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typical-simplelove · 3 years

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Bragger (M. Barzal)

A/n: This is based of Kelsea Ballerini’s Bragger and a very self-indulgent fic. Enjoy!!

Warnings: Brief mentions of sex

Word Count: 5.3k (including song lyrics)

Italics are flashbacks

“So, Yn, tell us all about Mathew. What’s he like?” Candace, your maid of honor, asks.

You look at her puzzled. “What do you mean ‘what’s he like’?”

You were sitting at your bachelorette party; you didn’t want anything too big, so you decided on brunch with some of your friends, bridal party, and the WAGs.

“I mean, tell us all about him. How happy he makes you, how he drives you crazy but in the good way. Just brag about your fiance. Today is about you so whatever you want to share.

You smile just thinking about Mathew. Yeah, you could talk about him for days. His smile. The way his hair curls over his forehead. His arms. Dear Lord, don’t get started on his arms. You were about to start but remembered Liana, Mathew’s sister, was sitting with you as well. You didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. You also didn’t really want to brag about your relationship.

“Liana, are you okay with this? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you say. You and Liana have grown quite close during your relationship with Mathew and especially close after the proposal.

Liana just smiles. “Go ahead, bride-to-be. It is your bachelorette party. You go talk about the man you love.”

“Well, then. What do you want to know?” You say with a smirk on your face.

He's got the look, he's got the touch He's got the eyes that make me crush And he's not one to make a scene But he deserves the spotlight He ain't from 'round this side of town But he fits in to every crowd And he knows how to do my body and my heart right

Mathew Barzal. Where do you even begin? The start? The first time you kissed? The way he walks around your apartment without a shirt on because (a) he refuses to do so and (b) knows it gets you going? The beautiful eyes that make you want to melt the minute you look into them? Just the fact that he knows exactly what to do to make you weak in your knees? The fact that Mathew knows exactly what to do to make the heat rush to your face and make you flustered? The list goes on and on.

“Tell us about something he does that annoys you but you secretly love,” Tessa, your high school best friend, says. She knows exactly what you’re going to say. You have spilled this to her multiple times. However, the fact that she’s asking makes your heart grow warm, best friends forever, right?

You pretend to ruminate over what to say. You, once again, look at Liana for reassurance. You doubt she wants to hear about her brother walking around half-naked. She nods and signals you to continue. You take a deep breath; you never did like talking about yourself. “Um, well, he walks around our apartment without a shirt on all the time. Not even in the mornings after we wake up. He just refuses to ever wear a shirt.”

Some of the girls sigh. Grace, Anders’ wife, and Sydney, Matt’s wife, look at you with understanding. Hockey players really hate wearing shirts and love showing off their chests. Grace and Sydney know exactly what you’re talking about.

“He claims it’s because he knows he can get a rouse out of me, which he can, but it’s also because I don’t think he likes to wear a shirt.”

“Mathew is very proud of the way he looks,” Liana adds and you smile knowing that she knows what Mathew is like. “When he used to come home before dating you, mom had to remind him to put on a shirt.”

You laugh. “I try to tell him to put on a shirt but he always just,” you pause reminiscing the memory. “He’ll just,” you feel the rush of heat to your cheeks as you try to put the words together.

“Even without Mathew here, he’s got you flustered,” Grace says with a warm smile. She loves seeing two young people hopelessly in love.

You shake your head playfully but put on a large smile. “He’ll do this thing with his face and then kiss me in a way that knocks out my breath, and I just forget about him putting on a shirt.”

“He just gets away with not wearing a shirt? He just kisses you and that’s it?” one of your bridesmaids questions. She smirks. “My husband has to do more than just kiss me for me to forget he’s walking around without a shirt.”

“Well, no wonder you’re pregnant,” you playfully retort. She knows you’re joking, and she smiles back at you.

“You’ve got me there, ynn.” The group erupts into laughter.

“Well, then, if we’re on the topic of kissing. I’m not going to ask what happens behind the doors for your own privacy. But, what’s it like kissing Mathew?” Lila, another bridesmaid, asks.

You melt at the thought of kissing Mathew. A wide smile erupts across your face.

“Clearly he kisses tremendously well,” Liana says, and her response shocks you.

You look at her and glare at her playfully.

“I’m just making an observation. Just the thought of kissing my brother puts a giant smile on your face.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong there. I’m not sure if this is going to make sense but just here me out. When he kisses me, I never doubt he loves me. It doesn’t matter if it’s a small peck, a passionate kiss, or we’re making out. Sorry, Liana. There’s always love, and it’s almost as if it’s overflowing.”

“Oh, to be young and in love,” someone comments and everyone laughs.

“We do this thing where, assuming he’s not on a road trip, we always kiss each other good night, even if we’re angry. Yeah, I know the marriage advice. Don’t go to bed angry. Blah blah. Okay. But still. We’ll be angry and have yet to resolve the fight and just go to bed. We kiss each other goodnight angrily but the love is still there. I don’t doubt it. The way his lips linger on mine, and the gentleness despite being angry is there. I always go to bed knowing that we can sort out whatever problem we are having at the moment.”

“You guys are literally what I strive to have in a relationship,” Candace says. She wiggles her eyebrows as she says the next thing. “Any more kissing stories? Maybe some not so clean?”

You were taking a sip of your mimosa, and you choked on it. The heat immediately rushes to your face, and you know exactly what she wants. Just thinking about Mathew’s lips on anywhere else other than your lips has you turning to putty. You have to put down your glass for fears of dropping it and spilling it. These were nice glasses. You had them made that says ‘I Do Crew’, and you didn’t want to break them. Your reaction has everyone snickering.

“I hate to interject but if you’re going to talk about your sex life, I’m going to have to walk away,” Liana says. She can stomach talking about her brother kissing you but anything more than that was not something she was comfortable with.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m comfortable talking about that, especially this sober.”

“Well, then, we have to think of something else. Come on ladies, we can figure this out.” Candace says. You really didn’t like talking about yourself. You don’t want to brag because you know that not everyone can have what you have with Mathew.

I don't wanna be a bragger But my man's a heart attacker Like McConaughey and Jagger Hotter than a Saturday night I can't help it that I flaunt him (All the time) I understand why you would want him (I don't mind) And you can keep up all the chatter 'bout my happy ever after 'Cause all that really matters is he's mine

Candace is about to say something but is stopped when you get a phone call. You look at the caller ID and see that it’s Mathew.

“Speaking of the lover,” Candace says, and you glare at her. “Just answer the phone. We’ll use your reactions as a conversation point.”

You pick up the phone and instantly have a giant smile on your face as Mathew says “Hi, baby.” The girls around you hoot and holler at your grin.

“Hey,” you say back to him.

“Wow, it sounds like you’re in a hockey locker room. How’s it going? I just wanted to check on you. I’m about to head out for my event.” Tito is taking Mathew and his friends to go golfing and then a dinner tonight for Mathew’s Bachelor party.

“Yeah, it seems like that sometimes. We’re doing well. We ate already and might get some dessert in a bit.”

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Funny enough, you.”

You can’t see him but you know that there’s a giant smirk on his face. “Oh yeah? What about me are you talking about?”

“Nothing in particular. Just everything I love about you. The way you walk around the apartment without a shirt. The way you kiss.”

“Well, make sure you tell them about that thing I do with my lips that makes you moan my name in bed.” You instantly feel the heat rush to both your face and core remembering exactly what Mathew is talking about.

“We’ve established that I wasn’t going to talk about things like that and also your sister is here, so.”

“Well, I’ll let you go and also Tito is yelling at me to get going. I love you, future-Mrs.-Barzal.”

“I love you, too, future husband.” You hang up the phone with a giant smile on your face and the girls around you all smile. “What?”

Sydney smiles back at you. “The giant smile on your face. Mathew makes you really happy.”

Your smile, if possible, gets wider. “Yeah, he makes me really happy, and I love him more than anything.”

“It’s obvious,” Candace says. “Also, what did he say to tell us that we established we weren’t going to discuss?”

You feel your cheeks warm up again. You ignore Candace’s statement and turn to the chocolate-chip muffin on your plate.

“Oh come on, Ynn. Tell us.

“Um, Liana, I’m sorry you have to hear this,” you begin hesitantly. She just looks at you. “He told me to tell you guys about that thing he does in bed that um,” Liana nods for you to continue. “Makes me moan and yell his name.”

The girls just stare at you.

“I’m not going to, though. That’s, um, a rather private matter, and I feel the need to express that I am not going to elaborate.”

Liana smiles. “Hey, at least my brother knows how to make you feel good, right?”

You look at her and are surprised that she’s not completely disgusted with what you said.

“Don’t worry. I’m here as your friend not Mathew’s brother.”

“Yn, we want more, please tell us more!” another one of the girls at the table says to you. You really didn’t want to brag about your relationship with Mathew. It was strong, loving, healthy, and made you extremely happy. There was something about Mathew, however, that made you want to talk about him and put him on display.

You smile. “What do you want to know?”

I've got his nights, I've got his name There ain't no shame in this girl's game If he was yours, you'd do the same Without apologizing

The girls wanted a story from the first year in your relationship. What story to tell them? There were so many. You first thought instantly goes to the first time you ever wore his jersey and went to one of his games. You begin telling the story.

You and Mathew had been dating for almost seven months before he invited you to a game. He wanted to make sure that you weren’t with him for his money or fame, and you understood that. You never prompted him or forced him to insert yourself into his life. You let Mathew decide when he wanted to introduce to his friends and teammates. You were fully content on watching Mathew from your television on game nights.

However, one night, Mathew decided that he wanted to have you at the game. It was a home game against the Rangers, a rivalry that has a long history in New York. He bought you your tickets and told you that your seats weren’t with the other WAGs per your request. You didn’t want to sit with them quite yet until you were ready, and Mathew respected that. Also, he had yet to tell anyone on the team he was seeing anyone.

When you left for work the morning of the game, Mathew was still there. However, when you got home, he wasn’t but in his place was a jersey. Not just any jersey, however, it was Mathew’s jersey with his number and last name on it. You looked at it and smiled; you couldn’t wait to wear it for him.

About an hour later, you put on the jersey and head to the arena. When you’re seated, you finally realize how close up your seats are. You looked around and were so giddy. You were going to be watching your boyfriend, whom you were sure you were in love with, play the sport he absolutely loves.

You watched the boys come out for warm ups, and your heart swelled. He was in his element, and he looked so happy. You loved how effortlessly he made the sport look, and you loved how he interacted with his teammates. You were so caught up in watching him that you didn’t notice that Mathew was watching you. It took a few moments, but you did eventually realize, and you both laughed. You remember someone, who you now know was Anders, smacking Mathew over the shoulder.

The Islanders won that night in a overtime, and you were beyond elated. Mathew told you that he’d meet you at your car and that he did.

When you saw him, you jumped into his arms and held him tightly. “You played so well, baby.”

Mathew pulls away for a moment and looks down at you. “Yeah, well I had the woman I love in the stands and my new good luck charm.”

You pull back for a moment. Were you hearing this right? Did Mathew just tell you he loved you?

“Before you start overthinking everything and scrunch up your nose in that really adorable way, let me just confirm, yes, I do love you. Yn, I love you.”

“I wasn’t going to overthink anything, you’re wrong.”

Matthew laughs. “You know, you’re avoiding the obvious.”

You knew you were. “I thought I was pointing out the obvious.”

“Do you need me to say it again, yn?” Mathew asks.

You pretend to ponder it. “Yeah, I do, Mathew.”

“Yn, I love you.”

You smile. “I love you, too, Mathew.” You remember him leaning down and kissing you. You remember that you both had to eventually separate so that you could drive back to your place. You remember that night that you fell asleep in Mathew’s arms hopeful of what can happen one day.

“Oh yeah, I remember that,” Grace says. You look at her puzzled. “Anders, Tito, and I think Sydney and Matt were there, too. Anders said that Mathew was staring at a girl, so we all followed Mathew secretly, and we saw you guys.”

“That’s right! That did happen!” Sydney remarks.

“So, you weren’t really shocked when Mathew finally introduced me to all of you?”

“No, we really weren’t. We didn’t quite see your face, but we knew Mathew was seeing someone.” Sydney answers.

“We finally realized what was behind Mathew’s stellar playing. Anders once came home from a roadie saying that Mathew was playing extremely well and wasn’t sure what to correlate it to. Now we know, it was you.” Grace says.

Your smile reaches ear to ear.

“That’s so cute and romantic, you guys. The two of you were made for each other.” Candace dotes.

You smile. You didn’t want to brag but yes, you and Mathew were made for each other. Yes, sometimes it was hard, but you knew that at the end of the day, you and Mathew loved each other to pieces.

“Hmm. Tell us about meeting Mathew for the first time. That has to be a story.” Tessa. You smile at the memory.

You were running late. The uptown 4 train in Brooklyn was having a bunch of delays, and you didn’t have time to walk to the closest 5 train station. The 4 train heading uptown to Brooklyn Bridge finally came and you jumped on. You breathed a sigh of relief as the train rolled away from the station. However, you became aggravated when it stopped in the middle of the tunnel, and an announcement came that the train would be moving shortly. Yeah, you knew what that meant. You could either be moving again in two minutes or two hours.

Twenty minutes passed, and your feet were starting to ache. You really wished that you wore flats on your commute and then changed into your heels at work.

“Did you want to sit?” someone asked. You remember looking up. “Your feet look like they’re killing you, did you want to sit? I don’t mind standing.”

“Oh, um, no it’s okay, I’m good.” You remember saying.

“No, really, I insist,” he insisted.

You shake your head. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“So, then, if I stand up, you’re not going to sit down?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“No, someone else can sit,” you remember saying. You weren’t one to take up offers like this out of respect for the other person, and you were also very stubborn.

He chuckles and sighs. “Can you just sit? I don’t know why you won’t take up the offer of my generosity. I just don’t think you’re really all that comfortable.”

You hesitate.

“What if,” he proposes. “I got up and said I wanted to stretch my legs, and you just took up the opportunity to sit?”

You look at him and are about to say something, but he gets up and mumbles something about needing to stretch his legs. He gives you a knowing look (one that you’ve grown to love). and you know you are going to sit. So, you sit. You breathe a sigh of relief, and he laughs softly.

“See, was that so hard?”

You look at him and grumble. “No.”

He laughs and time passes quickly. It only took thirty more minutes after this for the train to start moving. You exited the Brooklyn Bridge - City Hall station ninety minutes after you would have liked. You were fast walking because you had to catch the Uptown 3 train.

“Hey, wait,” you don’t think this person is talking to you, so you keep walking. He taps your shoulder, and you finally turn around. “I know this is weird, but can I get your number?”

You remember looking at him shocked and he laughed at you.

“I’m Mathew, and there’s something about you that I want to get to know better.”

For some reason, that cheesy line made you smile, and you gave him your number. And, as they say, the rest is history.

“Wait, Mathew took the subway?” Liana asks puzzled.

“Yeah, he said that he was running late for meeting Tito, and he thought taking the subway would be faster. Clearly, it wasn’t.” You explain.

“Oh, Yn, give us more stories about you and Matthew,” one of the girls says.

You smile softly. You really weren’t sure what else more to say. You really didn’t want to brag about your relationship with Mathew. The constant theme in your relationship was that you kept private things private. Mathew was private in the sense of the media, and you were just a private person all around. But, something about today and the girls asking made you want to spill literally everything.

“I’d ask about the proposal, but Mathew has shared that a million times,” Candace jokes. “Just give us a random story that makes you laugh or smile.”

“I can give you that,” you say. You ruminate for a moment and begin.

Matthew was spending the weekend with you because he didn’t have any games, and they just came off of a two week road trip. You guys missed each other, and, at the stage your relationship was at, being without each other for even an hour was unbearable. This was not to say, though, that it was easy to be apart now. Only, now, you both have learned to find a way to make that pain ease a bit.

It was 12:34pm on a Saturday, and you were hungry for lunch. Mathew said he was taking you out for his favorite sushi place and told you to eat a light lunch. So, you were going to make some avocado toast. No, nothing fancy. The basic summary was that you had pumpernickel bread and a ripe avocado that might go bad soon.

You retreat from the warmth of Mathew, the pillows, and blankets to make some toast. You didn’t hear Mathew follow you; you actually didn’t think he was going to considering you told him you’d just bring it to him. You put the bread in the toaster and pulled out a knife to cut the avocado. You waited for a few minutes as the bread toasted. You looked out into the living room but didn’t see Mathew. You figured that he went to the washroom.

The toaster dings, and the toast pops out. You put the toast on the plate and begin cutting the avocado to spread onto the toast. Suddenly, you feel two very strong arms snake around your waist. It’s Matthew, who else?

“You cut your avocado weirdly,” he says, and you just look at him.

What? “What?”

“You cut the avocado weirdly.”

You snicker. “What is a not weird way to cut your avocado?”

“I don’t know, I just know you cut it weirdly.”

“Why can’t it be that I cut it normally, and you cut it weirdly?”

“Because, yn, you need a weird thing.”

You giggle. “Why do I need a weird thing?”

“Because all people in a relationship have a weird thing that only the other person in it knows.”

“So, you’re telling me that my weird thing is that I cut avocados weirdly?”

“Mhm, exactly.” Mathew takes a piece of toast with avocado already on it and bites into it.

“Despite that, though, you still make very tasty avocado toast, babe.”

“Well, if my weird thing is about cutting avocado, what’s you weird thing?”

“I don’t know, you have to figure it out on your own.”

You remember smiling and then kissing his cheek. Dinner that night did not disappoint, and Mathew brought you to the right restaurant.

“Did you ever figure out what his weird thing was?” Sydney asks.

“I mean, no? But, like, the way I cut the avocado is not weird, so I’m not sure what he was getting at. I told him that the way he ties his shoes was weird.”

“Not the skates?” Grace asks.

“No, not the skates. I told him that there was a difference between the skates and the shoes.”

The girls laugh. “How did you do that? Isn’t it the same?” Candace asks. “It is, but he wouldn’t tell me why the avocado cutting was weird, so I did this. He took me to the rink the day after I told him and forced me to watch him tie his skates like ten times. I guess it’s what I deserve.”

“That was a cute story. As my future sister-in-law, I want to say, I’m glad Mathew has you in his life.” Liana says.

You smile. “I can drink to that.” You all clink your glasses and take a sip.

You loved these girls and were so glad that you got to celebrate your Bachelorette with them. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

If he were a wine, he'd be the shelf at the top (Top) If he were a house, he'd be the end of the block (Block) Walked up to my heart and went, "Knock, knock, knock" So I've got to show him off

You got home that day at 4:00 pm and before Mathew. You were expecting that; Tito told you that Mathew and the boys would be out later only because their day started later. You went into your bedroom and changed out of your bride-to-be outfit and into your comfortable clothes. You took off your makeup and put your hair in a comfortable style. You were going to use the time to open some of the invitations you’ve received and mark down their attendance and meal choices.

Constantly, though, your mind went straight to Mathew. Every thought you had went back to Mathew but not in a sophomoric, conceited way. In a way that expressed your true love for him and how you felt. You didn’t like talking about your relationship with Mathew often; you enjoyed the privacy, and it allowed you to grow as a person both in the relationship and outside it.

However, this didn’t mean that you didn’t want to talk about Mathew all the time. You knew that if you didn’t control yourself, you’d be one of those girls that brought up her boyfriend at the most random times. You also knew that those types of girls were annoying, so you tried not to be like that.

That didn’t mean you didn’t let your mind wander to those places. Mathew was amazing. Sure, there were some flaws, but the great things about him enormously outweighed the flaws. Mathew had the most beautiful hazel eyes you have ever seen. Even if you had friends who hazel eyes, their eye color didn’t match Mathew’s, nothing could. He could be doing the most mundane task or thing and you’d immediately fall more in love. No question about it.

Physically? Mathew had the body of a Greek god and that drove your crazy. When he constantly walked around with a shirt on? You had to force yourself not to jump up and kiss him or run your hands down his broad, firm chest. When you both sat on the couch and he didn’t have a shirt on, you absolutely adored just running your hand up and down his abs as if it were a pillow. Yeah, you wanted to shout from your balcony that you had a hot boyfriend, no, fiance now, that you loved. You loved running your fingers through his hair. There was softness that was indescribable. His hair was rough but also soft at the same time. You constantly wanted to be touching him. All the time. You just needed to be close to Mathew at all times. You didn’t want to say you were clingy because you weren’t. You were just in love and wanted to be in the presence with him at all times. You loved to tell Mathew that you felt so lucky that you got to even be in the same universe as him. He laughed and said the fact that he got to even get your number was remarkable to him.

You were both crazy about each other and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

I don't wanna be a bragger But my man's a heart attacker (Oh, he is) Like McConaughey and Jagger Hotter than a Saturday night I can't help it that I flaunt him (All the time) I understand why you would want him (I don't mind) And you can keep up all the chatter 'bout my happy ever after 'Cause all that really matters is he's mine

Mathew got home that night at 9:32.

“Oh, you’re home early,” you said, and he came down and sat next to you.

Mathew smirked. “Hiding me from your boyfriend?”

Your face turns warm. “No, I just thought that you’d want to celebrate the last of your bachelor years with the boys instead of at home with me.”

“I celebrated my bachelor years already; now I’m coming home and celebrating what my future holds.”

You smile. “Look at you, Mathew Barzal; don’t you know the way into a girl’s heart.”

“I only want your heart, babe,” Mathew says and then kisses you. “How was your day with the girls?”

“It was nice. Oh! Did you know that Anders, Matt, Tito, Grace, and Sydney knew we were dating before you began officially hinting at it and introduced me?”

“What?”

“Yeah! I was telling them about the first time I went to one of your games, and Grace said they caught on to you staring at a girl. She was saying that they followed you secretly and saw us.”

“That’s, wow. I’m not sure how to respond.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, now, does it? We are getting married.”

“That indeed we are, babe,” Mathew says as he reaches down and places a kiss on your temple. “So, what else did you talk about?”

“Wedding planning, you, other stuff, normal girl talk.”

“Did you just say ‘you’ as in me?”

You turn your head away bashfully. “Maybe.”

Mathew laughs his deep belly laugh. “What did you guys say? I mean, I know you were talking about me, but I didn’t think it was a lot.”

“They just wanted me to brag about you and everything. I told them about the story of when we first met, the avocado thing, how you don’t walk around with a shirt, the first time I went to one of your games.”

“Oh, speaking of,” Mathew takes off his shirt, and you laugh. Of course.

“They just wanted me to brag about my love and relationship with you.”

“You should, as bride-to-be.”

“How was your day?” you ask.

“Pretty good; it was fun, but I missed you.”

“Yeah, I missed you, too.”

“It’s funny, we can go a long time without seeing one another when I’m on the road. Don’t get me wrong, it’s quite unbearable but this honestly felt worse.”

“My take is that because we both know that we’re in the same city and can be with each other in probably under an hour. However, when you’re on the road, it’s less hard because you know that you have to be there.”

“Look at you, my intellectual fiance. Our children better get all your traits.”

“I think they should get your looks.”

“I don’t think so; no no.”

“I’m not arguing with you on this. How about a good mix?”

“Perfect, babe.” Mathew kisses you. “Do you want to go to bed? Maybe I can do that thing to you I was referencing earlier?”

The heat instantly rushes to your face, and Mathew instantly knows he’s got you in the palm of his hands. The way your eyes bulged out and swallowed deeply, Mathew just knew.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” he picks you up and carries you to bed.

Yeah, you didn’t want to brag about your relationship with Mathew, but he was too amazing not to.

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queenofbaws · 2 years

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okay i'm going to ask 4 KNOWING the answer to it but i am asking a specific question that ties into 4. just. fyi. SO. hawke/varric. delightful. i love everything you write. do you have your own hawke or do you just write generic marian hawke AND IF YOU DO, please tell me about her thank you <3

dklfjgsdklfgj quill you're KILLIN ME!!! you are TOO KIND!!! hearing that the hawke/varric queen enjoys my hawke/varric content is enough to bring a tear to my eye :')

for the most part, when i do write hawke, i tryyyyyyyy to keep stuff mostly vague enough that anyone reading can plunk their hawke right on into it. "try," of course, being the operative word, ha! but. i DO have my own hawke!!! the thing is, i just...keep...all my da characters' names the defaults because GOD HELP ME I'M BAD AT NAMES!!! so my hawke is marian, yeah, but she's my marian, if that makes sense ;P she looks a BIT like default hawke, i suppose, in that she's got black hair and blue eyes and she's pale, but like. it's long black hair. and her face is rounder. and...

and this is going to be long.

i am so sorry.

i love my hawke so much.

writing asks!!!

every so often i get it into my head that one of these days i'm going to write a whole big thing about her story, but then i get in my own head and talk myself out of it BLAHBLAHBLAH ANYWAY. she's a dual-wielding purple rogue with the shadow specialization, and she's a pain in everyone's ass. she signed on with athenril when she got to kirkwall, and sorry bioware, but she ended up meeting varric fairly shortly after because you want me to believe - again, this is a callout to bioware - you want me to believe that some new hotshot troublemaker pops up in the underground and it takes varric fucking tethras a year to hear about them??? i think not.

the moment - the moment - athenril's contract is up hawke dips. she'd liked athenril ENOUGH, but all of a sudden here's this SMOOTH TALKING DWARF who can match her joke for joke and drink for drink, and the first time she goes "tell them who we are" or "oh maker, they haven't heard of us. can you BELIEVE they haven't HEARD of us???" on a job and varric just PICKS UP AND IMPROVS??? oh, there's no going back!

this should probably go without saying since it's ME we're talking about, but yes this leads to them being utterly in love, again, thanks bioware but i'll take it from here. there are ups and down here. the ghost of bianca is a real issue from time to time. anders threatening to drown them in blood to keep hawke safe also causes some bumps. but it's fine, don't worry, THEY'RE GOOD.

i am beginning to fall prey to my own obvious desire to write 300,000 words about my hawke. i am trying so haRD NOT TO DO THAT. but i ALSO don't just want to bullet point shit so sdklfjaskdfj the writer's conundrum.

in terms of the team, her closest friends are varric, anders and isabela, and really i think that combination of usual teammates speaks a bit for itself, lmao. there is no one - NO ONE!!!!! - on the team that she hates or doesn't like, per se, but she tends to butt heads with aveline and sebastian the most. aveline for obvious reasons, what with the whole being a professional criminal thing, and sebastian because HOO BOY THIS GIRL ISN'T THE CHANTRY'S (or the maker's, honestly) BIGGEST FAN!!

in terms of the hawke family, she's...a mess. it's a real all-that-remains situation in that, uh, she's...all that remains. because i am who i am as a person, most of the family dynamic is very heavily sort of...steeped in guilt, honestly. partly because i just lavish in the angst of it all, partly because i like playing her family history off of varric's, partly still because i just enjoy the whole idea of da2 being these people who come together to BE a family, idk.

but she feels a LOT of guilt and responsibility for being the one sort of left in charge after malcolm's passing, which leads to more guilt when she can't protect carver from What Happens, turning to even more guilt when she takes bethany into the deep roads because she wanted to go SO BADLY (but didn't take anders because he very much DID NOT want to go), and it just becomes this spiral where her relationship with leandra is a never-ending chasm of the blame game...and then more guilt when quentin enters the picture, lmao.

this is all stuff, btw, that is locked away tight, tight, tight in her chest; stuff no one ever gets to see because hawke is the funny one! the smiley one! the one who always has a joke ready! she can't be bothered by ANYTHING, she's FINE!!! (she's not) everything will be FINE!!! (it won't) she can handle this!!!! (she can't)

she has a strange relationship with viscount dumar in that she's not his biggest fan but enjoys the notoriety (read: $$$) that comes along with doing jobs for him. she's very intrigued by the arishok until She Very Suddenly Isn't. she very obviously sides with the mages, she very much is not a fan of cullen (after spending most of her life idolizing malcolm and trying to protect bethany, he gets about 3 words into the "mages aren't people like you or me" speech before the kill bill sirens start going off) or meredith and do not get her STARTED on elthina. she never really gets to make up her mind about orsino, but them's the breaks.

cannot stress this enough: she is. so fine. with what happens. at the end of act 3. she is so. fucking. fine with it. and the fact bioware didn't give us the option for hawke TO be fine with it. exhausts me to no end. she's so totally on board with what happens. she agrees with anders. she'd throw him a pizza party if she could. ice cream cake. the works.

after act 3 tho (and obviously all the angst the sudden departure from kirkwall and varric brings with it) she goes off with anders, mostly to ensure he doesn't get himself killed in the ensuing fallout. they end up hiding out amongst the avvar because god help me i love the avvar and their handling of mages. but the second she gets word from varric that shit's whack, she's at skyhold as quick as humanly possible, lmao.

this is already so many words so i'm just. i'm just gonna stop. but. yeah. that's...that's my hawke. default first name on the screen, original character in my heart.

if you got past the first para honestly, ty for reading XD

#mrs-theirin #asks #ask meme #AND SO THE DESIRE TO WRITE ABOUT HAWKE SEIZES ME BY THE THROAT AND SHAKES ME LIKE A SQUEAK TOY

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pandoraimperatrix · 3 years

Text

caught between goodbye and I love you

DickKory | Pining | Eventual smut | Two shots | Post season 3 AU

Chapter 1: My heart is a sad affair

Nobody could say he didn't have been trying. Well, they could but it wouldn't be true.

Even though Bruce had made sure Dick knew how to attract the female attention, nobody told him what to do when it didn’t work as planned. Or how to stanch the wound.

Hell, Bruce made sure he could seduce anyone that could be seduced. "It is a very useful skill to have in your utility belt, Chum" he said then. But it didn't mean Dick didn’t pray for the sweet release of death back then when he was being forced to have seduction lessons under Alfred's or worse, Selina's tutelage.

He should have payed more attention to when they broke up, not that he’d have learnt something useful. They always got back together. He and Kory on other hand…

Well, been taught how to seduce someone for ulterior motives didn’t mean he knew what to do when his goal was not mission oriented. Usually in a mission, after the seduction part was over, even if he had to date the person for more than one night, he had a script and a clear goal. But what if there was no mission? What if he had hopes instead of goals? What to do without no script to follow? No set of rules to guide him?

And he was especially bad when he genuinely cared, never being able to judge if he was trying too hard or too little, usually finding himself overcome with anxiety which resulted into pushing the object of his affections away in the long run. That happened to Dawn, to Babs, hell, despite being a completely different kind of relationship it almost happened with Rachel and Gar too. Thank goodness his children were way more forgiving.

Since Dawn was gone for good and he and Babs had broke up again after deluding themselves for a whole five minutes that their childhood trauma bonded romance could have a last hurrah. He was back to reality. The depressing reality that he, to his absolute despair, cared for Kory, so much, too much, more than he had thought that he ever could for anyone.

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Despite all his overthinking tendencies, all his overplanning, all his precautions, he really didn’t see that coming. Of course, he was aware he was attracted to her from day one, it was nothing alarming back then, at least in the beginning. It hurt when she told him she needed to find out who she was before it got too serious, but he understood, and it was fine. They had time. And time they had, after their reunion, raising a household together, his physical attraction to her remained, and new set of feelings started breeding from their partnership. Something way more aggravating than the constant desire to fuck her brains off every time she entered the room, something deeper.

It took a while, because he was known for being stubborn as fuck, but he knew that a good detective can’t cherry pick evidences, and eventually, he admitted to himself that he wanted to be with her forever. Which not only was a scary thought by itself, considering how much time he spent running from everything serious and true, but it made his insides twist in fear.

Because nothing that good could last. When the love of you life quite literally fell from heaven, heaven can take her back whenever. And the thought of losing her at any moment pushed his anxieties to the roof. Her behaviour haven’t been exactly helping. Despite of not having anything substantial of proof, Dick could feel something was wrong with her, something that she wouldn't talk about no matter how many times he tried to approach her.

Maybe it was his fault, maybe he put himself in a position in which she felt responsible for his wellbeing but not trustworthy to be relied upon after the mess he had made with Slade and with Jason.

Besides, what claim did he have to demand any clarification from her? They weren't together.

But it still hurt. That feeling of uselessness, of having nothing to offer when she gave so much just being by his side.

They lived in the same house and were currently raising super powered teenagers together, everybody outside their tight circle assumed they were a couple, married even, hell, her sister thought they were together. And Kory hardly flinched when they dined out and the waiter called her “Mrs Grayson”, she joked about it, that also hurt, because it wasn’t true. Yes they used to have sex, and yes he was trying to make his grimaces of pain to look like smiles on regular basis to hide how much he wanted her, but they are not together.

But it wasn't by Dick's choice.

It was Kory's.

And the rejection hurt, especially when he didn’t expect it.

From all his many faults, Dick wasn't that kind of guy, it wasn’t as if he didn’t think that her rejection was impossible or insulting due to some high opinion of himself. But it just didn’t make sense. He wasn't deluding himself, although he sometimes had no choice but doubt, wanting to believe and respect her choice, but when it had such dissonance with her actions…

Because, as much as he sometimes wanted to take the easy way out that his internal self-hatred provided – that he was crazy, pathetic and there was no way in heaven or hell such woman would have feelings for him – Dick had also been trained in reading body language and micro expressions.

Everything about how Kory interacted with him felt like an invitation. Unless he had been suffering from a very serious case of psychosis (again), he couldn’t have been imagining the longing in her gaze. Sometimes, even when he thought she wasn’t in the room, he could feel her eyes in him. And it wasn’t just the hot looks he was used to get from people that only thought he was attractive – even though Kory would give him plenty of those too, his skin had been reaping the benefits of all his ice cold showers. But, sometimes, especially when he was giving attention to their children, or just doing something mundane like reading or meditating, he could feel her watching. A gentle smile on her face, eyes like pools of warmth and endearment. Nobody ever looked at him like that, with such unadulterated fondness.

Or the way she found excuses to touch him. He always loved the feeling of falling, doing unnecessary stunts so he could only feel that special kind of rush. With Kory around to catch him whenever he needed, he had been doing that even more often so he could feel her strong arms around him, and she never denied him.

When they fought enemies, or trained, she always found a way to make skin contact, throwing him at their mark to give him an extra boost, instead of shouting for him to clear away from danger, she’d physically pull him away in very unnecessary and unfortunately fast hugs.

She’d lean on his shoulder for no reason at all, even after her powers returned and she told everyone she was not feeling tired all the time anymore. In the mornings, while they washed the dishes together – since Gar banned them both from cooking – she’d bump him with her hip to make him move out of her way, and her hands always lingered when handing him an utensil.

Kory was always pressing away invisible wrinkles on his clothing, and picking things from his hair, so much he could hear muffled giggles from the children every time she did that.

And how could he have been imagining the way her face lit every time he entered the room, or when someone mentioned his name? He couldn't have made anything like that up. Didn't have the self-esteem necessary, or the self-hatred necessary to imagine such torture.

Dick did wonder, though, if living with a woman that looked like what poets sang about, that had the personality correspondent of the most golden of summer’s day, and flirted with him mercilessly, but yet dismissed every attempt he made to turn their relationship into something romantic was just karma. In the past, he had abused his own good looks and knowledge. Hearts had been broken because of his folly, and now the universe was punishing him or something.

Yeah, right, as if the universe cared that much.

But then, when his bitterness and confusion were not settled at all, and he was getting ready for another night of delicious horrible dreams about the woman that did not want him, something weird happened.

Kory Anders, knocking on his door, with a bottle of tequila, just a few days after he finally asked her out and she destroyed his heart and made a mess of his head by saying no. Not only no, she said she didn’t like him like that. That she loved him as a friend, and didn’t want to make things more complicated.

What a bunch of garbage.

For a fraction of second he wondered what she'd do if he closed the door on her face. But he'd never be able to do that, so, wordlessly, he gave away the space she needed to enter his room.

“Can I help you?” he said when she just stood there, looking everywhere but him, as if his room were a great novelty.

Kory bit her lip and he wanted to die. He didn’t want to believe she did those things out of malice, but sometimes one cannot help but being angry over such carelessness.

“Kory?” he asked in that bitchy impatient way of his.

“I lied,” she finally said in a puff of breath.

“What you mean?” His heart was racing, it couldn’t be. Was he asleep? Most of his dreams began with some sort of flashback of their first night. Terrible, terrible dreams that always ended too soon.

She looked away, searching for something, his heart shrank when swayed her body aside, thinking she was about to leave, but Kory placed the bottle and the cups on his dresser and turned back to him, the look she gave him making his throat feel raw. In two powerful strides she was all over him, firm elegant palms cradling his head as she tilted his face to the angle she wanted for their kiss. It was like if time went back.

He pulled her closer carefully, afraid she’d disappear in the smoke of his lust filled memory if he went too hard or too fast, but even when she remained solid, warm under his touch, her teeth pulling his bottom lip mercilessly, then spreading licks and soothing kisses, her perfume making him dizzy, he let her lead. It was easier, which considering his tendency for always taking the most tortuous path, added a layer of pleasure in a luxury hardly ever taken.

--------------------------------------

Notes:

I started writing this before season 3, because I wanted to write a fic in which Dick was pining, and also I wanted it to be steamy and smutty. But since the smut part is taking forever to finish and the pining part became bigger than what I planned, you get a two shot.

---

Preview:

“Please don’t this. I don’t want to pretend. I’m so tired of lying to you and I’ll have to pretend to the rest of my life. This might be the last night I will ever have to be myself, to be with you. I need this to be real.”

Kory took one of the hands off his hair, bending her arm backwards so she could rub him trough his trousers. Dick let out a moan and she used the opportunity to make a wet path of kisses across his cheekbones, until she reached his ear. She whispered something in her native language and licked his earlobe.

What else could he do? She wanted real. He’d give her real.

Dick pulled her up as his lips claimed hers again, her powerful legs crossed around his hips. He held her up like that for a while, just enjoying the feel of her body pressed flush against his. His hands giving her support by moulding her round butt with his palms.

Dick he walked backwards until his chins hit the bed and he fell sitting with Kory on his lap. She stopped her ministrations to pull her hair from her face and look down at him.

“Hey,” she said, her eyelashes were still wet, but her tears had stopped falling, she looked so… No wonder she belonged to the heavens, no being in the planet could be so perfect.

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miracleonice87 · 4 years

Note

38 with Mat

from the Winter/Christmas Writing Prompts list

38. “You’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss.” 🎄

quick note: this one is prob a bit longer than the others will be. I just L O V E writing Sydney and Marty as secondary characters in Mat stories.

quick warnings: swearing, alcohol, super snowy powdery Christmas fluff

and, just for fun, song pairing: mistletoe by Justin Bieber (obviously)

_____

There really was no place like home.

After moving away to Los Angeles to attend USC for both undergrad and grad studies, you were finally back in New York. You hadn’t been able to resist the pull — it was almost as if, from all the way across the continent, you could feel the Atlantic tide receding and pulling you home along with it. For better or for worse, you belonged to the Empire State.

Sydney, your lifelong best friend and a New Yorker herself, was beyond ecstatic, as she had recently gotten engaged to her longtime boyfriend Matt, a hockey player, and named you her maid of honor. Planning a wedding — not to mention showers and bachelorette festivities — would be far easier, and far more fun, with you in the same zip code. Since moving back six weeks ago, you’d spent about ninety percent of your time with Sydney by your side, making up for lost time with the woman who had long been your other half.

So sweet, right? There was just one problem. Sydney wouldn’t stop trying to set you up with guys. She was insistent that you’d been single for too long — you’d broken up with your college sweetheart by the end of your senior year — and she made it her mission for you to find love again. And she, on her own, was bad enough — she’d already hooked you up with so many friends of friends that you’d lost count, and none had been interesting enough for a second date — but her fiancé conspiring right along with her made resisting them that much more difficult.

This particular night, she had lured you to the home she shared with Matt under the guise of having dinner with her family, when in reality, she was throwing a Christmas dinner party for Matt’s closest friends on the team. All of whom had — and brought — significant others. Except for one. What a coincidence.

Also coincidentally, his name was Mat, too, or so you were told — you didn’t quite believe Syd’s Matt when he told you that upon introducing the two of you.

“Mat with one ’t,’” he announced, one arm slung around Mat’s shoulders. The handsome, dark-haired man swallowed thickly and gave you his best polite smile — it was in that moment that you realized beyond a shadow of a doubt this was yet another set up.

Matt made a lame excuse about needing to check on Sydney in the kitchen and snuck away after some brief pleasantries, but not before blatantly nudging your much-smaller frame toward New Mat. You gave Matt a menacing glare before recovering, standing a safe distance away from New Mat, leaning against the wooden beam behind you to keep you steady.

“So, Mat with one ’t,’ how long have you played with the ever-obnoxious Matty?” you asked, trying to play it cool.

Mat laughed easily. Damn, he had a nice laugh — the kind that made his pretty eyes crinkle at the corners. Nice hair. Nice teeth — perfect fucking teeth. Wasn’t he supposed to be a hockey player? Wait, what was he saying? Something about Seattle, and the draft, and… now you were lost. You nodded slowly with a forced smile as you tried your hardest to focus on what he was saying. He was just so goddamn pretty.

Thankfully, Sydney’s call from the kitchen saved you from the embarrassment of not having heard a word this poor boy had spoken.

“Dinner’s ready! I’m really type A, as you all know, so I made little placecards for everyone at the table,” she announced to the group of ten, hands clasped before her as Matt snaked an arm around her from behind and smiled proudly.

“Guess that’s our cue,” Mat mused. “Shall we?”

You threw him a grin and nodded, turning your back to him and making your way to the dining room.

On your way, you paused in front of your dear friend just long enough to grumble, “Assigned seats? Really, Syd?”

She clapped enthusiastically and smacked your ass as you passed her. “Yep! See you in there, champ!” she exclaimed as you heard frantic whispers exchanged between Mat and Matt. You couldn’t hold back your snicker, and as you glanced over your shoulder, Mat gave you a strained smile. You shook your head bemusedly and turned to the table to find that, to no one’s surprise, you and Mat were indeed to be seated side by side at one end of the table. You cleared your throat and nodded toward the cards bearing your names.

“Subtle, no?” you joked, causing Mat to blush pink. He choked out, “Ah, yeah. You gotta love them.” Then, he pulled out your chair and motioned for you to take a seat, which, as luck would have it, Sydney and Matt caught just in time because they were bringing in the food on serving dishes at that very moment. Their eyes sparkled and Sydney looked like she may self-destruct out of sheer joy as you sat down and thanked Mat. You gave her an icy look and she visibly retreated, holding herself back from making a complete scene.

“Okay, dig in!” she said instead as she sat down across from you.

Dinner was incredible, as usual — while your talents lacked in the cooking area, Sydney had always been an outstanding chef. Even more, you enjoyed the conversation, which was mostly inclusive of everyone at the table, save for the occasional chirp Mat secretly muttered in your ear about Matt or Anders, making you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle a giggle as Sydney looked on smugly. Meanwhile, whenever you and Sydney would say the exact same thing at the same moment or finish the other’s sentence, Mat would look to Marty, who would only raise his eyebrows and nod, confirming Mat’s suspicion that these two were always this in sync. Mat found it endearing. He adored Syd — if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have agreed to come here tonight when she told him, “There’s someone I want you to meet…” — and already, he saw countless similarities in the two of you.

After he’d helped you clear the plates and load the dishwasher for your hosts, you and Mat settled onto a couch in the farthest corner of the living room, near the Christmas tree, while the others gathered in the center of the space, loudly entertaining themselves. As you curled your feet underneath yourself, you didn’t miss how Sydney reached for a nearby remote and slowly flickered on the fireplace right beside you and Mat. Yet again, you shot her a killer look that she pretended not to see as Mat smiled, amused at how flustered you were by Sydney trying to further set the mood.

“So how long have you known Syd?” he asked as he took another swig from his beer bottle, attempting to get you back on track. “Has to be a while. I swear I’ve never seen two friends who were more alike.”

You tucked some hair behind your ear and let out a breathy chuckle. With anyone else, you were ever prepared to skirt that question and quickly move on to another subject. But with Mat, it was nice knowing you really didn’t have to.

“Yeah, my whole life, actually,” you answered, a smile on your face at the thought. Your eyes flickered up to his as you added, “My dad played for the Jets... with Boomer while he was there.”

Mat’s brows quirked noticeably, but not in the familiar way that made you feel like he was about to ask you to FaceTime your dad or get an autograph from him. Because he was a professional athlete himself — which was ironic because you’d sworn up and down your whole life that, because of the lifestyle you saw your dad and his teammates, not to mention their families, lead, you’d never fall for anyone who played sports for a living. Even when Sydney insisted with a shrug after settling down with Matt, “It’s not that bad.”

“No way,” Mat said with a casual laugh. “That’s awesome. What position did he play?”

“Uh, receiver,” you replied. “So he and Boomer were tight. Our moms hit it off right off the bat and have been best friends since. Since then, we’ve always vacationed together, ended up living in the same neighborhood after they both retired. I’m three years younger than Syd and I was basically like her shadow. Still am, I guess,” you added with a smile.

Mat nodded, his eyes never leaving your face as you told the familiar tale. “I think that’s awesome though,” he spoke. “You guys could be sisters I feel like. You act just like her. Plus Marty says you’re the only friend of hers who’s kicked him out of bed so you could sleep with her.”

You threw a hand to your chest and your head back laughing at that, and Mat’s heart soared at being able to elicit such a reaction from you himself. You pointed a gold-polished index finger at him and admitted, “He tells no lies on that one.”

Just then, you caught Mat’s unabashed gaze, which had shifted from well-mannered and nonchalant into something deeper, something... affectionate. You swallowed, casting a downward glance at your lap, and swirled the ice cubes in your otherwise empty highball glass.

“I need a refill,” you said with a nervous giggle. “You want anything?”

Mat looked all too pleased with himself at your offer, and he nodded. “Sure, yeah, another beer would be great. Thank you,” he said. You smiled and nodded as you turned away and headed for the kitchen.

Ever the subtle one, once again, Sydney, who had been shamelessly watching the two of you from her perch in Matt’s lap across the room, stumbled over Jax’s paw as she bolted to the kitchen island where you now stood. You blinked at her wildly and said, “May I help you, Sydney Irene? You nearly wounded your poor dog.”

“So,” Sydney sang, ignoring your question completely as she leaned back against the kitchen counter, propping her palms on the edge and looking much more smooth than she had just a moment ago. She waggled her eyebrows at you before continuing. “Whadd’ya think? He’s cute, right?”

You scoffed. “Sydney—“ you began in a warning tone as you reached for the rum, but were interrupted before you could speak another word.

“If you hate him, it was Matt’s idea,” she deadpanned, then allowed a mischievous grin to stretch along her painted red lips as she cocked her head. “But if you like him, it was mine.”

You rolled your eyes as you poured yourself another rum ginger, ignoring the flush you could feel creeping up your chest and neck under Sydney’s scrutiny.

“You’re blushing! You do like him!” Syd squealed as she poked at your side, thankfully making an attempt to stay quiet as the guys, Mat included, carried on noisy shenanigans in the family room before you.

“Sydney, stop! I just met him,” you tried to argue, turning away from her. It was Sydney’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Like that matters. I fell for Matt like—“ she snapped her fingers for dramatic effect, “—that. And look at us now.”

You pursed your lips to the side. You couldn’t exactly argue that. With no quick comeback coming to mind, you stirred your drink, took three generous gulps — as Sydney watched, wide-eyed — and licked your lips before sighing at her.

“Well, fine,” you grumbled as you opened the fridge and grabbed a fresh beer for Mat. “Let’s not keep the boy waiting then.” You sashayed away from your friend who, spinning away from you, quickly squeezed her eyes shut and crossed her fingers before turning back and following behind you.

Mat thanked you profusely for the drink as you returned to him. Now he sat among his teammates, and Sydney sat back in Matt’s lap as you took the seat beside Mat on the opposite couch. You noticed how he immediately leaned back and comfortably stretched his arm across the cushion behind you, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t inch a little closer then. It briefly occurred to you that you were drawn to him in the very same way you’d been drawn back home not long ago.

He felt like home. Already.

And soon, after a few hours more of merrymaking, Mat never leaving your side, the other couples had all headed for home. You four who remained had played several rounds of euchre and sang and danced to half a dozen Christmas carols before you realized how late it was. Knowing you’d had too much rum and wouldn’t be fit to drive, you’d already established that you’d stay in Sydney’s guest room — or maybe kick Matt out of the master. Regardless, you were staying put. But Mat, reluctantly, was leaving — the boys had practice in the morning.

“I guess I should go,” Mat sighed after a long round of goodbyes. Matt and Sydney gave him one last hug and retreated to the far side of the spacious room, aiming, of course, to leave the two of you to your own goodbye.

You nodded. “I guess you should,” you said, caught off guard by the twinge of sadness in your tone. “I’ll walk you out.” Mat smiled and turned toward the front door, and your heart truly may have skipped an actual beat when he glanced back at you and reached his hand out for you to grab. You did so, biting down on your smiling bottom lip as you followed him down the hall into the entryway, acutely aware that, if Sydney and Matt were indeed watching — of which you had no doubt — they could still clearly see you.

But when Mat pulled on his shoes and stood up straight again, stepping slowly, so slowly, closer to you, all you could think about was how hard your heart was thumping against your ribcage. You looked up at him in anticipation, and he smoothed his hands down the sleeves of your sweater softly.

“I had a really, really nice time tonight, you know,” Mat spoke. You had to remind yourself to breathe as the sincerity of his voice flooded your senses and his warm, honey-flecked eyes pierced through you. “Tonight was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

You beamed — how could you not? “Yeah?” you asked incredulously. Mat nodded.

“Yeah. In fact,” he cleared his throat. “I was wondering if maybe, uh, you’d want to go to dinner with me sometime. Like maybe this Sunday night, after we play?”

You felt yourself grinning like an idiot, yet had no control.

“Yeah,” you finally answered. “Yes. Of course. I’d love that.”

Mat blew out a long breath and chuckled nervously. “Thank God,” he added as you both dissolved into a fit of giggles. You stepped closer to him and smelled his clean, woodsy cologne, inadvertently breathing it in. Mat came nearer, too, and tentatively reached his hands around to your lower back. “It’s a date then,” he spoke, his voice lower now, gravelly. You swallowed — hard — and gave a nod.

“It’s a date,” you echoed.

You simply stood in one another’s presence for a few long moments, smiling giddily at each other, before Mat sighed once more and glanced toward the door.

“I really don’t wanna go, but I—“

“No! Syd, just leave them be,” Matt suddenly whispered sharply to his fiancé — who seemed to have literally leapt up from the couch — though there was no point in whispering at all because you still heard him loud and clear. Jumping up behind Sydney, Matt easily wrapped her in his arms and clapped his hand over her mouth just as she started to speak.

After wrestling for control of Matt’s hand, she finally pulled it away just long enough to call out, “You’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss already!”

With one final “shush!”, Matt covered her mouth once more, though his entire body was wracking with silent laughter.

“Goodnight, kids!” Matt said tersely as he all but manhandled Sydney down the opposite hallway into their bedroom, the two of them erupting with laughter the second they closed the door.

You rolled your jaw and looked above you and Mat to find that, yes, indeed, there hung a very Sydney-like crystal ornament adorned with glittery mistletoe, suspended from the archway.

“Un-fucking-believable,” you muttered, resting your head against Mat’s chest as you both laughed anxiously.

But a moment later, Mat’s voice rumbled in his chest. “Hey...” he spoke. You took that as your invitation to look up at him, and when you did, you found him gazing at you even more tenderly than he had before.

“I mean, since there’s mistletoe and all.. would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asked. His hand found your cheek and you grasped his fingers in your own.

“Well,” you began, leaning further into him. “Only since there’s mistletoe.”

Mat breathed a chuckle and whispered, “Okay, good,” before his lips found yours in a toe-curling, snow-melting, heart-growing, hell of a Christmas movie kiss that you both found yourselves smiling into by the end.

“Wow,” was somehow all you could whisper when you finally pulled away for air.

“Yeah,” Mat agreed simply. “Wow.”

“It worked!” You heard the muffled squeal from behind Sydney’s closed door.

You rolled your eyes once again, hating Sydney in that moment, as Mat snickered and leaned in for another kiss.

Little did you know that a few years later, your dear, meddling Sydney would stand up at your side in front of a ballroom filled with your and Mat’s family and dearest friends and proudly tell the story of that cold late-December night when your love story with Mat began.

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wildercrow · 3 years

Note

"cramming into a small room, or a king-sized bed when one of them has been through something traumatic and is in need of support" for the kirkwall crew?

You seem to give me a lot of prompts that I get wildly carried away with, because wow I sure did take one look at this and immediately spend the next 8 hours writing a BEHEMOTH of a fic about Anders and Justice getting snuggle-piled.

for @dadrunkwriting

~*~*~

Rating: Mature Characters: Mo Hawke, Individuality (Spirit OC), Anders, Justice, Fenris, Varric, Cole, The Rest of the Kirkwall Crew Main Relationships: Anders & The Kirkwall Crew, Justice & The Kirkwall Crew, Hawke & The Kirkwall Crew, Anders/Justice/Fenris Background Ships: Hawke/Merrill/Isabela, Aveline/Donnic Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff (but mostly Fluff) Word Count: 2771 Content Warnings: Non-graphic descriptions of arson/fire-related injuries, Innuendo/sex jokes, Strong language, Spoilers for Dragon Age II AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34811041

~*~*~

The second Anders walks in the door, Mo knows something is wrong. His hair and robes are singed and his expression is… empty. Devoid of the passion he carried when he left the estate that morning.

Individuality – Indie – stirs restlessly at the back of their shared head. >>I don’t like seeing them like this! Where is their spark?<<

“I take it your second day at the new clinic didn’t go according to plan? You look like someone went through and kicked every cat in the city of Kirkwall,” Mo says from the couch.

Anders just silently shakes his head and makes his way upstairs to his room.

>>Get Fenris!<< Indie urges.

>>Euuuggh, why?<< Mo whines internally. At this point, her rivalry with Fenris is more of a formality than anything with real malice. A petty game they play at, despite being on mostly good terms.

>>He knows how to find Justice’s spark.<< The spirit

Mo snorts out loud. >>You know that sounds sexual, right?<<

>>Oh, absolutely.<< They confirm smugly. >>But in all seriousness, Fenris brings Justice and Anders’ true selves out. Go get him.<<

>>Fiiine.<<

But before she has the chance to do so, she hears knocking at her front door. It’s loud and steady. Indie immediately recognizes it as Aveline’s knocking.

She sighs and ambles over to open the door, mildly surprised to find not just Aveline but also Donnic, Varric, and… Cole? All standing outside her door looking worried. Donnic looks singed in much the same way as Anders. “Can I… help you?” she asks.

Indie prickles at the sight of Cole, but Mo shushes them. >>We have enough to deal with tonight, we don’t need you trying to pick fights with Cole.<<

>>Oh, so you’re allowed to have petty rivalries, but I’m not?<< Indie sulks.

>>At least my petty rivalry with Fenris is mutual! Cole likes you just fine.<<

>>He is wearing someone else’s identity!<< The spirit insists, utterly indignant.

>>You literally share a body with me, so you’re not exactly one to talk.<<

>>That’s different.<<

>>Is it, though?<<

“If you want me to go, I’ll leave,” Cole offers timidly.

“Nobody wants you to go, kid,” Varric places a reassuring hand on Cole’s back, then pins a stern look on Mo, “right, Prickles?”

Before Mo can answer, Cole darts away from the door and around the corner to… who knows where.

“See what you did?” Varric says.

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t make a habit of controlling other people’s actions,” Mo retorts flatly.

“I’m sure he’ll be—” Aveline begins, but is interrupted by Cole returning with three cats in his arms, “—back… soon?”

“Soren, Aly, and Splotches the Magnificent wanted the fresh air,” Cole announces, stepping through the door, “but they forgot for a moment that home is safe and cozy.”

>>Alright, fine, he remembers the cats’ names. He’s not all bad.<< Indie admits.

“I’m impressed you could tell Soren and Shini apart after only meeting them once,” Mo says.

“Maybe we should come in before any more cats decide to go on an adventure?” Varric suggests, nudging Ser Scratchy-Pants and Ariwen the fennec back into the house, “Or… honorary cats.”

“Alright, everybody in,” Mo waves them in. Once everyone is in and the door is closed, Mo places her hands on her hips and asks again, “So, why are you all here, exactly?”

“Did you hear what happened?” Aveline asks, worry written across her face.

“I obviously have not, or else I wouldn’t be asking you why you’re here?” Mo retorts.

“Blondie’s clinic got burned down on day two,” Varric says.

“So much smoke…” Cole murmurs from the floor, where he has sat himself down to pet the cats and fox. “Couldn’t breathe before, then the air… suffocating… barely got out alive. And the flames... exploding potions, red-hot droplets on tender skin… so many hurt… they just came to get better.”

“Everyone got out alive, thank the Maker,” Aveline says, “but there were a lot of injuries.”

“I was there,” Donnic confirms. “It was bad. The clinic is… he’ll have to start over from scratch.”

“If he bothers to reopen at all,” Aveline adds. “It might be time for him to pass the healing torch on to someone with less of a… reputation.”

“Revolution ended in flames, now healing has ended the same way… hard to find a path when the whole forest is on fire,” Cole says solemnly as he pets between Ariwen’s gigantic ears.

“Holy shit,” Mo murmurs under her breath.

“Anyways, that’s what’s going on and why we all showed up on your doorstep,” Varric says, trying without much success to keep his voice casual. “We just figured Blondie could use some support, is all.”

“And hugs,” Cole adds.

>>I need to talk to them!<< Indie announces.

Mo rolls her eyes fondly, “Message from Indie incoming.”

She relinquishes control of her body and lets the spirit take over, an eerie lavender glow emanating from their eyes. “Justice doesn’t need hugs,” the spirit announces. “He needs a cause!” They flourish dramatically with an arm. “You can’t help them if you don’t treat them as individuals!”

“Prickles has a poi—” Varric begins before being cut off by Indie.

“Not Prickles,” Indie says, hurt seeping into their voice. “We’re not the same.”

“Sorry. Still getting used to that. Sparky has a good point,” Varric corrects himself. “If we don’t give Justice a cause, they’ll both fall apart.”

“The manifesto,” Cole says.

“Kid, that’s old news. We need a new cause, not one from before the Inquisition.”

“Not that one,” Cole insists. “So many lost years as a slave… Never let that happen again. Not to anyone.”

“Fenris’ manifesto!” Indie blurts out. “They’ve been working on it together. Yes, that’s perfect.”

“See, this is why you all need to come see me more often! This is all news to me,” Varric says, a bit hurt.

“Well, you are a bit busy these days,” Donnic points out.

“Never too busy for my family,” the dwarf says with a grin. “Speaking of family, how about we gather the rest of the gang and surprise Blondie with some hugs? I can get Broody.”

“Why doesn’t Justice have a nickname?” Indie asks.

“Can’t they both be Blondie?” asks Varric. “They have the same hair.”

“They’re different people!” Indie insists. “You should come up with a nickname for Justice.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. It will affirm his sense of self,” Indie insists. “He needs that more than ever today.”

“Okay, uhhh…” Varric thinks hard, “Shiny? Glowy? Uh… Glowworm?”

“Oh, he’ll hate being called a worm,” Aveline snorts.

“Worms are nice,” Cole adds. “They deserve justice just as much as everyone else.”

“Alright, fine. Nightlight?” the dwarf proposes.

“Better,” Indie says.

“I think we have a winner!” Varric puffs out his chest proudly.

“Alright, back on task,” Aveline pipes up. “Donnic and I can get Carver while Varric gets Fenris. Mo, can you—”

“Not Mo,” Indie interjects.

Aveline lets out a beleaguered sigh, “Spirit – Individuality – can you and Mo go get Merrill and Isabela? I assume they’re upstairs.”

“Yes, we can!” Indie beams. Aveline is still adjusting to calling them by name, so when she succeeds it feels good.

“I’ll get the cats,” Cole announces. “And Ariwen. She’s not a cat, she just thinks she is.”

“Good call, kid. Anders will like that,” Varric says, patting his shoulder.

And with that, they all split up to retrieve the rest of their little family. Indie returns the body to Mo so she can retrieve Merrill and Isabela, since they are, after all, her girlfriends. She finds them both hanging out in their shared bedroom on the top floor and quickly explains the situation to them before leading them downstairs to Anders and Justice’s bedroom, where the rest of the group is already waiting (minus Cole, who is apparently still herding cats around the house).

“Is that everyone?” whispers Fenris, whose own cat, a tiny black cat named Shadow, is perched across his shoulders. He’s also clutching a thick book to his chest.

“Minus Cole and the rest of the cats? I think so,” Varric whispers back.

Fenris nods and turns to knock on the door, “Anders? Justice? Can we come in?”

A moment later, Anders pokes his head out of his door, looking like he’s been crying. Once he sees just how many people “we” is, his eyes widen to the size of saucers.

“We heard you had a bad day,” Carver says.

“Who the fuck sets a free clinic on fire just because they don’t like the guy running it?” Isabela says.

“Some people are just so mean!” Merrill adds.

At that moment, Cole shows up with Ariwen in his arms, Siren the Accursed standing on his shoulders wailing at the top of her weird little cat lungs, and the other nine cats trotting along behind him. “Cats make you to feel better.”

Anders lets out a tired laugh and scoops Siren off of Cole’s shoulders to cradle her in his arms like a baby before Cole herds the rest of the cats into his bedroom and sits down on the floor with them. “You’re all here just to make me feel better?”

“Both of you,” Fenris corrects. “I brought my manifesto, in case working on that will help Justice.”

“How big’s your bed, Blondie?” asks Varric. “Can it fit a proper cuddle pile?”

“Uhh…” he glances back at his bed, then into the hallway, “with this many people and animals? Not a chance.”

“We could put two mattresses together on the floor,” Carver proposes.

Anders shrugs, “Sure, if you want?”

“Easiest option is Anders and Fenr—” Carver begins.

“No one. Is touching. My bed,” Fenris growls.

“I will go get my mattress from downstairs!” Carver declares, jogging down the stairs.

“I’ll… help,” Fenris sets Shadow in Anders’ bedroom and hands his manifesto to Isabela before hurrying after Carver.

“Anders, can Donnic and I move your mattress to the floor?” Aveline asks.

“Go for it,” Anders shrugs listlessly and steps aside for them to slip into his room. “Careful with the cats.”

“I’ll keep them safe!” Cole pipes up from Anders’ floor.

As Aveline and Donnic relocate his mattress, Anders steps out into the hallway and slides down the wall to slump on the floor, releasing Siren to go yowl at Cole in the bedroom.

Mo makes her way over and sits next to him. She’s not sure what to say, but she and Indie feel like the right people for the job somehow. Maybe because they know how it feels to be infamous. Maybe because they know what it’s like to be called an abomination.

“Thanks,” he whispers, even though she hasn’t said a word. They wait together in a haze as the warriors move around mattresses and gather pillows and blankets. Merrill and Isabela continue the conversation they’d been having upstairs (something about Isabela’s travels). Varric cracks a few awkward jokes. Mo tries to think of the right comfort words but never quite finds them. Indie isn’t much help.

Thankfully, the warriors work fast, so before long they’re called into the bedroom where a cushioned nest of pillows and blankets awaits them. Fenris motions for Anders to sit down in the middle and then tucks himself under the mage’s arm and rests his head on his chest. Isabela sets Fenris’ manifesto in Anders’ lap, then takes a seat near Fenris. Merrill and Mo snuggle in near her. Aveline sits on Anders’ opposite side, Donnic and Carver tucking themselves in near her. Varric sits down near them with Cole using his lap as a pillow. Ariwen and Shadow find their way into Merrill and Fenris’ laps, and the remaining cats tuck themselves in wherever they can fit. Siren trots up and yells at Anders until he picks her up.

“Okay everybody, scoot in closer! This isn’t a proper snuggle pile until everyone is touching Blondie,” Varric declares. Everybody complies, leaning in and reaching out (careful not to disturb any cats or foxes who think they’re cats) until Anders is surrounded in a protective bubble of comforting touch.

He immediately dissolves into tears, clutching both Fenris and Siren to his chest until the cat gets irritated and leaves him to sob into his partner’s hair. Merrill bursts into tears with him, earning her gentle pats from Mo and Isabela.

Eventually, Anders’ tears fade (and Merrill’s fade with them), and he touches the cover of Fenris’ manifesto in progress and looks around at his friends – his family – and says, “I don’t know why we thought we could just… walk right back into Kirkwall and restart our old life as if nothing ever happened. I… just wanted my old life back. I guess that was too much to ask.”

“You’ve got us, Blondie,” Varric pats his knee.

“In your old life, we couldn’t stand each other,” Fenris points out.

“Yes, I enjoy your company far more now,” Merrill agrees.

“And you have a lot more cats, now!” Mo adds.

“We can’t bring back the past, Anders,” Aveline squeezes his shoulder, “but we can make the future just as good, if not better.”

Anders sniffles and forces a smile, “Thanks. You’re all so good to me. I can’t… I can’t believe how lucky I am.” He hugs Fenris close and melts into the cuddle pile. “I think Justice is having an even worse time than I am, so I’m gonna let him get some hugs, even if he thinks he doesn’t need them.” He relinquishes control of his body and Justice’s familiar blue glow emanates from his eyes.

“Hello, Justice,” Fenris kisses his cheek.

“We hear you’ve been having a rough time,” says Merrill.

“Sparky says you need a nickname, so hey Nightlight!” Varric greets.

“I do not need a nickname,” Justice declares, though his body language seems more flustered than genuinely offended.

“Too bad. Take it up with Sparky. You’re Nightlight, now,” the dwarf laughs.

“I suppose I could get used to a nickname. Nightlight…” he mulls over the nickname, a faint smile on his lips.

>>I knew he’d like it!<< Indie preens proudly to Mo.

“Did you want to work on our manifesto with me, darling?” Fenris asks, his voice soft and sultry.

“Our?” Justice asks.

“That’s what it is, is it not?” Fenris asks. “You do a lot more than just transcribe for me. You’re helping me write it. It’s ours.”

Justice practically beams, “Our manifesto… Yes. I would love to work on that.”

Isabela snickers, “This is beginning to sound suspiciously like foreplay. Do you want us to stay, or…?”

“I… would appreciate the extra company, tonight,” Justice says, blushing furiously. “Platonic… company.”

“We promise not to make things weird,” Fenris laughs.

“Can I help?” Cole asks, sitting up to peer curiously at the book.

“I, for one, would welcome your input,” Justice says, then looks to Fenris.

“I don’t see why not,” the elf agrees.

“I’ll make tea!” Merrill stands up and claps excitedly.

“Anybody care for a game of cuddle pile Wicked Grace?” asks Isabela. “It’s like regular Wicked Grace, except we have to whisper so we don’t disturb the manifesto-writing.”

“And we’re not in a circle, so everyone can see each other’s cards?” Mo quirks an eyebrow.

“Added challenge! You just have to be really good at hiding your cards,” Isabela winks.

“Sounds terrible, I’m in!” Varric laughs.

“I’ll get some cards while the tea steeps!” Merrill offers before bouncing off towards the kitchen.

“You’re all ridiculous,” Aveline shakes her head fondly.

“Come on, join us!” Donnic urges. “You’ve got nothing better to do.”

Aveline lets out something between a sigh and a chuckle, “Alright, I suppose you’re right.”

Justice looks around at them all gathered around him, tears gathering in his eyes. “You’re all staying here for… me?” he asks. “Not just Anders? Me?”

“Course we are, Nightlight,” Varric shoots him a grin. “You’ve been with us as long as Anders has, haven’t you?”

“It just took us longer to get to know you because you spent most of that time hiding in the back of Anders’ head and only coming out to have the occasional meltdown,” Mo points out.

“But you’ve really grown on us,” Isabela drapes herself across the pillow pile he’s leaning against. “Especially after you pulled that giant stick out of your ass during our adventures in Rivain with your Warden friends.”

“We’re not going anywhere until you’re ready for us to leave,” Aveline assures. “You’re family.”

“Well then,” Justice takes a deep breath and blinks back tears, “I am honored to be a part of such a good family. You all have my thanks.”

#anders #justice #hawke #justfenders #fenris #varric #cole #mo hawke #individuality the spirit #merrihawkebela #aveline x donnic #and everybody else #nuri writes #da drunk writing circle

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dismalzelenka · 3 years

Note

For DADW: "Either way you choose you cannot win" for Handers. "I choose to not understand these signs" for Nanders.

Played around with some more canon divergent Journeyverse AU 😌 first @dadrunkwriting prompt I've taken in probably three years and it goes absolutely nowhere and also the prompt has been VERY loosely interpreted but here we are 🥂 bottoms up kiddos

“Either way you choose, you cannot win,” Fenris hissed.

“We are far past the point of winning,” Anders shot back.

Hawke rubbed her eyes with her palms. She was mostly concerned about the fact that they were still in the Deep Roads, and she was being completely honest, she was only half paying attention to the argument unfolding in front of her. It happened enough; she already knew how this would play out. They'd yell it out and then reluctantly slink back and apologize and everyone else would breathe a sigh of relief for some fucking peace and quiet. It was positively formulaic at this point.

She was far too preoccupied with other matters today: namely, the Grey Warden archer carefully fixing the fletching on his arrows at the edge of camp.

His name was Nathaniel. He'd served with Anders in Amaranthine.

They'd been lovers.

Quite frankly that last part bothered her less than she'd have expected, but beneath the faint prickling of jealousy that wove its way beneath her skin whenever he and Anders locked gazes, there was far more fascination on her part than anything else. The secrets were what ate away at her more than anything else, but she'd grown up being taught the importance of keeping them enough to let well enough alone.

It helped that he was easy on the eyes.

“Is something the matter, my lady?” he said quietly.

“Just — Hawke,” she croaked. “I'm not a — it's just my — Hawke is fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine. I'm — going to go over there.” She pointed vaguely in the opposite direction and wandered that way immediately.

Alright, with a voice like that, she was pretty sure she couldn't blame Anders one bit, she decided with a huff. She kicked a stray piece of stone and watched it bounce down the edge of an overhang into the darkness below.

Sure hope that didn't awaken something.

“You alright, Sparkles?” Varric's voice floated over her as she scuffed her boot into the stone.

“I would be if you'd stop calling me Sparkles,” she shot back automatically.

He laughed, a hearty sound from the center of his chest. “Trust me, you'll like the alternatives I came up with even less.”

“Try me,” she muttered.

—

She'd been beginning to nod off against the rather large rock she'd slumped against when someone shook her awake by the shoulder. “Are you alright, love?”

Why did everyone keep asking her that?

“Just tired,” she mumbled automatically. Maybe if she convinced enough people, she'd start believing it herself.

“Have you even eaten yet?”

“Why, were you too busy picking fights to notice anything else around you?” Ouch. That wasn't fair, and she winced the second it came out of her mouth. She squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep breath. “Sorry. I'm — I didn't mean that. This place makes me jumpy. I don't know how he stands it.” She jerked her head at Nathaniel, casually reading something by the firelight. She was babbling and she knew it, but she was too wound up to make herself stop.

“Journey. Breathe.” Hands on her shoulders, gentle touches drawing her back to reality. “I'm fairly certain the Deep Roads could make an arse out of Andraste herself.”

“Are you so smitten, that I could insult you to your face and you would still compare me to Andraste?” she teased as she tipped her head back and finally met his eyes.

“Keep looking at me like that and I'd let you get away with a lot more than insults,” he breathed before planting a kiss on her forehead and pulling her to her feet. “And you haven't eaten, have you,” he said finally with a flat stare.

“Is that a statement or a question?”

“It's a very exasperated healer who doesn't wish to see the light of his life waste away into nothing before we see daylight again.”

“You're certainly one to talk,” she grumbled, but she let him lead her back to camp anyway with minimal complaint. “Light of your life, you say?” she prodded with a grin when he thrust a bowl of beans into her hands. “What colour?”

“Hmm.” He paused thoughtfully. “D’you know the moment you open your eyes in direct sunlight after a night of drinking so much you forget your own existence?” His grin broadened. “That colour.”

She smacked him on the chest in offense. “Prat,” she snorted.

She trailed off when she looked up and saw Nathaniel watching them with an odd expression on his face. Anders cupped her face between his hands. “I'm with you,” he said firmly. “Past be damned. This is just a favour for an old friend. Nothing more.”

She didn't know how to respond to that, so she just squeezed his hand and left it alone.

—

It was impossible to mark the passage of days in the Deep Roads; Hawke awoke from a markedly troubled sleep and helped tear down the camp in exhausted silence. The entire place reeked of death and rot tinged with the sickly sweet scent of something that wanted to be enticing but managed to land well on the other side of foul. It reminded her of her first trip into the Deep Roads, and of her less than glamorous voyage to Kirkwall before all of this ever began.

“Where did you learn how to fight?” Nathaniel asked curiously after a skirmish with darkspawn left her winded and depleted enough she managed to knock back an entire lyrium potion without gagging. Sweet, metallic, and unnaturally cold as it slipped down her throat like distilled sweat. The taste still made her shudder even as she stuffed the bottle back into her pack.

“My father taught me,” she said with a grimace. She spat the last of the taste onto the ground. “Ugh. Awful stuff.”

“Was your father also an apostate?”

“Of course not. The Circle gave him permission to traipse about the countryside with a wife and three children. Sometimes they sent Templars after him, but only as a friendly little game.”

“I'm choosing to interpret that as a joke that wasn't at my expense.”

“So you're an idiot and a poor comedian.”

He snorted. “And you're remarkably short tempered for a Champion.”

“You didn't think I killed the Arishok with my winning personality, did you? I'm sorry to say you're going to be awfully disappointed.”

“You're working so hard to win me over,” he said dryly. “And here I've been told I'm quite likeable beneath the scowl.”

“Is that so?” She squared her stance in front of him and planted her hands firmly on her hips with a smirk. “What happened to the last person who tried to win you over?”

His gaze flickered ahead of them to Anders as his expression darkened. “I watched him die,” he muttered. He took a deep breath. “We're falling behind. We shouldn't linger.”

#dadrunkwriting #f!handers #past nanders #eventual nahanders #this is probably my least developed AU of the three of them #weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

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protect-him · 3 years

Note

high school (or college) popular kid/nerd au for Fenris, with either of them being the nerd or the popular kid (I THINK it could work either way)!

Thank you so much for the prompt! I so badly want this to be a WHOLE fic, but I don't have the time right now, so I hope you enjoy this little piece I wrote for you! I love these two so much! It really could work either way, and I would so happily read both ways, because they are both so smart. I went with Fenris being the popular kid, because I can totally see Anders as the slightly awkward but rebellious nerd who kind of wants to be accepted, but he's also okay with being who he is.

For @dadrunkwriting

Anders ran a hand through his hair. It had gotten long over the summer, and he’d decided not to cut it, despite knowing that some of his classmates might make fun of him, but they already did that. He liked his hair, so screw them. His first class was English, and he slipped in to take a seat near the front. Garrett Hawke was in his class, and gave him a smile before he went to take a seat next to Isabela. They had started dating at the end of last year, and it appeared they were still together. The classroom filled up. Anders knew almost everyone, but a few minutes before class a new guy showed up. Anders couldn’t help but stare for a minute. The newcomer was an elf with smooth olive skin and pale discolorations on his throat and arms which rather added to how gorgeous he was more than anything else. His hair was silver-grey and his eyes were a stunning green.

Two weeks later, it was clear that Anders was still the “nerd” to everyone else. His longer hair had been the butt of a few jokes, but not as many as he’d feared. The new guy, whose name was Fenris, was gorgeous, and Anders was smitten. Fenris had quickly become popular among Anders’ classmates though, and Anders hadn’t said much more than ‘hi’ to him. Fenris was not very talkative, and seemed more to put up with people crowding around him than enjoy being the center of attention.

By the time their first set of big tests came around, Anders had a routine of being mostly ignored during the day, teased a bit during lunch and in the halls, and then retreating to the library for his study hour to hide and work on his homework before heading home.

He was surprised one day to find his usual library place occupied, and by Fenris, no less.

“F-Fenris, hi,” Anders said, startled to see the popular kid sitting here alone in his alcove.

“Anders,” Fenris said. He had a couple textbooks on the small table, and a second chair was pulled up next to him.

Anders was about ready to turn and go, but something kept him from running immediately.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Fenris said. Was he… blushing?

“Sure.”

“I wanted to ask for your help,” Fenris said.

“With?”

“Studying.”

“I mean, I can try to help,” Anders said, dropping his bag on the table. “Anything in particular?”

“I am most worried about our literature test,” Fenris admitted.

“English? You read the books right?” Anders asked, dropping into the empty chair.

“To be honest, not really,” Fenris said. “English is not my… first language.”

“Wait, really? Where are you from?”

“I was raised in Tevinter,” Fenris said. “I can read English, but not very well yet.”

“Well, I guess we can review the books we’ve read so far,” Anders said. He pulled a strand of hair out of his face, nervously tucking it behind one ear. “It might take a while, though. I tend to talk too much about books.”

“I don’t mind,” Fenris said. “Perhaps we could meet after school, as well, to study.”

“Y-yeah, we could do that,” Anders said. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Fenris, the hot popular new kid, was talking to him, and had sought him out in his hideout to ask him for help.

“We could meet at the all-night diner?” Fenris offered. “The food is pretty cheap, and we can stay late if we need.”

Anders had a dream. It was a stupid dream. A silly daydream, rather. Of having a late-night date at the Hanged Man diner.

“I would love that,” he said, unable to hide the blush that was rushing across his face.

Fenris smiled at him, oh Maker that smile, and pushed aside his physics textbook to open their English textbook.

“May as well get started now, though, right?” He said. “Perhaps we can read together as well? I am slow, but perhaps you can help me?” The cautious hope in Fenris’ eyes made Anders’ heart skip a beat.

“Oh, oh yes, of course,” Anders stammered. “Let me get out some paper and write out all the books we need to review first.”

“Thank you, Anders,” Fenris said, offering his pencil to Anders before he had a chance to dig through his backpack for one. “I am not sure why, but I feel like I can trust you. You actually seem to listen when someone talks to you.”

“I… thanks,” Anders said. “I like listening to you.”

Fenris laughed softly at that, and Anders thought he might just swoon a little. His laugh was just so smooth and melty.

“You alright?” Fenris asked. “You seem a little tongue-tied.”

“I was a bit surprised you came to talk to me,” Anders admitted. “Most people just make fun of me.”

“Most people are boring,” Fenris said, shrugging. “I like you, you’re smart, and you don’t care what they think.”

“Well, you’re smart too,” Anders said, regaining a little confidence. “I’m glad you came to talk to me.”

“Me too,” Fenris said, flashing Anders another smile as he pushed his textbook between them.

Anders leaned in and their shoulders brushed. Anders’ hand trembled as he scribbled the titles of the books they had read so far. Fenris was next to him, and they were meeting up later to study. Anders had a feeling this was going to be his best school year yet.

#fenders #fanfiction #my writing #protecc writes #dadwc tag #dadwc fills

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sinsbymanka · 4 years

Note

Female Hawke/Varric Tethras + kiss prompt 'on a scar' and it's one of Hawke's scars? :3

Thank you for the prompt @serphena!! For @dadrunkwriting and in honor of my Varricmance March Madness...

The Crossbow Goes or I Do

Words: 2,104 Rating: Teen Chapter 1/1 Additional Tags: Pre-Relationship, They did their pining, ten years of it apparently, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Mutually Unrequited, Friends to Lovers, Past Bianca Davri/Varric Tethras, Hawke is a menace, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Flirting, Banter, POV Varric Tethras, Varric Tethras' Chest Hair, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Elodie Hawke is a menace that fits just right into Varric's life and keeps him on his toes. After The Incident with misfiring Bianca, Varric knows he'll let her get away with anything....

...except it's hard to let her get away with leaving.

Read on AO3

Varric doesn’t know how The Incident happened.

Well, that’s not strictly accurate. He knows Hawke the way he knows the best ways to sneak around the Guild Hall, where to purchase the good ink, and how much it’ll cost to bribe Corf when Rivaini gets carried away. He’s well aware of what she gets up to when she’s unsupervised.

Hell, usually when she’s supervised too. The woman is a force of nature and they’re just along for the ride.

What does surprise him about The Incident, as it’s known forever after, is how quickly it happened. He swears up and down every time it comes up in conversation afterward he only looks away from Hawke for a moment. One second, he’s peering down at the short story that eventually became his bestselling Hard in Hightown series, the next…

The sound of a bolt rattling into Bianca’s chamber, the whoosh of another flying through the air, followed quickly by his large, ornate, absolutely atrocious dressing mirror shattering into a million pieces.

He’s better off without it. Honestly, the most upsetting part of the whole sequence of events is that he isn’t holding Bianca.

Varric doesn’t look up from his papers. The room is completely quiet.

“Hawke.”

“Varric.”

He appreciates the deadpan delivery of his name. He really does. Odd how quickly Hawke wormed her way into that special, stupid part of his heart that forgives almost anything. She’s barely off the boat at this moment, fresh faced and lively if a bit too hungry looking.

He’s known her for a few months. And, bizarrely, he feels like he’s known her all his life.

“That sounded like Bianca,” he observes, as if he wouldn’t know the way Bianca sounds anywhere.

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” Hawke chirps. “Somebody told me that Bianca is a delicate, complicated lady who can only be fired by one specific dwarf who was trained in her secrets by an Antivan Crow whose life the dwarf saved.”

He finally looks up to take in the damage. Mirror shattered, bolt in the wall behind it, and Hawke standing shamelessly in the middle of the room cradling his crossbow.

“Somebody also told you not to touch her,” he adds pointedly.

Hawke grins from ear to ear. “We’ve already established somebody is full of shit.”

He discards his journal and glides back across the room, arms out and a carefully maintained disgruntled look on his features. “Come here, beautiful. What’d she do to you?”

Hawke takes a step back, eyes widening in clear afront. “What did I do to her? Varric, she’s drawn blood!”

“I told you she’s a sensitive lady. Difficult to handle. Little rough around the edges.”

“She’s a menace Varric.” Hawke relinquishes the crossbow and examines her fingers with a wrinkled nose. On her left ring finger is a nice cut, blood welling and dripping down her palm. “Look what she did!”

There’s a smear of crimson on the trigger. He wipes it away with his shirt sleeve. “You got your fingers stuck in the gears. She taught you a lesson about respecting other people’s property.”

“It’s going to scar!”

“Let me send an urgent note down to Darktown for Blondie. He’ll be thrilled to come stitch together your papercut.”

She laughs and puts one palm on the curve of her hip, leaning into his space. “I’m telling you Varric, the crossbow goes or I do.”

Something lurches in his stomach, a hint of fear he doesn’t quite have a name for, a bit of knee jerk panic at the thought of losing the last bit of her he truly has. But Hawke’s joking, Hawke is always joking, he can see the sparkle in her blue eyes and the twitch at the corner of her lips.

He lets his own tip up in the same playfulness. “You better clean up this mess before you go.”

She sighs in defeat and plops her finger between her pink lips, sucking on it thoughtfully while she looks at the chaos she’s caused. Varric spends a second too long examining the way her cheeks hollow around her finger.

He’s only a man, after all, no matter how taken he is.

“How much bad luck is it to break a mirror again?” she asks.

Varric doesn’t believe in human superstitions, or much of anything beyond the worth of his coin or the power of a well-loved lie, but he answers her. “Seven years at least. And just in time for our expedition too.”

Another moment of silence. Then one single, elegant curse. “Bollocks.”

Somehow, Varric gets stuck with the job of keeping Hawke in bed.

Privately, he thinks Blondie must be out to get him for humiliating the mage in more than one card game. Otherwise Varric wouldn’t get saddled with the most impossible job in Kirkwall. Their newly crowned Champion, and what a laugh that is, sits in her opulent bed wearing nothing but the rattiest shirt he’s ever seen. It’s so large it hangs off one freckled shoulder.

Varric wonders if it isn’t one of Carver’s old hand-me-downs. It’s better than thinking Hawke was plucking her nightclothes out of some moldy trunk in Lowtown, anyway.

Her icy eyes glare daggers into him from where she’s propped against the headboard. “Varric, if you don’t help me out of this bed I will chop Bianca into firewood.”

“Remember what happened the last time you got into a tussle with Bianca?” Varric asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I still have the scar!” she protests, trying weakly to push herself up off the bed. The covers slip, revealing the bandages wrapped around Hawke’s waist. Before Anders got his hands on her, bandages like those were the only thing holding Hawke’s guts inside her.

Varric knows. He put them on.

“You’re gonna have a better one now. Comes with a heroic story and everything.” A story where Varric stands, clutching his crossbow, helpless and afraid as a sword pierces Hawke’s body and hoists her off her feet. A story where she summons a fistful of fire to smother the Arishok as she’s impaled on his blade.

Varric’s still covered in a cold sweat and it’s been four days. Andraste’s ass, what would he have done if…?

But it’s not worth thinking about. He can’t face it in this bright bedroom, with Hawke and the mutinous gleam in her eyes. She swings them from his face to the window, her expression wistful.

It tugs at his heartstrings, it really does. Hawke has barely spent a night in this mansion in Hightown since they dragged Leandra’s body from the monster’s pit and held a quiet, solemn funeral at the Chantry. She bunks at a spare cot in Anders’ clinic, crashes on the moldy old chaise in Fenris’ mansion, falls asleep in Merrill’s bed while Daisy sits in front of her damned mirror all night.

But, more often than not, she’s in Varric’s bed and he’s in his armchair. Or she falls asleep in the armchair and refuses to be moved. Varric should complain, it’s ridiculous that he’s sharing one suite of rooms while she’s got a whole damn house, but he doesn’t. He can’t.

He knows what it’s like to live in a mausoleum to the dead.

In truth, Hawke has not come home to stay since it stopped being a home, and now she’s trapped there with her guts shoved back in and a title she could care less for.

“Play a game of Diamondback with me,” he cajoles. “You win, I’ll risk my chest hair and get you into the garden against the doctor’s orders.”

Hawke bites her lip and considers his offer, narrowing her eyes. “You cheat.”

“And if you pay attention, you may learn something to improve your own lackluster technique.” He pulls the cards from his pocket and hops up, in a painfully undignified fashion, onto her ridiculously high bed. The action brings a spark of humor to her gaze.

“I won’t be distracted by your ridiculous cleavage today, serah,” she teases, watching him shuffle the cards. In the brief moment of silence, Varric catches the way she runs her thumb over her finger, tracing the small silver scar Bianca left all those years ago. It’s a habit he’s noticed with fondness when she’s plotting, and it should worry him to see her scheming…

But honestly, he’d rather have her scarred and scheming than not have her at all.

They stand on the docks with the world on fire around them when Varric finally runs out of things to say.

There’s a joke here... somewhere. He struggles to find it while Hawke stares over his head at the ruined landscape of Kirkwall. He could say something about how she sure knows how to make an exit, but the thought of her exit sticks in his throat, deep in his chest.

Kirkwall without Hawke makes no sense. Varric without Hawke makes no sense, and when did that happen?

She’s leaving and he’s staying. It’s what they need to do. She’ll be free as a bird to ignite the revolution she’s become the figurehead of, thanks to Blondie, and he’ll be here to confuse and confound the authorities while he tries to put his home back together.

But, somehow, it feels like his home is about to get on Isabela’s ship.

“Look on the bright side, Varric.” He looks up into Hawke’s face. She’s got her best Champion smile plastered on, the one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ve almost burned through those seven years of bad luck, right?”

The mirror. Her face without the wrinkles of worry at the corner of her eyes, on her forehead, Bianca in her arms and a smile on her face. Varric’s chest constricts painfully.

The Hanged Man is gone. Hawke is leaving. All he’s got is Bianca on his back and a pile of trouble again.

“You’ll always have the scar though,” he jokes weakly.

She looks down at her hands. Varric wonders if she can see blood on them, even though she’s done everything she could have. The scar from her run in from Bianca is merely a thin white line across her finger, but his eyes go there immediately.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but it feels right to snatch that hand out of the air. Long fingers curl immediately over his leather gloves and her blue eyes flick to his face.

It’s a bad idea, but he’s too committed to stop now. He brings her knuckles to his lips like she’s a fairytale princess instead of the biggest menace he’s ever known, like he’s a knight instead of a cheating scoundrel. His lips brush over that thin scar softly before he pulls away, looking up into Hawke’s eyes.

She swallows, hard, and Varric swears he sees tears in her eyes behind a watery smile. Varric’s words are still missing, lost somewhere in the rubble around them, but he has to try. “Hawke-”

She pulls her hand from his and drops it to the side. “Well Varric,” she begins behind her brittle smile. “I’ve been telling you for years. That crossbow goes or I do.”

For a brief, insane moment Varric considers slinging his beloved Bianca over his shoulder and into the harbor. It passes just as Hawke stoops to envelop him in her too long arms. He just catches her whisper. “I’ll miss you.”

“Yeah,” Varric swallows his own bitter emotion. “Me too, Elodie.”

That makes her laugh and lightly punch his shoulder as she withdraws. He barely gets a look at her tearstained face before she flees up the gangplank and onto the boat, leaving him bereft.

“If you were waiting for an opportune moment, you have missed it,” Fenris remarks acidicly behind him.

Varric ignores the remark and the ridiculous insinuation behind it as Fenris appears in his line of sight. His love life is complicated enough, after all. “I can afford to let her go, she doesn’t owe me five sovereigns.”

The familiar, immediate refrain is almost comforting. “I’m good for it.”

Varric huffs a small, broken laugh. “No you’re not.”

“You are not incorrect,” Fenris finally admits. The elf casts a look behind him for a moment before adjusting the pack over his shoulder. “I wish you well, my friend.”

The bastard has enough decency not to add Varric will need it. “Watch her back, Broody.”

“I will attempt to do so,” Fenris murmurs, shoving past him. “Although nobody does it as well as you.”

Varric watches him go with a heavy weight in his stomach.

That is exactly what he’s afraid of.

#manka writes #dadrunkwriting #varric tethras #female hawke #elodie hawke #female hawke/varric tethras #dragon age #dragon age 2 #varricmance march madness

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fanfoolishness · 4 years

Text

in the long night (Hawke x Varric)

Written for @oneshallop and also up on AO3. They requested Hawke and Varric on the Deep Roads expedition with some early hints of pining. I hope it fits the bill! 2836 words, Hawke, Varric, Act 1 of DA2.

***

It was dark.

Varric almost roared with laughter at the thought. Of course it was dark. It was the Deep fucking Roads, wasn’t it?

Sure, maybe in old dwarven tales these tunnels were supposed to be awash with red-gold, welcoming light, but every kid in Hightown’s dwarven quarter knew the Deep Roads had been overrun centuries ago. There were still some intact corridors here and there where you could see the magma channels lighting the way as they’d been intended… but there were far more lonely and dangerous areas, where the magma had long ago been freed in cave-ins and cooled into just another kind of rock. Those corridors sat empty in the long-forgotten dark.

The thing was, though, it wasn’t pitch black, at least not where they’d set up camp for the night. They had the torches and the campfire made of magelight to thank for that. The orange-yellow of torchlight, the blue-white of mage-fire, they cast deep and disturbing shadows in the dark. It disquieted him. He almost wondered if it wouldn’t be better to let the lights go out, except that was complete crazy talk.

He hunkered down, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. He could sit on this broken lump of rock, but then there was no back support. Sit on the ground and that would take care of his back, but then his ass would start aching. He decided on the floor, groaning under his breath.

This lead of Bartrand’s better pan out , he thought sourly. He cast a glance over his shoulder, where Bartrand and his crew had taken over most of the lower level. Their torches lit the place up a little more, but the murmuring echoes of the mercs he’d hired were weird and distorted in the high open ceilings. He tried to ignore the sound and the way it made his spine tingle.

A rustle at his side. He nearly reached a hand toward Bianca, but this sound was familiar, somehow. Safe. He followed it to the source and saw the elder Hawke slipping out of her tent to tend to the fire, her hair mussed, her robes rumpled.

“Trouble sleeping?” Varric asked.

A startled look crossed her face, followed by a shrug once she realized it was only him. Shadows pooled along her cheekbones, dark semicircles cupping her keen eyes. “I could ask the same of you. Isn’t your bigshot brother paying for extra guards? No need to keep watch, I thought.”

Varric chuckled, letting discomfiting thoughts about the long tunneling dark fade away. This was a good distraction. “You really think Bartrand managed to convince quality muscle to come along with us? Oh, Hawke, he talks a big game, but I wouldn’t trust him farther than I can throw him.”

Her eyebrows leapt up somewhere in the vicinity of her hairline. “You do realize this doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in the expedition. Or in the Tethras name.”

Varric waved her protestation away. “Bartrand not having an ounce of charm in his body is his problem. I, fortunately, do not suffer from the same issue. Ergo, I was able to find some decent people for this thing. Such as yourself, partner.”

She let out one of those sharp-edged laughs he was beginning to know well. “You do have quite the silver tongue, dwarf, I’ll give you that.” She bent over the fire, concentrating. It flared up before her, dancing bright blue-white against the shadows.

“Thanks,” said Varric.

“I can’t stand it being so dark down here in the lower levels,” she said, leaning against a chunk of paving stone that had been torn from the main floor. “It’s unnatural.” Then she glanced at him. “Er, I mean, for humans,” she said clumsily.

Varric held up his hands. “Believe you me, Hawke, I’ll moan and complain about the Deep Roads as much as any human. Dwarves get some things right, sure -- they know what they’re doing when it comes to smithing and bullshitting -- but living underground forever, it’ll never play right for me.”

“You were born on the surface, then?” Hawke asked curiously.

“Born and raised,” said Varric. “Family had a nasty fall from grace in Orzammar when Bartrand was a little kid. They were forced to run from their fuckups down here up to the surface. My dad died not long after I was born, and my mother never recovered from the move. Not sure if Bartrand ever did, either.” He gazed into the fire. Silver-white sparks leapt from its flames.

“Oh,” said Hawke, first looking taken aback, then her face softening. “I’m sorry -- I didn’t realize.” She could be startlingly empathetic when she wanted to be, he’d noticed.

She sighed, shaking her head. “Family. Dreadfully inconvenient, aren’t they?” Then again, she was just as likely to laugh the big stuff away, just another joke. He liked that about her. Liked it in himself, too.

He chuckled. “You realize Carver is literally five feet away, right?”

She glanced over at her sleeping brother. He’d said he felt claustrophobic, setting up a tent in a closed tunnel, and had instead opted to sleep out in the open. She watched his chest rise and fall for a few beats.

“Carver’s different,” she said, “despite the way we fight. It’s our fighting, right? That’s the important bit.” She flashed Varric a too-tight grin.

Varric thought of Bartrand, all family name and getting ahead, all Brother, you have to take this seriously or they’ll eat you alive. He thought of just how often he’d been an absolute shit of a little brother, and how much Bartrand had really deserved it (completely, most of the time).

“There’s something to that, I suppose,” he said cautiously. “But Bartrand really is an ass.”

“So’s Carver,” Hawke laughed in that bright, airy way of hers. For a moment, though, her face slipped into genuine fondness. “That’s part of his charm.”

Varric snorted. “That’s one word for it.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” said Hawke in mock-offended tones. “As the eldest sibling, I’m the only one permitted to say such dreadful things about my own brother. Which I have before, and which I’ll do again, thank you very much.”

Varric shifted positions, sitting up on top of his chunk of rock, seeing if that would help his aching back. Eh. Not much difference.

A thought struck him, one he knew he shouldn’t say. You never talk about the other twin that way. But that was something private, wasn’t it, something he’d only gleaned from weeks of dropped references in casual conversation with the Hawke siblings. At first he’d wondered if Bethany was a cousin back in Fereldan; a distant relative long-forgotten. It’d taken an overheard conversation between Hawke and her mother for Varric to figure it out, and an aside with Aveline, plied with more than a little ale, to confirm it..

He stuffed the information back down, watching the firelight flicker in her eyes. If she wanted to tell him about Bethany, she’d do it, and it didn’t gain him any advantage anyway, knowing the blow she and Carver had suffered. He held his tongue.

“You’ve gone quiet,” she observed. “You never did say what you were doing out here. Something nefarious, I’m certain.”

“Oh, you know me,” said Varric loftily. “I’m just here for the scenery.”

Hawke giggled, loudly enough that Carter grumbled and rolled over before lapsing into a loud snore. She stifled her laugh, just barely.

“Ah, yes. Creepy empty caverns, moldering ruins, the endless dark. You really know how to show a girl a good time,” she teased.

He shivered. Or was he blushing? He wasn’t sure. Something squirmed in the pit of his stomach.

“Where better than the ass end of Thedas for a little romance?” he asked, in a voice that felt a good deal less smooth than he’d meant it.

Hawke wiped a tear away. “This is why I like traveling with you. You’re right. If Bartrand had been doing the talking, Carver and I would never have thrown in our lot with you.” She let out a long breath. “Ah, thanks for that. I’ve been feeling rather uneasy down here, to be honest. A good laugh’s a bit of a relief.”

“Varric Tethras, at your service,” he said cheerfully. Funny, though, that little bit of disappointment threading through his words. Why was he thinking of Bianca now? He shook his head. “Well, Hawke, you’re not the only one with the creeps down here. I thought maybe keeping an eye on camp would make things feel more normal, but turns out the place is damn spooky no matter where you sit.”

She nodded. “I could see my fire fading through the gap in the front of my tent. Didn’t feel right to let it go out. So I’m keeping an eye on it, for now at least.”

“Seems like you’re getting better at them to me,” said Varric. He didn’t know much about magic, but he’d long noticed that Anders was the one running around throwing fireballs while Hawke was much more likely to somehow conjure up a miniature earthquake.

“That’s sweet of you to say,” said Hawke. “Anders is much better at elemental magic than I am, but since he’s still up surface-side, I figured now was a good time to practice. It wasn’t my father’s strength, either, as far as I know. Or maybe he thought it’d be harder to hide fireball lessons out back of our farm.” She shrugged. “But I’m learning things, much as I can with the Chantry breathing down my neck.”

“Maybe it’s for the best Anders isn’t here. I gather he’s spent way more time in the Deep Roads than any sane person would ever want to,” said Varric. He could just hear Blondie’s complaints starting up in the back of his mind.

“It’s one reason why I didn’t ask him to come with us,” said Hawke cheerily. “Felt sorry for the poor fellow. I’m sure he’s enjoying the sunshine from Darktown. ...come to think of it, it’s not that far off from being down here, is it?”

Varric laughed. “Good point. Though sometimes I swear you can see the sun through holes in the walls there… and it smells better here.”

“Do you miss it? Not Darktown, obviously. Kirkwall,” said Hawke. “It’s been… what, a good three weeks now? It’s the longest I’ve seen you away from the city.”

Varric considered. He’d gone on long journeys before, been away from Kirkwall for weeks, even occasionally, months at a time on Guild business, especially after their mother died. Bianca flitted through his thoughts again, Bianca and intrigue and furtive meetings in shitty towns. But none of that felt right to bring up here, not to Hawke with the fire’s reflection in her darkened eyes.

“I miss the Hanged Man,” he said honestly. “Every time I try to lay down for bed here, I just think back to my bed back in the inn, and think ‘Tethras! You’ve gone insane.’”

“Ugh, you and me both,” said Hawke. “I think I’ve got bruises on bruises from all these rocks. Hopefully we’re not down here too much longer.”

“We can always dream,” said Varric, but the words felt hollow in the dark, and he drew his coat closer around himself.

Hawke nodded, but she seemed pensive. “I suppose,” she said. She shifted, sinking deeper into her robes. “Hmph. Well, as long as we aren’t sleeping, care to join me in a snack?”

“Depends,” he said cautiously. He’d had her cooking before. Carver’s was far and away the better meal.

“I’ve been saving these. For a special occasion, as it were.” She rummaged in the pack beside her. “I figured the special occasion would be for when I absolutely couldn’t tolerate another bite of Lowtown hardtack, but what d’you know, sharing it with a friend sounds all right, too.”

“You actually have something good in there?” Varric asked in surprise. The perishable stuff had all gone a few days ago, and he’d started his grumbling about the salted pork that morning, right on cue.

Hawke pulled free a waxed paper bundle, tightly wrapped. “I may have tried a spell of stasis on these,” she said. “I’m still working on the technique, but I think I’ve got it down for little things like this.” She unwrapped the bundle and a tiny flash of light dissipated from the contents, the spell breaking at its maker’s touch.

“Chocolate almond biscuits, from Camille’s in Hightown,” she whispered, looking downright conspiratorial. “It was the end of the night, that last night in Kirkwall. The bakery was just about to close, but I saw them packing these up off the cart outside. The baker’s girl told me they were getting a bit stale, but did I want to buy them anyway, half price? Carver ate his straight away -- didn’t see the point in them getting staler -- but I wanted to save them. Don’t know why.”

Two biscuits sat in their waxed wrapping, delicate golden squares worked with scrolled lustrous chocolate, stamped with the Kirkwall crest. He’d passed them up a hundred times, sweet sugary nonsense meant for nobles with more money than sense. Bartrand would have scoffed. But they smelled amazing.

“Aw, come on, Hawke,” tried Varric. “They’re yours. You should have them.”

“A good biscuit’s better shared, or at least it’s what my father used to say. Probably so as to keep his children from fighting amongst themselves for the last one, but it’s a nice sentiment regardless,” said Hawke. She shoved the biscuits at him. “Go on, then.”

“All right, all right. If you insist. Only because you’re a powerful mage and I don’t want to get on your bad side.” He reached out and took the top biscuit. It was a solid thing, sturdy in the hand. The chocolate beneath his thumb tip began to melt, soft and silky against his skin.

“Cheers, Varric.” Hawke took up the other biscuit and nudged it against his, then took a bite. “Mmm,” she hummed, closing her eyes. “Just as I’d hoped it would be.”

Varric bit into his biscuit. It snapped satisfyingly against his teeth. He tasted buttery almonds first, then a deep, complex sweetness tempered by smooth bitter chocolate. He paused, savoring it. “Damn. No wonder they charge an arm and a leg for these.”

“Worth every copper,” Hawke agreed, a silly grin spreading over her face as she finished her biscuit. Varric finished his a moment later, regretfully licking the last of the chocolate from his fingertips.

“Thanks, Hawke. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

The fire rolled and flared, almost a living thing, fighting against the shadows. He half thought he could see a pattern to it, a heartbeat, a touch of Hawke herself within the flames.

Silence grew between them, a comfortable, familiar thing like the weight of a good blanket. Or the taste of secret chocolate in the dark. It felt good, until it was broken by a yawn Hawke tried to hide.

“You should get some rest,” Varric said softly. “The fire’s a good one, Hawke. You don’t need to worry.”

“Hmm, but I worry all the time,” she chuckled, yawning again. “But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.”

He felt a pang, though he wasn’t sure why. “Dwarf’s honor,” said Varric. “Assuming you put stock in such things.”

“In yours? Of course I do,” she said. She gave him a tired smile. “All right, then. I’ll get some sleep if you promise to do the same. It wouldn’t do for us to be too tired to carry back our fabulous treasure.”

“Imagine if we’d have to leave it behind due to exhaustion. It’d be a crying shame. We’d never live it down,” said Varric. “All right, you’ve convinced me.”

He got to his feet, his back and ass aching as predicted. He reached out a hand to Hawke and she gripped it, hard, her calloused hand small but steely against his own as he helped her up. “Thanks, Varric.”

“No problem. See you in the morning, Hawke,” he said.

“If you can call it that,” she said. “But I’ll see you then.” She slipped back into her tent, and Varric returned to his.

He stretched out on his bedroll, staring up at the ceiling. The blue magelight -- Hawke’s light -- seeped in through the cracks of his tent flaps. He watched its delicate choreography through drowsy eyes.

They had this. He knew it now in his bones. Bartrand had his team and his map, and that was all well and good, but Varric had Hawke and her people, and he’d put the money on them every time. No matter what they found on this crazy expedition, they’d be ready.

He smiled tiredly. Yeah. He had Hawke.

The tent was still and quiet. His eyes fell shut; his breathing slowed. He drifted off to sleep in the long night of the Deep Roads, still tasting chocolate.

#hawke x varric #hightown funk 2020 #hightown funk #varric x hawke #dragon age 2 #varric tethras

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raindropsbarzy · 4 years

Text

motivation*

summary: he always wants you all the time. he just needs a bit motivation to eventually give in

word count: 1973

warning: just a lot of 18+

“stay with me longer, maty”

Mat smiles tenderly at the name you call him as you pepper soft kisses across his jawline and up to his cheekbone. large palm grazing on your naked back, feeling the gentle skin under his fingertips. your thigh drapes over his naked torso, humming a deep sigh of relief when your lips keep touching his skin.

“I can’t baby. I’ve got practice, don’t i?” he replies, feeling your mouth forms into a pout and hears you huff out a disappointed sigh. “but I’ll be back at 4 and give my girl anything she wants. Sounds good?”

he moves his head and looks down at you, kissing the top of your head. Your eyes find their way to meet up with his beautiful ones, melting at the sight of his messy chocolate hair and naked chest on display just for you to see.

“I think i may have gripped your hair way too tight, last night” you decide to ignore his last question and open up another conversation.

with a deep chuckle, his hand moves to place it on your leg, a little bit under the curve of your ass. “I didn’t mind it last night and sure as hell don’t mind it right now.”

your lips curve into an exciting smile as you sit up straight, setting your elbow on the soft mattress to support your weight. “What do you say we recreate of what went down last night?” wiggling your eyebrows at him,

this time he lets out the loud laugh that you adore, shaking his head at how needy you are for him. “Not going to work, y/n. Coach is gonna kill me if I’m running late. Plus, don’t you have work today?”

“Pole dancing class doesn’t start in another four hours. I gave my students a bit more free time, they’re extremely exhausted from the last week’s practice. And i’ll be watching over my bar at around six. No longer than thirty minutes. Luna is coming with me.” You explain it to him, moving your long dark hair to the back as you shuffle under the blanket, watching him smiling at you as he bites his lip.

You smile back at him, “what?”

He gives you a shrug. “My girlfriend is a pole dancer slash pole dancing teacher, and manage one of the most successful bars in New York. Couldn’t ask for a sexier woman.” planting a wet kiss on your exposed neck. “Not to mention, you’re smart as fuck and play volleyball. I hit the jackpot, eh?”

You giggle at him, moving his head away from your skin and grabs the back of his hair. “I hit the jackpot too, baby. Got one of the sexiest men in the NHL who won the Calder trophy and skate like the fucking ‘Flash’.”

“Mhmm, that’s me” he smirks,

“Sooo” you trail off, reaching up to give his shoulders a firm grip, feeling them tense. “I wanna show my boyfriend a little appreciation--”

“Sweetheart, again. as much as i want you to, i can--”

“By giving you a blowjob”

He chokes mid-air after hearing you. Looking up into your eyes and realizing that you’re not playing around. With your naughty smile and seductively licking your upper lip, showing him that you’re not letting him go before he says yes.

As horny as this sounds, he wouldn’t mind being late to the practice because he cannot refuse his girlfriend to suck him.

He stammers a bit, your eyebrow raises at his attempt to say something. Large palms grabbing onto your naked waist as he pulls you closer to him.

“I guess i can tell the team that i overslept this morning.”

That makes you giggle as you slide yourself down to his pants, eyes never looking away from his. Dipping your fingers underneath the waistband of his boxer brief, listening to the sharp breath he takes before closing his eyes to calm himself.

“Good choice, baby.”

you and mat are sitting at the VIP’s booth, celebrating Lee’s birthday party. Few of the boys come with their girlfriends, drinks in their hands as they shamelessly make out with drunk giggles spill out of their mouths, causing a few cheers to erupt from the crowd. You cuddle with mat as he brings both of your legs and places them across his lap. His palm feels warm when he rubs your bare thigh.

“Sooo Y/N” Your eyes snap towards Grace, who has Ander’s arms around her waist pulling her close. “How’s work?”

“Pretty good. My legs are killing me right now actually due to this morning class” You chuckle, unaware of Mat looking at you as you speak. “The students are doing great. They followed my instructions pretty well. None of them break any pole... yet”

The whole table laughs at your statement as you sip your drink. Smiling and lean your temple against the couch, catching Mat’s inflated pupils looking at you adoringly.

“Ever thought about becoming a stripper though, babe?”

Grace’s question--which a joke--quickly pulls Mat out of his thoughts, tearing his eyes away from you and furrows his eyebrows. You, on the other hand, laugh hysterically.

“Grace come on, stop giving my girl crazy ideas! Her man is sitting here, for crying out loud!”

She shrugs her shoulders and gives an innocent smile. “Why not? Strippers make a lot of money”

“That’s true” You agree, wanting to see how he’ll react more.

He looks over at you, not noticing your playful smile as he points a finger. “Hey now missy, stop that.” And looks back at Grace. “Again, she’s my girl. There is no way i’m letting other men seeing her half-naked and shaking her ass in front of anyone” He snakes his arm around you, pulling you even closer.

His best friend, Tito laughs and shakes his head then say “Such a whipped motherfucker.” causing others to agree and laugh,

But Mat doesn’t care. yeah, so what if he’s whipped for you? He loves his girl so much and there is no fucking way he’s okay with old bald men touching his naked girlfriend. Would probably beat them to pulp one by one.

“Down, boy” you giggle, planting a quick kiss on his exposed neck making him shiver. “Let’s get you to relax, yeah? Come with me, baby.”

you swing your legs off of him and get up from the seat, intertwining his hands as he stands as well. Setting his empty glass on the wooden table.

“Be right back, guys. Need to loosen this one up.”

“If by loosen do you mean ‘fucking in public bathroom’?”

Honestly, you don’t know who says it but it makes you cackle. As a response, you throw a middle finger and hear the table cheer for it.

“Go get some, Barz!”

He laughs, slapping Tito’s shoulder. “i always do, man.”

And with that, you guide him to the restroom through a sea of dancing sweaty bodies. His eyes glued to your ass the whole time you walk in front of him. the small tight black dress compliments your figure, especially from this view. His teeth catch his bottom lip, chewing on it.

“Damn” He lets out, not having any more self-control he pulls you in so your back hits his chest, hearing you yelp.

“Easy, tiger. we almost made it.”

He hums, placing both of his hands on your stomach. Feeling himself growing hard as your plump ass brushing against the material of his jeans. “Can’t. You’re looking so hot tonight, i can’t control it.”

A soft giggle sputters from your lip as he attaches his mouth on your neck. Pushing the bathroom door open and quickly lock it so no one can get it.

“We have to be quick, okay?”

Mat spins you around and lifts you from the ground, placing you on the bathroom sink. Moving his mouth to yours, making out with you sloppily “Quick? I can be quick” He mumbles against your soft red lips, long fingers digging the inside of your thighs and spreading them open.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, feeling eager for his touch. He hikes your dress up, just enough for him to pull your panties down. removing his mouth from you and shift his eyes down. Groaning softly at the sight of your glistening pussy.

“Fuck you’re so wet. Trying to kill me are you?” He breathes out a laugh and a smile plaster on his face.

“Maybe so” You tease, biting your lip as you lean back a little. Watching your boyfriend unbuckling his belt and pull his hard shaft out of the briefs, pumping it fast while you tease him more by circling your clit at a soft pace.

His other hand grips onto your waist and stepping closer. “Move your hand baby”

You oblige and extract your hand from your wet mound. Getting wetter at the view of your boyfriend pumping his long hard cock, grunting deeply before slipping the tip inside you.

The two of you sigh in pleasure, your eyes fall shut as he thrust in the entire length inside you. “Holy fuck you’re so tight.”

When he’s fully inside you, both his hands firmly grip your waist and start thrusting in and out, causing moans to keep falling out of your mouth. His eyes move to look at you. Tapping his thumb against your chin,

“Look at me, baby”

Though it’s a struggle, you manage to open your eyes and find him already staring back at yours. Hissing and moaning every time he thrusts faster into your pussy, the sound of skin slapping fill the entire bathroom.

“That’s it. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you baby?” He praises with a smirk, a loose curl falling over his forehead as he watches you tremble. “Taking me so good tonight. Know exactly how to make me happy.”

“Oh fuck, Mat” you moan out his name, throwing your head back in pleasure. That encourages him to go even faster on pounding your pussy, grunting loudly. “Fuck me so good.”

“Yeah?” He removes a strand of hair from your face and his hand moves down to pull your tits out of the dress, quickly latching his mouth around your nipple. Sucking and gently biting the sensitive area.

“Right there, baby. Don’t stop, fuck!” You beg. Grabbing onto one of his broad shoulders, holding tight to it as he keeps going hard.

His eyes look up to you, keeping your head fall back and jaw drops open due to the ultimate pleasures he’s giving you. Makes him so cocky and burst out in pride seeing his girl writhing under his touch. “Gonna cum baby?”

You can only nod your head and mutters out ‘uh-huh’ as you ball your fists tightly, feeling your legs beginning to be sore and about to reach your high.

“Me too.” He hums out, standing back straight and watches your entire body responding perfectly to the thrusts he’s giving you. “i-i’m cumming”

After a few thrusts, he then groans loudly, squeezing his eyes shut and release his warm load inside of you, knowing you on the pill he feels relieved,

You follow soon after, clenching your stomach as you explode all over his cock. coating it with your cum.

He pants heavily, slowly pulling away from you as he sees you trying to recover from everything. Chest glisten with drops of sweat and breasts still out, noticing the few red marks around the areola,

Chuckling deeply soon as you open your eyes look at him. Giving him a tired yet satisfied smirk, making him lean down and give you a wet sloppy kiss before pulling away completely to help you clean yourself and tuck himself back into his pants.

“I’m one lucky, whipped motherfucker, all right.”

omg this suck i apologize, it’s 2 am from where i live lmao

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