#tobywrites

[tobythewise]

My not-so-secret favorite ship is Dorian x Anders and I adore hurt/comfort (Anders is just so good for it)! So, with that in mind, I’ll suggest “It would have been a lot easier to treat if you’d mentioned it sooner.” For Dorian x Anders, if you’re up for it!

Thank you so much for this prompt!! Dorian/Anders is ALSO one of my secret favorite ships (although tbh I just love anyone with Anders don't at me... LOL)

Written for @dadrunkwriting featuring Inquisitor Anders, hurt/comfort, getting together

“Gods damn it, Dorian,” Anders grits through clenched teeth. He winces as Dorian slides out of his pants fully. Normally, the sight of an attractive man getting naked would bring Anders to his knees. 

Dorian makes a broken noise, sitting down on the bench, carefully pulling the front of his shirt down to cover his dick while giving Anders the full view of his upper thigh. They’d just gotten back from that cursed swampy marsh. He’s not sure his boots will ever be dry again. 

Apparently, Dorian took a knife to the upper thigh and instead of telling Anders about it straight away, the handsome mage decided it was fine and would heal on it’s own. What’s the point of being the Inquisitor if the people who follow you won’t use your spirit healing for their benefit?

Anders sighs, poking and prodding at the wound. It’s clearly infected. Probably a mix of undead grossness, swampy muck, and sweat being pressed into the wound inside Dorian’s tight pants. He’s not sure he can use his magic to pull the infection out. He’ll need to use herbs and once the infection is gone, he’ll be able to close it up with his magic. 

“See,” Dorian says, his voice clearly strained as he puts on an easy smile. “It doesn’t look all that bad.”

“Not that bad? Are you trying to convince yourself?”

Dorian lets out an awkward chuckle. What is it with Anders falling for men who can’t seem to take care of themselves? Something like this could be deadly if they’re not careful. Blood poisoning is no laughing matter. 

“This would have been a lot easier to treat if you’d mentioned it sooner.”

Dorian’s eyes dart away. “I didn’t want to be a bother, darling. You were so busy with,” Dorian flicks his wrist in a circle, gesturing around them. “You’re saving the world. Every day you’re on a new mission, saving lives, healing every soldier you can get your hands on. You deplete your mana until you’re glowing with Justice’s juices. I didn’t want to add anything more to your plate.”

Oh. 

Anders’ heart skips a beat at the idea of Dorian caring for him. He wanted to protect Anders, even if the idea of hiding an injury is stupid in Anders’ book. It’s the thought that counts. 

Anders hums softly, reaching into his bag and bringing out a jar of poultice. “This is going to hurt,” he says softly before putting a large amount directly into the wound. Dorian whimpers but Anders is careful and uses a tiny bit of magic to soothe the inflammation. Then he wraps up the wound with clean bandages. 

Sweat drips down the side of Dorian’s brow, his eyes glued to Anders’ face. 

“I’ll need to change these every morning and as soon as the infection has run its course, I’ll be able to properly seal and heal.”

Dorian’s hand touches Anders’ wrist, stopping him from pulling away. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want to be just another burden.”

“Dorian,” Anders breathes out. He’s still on his knees, between Dorian’s legs. They’re so close, achingly close, yet at the same time Anders wishes they were closer. “I’m not upset. I was worried. If anything happened to you--” Anders has lost too many people that he loves. He doesn’t think he’ll survive going through that yet again. 

It would be better to put distance between them. He can’t get hurt if he doesn’t love again. 

Unfortunately, it’s too late for that. 

“Nothing is going to happen to me. Do you really think a little flesh wound could stop the evil magister from Tevinter who surely does blood magic while he’s reading those evil books all night?”

Anders’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, unable to stop the surprised chuckle that leaves him. “Is that the current rumor?”

“Yes,” Dorian says, raising his nose in the air. “There’s also a rumor about how I’m corrupting the Inquisitor.”

“Really? If anything, the abomination is corrupting the mages.”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen my fair share of abominations and none of them hold a candle to you. A handsome renegade if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Don’t let Varric hear you say that,” Anders says with a smile.

The hand on his wrist moves up to his face, gently cupping his face. “You have everything on your shoulders, Anders. You do so much for everyone. Who takes care of you?” Anders can’t meet Dorian’s eyes. “Ah, as I suspected.”

Dorian cups his chin, forcing him to raise his face. “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that agreeable?”

“Is that? By the Maker, Dorian. Yes.” 

They lean into each other, their lips meeting. Anders doesn’t remember the last time he did something just for him, but this kiss? This is just for him. The world fades away. There’s no anchor running up his arm, there’s no Corypheus, there’s no demon army. There’s just Dorian and Anders. 

“Every time I love, it ends in disaster,” Anders whispers against Dorian’s lips. Despite how perfect this moment is, he feels like he has to warn Dorian. 

Dorian huffs against his lips. “We’ve only just started and you’re already planning on it ending?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s okay if you do. You’re the best healer I know. Let yourself have this. Let me have this. You’re not the only one who hasn’t let himself imagine love.”

Anders wants to fight against this but he can’t. Dorian is right. There’s no guarantee of tomorrow, so why not embrace the here and now. This might not last but that’s no reason to cut it off before it even has time to bloom. 

Instead of fighting, Anders embraces these feelings welling up inside his chest. He grabs the back of Dorian’s neck and kisses him again. 

[tobydoesthings]

In Palestine the olive branch weaves

Leaving nothing on the trees

Genocides hand, such cruel intent

Leaving the lives of children bent

Homes reduced to rubble and ash

Where children used to play and laugh

Innocent lives gone astray

But Palestine is still here to stay

Palestine your wounds run deep

But your peoples strength will not sleep

We all will rise, united in plight

To reclaim their land, their birthright

[tobythewise]

Abra’s Guide to Getting a Date

A Pokemon Meet-Cute based on this FABULOUS Pokemon art <3 <3

For the @huntersmoondiscord Scavenger Hunt! Magnusbot gave me a (oh so detailed! 😂) prompt:

Thanks to the person who talked me through pokemon lore! Y'all know who you are and ily. ♥

[tobythewise]

For Handers today! “The way I feel when I’m with you...”

Thank you so much for the prompt! This Hawke is red mage Hawke who's more action than words.... attempting to use his words XD Written for @dadrunkwriting

He found the ingredients hidden in the floorboard last week and Hawke still hasn’t found the right words. He’s a mage whose father did extensive research, leaving all his notebooks behind when he died. Though he was able to shield Hawke and his siblings from the darker topics like being forced to use blood magic for the wardens, that doesn’t mean Hawke doesn’t know what these could be used for. 

Normally, Hawke isn’t afraid of confrontation. He’s the type of man who goes head first into things he wants and isn’t afraid to use his fists when necessary. Even though he’s a mage, he’s built like a warrior and he’s a force to be reckoned with when he uses these muscles. 

But with Anders, he’s completely out of his depths. Hawke would never describe himself as soft or emotional. He’s blunt and angry. Life has dealt him a shit hand, of course he’s always pissed.

Except when he’s with Anders.

So why the fuck did he lie about these ingredients? Why did he feel the need to hide this from him? Out of everyone in the world, Hawke would be the one to understand!

“Fuck,” he breathes out, running fingers through his hair in frustration. With a wave of his hand, he lights the fire, getting it roaring and warming the room. 

Hawke keeps his emotions bottled up, locked away inside his chest. Sure, he lets everyone know he’s mad as fuck, but all the other emotions? They stay inside. He holds himself back because they make him uncomfortable. As he looks around at the room, looks at the soft mage lights floating around, looks at the flowers sitting on the table beside their bed, Hawke thinks about how Anders is worth feeling a bit uncomfortable for.

It’s not long after the sun sets that Hawke hears Anders crawling through the back entrance and walking slowly towards their room. The same adrenaline rush he’s used to feeling during battle hits him as he sits and waits for Anders. This could end in disaster but fuck, he really hopes it doesn’t. 

Hawke stands as Anders steps into the room. His shoulders look so heavy in his black robe, a new style he’s been sporting lately, adding to the overall cloud that’s been following him. Hawke’s chest aches as he looks at the man he’s come to care for so much. He holds so much just out of reach, so much on his shoulders. How did someone so good and bright fall for someone like Hawke? 

“Anders.”

Anders’ eyes snap up, his face morphing with surprise. He looks around at everything before looking back at Hawke. There’s a timid smile on his face, like he’s not sure what’s going on. 

“Hawke? What’s umm, what’s going on? What’s all this?” 

Hawke knows he should be using his words but he’s always been a man of action. Instead of speaking, he steps into Anders’ space, pulling their bodies flush. He cups Anders’ face, the face he loves so much, and gently kisses his lips. 

Anders melts against him, the weight on his shoulders slowly falling away. Hawke helps him out of his coat before pulling him over to the bed, guiding them both to sit down. He tucks a stray hair out of Anders’ face, tucking it behind his ear. 

He’s beautiful, but being in this place, being in this city is doing something to him. Hawke understands. There’s so much hate it practically leaves the streets bleeding with it. He fights until he’s wrung out, knuckles bloody, but it never feels enough. 

Anders is staring at him and Hawke realizes that now is the time to put it all on the line. He fucking loathes talking about his feelings, but Anders is worth the discomfort. Hawke needs him to understand that he’s in this. Fully. 

“I love you,” he says, wincing when his voice comes out like a grunt. By Andraste’s flaming tits, he’s bad at this. Hawke clears his throat, trying again. “Anders, I love you.”

Anders tilts his head to the side, a little smile playing at his lips. “I love you too. I’m still confused, Garret. This is so unlike you.” He reaches out, touching Hawke’s forehead with the back of his hand. 

Hawke snorts, shaking his head and shoving Anders’ hand away. “I’m not sick,” he grumbles. “I’m trying to talk about something but words are hard.”

“Words are very hard,” Anders says in agreement, his face breaking out into a grin. It might be the most beautiful sight Hawke has seen in a very long time. 

“I need you to know something.” Hawke moves even closer, holding Anders’ face between his palms. He stares into Anders’ golden eyes, trying to convey his feelings as best as he can. “The way I feel when I’m with you…”

“Yes, love?”

“I’ve never felt like this before. You once said you would drown the world in blood to keep me safe, how could I do anything less for you? I would watch it all burn. I would blow up the Gallows themselves if it meant keeping you here with me,” he says, choosing his words very carefully, waiting to see Anders’ reaction. 

There’s a sharp intake of breath before Anders tries to pull away. The joke’s on him, because Hawke is far stronger. He holds Anders’ tight, forcing him to stay right where he is. 

“Don’t you dare look away,” Hawke says, his voice suddenly harder than he meant for it to be. “Anders. I’m all in. Don’t keep me out when I’ll gladly be the hands with blood on them to keep yours clean.”

“That’s the problem! I can’t tell you. I need to keep you safe.”

“That’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard.”

Anders startles, his eyes wide. “I know, Anders. And I want in. If you do this without me, I’ll never forgive you.”

“You’ll never forgive me anyway. What I plan to do, Hawke, there’ll be no going back.”

Hawke stares into Anders’ eyes, bringing their faces even closer until their foreheads touch. He wishes he could meld themselves together so he could be even closer to Anders. He wants to crawl into his ribcage and hold his heart in his hands. How does he not understand the depths of Hawke’s feelings?

“Good.” Hawke’s voice is hard. “You’re not the only mage in this relationship. You might have a spirit of Justice inside of you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t ache for the same freedoms you do. If you won’t let me in, I’ll do it myself and you’ll kick yourself for years that you weren’t there to help me.”

“Garret.”

“I’m serious. Let. Me. In.”

What little fight Anders is holding onto leaves him all at once, a breath leaving his lips. There’s a moment when they both continue to stare at each other before Anders breaks. He lunges forward, shoving Hawke onto his back and crawls into his lap. 

“I love you so much,” Anders says, diving down and kissing Hawke’s lips. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. We’re in this together.”

“We’ll watch it all burn down. We’ll make them see,” Hawke says in agreement, kissing Anders back with the same intensity as he’s giving. 

Hawke might not be a man of many words, but when it counts, apparently he knows exactly what to say. Words might have worked on Anders, but he knows they won’t work with the war that’s been raging in this city. It’s finally time to take action. 

[tobythewise]

happy friday! for rook/davrin: “I need to be able to trust you to tell me when you’re hurt.”

-inquisimer

Thank you so much for the prompt!! :D This is Rook and Davrin with some hurt/comfort, kisses, and feelings confessed. Written for @dadrunkwriting Warnings for VEILGUARD CONTENT!

Rook tries to take a deep breath but his ribs scream at him. Fuck, they’re probably bruised. At least they’re not broken. Silver lining?

“You coming, Rook?”

“Yep,” he calls out, doing his best to quicken his steps without causing himself extra pain. Assan squeaks overhead and Rook gets the sense he’s also teasing him about being so slow today. “Just taking my time! Enjoying this wonderful scenery. It’s not every day we have some extra time to take a romantic stroll through the forest,” Rook tries to make a joke but it falls flat when he ends it on a wince. 

Davrin finally slows down, turning fully towards him. His brows draw down in a frown. “What’s going on with you today?”

“It’s nothing, Davrin. Just a little sore from yesterday.”

Davrin stands in front of him and Rook narrows his eyes at the fact that he has to look up in order to look into Davrin’s eyes. He hates being such a short elf! 

“What happened yesterday, Rook?” Davrin asks slowly, his eyes darting across Rook’s face. “You told me that it was business as usual in Dock Town.”

Fuck. 

“It was! Maybe I’m just getting old?”

“Don’t lie to me, Rook,” Davrin says, his voice stern. 

Rook should probably work through some things when he’s back at the Lighthouse alone because why is he getting turned on from Davrin using that tone? He wants to squirm and lie, but he can’t, not with Davrin’s giant brown eyes boring into him like this. 

Rook finally looks down at his feet. “Fine,” he says, letting out a long breath. “We had to take care of a tunnel filled with darkspawn. I took a hit on the side and a scratch across my back.”

Strong yet gentle fingers touch his chin, forcing him to look up. “Show me.”

Rook turns around. He unbuckles his armor before carefully pulling his shirt over his head. He hears Davrin’s sharp intake of breath and his body tenses, waiting for the tongue lashing he more than deserves. Instead, he feels soft fingers touching his back. 

“By the Maker, Rook. This was a nasty hit.” Davrin guides him to a log, forcing him to sit down with his back still turned towards him. 

“It’s not so bad. I’m a warden so it’s not like I can get blighted again.”

“No, but this is going to get infected. Why didn’t you have someone heal it?”

Rook winces as Davrin starts to clean out the wound. The fact that it’s already scabbed over means this is gonna hurt like a bitch. He was dumb to try to hide this, but he didn’t want to burden anyone. Everyone has so much on their plate, he didn’t want to add to that. 

“Emmrich was busy and Neve doesn’t use her healing spells anymore. Bellara was all out of mana,” Rook explains with a shrug. 

“And what about coming to me? You know that I know how to clean a darkspawn wound like this. You know I would have taken care of you.” Davrin stills for a moment before he’s sighing.

“I’m sorry,” Rook says with a whimper as the sting starts to get to be too much. He digs his fingers into the palms of his hand, focusing on his breathing. “I just didn’t want to be a bother.”

“I need to be able to trust you to tell me when you’re hurt,” Davrin says, his voice deep and rumbling, striking Rook straight in the chest. 

“You’re right. This could have become an even bigger liability for the team. I need to be better for you guys.”

“Damn it, Rook.” Davrin finishes cleaning out the wound before moving. He kneels in front of Rook, taking his face between his palms. His hands feel so big against Rook’s face. He feels thoroughly caught. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I care about you,” Davrin says softly. “I need to know when you’re hurt so I can take care of you.”

“But-”

“No buts. I want to take care of you. I want to be by your side. I want to more than chase you.”

“Oh,” Rook breathes out, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Okay. Yeah. That sounds good.”

“I thought it might,” Davrin says, his face breaking out into a grin. He leans forward, gently kissing Rook’s lips. Rook’s head swims and his entire body warms. 

He’s about to tilt his head and deepen the kiss when Assan lands on the log beside him. They pull apart, looking over at Assan. Assan nudges Rook’s side, squawking in what he can only interpret as worry at the sight of the massive bruise that covers his entire side. 

“See,” Davrin says, reaching over and ruffling Assan’s feathers. “Even Assan is worried about you.”

“I’ll be more careful. For Assan.”

Davrin gives him a knowing smile, leaning up to kiss his cheek before helping him up. “Right. For Assan.”

[tobythewise]

It's time for another DAtober fill! This time it's Fire and Ice featuring fenders!

Fire races through his veins and Fenris grits his teeth against the pain. A constant reminder of what was done to him in order to make him into the weapon he is today. The lyrium under his skin has its uses, but the cost is great. 

Fenris flexes his fingers, hissing through clenched teeth. All day he was on the coast, chasing a group of slavers to their cave before taking care of them all. He overdid it, but despite the pain, he can’t find it in himself to regret it. 

Each and every one of the slavers died at his hands. 

He tries to adjust himself in his bed but just the sheets brushing against his skin is too much. His nerves are completely shot, frayed and burned until Fenris can do nothing but close his eyes and exist, hoping the pain will pass. 

This is the first time this has happened. He’ll spend the entire night miserable in bed, unable to move without feeling pain and in the morning, he’ll get himself out of bed and into a cool path to soak in until he’s feeling good enough to walk again. 

It’s going to be a long, tortuous night. 

Fenris closes his eyes, breathing through his nose, trying to keep as still as possible. It still hurts despite his best efforts. 

“Fenris?”

A groan leaves his throat as his body tenses in surprise. It hurts. It hurts so much. 

“Fenris? Where are you? I know you used your markings a lot today and I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re okay.”

Fenris closes his eyes, tracking Anders’ progress by the sound of his footsteps. After a moment, Anders steps into his room. He turns his head, glaring at the mage but that’s as much of a fight as he has. 

“Fenris?” Anders steps inside, his brows furrowed. He hurries over to him, staring down at him. His hands hover over Fenris’ body but he doesn’t touch. “I can see you’re not okay. Can I help? Please?”

Fenris thinks about trying to speak but he’s out of energy, too drained from the pain. He manages a nod that turns into a pained whimper. 

Anders’ hands light up with blue magic. There’s a moment of panic when past instinct takes over, but the feel of Anders’ magic sinking into his skin quickly chases the panic away. 

If Fenris’ veins are fire, then Anders’ magic is ice. Everything rapidly cools. Anders starts at his center and slowly moves his magic out to his extremities. His muscles all unclench and the pain slowly fades. 

The relief is so sweet that tears gather behind his lids. He was expecting to be in pain for so long and with a gentle thought, Anders has soothed the pain away. 

“Thank you,” he gasps out, grabbing Anders’ wrist in his hand. Their eyes lock and something precarious passes between them. Fenris feels the walls around his heart crumbling along with the pain. “Amatus.”

[tobythewise]

Happy Friday!

"Whose blood is that?" For Anders/Fenris/Hawke

Thank you for the prompt!! :D This is written for @dadrunkwriting

Content: Established Fenhawke, Fenders, Talks about Anders' past experience in the Circle/abuse, Baby deliveries, feelings realized, hopeful ending

It’s a strike of luck that Fenris is leaving his mansion just as Anders is knocking on Hawke’s door. 

“He’s not home,” Fenris says, catching Anders’ attention. “He’s visiting the elves with the blood mage.”

Anders turns towards him fully and that’s when Fenris notices his wide eyes and the blood covering his hands and robe. He rushes to Anders’ side. 

“Mage? Whose blood is that?”

“It’s okay,” Anders says right away, his voice sounding far off. “It’s not mine.”

Despite being covered in blood, Anders falls into Fenris’ arms. This might be the first time they’ve touched like this. Normally, Fenris hates being touched, but there’s something about the desperation radiating from the mage that has him surprising even himself as he raises his arms and hugs him back, ignoring the way Anders is smudging blood against his armor. 

Fenris is expecting tears or upset murmurs but instead, Anders breaks out into giggles. 

He’s even more confused than when he opened his door. 

“What is going on with you?”

Anders keeps his hands on Fenris’ shoulders, his face broken out into a grin. This is a good look on him. Fenris finds his stomach fluttering with warmth, the same way it’s only ever done for Hawke. 

It’s no secret that Hawke has feelings for Anders despite being in a relationship with Fenris. He’s never faulted the man, always assuming the two mages had some sort of special bond. Suddenly, Fenris gets it. He understands. And he finds himself thinking back to all the times Hawke and he had talked about trying to get Anders to understand Hawke feelings. 

Maybe if they both sit him down, it would help him understand that the three of them could be something. If he’s agreeable. 

“I’ve never been better,” Anders says, his cheeks rosy from laughing. He tucks his hair behind his ear, spreading blood across his forehead. 

“Mage,” Fenris says softly, reaching up and wiping the blood off his forehead. “You are going to scare the nobles. Come inside and get clean.”

Anders follows behind him into Fenris’ mansion. 

“Will you tell me where this blood came from?”

Instead of answering the question, Anders says, “I know you don’t enjoy when I talk about my time at the Circle, but one of the things I hated most about being a healer was when people got pregnant. It was a dark cloud that would follow the mother as the babe grew inside of her, knowing she’d see them for a split second before they were ripped away and sent to a different Circle. I hated it. I would often deliver the babies and then cry myself to sleep.”

Fenris listens as he leads Anders to the bathroom. He starts the bath, letting it fill as Anders continues talking. 

“Many times, they’d fall into a depressive state that was hard to help them out. Not that I blame them. I was only there to deliver the babies yet I felt completely hopeless and gutted each and every time. I can’t imagine what that would do to me if that was my baby.”

Anders starts stripping out of his robes, handing them over to Fenris as he does. There’s a domestic ease in which they move around each other. Fenris hasn’t even noticed how close they’ve gotten until right now, preparing to clean Anders’ clothes, listening to his story with bated breath. 

“Tonight I delivered a baby,” Anders finally says. He strips out of his smalls before getting into the tub. He turns towards Fenris with tears in his eyes but Fenris knows those are tears of joy. “I delivered a healthy baby and I was able to give that baby to their parents who will get to keep them and raise them and love them. No one will rip that babe from their hands.”

“Oh, Anders,” Fenris breathes out. 

“I’m so fucking happy, but at the same time there’s this deep-seated sorrow inside of me. Like I’m somehow still mourning all those past parents and babies and what they couldn’t have.”

Fenris finds himself kneeling beside the tub. His hand finds Anders’ cheek, caressing it softly. “I understand,” he says softly. “It wasn’t uncommon for slave families to be separated. Seeing happy families together still fills me with mixed feelings.”

“Thank you, Fenris.”

“It is nothing,” he says, shaking his head, but Anders’ reaches out of the bath and snags his arm. 

“It’s not nothing. Not to me.” Then he realizes what he’s doing and he lets go, sinking deeper into the bath. “Sorry, I know you don’t like to be touched.”

“It is alright. If I minded, you would know.” Anders cracks the tiniest smile. “I will wash these while you finish in here.”

“No, Fenris, it’s okay. I can do it. I wouldn’t want you to feel like I was asking you to clean after me.”

Fenris warms. “I don’t feel that way. It’s alright, Anders, I have much experience getting blood out of fabric. You take care of everyone, let me take care of this.”

Anders stares at him for a long moment before he finally nods. “Okay,” he says softly, barely audible. 

“You and I and Hawke have much to talk about when he’s back. But until then, will you stay here with me?”

Fenris can see the way Anders swallows. He looks ready to run, not that Fenris would blame him. He’s surprised yet again when he smiles up at Fenris. “Okay. I’d like that.”

“Me too,” he says seriously before stepping out of the bathroom and getting to work on cleaning Anders’ robe. He’s looking forward to Hawke’s return.

[tobythewise]

Another DAtober fill! This one mysteries. I took some liberties with this word but when inspiration hit, I ran with it! XD This is post DA2 with the Kirkwall Gang.

Varric smiles as he shuffles the cards, he’s on a hot streak and there’s no end in sight. Sure, there was one game he almost lost to Fenris but one little extra card coming from his sleeve made all the difference and no one but Isabela seemed to notice. She gives him a look but doesn’t say anything. 

He’s glad that despite everything that’s happened, they can still get together like this. They’re allowed to just be friends, just be people, despite the entire world going to shit. The only one missing from the table is Hawke. 

“Speak of the devil,” he murmurs under his breath as Hawke walks into the suite. He’s holding a huge box on his shoulder. “Hawke! Pull up a seat!”

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” Hawke says in response, tossing the box onto the table and tipping it over. An obscene amount of books spills all over the table, completely shutting down their game. 

“Hey! I was going to win this round!” Isabela says with a pout. 

“Dream on, Riviani,” Varric says in response before freezing, finally getting a glance at the books. 

“What are all these, Hawke?” Anders asks, picking up one of the books and flipping through it. 

“By the Maker,” someone says but Varric isn’t paying attention, too busy watching Hawke’s expression. Is he mad? Is he upset? Did Varric totally fuck up?

“Varric,” Hawke says softly, his eyes meeting Varric’s. “Explain what’s going on.”

“You inspired my next novel,” he says slowly. “And as always, it’s embellished so it can’t be tracked back to you.”

“Right,” Hawke says, grabbing the book from Anders’ hands. “This one says Anders and I were romantically involved but then when the Chanty blew sky high, I fucking murdered him! What the hell?”

“Wow, that sucks,” Anders says, grabbing the book back. 

“That one,” he says, pointing at a different one, “says I’m a woman and that I’m straight with Sebastian!” Then he picks up another. “This one says I’m a blood mage and dating Merril! And that one says I’m in an enemies to lovers romance with Fenris? Some of them have me supporting the mages, others I’m a warrior, another I’m a Templar lover!”

Bethany gasps. “This one says I died?”

Varric looks around at his friends. Yes, he lied. He lied through his teeth to keep them all safe. Could he really go around telling anyone who read his books that the Hawke twins lived? That Riviani and Daisy are a couple? Or the real enemies to lovers was the renegade apostate and the escaped slave? People can’t know this, damn it!

“Why are you actually mad?”

Hawke deflates. “None of them have our real love story,” he says softly with a pout. 

“Oh, come here,” Varric breathes, holding out his arms for Hawke. Hawke slides onto Varric’s lap and steals a kiss. The rest of the night is filled with them all reading a version of the book and comparing notes. 

[tobythewise]

I recently read a fic by @broodwolf221 featuring Solas/Anders and now I'm lowkey hooked on this ship! This DAtober prompt is Path to Nowhere featuring inky Anders, pre-relationship Solas/Anders, set during Cole's personal quest!

Anders has never seen Cole like this, all dark clouds and righteous fury. 

“You,” Cole says, pointing at the man in front of him. “You killed me!” 

Dark clouds wrap around Cole as he moves to behind the man, his dagger at his throat before any of them can even think to stop him. “You forgot. You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire, and you forgot, and I died in the dark!”

“Cole,” Anders calls out, holding out his hand to make Cole pause. “You’re alive. You’re here and you’re okay. Take a breath.”

“Cole, this man cannot have killed you. You are a spirit. You have not even possessed a body,” Solas says from beside him, his voice gentle just as ever. 

“A broken body, bloody, banged on the stone cell, guts gripping in the dark dank, a captured apostate.”

The words are rushed, fulled of pain and emotion. They hit Anders square in the chest. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. Everything goes white with panic as memories he’s tried to bury resurface. Justice explodes with fury.

“They threw him into the dungeon in the Spire at Val Royeaux. They forgot about him. He starved to death. I came through to help… and I couldn’t. So I became him. Cole.”

They left him all alone. They forgot. That could have been Anders. That could have been him when the Templars locked him away for a year. 

The edges of his vision fade and he finds himself moving. Fuck. He needs to focus. He needs to help. But he can’t think past the way his heart hammers against his ribs. Breathing is coming harder and harder. Justice tries to soothe but it’s all too much. 

Anders runs. 

Footsteps follow him and when he finally finds somewhere to stop and sit, someone sits beside him. 

“Anders?”

He looks over, still gasping for breath. Solas takes his hands in his own, a grounding presence, a grounding touch. His eyes meet Solas’. He matches the other mage’s breathing until he feels like he’s not coming apart at the seams. 

“Solas? What happened? Why aren’t you with Cole?”

“You needed me more.”

Anders shakes his head. “I’m okay. I know how important it was for you to guide Cole. You can go to him.”

“Varric is taking care of him. Let me care for you.”

A shaky breath leaves Anders’ chest. “Cole’s story,” Anders manages to get out through parched lips. “It hit too close to home. That could have been me.”

“I, for one, am glad it was not,” Solas says, squeezing Anders’ wrist. He leans his head against Solas’ shoulder as Solas speaks to him in soft elven, the words washing over him, soothing the chaos within him. 

“Thank you,” Anders whispers when he’s finally feeling more like himself. He’d feel embarrassed if Solas wasn’t looking at him so softly. Anders’ chest aches for an entirely different reason now. 

By the Maker, he hopes Solas won’t break his heart.

[tobythewise]

Here's another DAtober prompt! This fill is Bound featuring Justice/Anders and my own take on a certain canon fantasy that Anders talks about. Enjoy!

Anders doesn’t remember falling asleep but there’s no mistaking the green, fuzzy edges of his consciousness. He’s clearly dreaming, walking through the Gallows. The place is completely empty, not a single soul lingering. As much as he revels in the fact that there’s not a Templar in sight, there’s also an uneasiness. Where are the mages? Where is everyone?

He continues to walk, looking up at the towering statues that line the courtyard. A shiver runs through him at the depictions of slaves. 

They will not have you. 

Anders thinks about Justice’s words and lets them sink beneath his skin, comforting him even in a cold place like this. 

Thinking of Justice, Anders can’t help but wonder where his fade spirit is. Since he’s walking through a dream, it would be easy for the two to converse like they used to before they were merged. He misses speaking face to face with Justice but he wouldn’t trade what’s happened for anything. They are one. Justice won’t decay and Anders will never be alone again. 

“There he is! Stop that mage!”

Anders startles, looking around and finding a handful of Templars bearing down on him. He turns to run but there’s already someone there, standing in his way. His heart begins to race, his eyes darting everywhere. 

No. 

They can’t have him. They’ll never have him!

Anders reaches for his staff but a strong grip wraps around his wrist, stopping him. He’s trapped and no matter how much he shouts or kicks or fights, it’s all too much. 

“You’ll have the brand!”

“No!”

A voice rings out through the Gallows. The Templars all pause, turning towards the voice. Anders stares, his heart leaping into his throat. An armored warrior makes his way down the stairs, a sword in his hand. He points the sword at Anders. 

“He is mine. You will not have him, Templar scum!”

The figure is alight with blue energy, a shining beacon of hope in an otherwise downcasted place. Anders can’t pull his eyes away as his savior fights his way through the Templars, cutting them down one by one without waning, without slowing down. 

He’s not sure if it’s an hour or a second, but eventually, everyone is dead but Anders and his savior. 

“Thank you for saving me,” he says, his voice shaky in his own ears. “May I look upon the face of my savior so I may properly thank them?”

The helmet is removed, revealing Anders’ own face, bathed in blue. “I hope this is acceptable. It is how I see myself.”

Anders is filled with warmth and affection. Justice is playing out the fantasy Anders once spoke to Hawke about. 

“You’re beautiful,” Anders says, barely above a whisper, placing a hand on Justice’s face and guiding him into a soft kiss. His knight. His savior. His partner. 

“As are you. We have bound ourselves, body and soul, together. You will never know fear again if I can help it.”

Anders believes him. 

[tobythewise]

This is day two of DAtober! Today's word is Forgotten! This features Hawke in the Fade and angsty feels with a hopeful ending. Enjoy :D

Hawke wanders. There’s nothing else to do in this barren land of green. At this point, he’s not sure what any other color even looks like. Can he even remember what black looks like? What orange or yellow is? 

His entire body aches. Every step is excruciating. He wants to give up. It’s getting too hard to keep going. One giant ass demon might be dead but the realm is still littered with nightmares around every turn. 

The amount of times that Hawke has killed demons wearing a familiar face is immeasurable. He can’t keep track. Varric. Isabela. Fenris. 

He’s so fucking tired. 

The problem with giving up though is that he’d be making himself a liar. He promised Anders he would be back and he refuses to leave Anders out there all alone. He’ll fight his way back. Sure, he’s in the Fade, but he’s stubborn. He’ll either find a way out or stay alive long enough for someone else to break him out. 

Hawke passes a green pool of water and the dryness of his mouth becomes the only thing he can think about. He won’t stop. Drinking from these well only cause more vivid nightmares. He had that mistake before and never again. 

Hawke thinks about his family, picturing each other them in his mind. He thinks about Merrill’s string through Lowtown. He pictures Isabela at The Hangman. He imagines Varric and Fenris facing off in a game of Wicked Grace. 

Finally, Hawke allows himself to think about Anders. 

Anders’ honey colored eyes lighting up whenever Hawke visits his clinic. Anders’ soft smile when it’s just the two of them. Anders’ passion. Hawke pictures Anders’ hands as he heals the people around him, his fingers long and calloused from his staff. He thinks about the little freckle on the back of his hand and how much he wants to kiss it. Just one more time. 

Hawke’s steps are heavy. It feels like there’s weights on his shoes, holding him down, making him sink further and further into the ground. 

Everything about him is wrong. Is he even still a mage? He’s something different, something more, something corrupt. A spirit? A human? An abomination? Maybe something else entirely. He’s infected and it’s hollowing him out, leaving him a husk. 

He’s rotten. 

Maybe it’s best if he stays in the Fade. Would his friends even recognize him anymore? Hawke isn’t so sure. 

He looks up as something catches his eye and Hawke’s breath stutters in his chest. There’s a speck of bright blue coming towards him. Hawke’s chest aches with how familiar that light is. It reminds him of Justice. 

Hawke closes his eyes. He’s so tired. 

When he opens his eyes again, he has to squint, shying away from the blue. It hurts. It’s too much.

“Hawke?”

Tears spring to his eyes. He’s dirty. Wrong. He doesn’t deserve to leave.

He remembers his promise. 

Hawke reaches out and grasps Justice’s hand. Justice drags them both back to Anders. 

[tobythewise]

This is written for DAtober! (List from NuraBelmax!) Today's word is Awakening and features Fenders! Enjoy!

A barrier goes around him but instead of flinching, trying to fight against the feel of magic against his skin, Fenris embraces it. He’s come to know what each mage’s magic feels like. Hawke specializes in force magic, so his magic often feels oppressive, like a something weighing on Fenris shoulders. Merrill’s is sticky, leaving him feeling like he hasn’t had a drink in days. Anders’? Anders is the only magic he doesn’t recoil from. 

Maybe it’s because he’s a spirit healer or maybe it’s simply because he’s Anders, but his magic encompasses Fenris yet somehow manages to leave him feeling like there’s a layer between himself and the magic. It’s flexible, moving with him instead of against him. 

The timing is perfect. Fenris had left his left side exposed but the templars they’re fighting can’t breach the barrier, his sword pings off of it. The barrier dissipates, doing what it was made for. 

Fenris lets out a war cry, turning and giving that same templar his full attention, striking him down. He can feel blood dripping down the side of his face but Fenris knows it isn’t his own. 

Turning his head, he watches Anders cast an electric spell. The electricity conducts against the templar’s armor, frying him where he stands. Fenris finds himself smiling. 

Wait. 

Fuck. 

Why is he smiling?

He wouldn’t be fighting these templars if it wasn’t for Anders in the first place. The mage can never leave good enough alone. Always poking. 

So why the fuck is Fenris smiling?

“I’ll show you why mages are feared!” Anders calls out and a moment later, Fenris feels the aches in his thigh fade away, not even realizing until now that he’d been struck there. The contradiction between Anders’ words and actions are yet another reason that Fenris finds himself smiling, warmth growing inside his chest. 

Fenris doesn’t want to think about the warring inside of him so he puts a little extra energy into his next swing. He fazes through another templar with his hand, wrapping his fist around his spine before yanking it out. 

By the time the last templar falls, he’s completely covered in blood, his breath heaving. He looks over at Anders and is struck with an overwhelming feeling of being alive. 

Fighting beside Anders makes him feel alive. When the fuck did that happen? When did their arguments turn into good natured bickering? When did his hatred turn to mutual respect? Why does he find the sight of Anders’ eyes alight with justice beautiful? 

Fenris’ heart hammers in his chest, the weight of this awakening leaving him breathless. Anders turns towards him, giving him a small smile. “Thank you, Fenris.”

His throat is dry. He licks his lips, trying to get his voice to work only to gag on the taste of templar blood on his tongue. Anders snickers and even that leaves Fenris feeling warm. 

“You’re welcome,” he finally gets out. He wants to fight this feeling but instead, he smiles back.

[tobythewise]

for Zevistair this dadwc friday: “You’re snapping. Headache again?”

-inquisimer

Thank you so much for the prompt!! written for @dadrunkwriting <3 I accidentally took a lil bit of an angsty take but hopeful ending. I hope you enjoy!

Content: Timeline wise this is set after origins but before inquisition at the Keep, established relationship, Inquistion Calling, Angst with a hopeful ending

Zevran’s steps are silent as he moves across the rampart. These walls have recently been redone, making it harder for him to properly sneak in, but walls have never stopped him before. 

There are guards on the walls, walking their routines. He’ll need to tell the Warden Commander to talk to everyone about making their routes too predictable. If someone wanted to scale a sneak attack, these routines would make it far too easy. 

Ducking into the shelter of darkness, Zevran pulls out his lockpick, getting to work on opening the door into one of the outer towers. Lock picking might not be his strong suit but in the time since the archdemon’s death, he’s been practicing! No more snarky comments about his insufficient skills. 

The lock clicks and he smiles to himself. He’s careful with the door, not wanting it to squeak as he pushes inside. 

Heading down the stairs, he makes his way into the main part of the keep. He keeps his head on a swivel, his ears to the floor to hear any footsteps. He wants to surprise his beloved warden and refuses to get caught before he can get to him. 

Footsteps prickle his ears and Zevran quickens his steps. It’s only a few more hallways before he finds the door he’s looking for. He slips inside without a sound.

Zevran is expecting the room to be empty. Usually, Alistair is either doing patrols or is with the Warden Commander. It would appear that tonight, he’s already in bed. That’s odd. Really odd. 

His armor comes off silently and he hands it in Alistair’s closet. Then his weapons come off next. He stripes himself until he’s comfortable in his underclothes before moving over to the bed. 

Alistair’s hair sticks out from the top of his sheets. Zevran’s chest clenches with affection at the sight. He’s missed his warden. The last mission lasted far too long for his comfort but on the bright side, the latest string of assassination attempts have been taken care of. They’re off his trail. For now. 

As much as Zevran wants to let Alistair sleep, the bigger part of him wants to get into bed with him and he can’t do that until he’s properly awake. He runs his fingers through Alistair’s blond hair. It’s gotten longer since the last time he was here. 

“Mi amor? Alistair?”

Alistair murmurs in his sleep. It takes a moment before he’s grumbling and opening his eyes. “Fuck off, Tristian.”

Zevran chuckles warmly. “Not our lovely Warden Commander I’m afraid.”

“What?” Alistair looks up, his eyes finally focusing on Zevran. “Zev?”

He’s so adorable like this, all confused and rumpled from sleep. He does his best not to think about how easy of a target a sleepy Alistair could be. He really needs to have a talk with him about making his room harder to break into. That can wait until the morning though. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’ve missed you.”

Alistair sits up, rubbing at his eyes. “I’ve missed you too. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you, of course.”

“Right. Yeah, that makes sense.” Alistair nods his head. His eyes are puffy with dark circles under them. Zevran frowns. “By the Maker, what time is it? Do I need to get up?”

“No, no. Stay in bed. I was hoping to actually join you. If you’re agreeable that is.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Alistair says with a deep sigh. He shifts himself lower, pulling the covers over his face. 

Zevran suddenly feels unwelcome in Alistair’s space. This is a first for them. He debates whether he should take Alistair’s words or pack his things and leave in order to give him some space. 

The answer is given to him in the from of a hand reaching out of the blankets and wrapping around his wrist. 

“I’m sorry,” Alistair eventually says, “I’ve been getting these headaches,” he explains, his voice trailing off. 

“Oh,” Zevran breathes out. He lets Alistair pull him into bed with him, snuggling against his side, laying a gentle hand against the center of Alistair’s broad chest. “Is it - “ the question is left unspoken. Zevran can’t get himself to say it outloud, like that somehow will make it real. If he doesn’t say ‘The Calling’ then it can’t be that. 

“I don’t know,” Alistair eventually says. “Tristian thinks it’s something else. He’s actually thinking about sending me away to research a few things and speak with other wardens. Apparently, I’m not the only one hearing -” Alistair stops himself. He rubs at his eyes again. “I mean, having headaches.”

“Wherever you go, I will follow.”

Alistair finally opens his eyes. He gives Zevran the tiniest smile. “Thank you. I’m sorry I wasn’t more animated when I realized you were here. I’m really glad that you’re back.”

“I am glad as well. Perfect timing to join you on another grand adventure. Hopefully this time we won’t have to face an archdemon.”

Alistair manages a little chuckle. “Nothing brings people together quite like a blight.”

Zevran leans over, kissing Alistair’s cheek. Then he kisses his forehead, wishing he was a healer so his kiss would take some of his lovely warden’s pain away. Instead, all he can do is stay at Alistair’s side and help him on this mission. 

In the morning, Zevran will see Tristain and see what’s going on. He wants all the information he can get to help him track down what’s happening. There must be a reason more than one warden is hearing The Calling at the same time. 

If all else fails, he refuses to leave Alistair’s side. Long ago he’s come to realize he will see this through to the bitter end. Alistair may not be the first person he’s loved, but he will be the last. He won’t allow Alistair to experience any of this alone. 

Zevran moves so he’s sitting with his back against the headboard. “Put your head in my lap, my love. I’ll rub your head until you fall asleep.”

Alistair lets out a deep sigh, tucking himself against Zevran. “Thank you,” he whispers, “I love you.”

“And I, you. Get some rest. We’ll plan for this grand adventure in the morning.”

[tobythewise]

welcome to dadwc!! for the future, or whichever pairing, maybe "One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss." for zevran x alistair?

Thank you so much for the prompt!! :D This one was super fun to write. I tweaked the prompt EVER so slightly but I hope you'll still enjoy <3 Written for @dadrunkwriting Content: Alistair/Zevran, Truth Serum, Some mutual pining, getting together, and first kisses

Oh. This is bad. This is really, really bad. 

“Tis nothing bad, per say,” Morrigan says, trying to reassure him, but for some reason, hearing her say that does nothing to stop the panic welling up inside of Alistair. 

“Per say? Just tell me what was in there, Morrigan. What did I just drink?”

“Twas only a serum. If you could only read you’d see the label had a warning on it,” she says, pointing at the bottle and rolling her eyes. 

“Let’s just stay calm,” their trusted warden companion says, his eyes darting between all three of them. “How much of that did you drink?”

“The whole bottle! I thought it was a healing potion! It was the same color as the others!”

Morrigan lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This will teach you to take something from my bag without asking me first. Maybe this will help you learn that lesson.”

Zevran picks the bottle up off the ground, his eyebrows just about hitting his hairline as he reads the words. “Ah, it has been a long time since I’ve seen something like this. You have nothing to fear, my warden, so long as you’re not trying to hide anything.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Alistair demands, feeling his cheeks heating without his permission. His heart is hammering against his ribs as he thinks about the one, big secret he’s keeping from the group. Well, mainly from the elven assassin squatting in front of him. 

“It is a simple trust serum. Once it gets into your system, you will be unable to withhold the truth.”

Oh god. 

“Right,” he says slowly, getting himself to his feet and dusting himself off. “That’s my que to head into the forest for the night. Good night and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Oh, Alistair. Sharing your truth is never a bad thing,” Leliana tries to reason but Alistair isn’t in the right headspace to argue. He just shakes his head and takes off into the treeline, praying to Andraste Herself that no one will follow him. 

Alistair feels like he can’t take in a full breath until he’s hidden within the trees. He ducks behind a large one, pressing his back against it. He sucks in a sharp breath, trying to get his heart to slow down before it threatens to leap right out of his chest. 

By the Maker, he feels so fucking stupid. How could he not look at the label before drinking that potion? Why’d it have to be truth serum? 

He’s not trying to lie to his companions but he’s certainly not trying to let them all know about his big, stupid crush!

Alistair drops his head back against the tree, staring up at the sky which he can just barely see through the branches. He should have brought his bedroll with him out here so he could sleep away from the others. He was in such a hurry to get away from Zevran before he said something he’d regret that he didn’t even think to grab any of his things. 

Just thinking about Zevran has Alistair’s cheeks heating. Though their relationship started off on the wrong foot, Zevran has more than earned Alistair’s trust. And more than that, he’s somehow earned his affection. 

There’s a rose in his backpack he often takes out and looks at when he’s alone in his tent. It’s meant as a gift that he can’t seem to get himself to actually give away, too terrified of everything changing. Why put himself on the line when there’s so much to do? Why change anything without the knowledge that there will even be a tomorrow to enjoy it?

Andraste’s ass, he’s a mess. 

He’s so deep in his own head that Alistair doesn’t hear anyone creeping up on him until he’s suddenly not alone. Or maybe he doesn’t notice because an assassin doesn’t want to be heard until it’s too late. Either way, Alistair absolutely does not let out a high pitched scream. Nope. That must have been Leliana finding a spider back at camp… 

“Ah, fear not, it is only I,” Zevran says in way of greeting, leaning against a tree across from Alistair. He crosses his ankle over the other, looking completely at ease. By the Maker, he’s hot. 

Alistair can feel his ear heating from the thought, thankful it hasn’t left his mouth. “I wasn’t scared,” he quickly says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Right, of course,” Zevran says with a knowing smirk that Alistair wishes he could kiss off his face. “I simply wished to make sure you were alright, my warden friend. You seemed rather upset earlier.”

Alistair opens his mouth to reassure Zevran that everything is fine, except what comes out is, “I’m freaking out right now and I don’t want the others to know.” He snaps his mouth shut so quickly it makes his teeth ache for a moment. That wasn’t what he wanted to say at all! Shit, this truth serum will have him confessing his feelings if he’s not more careful. 

“Is there anything I can do to be of service? Anything to help?”

“Yes,” Alistair says without thinking. He covers his face with his hands, letting out a frustrated groan. 

“If you don’t mind, I would like to hear how I can help.”

Alistair chooses his words more carefully. “I would be less embarrassed if you were not the one talking to me.”

Zevran’s easy smile melts away for a moment, a look of hurt crossing his features before it’s replaced once more. “Ah. I understand. Shall I send our fearless leader to talk with you? It seems the bond you’ve formed with him is something special, is it not?”

“It is. But it’s not what you think. I don’t have feelings for him, not in the way you’re assuming.” Damn his mouth. Damn this serum. Damn himself for not reading that label!

Zevran hums, tilting his head to the side. “Then I am confused. Is there another you would prefer?”

Alistair shakes his head but keeps his lips sealed for once in his life. They look at each other for a long moment before Alistair forces his eyes away. There’s something about Zevran’s golden eyes that somehow read past the bullshit and find the heart of issues. He can read people, has had to in order to keep himself alive as a Crow. That doesn’t mean he wants that insightfulness pointed in his direction. 

That’s a lie. He does want that. But he’s also scared out of his mind of being rejected. 

Zevran doesn’t keep it a secret that he’s had a string of lovers in the past. He believes in finding pleasure in the sure and now because there’s no knowing what the future holds. But Alistair is the opposite. He’s never fallen in love, never had his heart stir in this way, and certainly never had sex with anyone. He’s never even kissed another person before! 

Why would Zevran even think twice about someone like him?

And yet, those golden eyes continue to stare at him, seeming to see straight through him. 

“What is the reason you’d have me leave you here? Have I done something to upset you?”

“No! No, of course not, Zevran. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve only done everything right. You’re amazing.”

Alistair closes his eyes, tipping his head up towards the sky once more. Maybe if he prays hard enough, the Maker will send lightning down from the skies to smite him and deliver him from this conversation. 

“You flatter me,” Zevran says and Alistair’s eyes snap open when his voice comes from far closer than before. Zevran is no longer standing against the tree. Nope. Now he’s face to face with Alistair. “I have a theory. A very interesting one at that. But I dare not test it without knowing more.”

Alistair swallows around the lump in his throat, his entire body seeming to stand on end with how close Zevran is standing. He wishes he could take a step back but the tree has has him frozen in place, unable to escape. 

“What theory is that?”

Instead of answering the question, Zevran continues on his tangent thought. “I care for you a great deal, Alistair, and I would never push you or wish to make you uncomfortable. I have held myself back with great effort, but now I see maybe you did not wish for me to hold back.”

Alistair finds his head shaking without his permission. He’d never want to hold Zevran back. He deserves everything after all the shit he’s been through. He deserves happiness and pleasure and love. 

Zevran’s hand finds Alistair’s cheek, his thumb catching on his stubble. Alistair’s stomach explodes with butterflies. He licks his lips and Zevran’s eyes catch the movement of his tongue. Alistair is frozen, caught by the assassin and there’s no place he’d rather be. 

“I want this. I want you,” Zevran says, his voice just barely audible. “But I will not take that which you do not offer. We have darkspawn to defeat, a country to save, and an archdemon to slay. Those are all important things, but still, I find myself wanting more.”

Alistair feels like he can’t breathe. This is everything he’s ever wanted to hear. His fingers dig into pocket, retrieving the rose he’s been holding onto since the beginning of this journey. 

Alistair hands the rose over, doing his best to ignore the way his face is bright red. “After Lothering, I found this rose. Despite all the destruction this one little rose somehow survived. A little brightness to withstand the darkness. That’s how I feel when I’m with you.”

Zevran stares at the rose for a long moment and Alistair’s stomach sinks. He’s about to put the rose back into his pocket when Zevran finally moves, gently taking the offered gift with such reverence it makes Alistair’s knees weak. He holds it like it’s something precious, something to be revered, the same way he feels about Zevran. 

“This is a beautiful gift, mi amor. Thank you.” When Zevran’s golden eyes meet his, Alistair’s stomach fills with butterflies. “Now, one last time I wish to ask, do you really want this?”

Instead of answering with words, Alistair surprises them both by ducking down and kissing Zevran’s lips. 

[tobythewise]

Happy friday!! For Zev/Warden, “If it hurts, it hurts.” (from the high pain tolerance prompts)

Thank you so much for the prompt! I know this is from the pain tolerance prompts but I took this in a completely different direction XD

Warnings for Zevran/Warden (Warden Tabris warrior named Tristin) reference to sex, first times and poor Tristin being clueless about such things. Written for @dadrunkwriting

By the Maker! He’s ached for this for so fucking long. Tristin can barely believe they’re actually here, in the tent they’ve started sharing weeks ago, completely naked. 

“Zevran,” he breathes out, reaching for the assassin he’s come to care about so deeply. They’ve just taken care of the last of the Crows coming after Zevran. He’s finally free. 

For a moment, Tristin truly thought Zevran would take this moment to leave. He’s never been so pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong. 

“I’m here, my dear,” Zevran says softly, laying his body against Tristin’s. Tristin sucks in a sharp breath, overwhelmed by the feeling of naked skin pressed against his own. He’s never done anything like this. Never had the time. He was betrothed and when that came to a very traumatic and abrupt end, he didn’t have time because of the whole ‘becoming a Grey Warden’ thing. 

Everything is new and intense. It borderlines on too much yet not enough at the same time. 

Tristin’s hands shake and he takes Zevran’s face, kissing him softly. Kissing, they’ve done before. The rest of this, not so much. Tristin wanted to take things slowly, and Zevran was more than accommodating. He’s tired of waiting. He wants Zevran, body and soul. Especially knowing that tomorrow isn’t promised. 

Zevran pulls back, his hand gripping Tristin’s wrist. “You’re shaking. And becoming tense. What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?”

Tristin lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He looks into Zevran’s golden eyes. “I’m just preparing myself,” he explains in a gruff voice. “I know this is going to hurt.”

Zevran startles, his eyes widening. “What?”

“It’s okay,” Tristin quickly reassures. “I still want to do this. I need you, Zevran. If it hurts, it hurts.”

“That’s not. I’m. Tristin, no.” 

Tristin is pretty sure this is the first time he’s left Zevran tongue-tied. He’s confused by what he’s said wrong. From the little experience he’s heard about, it usually hurts the fuck, especially if you’re a man having sex with another man. 

“My dearest warden,” Zevran says slowly, this thumb running over Tristin’s cheek. “Tattoos hurt. Headaches hurt. Taking a dagger in your stomach hurts. But sex, my love? Sex feels wonderful if done correctly. Tonight? I wish for you to feel nothing but bliss.”

Tristin feels his chest lighten. “Oh,” he breathes out. “Okay. I trust you, Zevran.”

Zevran grins down at him. He leans down and takes Tristin’s lips in another kiss and Tristin lets himself let go and enjoy himself, knowing he’s in good hands. 

It turns out, not for the first time, Zevran was right.

[ladyofthursday]

Omg I forgot this! It's so cute and I had such fun with it 💖 thanks for the reminder!

but where is the New Years fic where dean wakes up super hungover on New Year’s Day with no memory of the night before but finds a note in his pocket with a phone number that says “future husband” and then spirals into a romcom of dean frantically retracing his steps to find the man his drunk self fell for hmm??