#ariya x zevran

[inquisimer]

I commissioned @snacobie to draw my warden Ariya Tabris and Zevran and ahhhhHHHHH they're so cute. Snacobie was such a pleasure to work with and I'm so happy to have some art of my stabby rogues 🥰

[inquisimer]

Hello Mer!! Happy Friday! For today I give you a prompt for Tabris and Zevran: "You're very distracting, you know?" From the budding romance prompts. Happy writing!

oops, they're fucking 🙈 I would apologize but uhhhhhh I'm not sorry LOL😂 have some PWP for @dadrunkwriting :3

Ariya Tabris x Zevran | Rated E | 1652 words

-

Their inn key lay forgotten in the streets of Antiva City, a casualty of a night of revelry and a bit too much brandy. But neither Ariya nor Zevran cared, fingers and lips tangled as they stumbled up to their room. A pleasant buzz rippled through them both, passing between them with tiny zaps when skin met skin.

Ariya’s heel caught the top step when they reached the second floor and Zevran’s arm looped around her waist, spinning her effortlessly against the door to their room. Her lips were already spit-slick and swollen, but he captured them anyway, insistent and devoted with his affection.

“Il mio corvo,” she gasped, breaking away with a giggle, “Let me open the door. Else there’ll be no inns left in all of Antiva that will take us in.”

“Ah, who could refuse the pleas of such a beautiful woman? And a Grey Warden no less?” Reluctantly, Zevran put more than a breath between them, gently spinning Ariya to face away from him. She knelt, eye level with the lock, and fumbled her picks from the pouch at her belt.

As she lined up the tools, Zevran’s fingers danced along her shoulders. He pulled the tie from the end of her braid and tangled through the newly freed hair. She bit her tongue and tried to concentrate, but Zevran traced a dastardly path up her neck and along the pointed shell of her ear. His lips followed where his hands went, leaving a blaze of fire along her skin, building and building and building until his teeth caught the tip of her ear and a full-body shudder wracked through her.

“Focus, mi amore,” he murmured. He peppered kisses back down her neck, hands looping around her waist as she doubled down on the lock.

Click. “Thank the Maker,” Ariya muttered. She shoved her picks into her belt and spun around. Kicking the door open with her heel, she caught Zevran around the neck and pulled him inside.

He came willingly, of course. With a rogue’s dexterity, he flicked her belt free; her pants hit the floor before the door thudded shut. His fingers swiped through the slick between her legs and Ariya’s head fell back against the wall.

“Zev—“

It was Zevran’s turn to drop to his knees.

“Hold tight, amore.” He pressed a kiss to her stomach through the fabric of her tunic. With his free hand, he threw her leg over his shoulder, smirking as her fingers tangled firmly in his hair.

He licked up her thigh, enjoying how the sensitive skin tensed as he passed over her core and continued down the other side. When he brushed a tantalizing, chaste kiss to her knee, Ariya’s nails dug into his scalp.

“Corvo—“

“Relax, my love,” he chuckled. “When did you lose all of your patience?”

“About three shots ago,” Ariya huffed, trying to urge his head toward her center. “Zevran, please—“

In truth, he was no more patient than she tonight. Zevran surged forward and wrapped his lips around her clit. Her cries were sweet music to his ears and he worked hard for each one, fingers joining his tongue to tease her with shallow dips into her wet heat. She ground against his lips, chasing his finger each time they withdrew and whining, even as he sent jolts of pleasure through her with his tongue.

“Zevran—oh, fuck—“

She came with a loud, keening cry. Her hands held him tight against her and he was not complaining, working her sensitive flesh until she collapsed. Ariya sank to the floor, her leg slipping from his shoulder, her legs shaking with the aftershocks. She caught his face and swiped her thumb through her slick on his lips, then burned it away with a bruising, fiery kiss.

He could lose himself like this. The tightness in his trousers be damned, her lips were sweeter than Antiva’s finest wine, and the soft silk of her hair between his fingers was better than any well-oiled leather. He’d left her breathless and she kissed the air from his lungs in turn.

Ariya was well aware of the effect she had on him. With Zevran thoroughly distracted, he barely noticed her deft fingers in the laces of his trousers, not until she pulled them fully loose and sliced through the buttons on his tunic in the same motion. She splayed her fingers across his chest and pushed, following as he fell back against the floor.

The callouses on her palms bit pleasure into his skin as she traced his pecs. Zevran hissed as she tweaked a nipple, bringing a hand up to grip her shoulder as she bent and dragged a kiss along his sternum.

“Amore,” he gasped, not entirely sure whether he was asking her to stay or continue on. Her legs were a welcome cage around his hips and the thin fabric of his trousers did little to dissuade the pleasure of her heat against his cock. She rocked once, twice, smirking when his hips jerked up against her. The slightest of growls escaped his throat.

“Oh, did you want something?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, giving him an innocent look that was completely undercut by her swollen lips and blown pupils. She sank backward, a delightful torture against his cock, apparently as comfortable as at an afternoon tea. “I was just going to—“

“Do not make me regret giving in to your pleasure so swiftly, amore,” Zevran panted. His fingers dug a bruising grip through her tunic.

Ariya dipped down and caught his lips with her own. “As if you would ever regret any pleasure you offered me.”

Well, she had him there. Still, his hips bucked up as their lips parted around a whine that rose from deep in his chest.

With a dexterity that defied her inebriation, Ariya pulled Zevran’s trousers down around his ankles. Kicking as best he could without striking her, he freed his legs, sighing with anticipatory relief. His cock curved up toward his stomach, hard and proud and leaking precum from their shared affections. Ariya wrapped her hand around it, swiping her thumb across his slit to slick the turn of her wrist as she stroked.

“Braska,” Zevran hissed. He closed his eyes and clenched his abs, holding himself flat against the floor with every iota of willpower he had. She stroked him once, twice, then her other hand balanced against his chest and he felt her soft, wet heat as she lined herself up to take him.

They moaned in harmony as she sank down on him. His fit within her was familiar, the stretch of pain and pleasure together, like the pull of a muscle that’s been worked just a bit too hard. She rocked back against him, fucking herself down onto his cock until he was seated fully within her and their hips were flush.

Zevran opened his eyes and Maker, what a good decision. Her head was thrown back, hair cascading down to brush against his thighs, eyes and jaw clenched with pleasure. With one hand, he traced up her side and caught her breast, pinching her nipple hard enough to make her gasp and flex around him.

“Who’s impatient now?” she smirked. Zevran answered with a roll of his hips and her smug smile vanished in a sigh of pleasure.

“Patience is overrated.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned.” Ariya lifted herself, slowly, painfully slowly, her flexing muscles nearly as enticing as the sight of his cock in her cunt. Then she sank back down and they both gasped, Zevran’s hand tightening around her breast.

There was no more patience in either of them, then. Ariya rocked herself up and back, fucking herself onto Zevran’s cock with the single-minded determination he so admired in her. Their coupling filled the room with obscene sounds as she drove back against him, over and over, chasing pleasure for the both of them.

Through the buzz of alcohol and pleasure, Zevran slid his fingers down to where they were joined. He caught the slick between them and circled her clit once, twice, a practiced motion that had her coming around him again, a high-pitched cry to match the low groan in his throat as she clenched about him.

She sagged, boneless, her forehead pressing into his chest. As she collapsed, he gritted his teeth and stroked up her sweat-slicked spine, holding himself in check with sheer willpower alone

“Amore—“ he finally broke, gasping into her hair. She put her chin against his chest and looked up at him over his nose.

“Take it, corvo,” she murmured, “take me.”

Her permission set him free and he surged, lifting her bodily off the ground so that he could bend his knees and find purchase. He drove up into her soft, pliable heat until his own pleasure crested and he pulled her flush against him. He spilled within her, a soft groan parting his lips as they lay together, panting and dazed and sated.

Ariya recovered her wits first. She pressed a kiss to Zevran’s sternum as their mingled spend leaked out around his softening cock, then laid her cheek over the scars there.

“Do you think they’ll charge us for the missing key?”

Zevran grinned lazily. “Only if we’re still here when they come knocking.”

“Weren’t you trying to keep us on the inn keep's good list?”

He brushed a kiss over the sensitive skin at the juncture of her neck. “As a matter of fact, I find that the inn has served its purpose. I’m sure we could find another. Between both our good looks and your fine, clever tongue—“

“Flatterer,” Ariya snorted.

“Is it working?”

She pretended to think for only a moment, then turned her head to the side and captured his lips in a freshly searing kiss.

“Always, corvo. Always.”

[inquisimer]

mer mer mer hi for Zevran and Ariya, perhaps:

But like earth heaped over the heart Is love grown perfect. Like a shell over the beat of life Is love perfect to the last. So let it be the same Whether we turn to the dark or to the kiss of another; Let us know this for leavetaking, That I may not be heavy upon you, That you may blind me no more.

ro ro ro hap friday beloved💜 I looked at this prompt tonight and it suddenly clicked as exactly the right way to explore Alistair's unrequited love for my Tabris, so here we go :3

for @dadrunkwriting

Alistair thought Ostagar would be his Great Reckoning. He thought that nothing could lay him so low as the loss of a family so recently acquired, the knowledge of Duncan’s corpse half-devoured and forgotten on the battlefield, the isolation that sank into his bones outside of the witch hut in the Wilds. All of the Wardens had them and he would need one so that someday, gray and grizzled, he could swig ale and bark laughter at foolish recruits who were eager to bathe their blades in darkspawn blood.

He thought it would be Ostagar.

As they set off, he anchored himself to Ariya. The only two Wardens left facing the Blight. If he was a bit too clingy, she didn’t seem to mind—surely she was as adrift and uncertain as he and he thought perhaps she clung to him in comfort just the same. She was the dagger in the back of his enemy and he was her shield against their swords. They were a perfectly matched pair.

Until the assassin came.

She’d lost her mind, for sure. Helping the elf up from the ground as though he hadn’t just laid a trap to kill them. Was she crazy? Alistair asked her as much and she gave him such a derisive eye roll that he wished he could shrink into his armor like a turtle.

“Half the people in Denerim would have killed me for less than however much gold Loghain offered him,” she said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

And suddenly things were different. Ariya no longer came to finish off his opponents in a fight; she stood back-to-back with this Zevran, her style mimicking his more and more each day. There was no more crouching about the fire with her to cobble together a stew over the coals—at night the pair of elves snuck off together and they took the same watches, leaving a rather disgruntled and increasingly jealous Alistair with Leliana (if he was lucky) or Morrigan (if he wasn’t).

Still, not all hope was lost. Even if the assassin was warming her bed there were things he could never share with her that a fellow Warden could. Alistair was more interested in her  heart, anyhow. He thumbed the faded rose and stared out into the darkness of the woods, thinking of how things had been before Zevran came and wishing things weren’t so desperate, so she would have agreed to leave him behind.

Weeks, months passed. Despite the pitying looks and thinly veiled derision from their companions, Alistair wasn’t oblivious. Ariya and the assassin grew closer, as time was wont to make them, but Alistair knew the truth. Her eyes were warm when he managed to steal a moment of her time and she fit perfectly in his embrace when the nightmares wracked them both. Perhaps she just didn’t realize the extent of his feelings, he thought one night, a great epiphany. After all, it wasn’t as though he’d told her. Likely she was with the assassin because he’d been open with his affection from the start.

In the end the rose stayed in his pocket until Eamon brought them to Denerim. He just couldn’t work up the nerve. But now there was tension between her and the assassin and he knew the inevitable decline of that misadventure must be nigh, so he seized the moment. When they trudged back in from a day’s worth of running errands about the city, he drew her into one of the empty guest rooms and shut the door.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. She was loosening her braid and Alistair’s breath caught. He so rarely saw her with her hair down and the fiery halo the flickering torchlight gave her felt like a sign that the moment was right.

He produced the rose and spun a metaphor of beauty and faith that he’d only half rehearsed in bed at night. When he’d finished, he looked up with a hopeful smile and held the faded flower out for her to take.

“Alistair…” her voice broke on his name, and not in the way he’d imagined a thousand times before. She bit her lip.

“I—you know I’m with Zevran, don’t you?” she gave an uncertain laugh. “I mean…we haven’t exactly been hiding. Literally everyone else has noticed, trust me.”

“Well, yes, but that can hardly be serious.” Alistair gestured aimlessly, confident in his assumption until he saw how her gray eyes went cold and flat at his words. “I mean—we’re the Wardens, Ariya, he can hardly follow—“

“We don’t even know how this is going to end,” she snapped. “Don’t presume to tell me what can and can’t be done.”

Lithe fingers twisted her hair back into a braid and ran an aggrieved hand over the plait. Just like that, the moment broke. Alistair’s hand dropped back to his side and the rose crumbled in his fist.

"You should go, Alistair," she said around a clenched jaw. "Just....go."

They didn't talk much after that. She left him to stew in Eamon's study, taking Leliana or Sten in his stead. One day they came back covered in blood as usual, but her smile was just a bit brighter, her shoulders lighter than they had been in weeks.

(He wished he could stop noticing such little things about her).

When she finished her report to Eamon and turned to go, Alistair caught sight of the little gold loop glinting in her ear and he slumped so low that the arl snapped at him to stand up straight.

He thought it would be Ostagar. Instead, it was the Landsmeet.

Whatever their personal drama, Alistair had no doubt of Ariya’s capability. Denerim was her home and she was in her element here, so it hardly surprised him to see her standing over that traitor as he knelt and gave himself over to her mercy. Alistair held his breath; justice, he thought. Duncan was about to have his justice.

Except—

“He’s right.” Ariya dropped her blades at Riordan’s objection and stepped away. “Put him to the Joining.”

“What?” In his white-hot rage, Alistair didn’t even realize it was him speaking. But all the Landsmeet turned to stare at him and for once the attention didn’t stagger him. He stared directly at Ariya and she stared back for the first time since that awkward, heart-wrenching moment at the estate.

“Alistair and Anora will marry and rule together,” the elf said. Her eyes never wavered from his, even as her voice carried around the chamber. “For his crimes, Loghain will be given to the Wardens, his fate left up to the Joining.”

For a moment, he was absolutely frozen. King? Marry Anora? Why hadn’t he heard of this plan before? Eamon had been talking about putting him on the throne all along, of course, but he’d thought that when it came down to it he’d had some say in it. Or Ariya would and she would ask him, at the least.

But they hadn’t been talking. And that was his stupid fault, but in the moment he couldn’t accept that. He felt nothing besides blinding anger.

“Absolutely not—“ Alistair stormed forward, close enough that only Ariya and the few closest to her could hear his hushed anger. “What are you doing? This man betrayed our entire Order and blamed us for the crime! He’s the reason Duncan is dead! And you would welcome him to our ranks?”

“We are not judges,” Riordan interjected. “Wardens have historically been thieves, beggars, murderers, criminals of all kinds. The Blight does not discriminate and so neither do we.”

“He’s right, Alistair—“

“No.” He cut her off, heartbroken and angry and desperately wishing he could truly blame either of those things on her. “If you do this, I walk. You all may force the crown upon me, but I’ll sever all ties with the Wardens and they’ll have no claim on me, if this is your decision.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “This is my decision, Alistair. If that’s yours well…you’ve made it, at least.”

And he had.

A week later at the coronation he stared out at the crowd. Even amongst all the nobles, she was infuriatingly easy to spot. Ashy white hair in her usual braid, griffon-stamped leathers freshly oiled and looking like they hadn’t been recently spattered in darkspawn blood.

And hanging off the assassin’s arm, of course.

He scowled at his boots.

“Chin up, Alistair,” said Anora without looking at him. He turned his scowl on her instead.

“It is good that you’ve been disillusioned,” she continued, unphased. “It was hardly going to work out between you two. Besides the political implications, just use your eyes for a moment and look at her. Really look.”

Alistair stared out across the crowd, watched how the assassin looped an arm around Ariya’s waist and pulled her flush against his side. She canted her head to let him whisper in her ear and a smile spread across her face, warm and adoring and just a hint scandalized. He couldn’t see it from here, but he could imagine how the tips of her ears were gone pink as she pressed a kiss to the corner of Zevran’s mouth.

“You see?” Anora said crisply, directly contrasting the warm smile and wave she was giving the crowd. “She is in love.”

Alistair frowned. Of course she was; that was the problem, wasn’t it?

She was in love.

And so was he.

[inquisimer]

Merrrrrr - for this dadwc, with your Warden (Amell, or anyone) from the feastday bingo: Chastity Belt ;)

hndfsjkl HERE YOU GO BLUE

rating: E bc it's smut I wrote smut I guess🙈🙈🙈

wc: 1650

some Ariya Tabris x Zevran, for @dadrunkwriting

and ALL MY LOVE to @burningsoulanchor for being my beta on this and accepting my horrible awkwardness totally unfazed, I appreciate you so much bud💜💜💜

~~~

“This is a truly terrible idea.”

“Hush and help me close this,” hissed Ariya. Leliana rolled her eyes, but couldn’t quite keep the corners of her mouth from ticking up in a smirk.

They’d found the contraption in Denerim, in a dusty back corner of the Wonders of Thedas shop. The metal was long rusted over, but Morrigan had quickly renewed it, more interested in returning to her solitude than what it was or what they intended to do with it.

They’d concealed the phallus-shaped contraption in Leliana’s pack, snickering and whispering behind their hands, shooting conspiratorial glances at Zev and Alistair, trying to plot out how they could use it. In the end, they agreed: Alistair would never forgive them for such a prank. Zevran on the other hand…well, he was as likely to be into it as he was annoyed by it.

So they retired to their separate tents as usual, until Ariya’s lover drifted to the Fade. A soft pattern of snaps let Leliana know that he was out and she’d slipped into their tent with the device, its matching key, and a devious smile to boot.

Not for nothing, Ariya was a rogue and had the deft touch as one. It wasn’t usually her intention, but she could remove Zevran’s trousers and smalls without his feeling it. Leliana restrained herself to a bare snicker as Ariya slipped the metal cage over Zevran’s cock and looped the leather belt around his hips. She tried to keep her gaze clinical, but it was impossible to ignore the sculpture of his muscles, the divots of his hipbones, the trail of golden hair—

“Here.” Leliana nudged a piece of cold metal against her hand: the matching key, which had somehow maintained a connection with the belt for however long and however far it had been passed around. She turned it over in her palm, letting the natural heat of her hand warm the alloy until her nerves were just as steeled. Because it was definitely her nerves she was focused on in that moment, and not the throb between her legs.

With a clasp of her fingers, the padlock which held the cage in place clicked shut. For half a breath, Ariya thought it had worked; then, just as she was about to reach out and giddily clasp Leliana’s arm, long, calloused fingers twitched and circled around her wrist.

“Every woman for herself!” squealed Lana, diving out of the tent, face as red as her hair. Ariya was frozen, torn between the icy panic spreading from her chest and the heat blossoming from where Zevran’s hand contacted her skin.

“Mi amor?” His voice was thick and low with sleep and her stomach clenched. She closed her eyes and pushed a breath out through her nose and willed her heart and libido to calm the fuck down.

“Yes love?”

“Oh that’s good,” he murmured, fingers tracing up her arm and across her collarbone to cup her jaw, his thumb pressing lightly against her lips. “But you’ll have to do better if you intend to lie to the Crows, my dear.”

His eyes snapped open and they were far more aware than those of a man who’d just woken. Her thighs clenched where she was straddled about him and her stomach swooped to the depths of the deep roads; for, rather than being suspicious or angry, his pupils were blown wide and the rings of his brown eyes were rimmed with lust. He traced the length of her fully clothed body with far more perception than perhaps anyone had a right to, his gaze coming to stop where their hips were practically aligned, and a lingering light from the slightly mussed tent flap glinted off the contraption she’d used on him.

“I can explain—“

“I would certainly hope so,” he chuckled and she relaxed all at once; because she knew his moods and she knew his quirks and she knew that that was how he sounded in good humor, not foul. All at once, with the absence of her trepidation, the intensity of her arousal overcame her and she pressed herself against his body, capturing his lips with her own.

Zevran’s hands skated down her sides, coming to rest with a firm grip against her hips. He returned her kiss eagerly, his tongue tracing her lips and begging for entry, which she gladly allowed, their tastes mingling on her tongue like a fine wine, if a fine wine tasted like hardtack and sleep breath. It didn’t matter, though, when she was lost in the feel of his hair beneath her fingers and his chapped lips against hers.

Without warning, Zevran jerked her entire body, so her center was aligned with the metal cock she’d trapped him in. Her eyes flew open, gasping, startled by the motion and the sudden pressure and sensation. There was a devious smirk playing at Zevran’s lips.

“Mi amor,” he purred, rocking her hips gently. “I want to watch you get off like this.”

He released her hips, leaving the decision up to her. His hands clasped behind his head and he quirked an eyebrow at her, waiting.

“I will not touch you,” he clarified, smirk lengthening. “That will be your…punishment.”

Her brain must have shorted out, because she didn’t remember standing, or shimmying her leggings and breast plate off, but she blinked and they were in a pile beside their bedrolls and she was hissing at the chill of the metal against her center.

True to his word, and perhaps for the first time ever, Zevran kept his hands to himself as she rocked against his covered dick, the slick of her wetness increasing with every pass. She keened at the sensation, mindless of the noises that passed through the thin-walled canvas. It wouldn’t be the first time, and Lana was almost certainly relaying the story in horribly exaggerated detail at this very moment. So if Ariya was to be teased mercilessly, she might as well enjoy the moment.

She ground her hips down and hissed as the tip of the metal length caught against her clit. It sent a jolt through her core and her movements stuttered; she clasped one hand against Zevran’s shoulder for leverage and stability. He turned his head to the side, still watching her from the corner of his eye, and licked a sensual stripe up one of her fingers.

Ariya shuddered and her eyes fell shut. A moan escaped between her half-parted lips and she tilted her head back, her orgasm building like a crescendo within her gut.

Just before her pleasure reached a peak, Zevran canted his hips and twisted his legs, flipping their positions so that she was flat against his bedroll and he controlled the pressure against her. In the same motion, he removed the medieval contraption—much to Ariya’s shock and consternation, as the key still lay in the dust near the tent flap.

“How—“

He pressed his forehead to hers, so his words ghosted over her face. “The first—well, second—lesson a Crow learns, mi amor: your skills serve you best if no one else knows of them.”

She started to reply but never got the chance; he swept her wrists into his grip and pinned them above her head. He rolled his hips so that his length swiped against her cunt—the same motion she’d been doing previously, except now it was skin on skin and she could feel his heat and stiffness and—

Zevran covered her lips with his own, swallowing her moan as he pressed himself inside her. Their bodies joined in a familiar satisfaction of desire and she met him thrust for thrust; the tent filled with musk and sweat and every heavy breath. Zevran’s eyes never wavered from hers, watching her face for every micro-expression, every iota of pleasure he drew from her like an expert harpist plucking at strings.

It didn’t take long for her to find her release, not when Zevran read her like a well-worn book and leaned down to whisper presumably filthy Antivan in her ear until she came with a muffled cry, biting the inside of her cheek and pressing her face into his pillow, so she could at least pretend the entire camp didn’t know what she sounded like in the throws of pleasure.

Zevran’s hips stuttered slightly with her orgasm, but never faltered and he fucked her straight through it to find his own, pressing his forehead against hers and stilling with one final jerk of his hips as he came. They stayed that way for several heartbeats, breaths co-mingling and chests brushing slightly until their gasps leveled out into even breathing.

Eventually the assassin rolled off of her and reached for a cloth and his canteen. He cleaned both of them with a tenderness she’d learned wasn’t so far out of his character. A fond grin stretched across her face as he wrapped himself back around her, tugging the lightweight blanket to cover both of them.

“I suppose I can’t leave you unsupervised, even in something as simple as a shop,” he murmured with a chuckle. Ariya’s ears twitched and she pressed her lips together to smother her giggle.

“In my defense,” she said, “it was Lana who found the damn thing.”

“Doesn’t make you any less of a minx.” His lips pressed a soft kiss against her shoulder, then she felt them curve up in a smirk. She lifted an eyebrow that he couldn’t see and waited.

“Seems I was right about the Wonders of Thedas being a whorehouse after all,” he said. Ariya snorted and slapped his leg with half-hearted indignation.

“Watch who you’re calling a whore.”

“Ah, but mi amor,” he murmured, lips right against her ear. “You’re my whore.”

The circle of his arms tightened around her and they drifted off to a warm, satisfied sleep.

[inquisimer]

HAPPIEST DADWC ANNIVERSARY DEAR FRIEND!! How about for Ariya Tabris/Zevran, some sexy sexy hands: [ palm kiss ] – for the sender’s muse to kiss the palm of receiver’s hand.

THANK YOU FRENNNN have some post-DA:A zevran/tabris, on their joint mission to bring down the Crows :3

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

Rivain was more humid than she’d expected. Even with the lightweight sheath she wore—the merchant had called it a dress, but she had her doubts—the moisture in the air clung to her skin like leeches.

She’d be expected to return to the dance floor shortly. Anyone who lingered at the edges of the party too long became suspect and that wasn’t the goal, at least not yet. Not until Zevran returned from his reconnaissance.

One hand smoothed back the wisps of hair that had escaped her updo and she rejoined the foray of swinging arms and gyrating hips.

They’d come to Ayesleigh on a tip from one of Zevran’s contacts. A Guildmaster left his tail end foolishly exposed, as if no one would take advantage. With two of their number down you’d think they would be more cognizant of their personal safety, but it seemed they were all supremely confident in their abilities of self defense.

Fools, the lot of them.

Ariya dipped in time with the music and as she lifted herself upright hands caught around her waist and shoulder.

“You put them all to shame, mi amor” Zevran murmured, pulling her firmly against his chest on the upbeat. His eyes glittered behind a black half-mask and Ariya couldn’t resist pushing up to press a passing kiss against the corner of his mouth.

“What took you so long?”

Her lover spun her out to arms length, then wrapped her back into his embrace. “A dastardly set of pressure plates.”

“I told you you should have let me come with you.”

“Ah, but with such beauty out here, I was assured privacy in the Guildmaster’s quarters.”

“Flattery won’t get you everywhere, Zev.”

“It will get me somewhere, though.” He favored her with a brief flash of cocky teeth. “It’s gotten me here, after all.”

Ariya rolled her eyes and slid between his legs, popping up between his shoulder blades and catching the very edge of his ear between her teeth. With how her body was pressed against his, she felt the invisible shiver that passed through him at that.

“It’s not the only thing,” she murmured against his ear. “And don’t you forget it.”

“I could never.” Zevran’s dagger-calloused palms pressed through her shift and lifted her over his head, spinning her about and then pulling her against one hip. He trailed one hand up her leg and caught her wrist where it rested at her side.

There was a lull in the music, a holding pattern of drums and strings for people to exchange partners or leave the floor. All the while holding her heightened gaze, Zevran brought his lover’s hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her palm.

Ariya’s breath caught in her throat, between her chest heaving at their exertion and the heady, adoring look Zevran was giving her. Her tongue darted across her lips and Zevran’s eyes followed it, even as they both moved to keep in time with the new tune the band was stringing out.

“Any promising leads?” she asked, swinging under his arm and catching his other hand where it flung out to meet her.

Zevran hummed. “A few. We may need…a distraction.”

Her shoes clicked against the tiled floor and it was Ariya’s turn to grin salaciously. Torchlight glinted off her teeth, just as it had been glinting off the daggers surreptitiously concealed in her heels all night. She kicked one foot up to meet her hand and just like that, she had a blade between her fingers. With a fleeting kiss over Zevran’s lips, she released him.

“I think I can manage that.”

[inquisimer]

Happy DWC! ❝  it wasn’t just about needing someone tonight.  it was you i needed.  ❞ for Zevran and Tabris?

happy dadwc friday!! Apparently I'm in a warden-and-LI-waking-up-together mood tonight lol

for @dadrunkwriting

Waking up in Denerim is so different than waking on the road.

Ariya rolls over and there are no cricks in her neck, no kinks in her back. She stretches her arms above her head and strains her feet; her fingers and toes meet no canvas and suffer no chill for leaving the cocoon of blankets and Zevran’s arms.

Her sleep was fitful. Too many months sleeping on thinly covered rocks, she thought, and before that on a stiff cot all her life. She’d sunk into the plush mattress at Eamon’s estate and her aching muscles and bruised limbs hadn’t known how to take it.

Zevran has no such qualms, based on how he’s nestled in the bed. His hair is mussed from both their activities last night and sleep; one stray piece has settled over his lips and flutters slightly with each exhale. Ariya turns in the circle of his arms and loops her own back around his neck. She rests her head on Zevran’s chest and enjoys the beat of his heart against her cheek. The gentle rhythm of his breathing lulls her back toward the Fade and she drifts, not quite asleep and not quite awake, floating in that hazy place where darkspawn and human tyrants dare not tread.

She stirs with the gentle press of lips against her crown.

“Good morning, mi amor.”

Ariya tilts her head back and smiles, leaving a trail of kisses up his neck and under his chin before sealing her lips over his.

“Good morning indeed.”

Now that they are both awake, an awkward tension has thickened between them. Ariya hates it, because things between them have always been smooth and easy. They understood each other in a way their upright, Chantry-going companions could not. The edge that came from living under a constant gaze, be it Crow master or human lord; the rush of a pocket successfully picked or a stab mortally landed—experiences they couldn’t explain or share, but saw within the other all the same.

But then. But then. She caught feelings. And he did too. But the both danced around the issue like children ‘round the Vhenadahl, because they both wanted to give in and also both clung to the easy way they’d fallen together.

And now they are here. Waking in the morning light, their first night together in many, many nights and she struggles to find the words to explain. He watches her as only an assassin can: like he is picking out the details of her weakness and yet lays his heart open to offer her the same.

“It wasn’t just about somebody,” she finally blurts and the tension snaps like a twig underfoot. Words fall out of her mouth faster than she can form them and it’s probably incoherent but she needs to get it out. “I needed you, Zev, and I’m tired of pretending it’s anything less. It’s not fair and it cheapens this and if that’s too much for you then—“

His hand presses against her mouth and stems the tide of words. Her instinct wants to lick his palm but she holds back—neither of them needed an excuse to avoid a serious conversation.

His other hand traced up her side until it reached her face and followed the line of her ear, up and around the pointed tip. She shivered at the touch—maybe she was willing to forgo the serious conversation actually—and then his fingers settled at the lobe, toying with the earring there.

“Amore, amore, amore,” he murmurs. They’re sharing a breath and she feels his words across her face and against her lips.

“It was about you,” he whispered. No hesitation, no doubt. He tugs lightly on the earring. “It was always about you.”

Oh.

Oh.

She surges upward and kisses him with the passion of a thousand suns, somehow also tender and gently like moonlight. I love you I love you I love you, she thinks, and she urges the words through her lips and her tongue and her fingers that tangle in his mussed up hair.

“I love you,” she murmurs when they both pull back, gasping. His face lights up like a mage’s staff and she can’t help but steal one more gentle kiss, wants to taste the delight he’s feeling. She says it again just to feel him spark against her and suddenly she’s beneath him, staring up into sparkling eyes.

“And I, you,” he says. Then, because they cannot stay serious in love for long, a mischievous grin cracks his face and he peppers kisses along her neck and up the line of her ear.

And it is easy again.

[inquisimer]

MER HELLO for dadwc consider maybeeeeee:

Zevran: "There was no one left to save them."

Tabris: "There's me."

HAPPY FRIDAY RO have some doubtful Tabris ft. devil's advocate Zevran 🥰🥰

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

She shouldn’t be able to see smoke from the alienage this far off.

They’d reached Denerim after hours of hard riding, only to find it already decimated by the darkspawn presence. Riordan was on top of issuing orders, directing their motley group of defenders where they’d be most effective. But Ariya couldn’t hear his words—she stood in the plaza, staring south and trying to restart her heart.

A column of thick, dark smoke rose from a location that could only be the alienage. It was far enough to be beyond the river, but too close to be the Pearl, or one of the random alleys that made up that section of the city.

Shianni—Soris—the orphanage—

A calloused hand encircled her wrist and Ariya realized she’d taken half a dozen paces away from the group.

“Mi amor,” Zevran spoke quietly, but the concern was apparent in his voice. “Where are you going?”

“I—“ Ariaya stopped short, because she spoke sooner than the words had articulated. He knew, of course, about Shianni and Soris, about the trials and tribulations of growing up alienage, about the failed wedding and the shattered, traumatic remains she’d left behind when she joined the Wardens. She’d told him, in vulnerable moments over naked bodies and campfire watches. But she still wondered how much he really understood.

“Look.” She nodded toward the smoke, though there was no way he hadn’t already scouted the surrounding threats. “I can’t—what if—they need my help and I’m right here. Fuck whatever plan Riordan has—I haven’t followed the Wardens’ game plan until now and I’m not about to start.”

“Are they worth it?” Zevran spoke evenly, and Ariya would have smacked him, if not for the understanding that he was merely a sounding board, reflecting her own doubts back at him. “The Warden will expect you to seek out the greatest threats. Is the alienage worth so many other lives, should one not be there?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said fiercely. “They’ve been forgotten—or worse, under him” —she gestured roughly at the greasy-haired man they’d recruited against her better judgment. “I can’t let that be their last stand. If the Blight would take my family and spare the world, I’d rather die.”

“Would you? Would you see your family here” —his hands swept across Wynne, where she instructed Morrigan on mass healing spells, to Oghren, who was reviewing their group formation with the new recruit— “reduced to ash at the cost of those neighbors who remain in the alienage?”

“Yes—“ The declaration was out before she comprehended the meaning. That she would sacrifice all of them—Zevran included—for the alienage’s well being.

Ariaya grabbed his wrist as he attempted to draw it back from her shoulder. “Zev I—“

“No.” He shook his head. The anger she expected never materialized though; he merely watched her through even-keeled, expressionless eyes. “Do not break your convictions for me, amor,” he implored. “I would not ask that of you.”

“It’s just—“ Ariya broke off, staring down at her fingers twisted together. No one ever looked out for the alienage. Even within the walls, there was a certain amount of “every elf for themselves”.

Adaia had been the one to teach her that—and to tell her that it was wrong. That they should care for each person, elven or otherwise, to the their ability.

“If I don’t go to them now, who will?” she whispered, bringing Zevran’s knuckles to her forehead.

“No one will save them,” he said evenly. “There is no one left.”

“There’s me,” she affirmed, looking up at him with steel in her gaze. “I’m here—and the Wardens can’t take my heart from me. They can’t have any of my hearts.”

She squeezed his hand with as much determination as she willed into her voice. They would save the alienage and she would save him. The Wardens and the archdemon be damned.

“Zevran and I will attend the alienage,” she declared, voice cutting loud and decisive over Riordan’s idyllic plan. “The rest of you, preserve the city. Riordan, Loghain, if you see the chance—“

“Of course, milady.”

She waited for the inevitable pushback, but it never came. Her lover tugged on her wrist.

“If we are to offer any meaningful aid, we must go now.”

Ariya nodded, steeling herself for the greater horrors she would face in short order. “Lead on, amor.”

“Lead on?” said Zevran. “I wouldn’t dare. Don’t you know it’s rude to lead a woman to her own doorstep?”

Ariya laughed, the chuckles coming between smoky breaths. “Hold on to that attitude, my love. If my father is still alive, it may be enough to distract him from my mother’s influence and my fiancée’s demise.”

[inquisimer]

Happy Friday!! For DADWC, can I request “bandaging/stitching up an injury” for Warden x Zevran?

yes you ABSOLUTELY can

have some zevran x tabris, for the @dadrunkwriting 100-word challenge

~~~

“Sit still.”

Zevran huffs his displeasure. Confined to a chair, for a scratch? His brothers would crucify him. But Ariya fixes him with such a glare he dares not move, except to give her puppy-dog eyes.

“Mi amor—”

“If you don’t shut up and sit still, I won’t kiss you for a week.”

His jaw snaps closed with an audible click, and Ariya gives him a vicious smirk that drastically contrasts with the tender motion of her hands, winding the bandage around his knuckles.

She secures the fabric with a knot and brushes her lips across it.

“Good boy.”

[inquisimer]

happy dadwc day darling 💚 I'd LOVE to see "One character adjusting the other’s jewelry/neck tie/ etc." from the platonic prompts for Zevran x Warden, especially if it features certain gloves, boots, or an earring.

hndfshjkl okay so I'm not sure how much *adjusting* happens here, but it IS about the boots and the gloves

they're SOMFT and anyone who says otherwise can Fite Me™

for @dadrunkwriting under a cut because this got out of hand whoops

~~~

There was something to having possessions of your own, something precious and identifying and grounding, something that had always been lacking for both Ariya and Zevran. Odd, the similarities between being raised in an alienage and an assassins’ guild. In Denerim, there simply weren’t possessions to be had—they were lucky to have food in their bellies or wood to patch the holes in their shack-like houses. And with the Crows, anything that might be perceived as valuable or precious was just a weakness to be exploited.

Perhaps that was why Ariya was so attuned to little trinkets that reminded her of her companions. Small statuettes that made Alistair’s face light up with delight, etchings that bore some religious significance for Leliana, anything laced with silver or gold for Morrigan. She collected scrolls and tomes of fantastic adventures to appease Wynne’s wanderlust and bottles of all manner of booze clinked in her satchel, waiting for Oghren’s flask to run dry. Shale and Sten were a bit harder to read, but she eventually cottoned on to the golem’s preference for anything that sparkled and the warrior’s unexpected affinity for art.

With Zevran, though, she hesitated. Their association was still tentative, fragile even. Not impassionate—the tips of her ears still burned at her companions’ thinly veiled references to her vocality and the distinct lack of soundproof tents. But they knew so little of each other beyond the cords of muscle and curves they’d traced with hands and lips and tongues.

Perhaps she would get him a leash. That would have more than one use, not the least of which would be keeping him from leaping in front of every blade that threatened to touch her.

She found the boots in a chest in Haven. She checked every nook and cranny for loot—as was her practice—even while her companions stood and gawked at the blood-soaked altar. Her first instinct was to present them immediately: Zev’s boots were serviceable, but worn from the copious amounts of walking they’d done, and spattered with the lifeblood of painful memories to boot.

Still, what if he thought she meant something by it? Or what if he thought she didn’t mean something by it? Was he keeping track of all the gifts she’d given others and wondering why she hadn’t given him any? Did she mean something by it? Did she want to mean something by it?

Ugh. She needed a drink.

The boots stayed rolled up and stuffed at the bottom of her pack long enough that now it would be awkward to explain where she’d gotten them and why. They conquered the Gauntlet and revived Eamon and trekked all the way to the Brecillian Forest, and still the boots sat like a stone underneath her provisions and healing poultices.

Then, as if following a script, the solution presented itself. In another chest, a pair of gloves, more Dalish in design than the Antivan pattern of the boots, but complimentary enough that she could present them together as a set. With some luck, Zevran wouldn’t question whether they’d come from the same place or not.

She still turned the words over in her mind as they wandered back in the direction of Redcliffe, wondering how she should broach the topic. With everyone else, she’d gotten over the awkwardness, for the most part. She could just throw something in their laps, bask in the warmth of appreciation, and leave. It really shouldn’t be any different with Zevran, and yet it was.

Or was it?

“Mi amor.” His voice was like warm honey and she shivered in the best way as it curled around her ears. His eyes tracked her as she skirted the edge of the fire and came to a stop in front of the stool where he was sitting. At this angle, her knees were almost even with his and she inched close enough that they were just touching, enjoying how the firelight glinted in his eyes when he tipped his head back to look at her.

“Mi pajarito,” she answered in kind, then hesitated. Her hands fidgeted with the frayed threads of her backpack until Zevran’s rough palms covered them, stilling them with the gentlest of pressures.

“Tsk. There are so many knots in your mind, I can see them from here. Tell me, what troubles you?”

“It’s nothi—”

She broke off when his fingers suddenly tightened around her wrists and he tsked again. He gave her a knowing look.

“It is not nothing, not when it has been spinning your mind since we left the mountains. Tell me, tesoro, so that I may fight your battles with the proper weapons.”

“I have something for you,” she blurted, heat already rising in her cheeks. Curse her father and the easy blushing he’d passed down to her. She tugged her hands from within his grip and focused on loosening the straps of her pack, so she wouldn’t have to look at his bemused smirk and the raised eyebrow she just knew he would be giving her.

“For me?”

Ariya nodded absently. A few bottles clinked against her dagger maintenance kit as she dug into the pack, finally managing to extract the boots and gloves without dumping the rest of the contents on the ground. She thrust the garments into his lap, looking determinedly anywhere other than his face.

There was a brief, oppressive silence, then Zevran gave a bemused chuckle. “You’re giving me…boots? And gloves?”

Her blush deepened. “Yes.”

“…may I ask why?”

Ariya huffed. “If you must.”

The question didn’t come right away. Her chin was still tucked into her neck, gaze trained firmly away from the other elf.

“I have boots. And gloves. They’re quite serviceable.”

“That’s not a question.”

Two fingers pressed against her jaw and she let him tilt her head upward, though she kept her eyes petulantly downcast.

“Amor,” he said, voice impossibly soft. “Won’t you look at me?”

Like metal to a magnet, she couldn’t resist. His smirk had morphed into something softer and his eyes were like pools of chocolate, brimming with adoration and something a little deeper than the lust she usually found there.

His fingers traced the line of her cheek, trailing fire across her already burning skin, around her ear, until he was cupping her jaw and stroking her face with his thumb.

“You look so lovely when you blush,” he murmured. “But I would not have you be embarrassed to speak with me.”

“I’m not—”

His thumb pressed against her lips and she snapped them shut, more to contain her instinctual urge to bite his finger than any desire to stop talking. She watched as he toed off his dusty boots and kicked them aside. His hand dropped from her face as he pulled on the new pair, humming appreciatively and flexing his toes. The gloves were next; he tugged the leather over his hands, bringing them up to his nose and breathing deeply.

“So,” he said, voice carefully neutral and still making her heart thrum uncontrollably in her throat. “Focused on taking good care of my extremities, are you?”

“Well that goes without saying.” As always, in her discomfort she fell back on snark, a shield against any sort of emotion. Zevran tugged her down onto his lap, scooping her legs so they were slotted against each other like puzzle pieces. Her pack thudded, forgotten at his feet. She drew one of his gloved hands into hers and lightly traced the leaves and branches that were embossed in the leather.

“They’re Dalish,” she finally admitted, voice smaller than a field mouse. “Like your mother’s.”  

He flipped over the hand that she wasn’t holding captive and studied the patterns with renewed interest. He turned his wrist so the oblique angle of the fire caught the design; his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“So they are.” Damn him and his composure. “You…remembered that story.”

It wasn’t a question, exactly, but she gave a hesitant nod anyway.

“Why?”

“Why?” she repeated, confused. Her heart sank; was it too much? Maybe he thought she was obsessive. Maybe he would have preferred she sell the gloves to Bodahn and give him the gold.

“It has no personal consequence to yourself. I’m not sure what advantage you gain by preserving the knowledge.”

“What advantage?” Ariya lifted her head off his shoulder so she could pin him beneath her frown, her reservations chased away by incredulity. “You think I have some kind of angle? Zevran, the gloves made me think of you. So did the boots. I thought you would like them.”

She drew away and made to stand, a new kind of hurt bubbling in her chest. For all her concern that her lover would think she was asking too much of him romantically, she’d never anticipated this reaction. Had thought they were past these kind of suspicions, to be perfectly honest.

With lighting fast reflexes, Zevran snaked his arms around her waist and clamped her back against his torso. One of her hands immediately flew to his chest, ready to shove him back off the stump until he deftly caught her wrist and pinned it to her side

“I do like them, tesora.” His breath was hot against her ear and a surge of desire mingled with the anger and hurt in her heart. “Forgive me. Old habits die hard. It is not an excuse, but it is all I have to offer.”

He drew a finger around the shell of her ear and she suppressed a shudder. The leather was soft and starting to warm from the heat of his hand.

“You were worried about my reaction,” he commented idly, as if he wasn’t turning her into a puddle with the slightest of gestures. “Why, if not for this?”

“I—” her anxiety returned full force and her throat closed, cutting of her speech. She closed her eyes and tried to swallow, but didn’t quite succeed.

“We’ve mostly gone on as before, since we started…”

“Knocking boots?” Zevran wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and tapped the heels of his new shoes together. She rolled her eyes and bumped her head against his chin at his ensuing chuckle.

“I suppose I was worried about overstepping in…whatever this is.”

“This is…whatever you wish it to be. I will not ask more of you than you are willing to give.”

“But what of you?” Her eyes searched his face, trying to see past the guarded expression to the depth of feeling she knew must be there. There had been flashes, moments when his walls came down and she saw something more. She wished he would stop hiding it from her. They could use that steady footing right about now.

“Me?”

“What do you wish it to be? I’m not one of your targets; you don’t have to be with me this way. This is a choice we each make. Separately, yes, and then together if we decide.”

He cocked his head and she watched as the guard slipped away and confusion, then realization, then cautious hope played across his face. He pressed their foreheads together; she threaded her fingers around his braid and he held his lips a whisper above her own.

“My heart is already yours, mi amor,” he said. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Be careful with those promises, mi pajarito. Forever is a long time.”

“So it is.” And he sealed the promise against her lips.

[inquisimer]

Filled Prompts

A compilation of which prompts I’ve already written and for which ships/characters/etc. That’s not to say I won’t take the same prompt twice (I will), but in case you’re looking for something original

find the general tag for my writing here

Origins/Awakening:

Sari Mahariel x Alistair

“please, no, just listen to me!”

Fernweh: feeling homesick for a place you have never been to

something in your eyes like kaleidoscopes // takes the saddest part and makes it beautiful

Ariya Tabris x Zevran

forehead or cheek kisses

bandaging/stitching up an injury

one character adjusting the other’s jewelry/necktie/etc.

chastity belt

Solona Amell x Alistair

“H-how long have you been standing there?”

putting an arm around the other’s waist

Sari Mahariel x Tamlen

what nonsense! of course that’s not how the story ends

I swear, I’ll try harder not to miss as much: the tree, or how your fingers under still sleep-stunned sheets coaxed all my colors back.

Ember Cousland x Alistair

“don’t look at me like that”

“My robes suit you.”

❛ i don’t want to understand, i want you to stay. ❜

Kilig (Tagalog): The feeling of butterflies in your stomach, usually when something romantic takes place

Sari Mahariel

if you are lost in your own thoughts, you may find yourself stepping off the path and into the dark woods

Just because you escape one trap, doesn’t mean you will escape the next

Dragon Age II

Léan Hawke x Fenris

“you have bested me, that much is clear”

I’d rather be hurt by you ‘cause nothing’s perfect // at least we’ll have stories to tell

Léan Hawke x Anders

I sense deception to come // honestly, truth and I are never one // 'cause I am the lying man and I have made you my next victim

“I don’t want to understand, I want you to stay.”

Mari Hawke x Anders

whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin

putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up

Inquisition

Neria Surana Lavellan x Cullen

dark things have a way of slipping through the narrow spaces

L’appel du vide: the call of the void, or the instinctual urge to jump from high places

Komorebi (Japanese): The sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees

“believe me. say you believe me.”

“given your history, I should have known better.”

kissing each other to prove there’s nothing there, accidentally proving that there was, in fact, something there

covered with scars I did nothing to earn // maybe there’s somewhere a lesson to learn // but that wouldn’t change the fact // that wouldn’t speed the time

[ hold ]  –  for the sender’s muse to hold the receiver’s muse by the face / neck gently and brush their thumbs along their cheeks   to get them to focus on them

immediately looking at the other after telling/doing something funny in hope to see their smile

a guilty conscience needs no accuser

my robes suit you

Neria Surana Lavellan & Solona Amell & Anders

hope made me stubborn

cuddling in a blanket fort

“no offense, but you look terrible”

“it’s alright, you could never hurt me”

Acacia Trevelyan x Cullen

“I just want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.”

smoke me down like a bad habit // choke you down like i gotta have it

listening to the other’s heartbeat

my own bone crown / sutured and sutured and sure / until like a leaf my / chlorophyll burned / first fire then gold—a metaphor for waking, / a new body’s eyes glint / by pyre light

slow dancing

far away, long ago, glowing dim as an ember // things my heart used to know, things it yearns to remember

Irosyl Lavellan x Solas

“Lock the door and no matter what you hear, no matter what you see, do not open the door.”

"Do you remember when we first met?" paired with "oh, you're bleeding?!"

whenever you’re around, i always seem to smile // and people ask me how, well you’re the reason why // i’m dancing in the mirror and singing in the shower

Misc

Cassandra & Anders -  number one, tell me who you think you are // you got some nerve trying to tear my faith apart

Irosyl Lavellan & Cullen - a conversation you wish had happened in canon

Sari Mahariel & Cullen - “you don’t have to say anything”

Sari Mahariel & Leliana -  “because I care about you, okay?”

Sari Mahariel & Morrigan -  I can't do this without you

[inquisimer]

For the DADWC: Forehead or cheek kisses

hello and thank you for the prompt!!!

pairing: ariya tabris x zevran

@dadrunkwriting

She learned quickly that Zevran was confused by casual intimacy. He took her to bed without a second thought, made her body sing in all manner of ways that she’d never imagined, and never batted an eye. But she kissed his cheek once, when he lingered behind the group for her to catch up, and it was like his brain short-circuited.

It amused her to no end. In the alienage, physical touch was exchanged freely and openly, often because it was all they had to give. That, or a kind word often functioned as nameday or Satinalia gifts, or just the thing that cheered a downtrodden neighbor on a rainy day. In her youth, she’d spent many nights curled between her parents on their deflated mattress, as much for the comfort of their touch as for the warmth.

But that was a luxury learned in childhood, something Zevran never had. It was a survival mechanism, the assumption that any touch had an ulterior motive, or was nothing more than a means to an end. But it wouldn’t be the first time Ariya broke a lifelong habit—Shianni had the healthy nailbeds to prove it.

He didn’t seem perturbed, so she kept at it. A casual brush across his knuckles; a press of lips to his forehead before she rose in the morning; she even braided his hair in a more intricate pattern than usual, though it was sloppy for her lack of practice. Her other companions gave her no small amount of grief about it: Leliana played romantic trills whenever their hands touched and Oghren kept up an endlessly lewd commentary. But Ariya had grown all but immune to uninformed opinions long ago; she would have died from shame in a hovel long ago otherwise.

They were on watch together one night, resting on a log at the edge of the fire’s warmth. She pressed her leg against his, for both their comfort and also for solidarity against the oppressive fog of the Frostbacks. To her surprise, though not her displeasure, he looped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer, fiddling with the end of her braid.

An aimless touch, not to get her into bed, and not to gain her favor for any requested task. Ariya bit back a triumphant grin, though she expected her lover may have sensed the very urge, because his lips curved upward in the slightest smirk.

“Mi amor,” he murmured, and pressed the words softly against her forehead.