hear him say things like “hullaballoo” or “festooned.” Her frequent, poorly hidden snickers did not relieve him of this suspicion, but Fenris found he could not mind the sound of her laughter.

In fact, he’d enjoyed it so much that he’d read through the entire volume, and then he’d been loath to leave. Her library was pleasantly insulated from the noise of the street or the rest of the manor, and the fire crackling in the hearth was a cheerful counterpoint to the whistle of the wind outside. Fenris was comfortable in a cushion on the floor, leaning back against her bookshelves while Hawke sprawled on her couch. It seemed a shame to end things so soon, though he had no excuse to stay. So—he’d set the book aside when he finished the last poem and asked her a question instead of taking his leave.

“What was it like,” he asked, “to grow up in Lothering?”

“Hmm,” Hawke said.

She peered up at the ceiling for a moment, the pause long enough to make him wonder if he shouldn’t have asked, if the memories were perhaps too painful. Eventually, she turned to look at him again and smiled.

“When I was little,” she said, “It seemed the finest place in the world. We had to stay away from anywhere too close to a city or large groups of templars, of course, because of…well. But the farm seemed like its own world; we didn’t spend much time in town until we were a bit older and could keep our magic to ourselves.”

She paused and winced, then went on.

“Well—mostly to ourselves. There was this awful boy—”

Fenris snorted and she pushed herself higher on the cushions.

“Don’t laugh!” she said, smiling despite the words, “There was this awful boy who would always knock Carver down and pull Beth’s braids and he was so mean and I just couldn’t stand him. One time he was standing somewhat close to a fire beneath a stewpot and I—”

“Hawke,” Fenris said, but she held up a hand.

“I didn’t hurt him! But I did burn out the bottom of his market basket. Eggs and fruit all over the place, the brat. He deserved it. And his mother accompanied him to the market for weeks after, so he didn’t have a chance to be cruel again until after Carver and Beth learned to throw a punch.”

Fenris shook his head, failing to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“But that wasn’t your question,” she said, shaking her head ruefully.

Reclining on the couch had left one side of her hair a mess, the curls bunched up in places and tangled in others. Fenris tried to put a name to the thing he felt upon seeing it, but he could not. It was—this was—intimate, in a way he could not seem to wrap his hands around to comprehend properly.

“It was quiet,” she went on, apparently oblivious to his stare, “We tended the farm and the livestock, always working, up before dawn every day. It was easier when the twins…when the twins were older. We could handle the load a little better. But sometimes, after harvest and before planting came, it felt like I had the whole world to run through. The sun in my hair and the warm earth between my toes—it was always a fight to get shoes on me back then.”

She was smiling again, soft and fond, her eyes fixed somewhere in the corner and somewhere farther away entirely. Fenris could not have made himself look away from the light in her face even if he’d wanted to. He wondered what it would be like to trace the lines and shapes of her expression with his fingertips; he wondered, too, what she would look like, carefree in the sunlight with the wind in her hair.

He wondered what it would be like to remember one’s childhood.

“I seem to recall you barefoot here more than once,” Fenris said, to push the last thought away, and Hawke’s eyes found his again.

“Yes,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “Have you felt formal shoes before? Goodness. I can’t blame you for never wearing any at all. Sometimes I’d like to try it for myself.”

“Why don’t you?” Fenris asked.

Hawke edged a little lower on the couch and lifted a foot, which was, in fact, bare at the moment. She wiggled her toes for a moment, then shrugged.

“What if I step on something sharp?”

“I would recommend not stepping on something sharp,” Fenris agreed gravely. Hawke tipped back her head and laughed.

“Don’t you ever?”

“Occasionally,” he said, and shrugged, “Perhaps I am used to it.”

“Perhaps,” she said, and tucked her feet into the cushions again, “Well—maybe you can try fancy shoes one day, and I can try leggings.”

“Somehow,” Fenris said drily, resting his elbow on his knee and allowing the hand to dangle loose, “I think you are getting the better end of the bargain.”

“Maybe so,” Hawke laughed, snuggling deeper into the cushions and tucking an arm under her head, “Did I answer your question? I can’t remember.”

“You did,” Fenris said, but—he wasn’t ready to stop talking yet. He cleared his throat and added:

“What became of the awful boy? The one you set aflame?”

He chose his words on purpose, and her reaction did not disappoint. Hawke’s mouth dropped open and she pressed a hand to her chest in outrage.

“I did not ‘set him aflame,’” she said, frowning at him, “The nerve!”

Fenris kept his laugh to himself, but he couldn’t resist the smile that crept up either side of his face. Hawke reached behind her, retrieved a small, circular pillow, and threw it at his head. Fenris caught it easily, laughing in earnest now despite himself. She went on, describing the boy’s fate—an apprenticeship in the city—and Fenris went on asking her questions great and small, unwilling to let the evening go. Her voice became heavy as the hours rolled by, and her eyelids opened more and more slowly, until at last she trailed off mid-sentence and did not finish her story.

“Hawke?” Fenris murmured.

He was tired, too; he was not certain of the hour, but he must have been awake nearly a full day by now. Sleep had not been kind to him the night before. Even so, he resisted the siren call of rest and looked at her instead. Her lips were parted, and her chest rose and fell in a soft and even rhythm. Some of her hair had fallen over her forehead, the tendrils dark against her brown skin. She lay on one arm, but the other hand rested on the cushion beside her elbow, the fingers loose and relaxed.

This was dangerous. He’d known as much for months, but the sight of her like this—one did not let down one’s guard like this unless trust was complete, or close enough to it that the distinction was insignificant. That horrible voice in the back of his mind whispered that she should be more wary, that he could have her beating heart in his hand in an instant and she would be able to do nothing to stop him.

Fenris rose on silent feet, took the blanket from a chair beside the fire, and approached. Hawke did not rouse when he carefully draped the soft red fabric over her, covering her from feet to shoulders. Her breath remained regular even when he lifted and tucked aside a loose lock of hair that would surely brush against her nose.

“Goodnight, Hawke,” Fenris said, so quietly he almost couldn't hear it, and turned for the door.

Perhaps a day would come when he might rouse her from her sleep and help her to bed instead. Perhaps there would be other nights when he could speak with her well into the small hours of morning, when he would feel as safe in her home as she did, when he might fall asleep without concern for safety or attack.

Perhaps it was not such a foolish thing at all, to want to stay in the warmth of her company.

“Perhaps,” Fenris murmured to himself as he retrieved his sword at the door, and let himself out into the night.

(Written for the prompt "talking late into the night" for @jtownnn ; thanks again for the prompt!! c:)

#maria hawke #fenris #fenris dragon age #fenhawke #fenris x hawke #f!hawke #da2 #da fanfic #my writing #fluff #i am weak for 'one part of the relationship could absolutely kill the other one but shows them tenderness instead'#it's flipped for my arianwen and listen #the trope is just catnip for me #shivunin scrivening

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