Fictober 2018, Day 2: f!Hawke/Isabela

Today’s prompt: “People like you have no imagination.” 
Just a fun little Hawke/Isabela drabble! 

Fandom: Dragon Age II
Relationship: female Hawke/Isabela
Rating: Mature

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“Bels, this book you left here…”

Isabela smirked as her gaze fell on the book in Hawke’s hand: 101 Uses of a Phallic Tuber. “Oh yes! Have you been enjoying it? Page sixty-three is particularly effective, if you know what I mean.” She winked.

Hawke rolled her eyes as she came down the stairs. “Good to know what you’re up to in your ample spare time. You can take this back.”

Isabela looked at her in surprise. “Why? Have you already gone through the whole thing? You were more wound up than I thought.”

Hawke scoffed. “What? No! Wound up? I – why would you think-”

“Oh come on, Hawke, you’ve been staring at Fenris for two years without doing anything about it. Of course you’re wound up. I thought that book could help you out until you find your ladyballs and do something about him. Release a little steam, you know.” She watched slyly as Hawke’s pale skin flushed a bright rosy red.

Naturally, Hawke ignored the reference to Fenris entirely. “If I was wound up – not that I am, at all – my first thought wouldn’t be a book about phallic tubers.” She eyed the book in disdain.

Isabela shot her a chiding look as she leaned back in Hawke’s desk chair. “Of course it wouldn’t be. That’s why I brought it for you. People like you have no imagination.”

“People like me?” Hawke exclaimed. “What d’you mean by that?”

Isabela looked at her affronted face with fond amusement. “You know, people who have others they need to look after. No offence to your mum,” she added hastily. “People with big fancy houses that need looking after, people with helpful-girl reputations to maintain. People with… responsibilities.” She drawled the final word with the same distaste as one would say the word syphilis.

She leaned back and put her boots up on Hawke’s desk. “You forget how to let loose and have fun! That’s what you’ve got me for.” She shot Hawke a winning little smile.

Hawke eyed the book moodily for a moment, then tossed it onto the desk and shot Isabela a coy little smile. “Come on, Bels. What were you really intending in giving me this book? A little hands-on demonstration, perhaps?”

Isabela released a throaty laugh. “Oh sweet thing, you couldn’t handle a hands-on demonstration from yours truly.”

Hawke sidled closer, then sat on the edge of the desk. “Try me,” she said.

Isabela finally gave Hawke her full attention. The Fereldan’s lips were twisted in her customary smirk, but her golden eyes were bright with intent. Isabela enjoyed flirting with the leader of their merry little band of misfits, but this felt like more than fun. More than the innocent kind of fun, at least.

Isabela felt a slow smile creeping over her face, a match for the slow bloom of interest in her belly. She slid her legs to the floor and leaned her elbows on the desk instead. “Is that an invitation?” she drawled.

Just as she’d known it would, Hawke’s gaze dropped to her ample cleavage before lifting back to her face. Then, to Isabela’s surprise, Hawke lifted a hand and tilted Isabela’s chin up with two bold fingers.

“It’s not an invitation,” Hawke purred. “It’s a threat.”

Isabela grinned.

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I’ll probably continue this drabble in the future… ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  

ilikedetectives:

Vows 

written by @pikapeppa, read on AO3. 

I’m just here doing the manips because I can never get enough of Niloy. As usual, expand to see un-cropped version *cough cough*

Keep reading

Omg more beautiful art of my OTP baes! This one is so lovely 😭❤️❤️❤️

pikapeppa:

“I want you,” he blurts desperately. His eyes dart up to her lovely face, and he drinks in the heat of her smile like a parched flower. He gets the sense that he’s giving away pieces of his power with every word he speaks, but he doesn’t mind: it’s Arya Lavellan looming over him, his Arya with her heart in her eyes and her body bared, and there’s no one he would ever trust with any piece of himself other than her.

Slowly she lowers herself onto her hands and knees until her lips are a whisper away from his own. “You’ll get what I feel like giving you, and nothing more. We’ll see which of us has the stronger will,” she whispers against his cheek. She pulls away from him again and he tries to follow, but his bonds restrain him with a stern creak. Her hands are moving, and Rainier’s attention is snared by their smooth and sinuous slide across her body: a thumb across her nipple, her nails across her navel, then the delicate tips of her callused archer’s fingers at the juncture of her thighs. 

– “The Magic Between You and I” on AO3

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@nsfwfrosch absolutely killed it this round with the ko-fi sketches. I’m so incredibly thrilled and enamoured! Thank you!!! ❤️

Source: pikapeppa

Fictober 2018, Day 1: Solas/Elia Lavellan

Prompt fill for Day 1 of Fictober 2018! The prompt: “Can you feel this?”

Fandom – Dragon Age: Inquisition
Pairing – Solas x female Lavellan
Rating – Explicit

Read on AO3 instead.

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Solas tilts his head forward and releases a heavy sigh.

Elia’s hands grow still on his shoulders. “Are you all right? I’m not going too hard, am I?”

“No, not at all,” he reassures. “It is… perfect, actually. No need to stop.”

Her soft chuckle floats into the air, and her hands resume their kneading. “It’s all your late-night reading. You’re giving yourself a crooked neck,” she chides.

He smiles as her thumbs press a firm line from the base of his skull along his shoulders. “You are probably correct,” he admits. “But pain is a small price to pay for knowledge.”

She chuckles again. “You are such an intractable academic,” she teases. She drops a light kiss on his neck, the runs the heels of her hands along the sides of his spine.

Solas groans happily as her palms press into the knots in his back. “You’re enabling my intractable academia with this massage,” he says. “I should continue reading late if this will be my reward.”

He huffs a little laugh as Elia pokes him in the side. “Do you want me to continue or not?” she demands, but he can hear the laughter in her voice.

“I apologize, Inquisitor,” he says. “Please, by all means, continue.” His tone is teasing, and Elia pokes him once more before resuming her careful kneading of his skin.

Solas sighs with satisfaction and adjusts his seat at the edge of the bed. His Dalish lover is kneeling on the bed behind him, and the feel of her knees against the back of his hips is an enjoyable pressure in itself. The nighttime silence of her bedroom is a peaceful lull, and he closes his eyes to savour the gentle working of her hands.

Her touch really is perfect. Her fingers and her palms work in tandem, rolling against his knotted muscles and smoothing carefully along his shoulder blades. Solas breathes slow and deep, savouring the tension leaching away as her hands travel across his skin. With every pass of her palms, his glowing sense of wellbeing rises. It’s an almost palpable feeling – a sense of comfort, of contentment and calm and love. It’s a lovely feeling, so tangible that it’s almost got a colour: a light aquamarine blue…

Suddenly he realizes what it is that he feels.

It’s her. It’s Elia.

At that moment, her whisper drifts into his ear. “Can you feel this?”

“Yes,” he breathes.

Her lips trace along the back of his neck. “You’re always using your magic on me,” she murmurs with a lilt of innuendo in her voice. “I thought I could try returning the favour.”

“I – yes…” he stammers, unable to find a more articulate reply. Now that he’s recognized her magical touch, he’s astounded by the sheer subtlety of it. Solas is familiar with his lover’s magical signature, but the amount of control – and magical talent – that she’s exerting in order to have such a careful effect…

He swallows hard. His sense of warm contentment remains, but it’s joined by another feeling, one that’s considerably more restless and hot.

He shifts slightly on the edge of the bed and widens his legs to accommodate the stirring in his breeches. Of course, Elia notices. “You like it, then?” she whispers against his shoulder.

“Unequivocally,” he rasps, and he feels her smile on his back.

“Good,” she says. Her left palm continues to slide firmly along the length of his back, but her right hand is on the move, sliding around his waist, across his midriff, into his loose breeches…

Her turquoise magical touch trails in the wake of her hand, like a flow of affection and well-being made real. When her magic wraps around the rod of his manhood along with her fingers, he groans with pleasure and longing.

“Elia,” he begs. He reaches behind himself to find her caressing left hand, then takes her hand and guides it up and away from his back.

She takes his cue and snakes her left arm around his neck in a firm embrace, and Solas leans back into the solidity of her bare chest. Her hand is smoothing along the length of his shaft, a sweet firm stroke made smooth by her magic, and Solas pumps his hips pleadingly toward her fist. Elia hugs him from behind, her arm around his neck and her lips on his temple, and he clutches her left arm close, presses his face against her lips, lifts his hips toward her diligently stroking hand.

He’s utterly ensnared. This lovely Dalish mage has captured him, trapped him with her sweet and subtle magic and her gentle hands and her unequivocal love. He didn’t plan on this, didn’t plan on finding a person in this world who would see him and who would help him see in return, and his fortune in finding her now…

His breathing his harsh and deep, as deep as the pool of bliss that’s rising between his legs, and when his roiling climax finally peaks, the bitter reality of his shining fortune crashes over him in a rush that is both exquisite and excruciating at once.

He arches his neck and releases a rapturous groan. “Elia,” he gasps.

She steals his tremulous gasp with a kiss, and Solas threads his fingers into her short raven hair until she pulls away. “Was that good?” she murmurs.

“Ar lath ma,” he blurts gracelessly, and Elia grins. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she whispers, then graces him with another delicious kiss.

He fervently returns her kiss, pouring every scrap of his adoration into the fullness of her lips and the line of her tongue. The love that binds them is both a blessing and a terrible curse, but in moments like this, Solas permits himself a small slice of selfishness.

In moments like this, enfolded in the safety of his lover’s arms and wrapped in the heat of her acceptance, Solas permits himself to forget.

**************

Read more of Elia and Solas here on AO3.

Fenris/f!Hawke: Underpants

I’m not even halfway through my first playthrough of DA:2 but I had to write this little thing. I have a love/hate relationship with Fenris (i.e. HE’S MY TOTAL RIVAL and I’m SO FRUSTRATED BY IT LOL) but I find him incredibly fascinating and also I’m jealous of how he and Isabela are so FLIRTY soooo here’s a little bloop of self-insert fluff.

Apologies if it’s OOC; as I mentioned, I barely really know Fenris yet, so I hope I haven’t pegged him totally wrong.

Read on AO3 instead.

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Fenris wandered into the mansion’s foyer to find Hawke sitting at his table, drinking straight from a bottle of wine.

“Hawke,” he said gruffly.

She looked up at him, her bronze-coloured eyes bright with mischief. “So,” she drawled. “You and Isabela are really on fire these days, huh? She’s all, ‘ooh Fenris, what’s under your armour? I wonder what colour your underpants are?’ I should start carrying a waterskin to douse the pair of you.” She chuckled fuzzily.

Fenris raised one eyebrow as he slowly took a seat at the table. “It’s an entertaining way to pass the time while following your rambling path.”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account, by all means, flirt on!” She took another gulp from the bottle of wine. “Pretend I’m not even there. In fact, go ahead without me if you like. I can stay right here, just me and this bottle – it’s a very cozy bottle, I can crawl right in.”

Fenris smirked faintly. “Hawke, are you jealous?” he drawled. Isabela was a shameless flirt, but if Hawke wanted the saucy pirate to herself, he would gladly back away. It wasn’t like he was serious, anyway.

“Of course I’m jealous!” she exclaimed. “It’s Isabela. I don’t blame you.”  

Fenris’s amusement suddenly shifted into surprise. Wait. Hawke was jealous of Isabela?

The garrulous brunette continued to ramble. “Of course you like Isabela. She’s fun, she’s gorgeous, she’s got legs and tits for days, she’s…” She trailed off, then suddenly speared him with an intense look. “Has Isabela seen your underpants?”

Fenris stared at her with mounting confusion. “Why do you ask?”

“Ha!” Hawke scoffed. “That’s not an answer! So she has seen them.”

“I did not say that,” Fenris replied. “But I wonder why you care.” This conversation was becoming more ludicrous by the second, but now he couldn’t bring himself to end it.

“I don’t care,” Hawke said pertly. “I don’t care at all. Show your underpants to whoever you like.” She swigged from the bottle then blurted, “You could show them to me sometime.”

Fenris gaped at her. And there it was – confirmation of what he suspected she was driving at.

Her cheeks instantly began to redden, but her gaze was as bold as it was brassy, and Fenris eyed her pinkened cheeks with a spark of amusement. She was so shameless most of the time, and he couldn’t help but poke a bit of fun at her. “That’s a kind offer,” he said. “I didn’t know you were looking to make coin by becoming a laundress. But if it pleases you to wash my underpants, feel free-”

“That’s not what I mean!” she interrupted, then snickered. “For fuck’s sake, Fenris. Have a drink with me, I feel like a sod drinking your wine all on my own.” She shoved the half-empty bottle of wine toward him.

He lifted the bottle and took a deep and fortifying swig. He handed her the bottle, then eyed her speculatively for a moment while she lifted the bottle to her lips. “You want to sleep with me,” he said flatly.

Hawke choked on her sip of wine and began to cough raucously, but he continued to watch her quietly. Finally she took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said belligerently. “Yes, I do. Why? Would you, um… how about it?”

Her tone was as infuriatingly glib as ever, but her face was absolutely flaming, and oddly enough, her expression was more serious than Fenris had ever seen. He studied her carefully. Hawke was a beautiful woman. And despite being a mage, and being far too indulgent of Anders for his liking, she was… quite controlled. She might swear like a deckhand and swagger recklessly through the slums as though nothing could ever injure her, but she’d never once lost control of herself in the heat of a fight.

Suddenly Fenris wondered what she would look like if she lost a little bit of control. Not over her damned magic, of course, but…

A sudden image flashed through his mind – Hawke naked and splayed across his lap, his lips brushing across her breast, her fingers scraping through his hair – and an unfamiliar heat bloomed low in his abdomen. But was it unfamiliar, though? This feeling – it was distracting, and admittedly pleasant, but it wasn’t completely strange to him.

He’d felt this way before. He must have. It would have been before Danarius drove every instinct except survival from his tortured mind. But he couldn’t remember…

“Great,” Hawke groaned, and Fenris snapped his attention back to her. She covered her face with her hands, and her voice was muffled when she spoke again. “Hawke’s flapping tongue strikes again. I knew you wouldn’t be… You know what, forget I said anything, all right? And do me a favour – don’t tell Varric about this. I only like when he laughs with me, not at me.”

She rose from the table and picked up her staff, and Fenris rose with her. “Hawke, listen-”

She waved a hand vaguely. “No no, don’t say anything, or else I’ll end up drowning myself in your remaining wine. And then who would you run around with doing odd jobs?” She tossed him her signature smirk, but her eye contact was briefer than usual. Fenris felt an odd pang at her slightly awkward demeanour, but he wasn’t quite sure what to say. Something… kind? Something to correct her… erroneous impression?

Finally he simply settled on the response he knew she expected. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he told her. “You know Varric would still send jobs my way if you were gone.”

A slow smile lit her lovely face, and she burst into laughter. “Oh good, I’m relieved to hear you wouldn’t mourn my untimely loss.” She punched his shoulder lightly before heading for the door. “I’ll see you later, yes?”

He nodded in farewell, and a moment later, Hawke was gone.

Fenris sat again at the table. He idly toyed with the bottle of wine that Hawke had abandoned while turning this unusual encounter over in his mind. He’d known Hawke for quite some time now, and he’d be lying if he said the odd tantalizing thought of her hadn’t crossed his mind. But now…  

Now, knowing she would be willing – would it be too bold to say she was interested? Either way, this new development, it… changed things.

Fenris shifted restlessly in his chair and glanced at the bottle of wine. There was a print on the mouth of the bottle – a raspberry-red print of Hawke’s lips, clear as day on the rim.

He eyed the bottle for a moment longer, then lifted it to his lips and took a long, luxurious drink. He had something new to think about now. That much was certain.

Abelas/Lavellan: Post-Trespasser sequel is finished :(

Read here on AO3: Don’t Wake Me Up

Synopsis: 
When Athera hears her ex-lover’s voice again after two years of silence, she can’t quite believe her ears. It’s a figment of the Fade and nothing more, she’s sure of it. 

But Abelas is here. He’s here in her dream, and with a wrench of joy and despair, she realizes the truth: that her attempts to let him go have been a complete and utter failure. 

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So this was incredibly hard for me to write and just in case anyone else feels like wallowing in a Well of Sorrows along with me (haaaa….?), here are the songs I listened to on loop while writing this thing (below the cut). 

1. Don’t Wake Me Up by the Newton Brothers – eponymous song for this fic.

2. Lit The Fire by Ralph – the lyrics of this song are literally this fic in a nutshell. If I’d found this song before titling the fic, it would have been named after this song instead.

3. Just A Memory by ODESZA feat. Regina Spektor – more sadness.