Lover of Pixels

The Prompts

Necrophilia

Breeding/Pregnancy

Dacryphillia (Crying)

Body Swap

Somnophilia

Non-Con

Warp Madness (Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiacs)

Blackmail

Mind Control

Non-Romanceable NPC

OC x OC

Chaos Corruption Kink

Intoxication

Cockwarming

Inappropriate Use of Psyker Sorcery

Size Kink

Dry Humping/Thigh Riding

Erectile Dysfunction/Pre-Ejaculation

Kidnapping

Ritualistic/Religious Sex

Orgasm Control/Denial

Vox Tape (Sex Tapes)

Hate Fucking

Double Penetration

Face Sitting/Throat Fucking

Pet Play

Roleplay

BDSM Dynamic of your choice.

Blood Play

Anonymous Sex or Exhibitionism

The Rogue Trader's Kink of Choice

Have Questions? Send me an ask.

-

Hawke didn't hear much more about the horrible idea for a few weeks. She had hoped that Varric had forgotten, or at least decided some other endeavor would be more interesting. Then, of course, just when she thought she was safe, the first message landed on her desk.

Merrill had written, asking her to come by the alienage to "meet someone." Which could only mean one thing - Varric's plan had finally been set into motion. Hawke sighed and pulled on her boots, scratching Barkspawn behind the ears as she headed out the door.

The first thing Hawke noticed upon arriving at Merrill's house was the strange elf hunched in the corner, eyes dodgy and hands shaking. Merrill, however, looked completely pleased with herself and nearly bounced up to the door to greet her.

"Hawke! You made it!"

"Uh huh, I made it. Who is that?"

"Oh! That is, um, that - is - " Merrill looked questioningly at the man cowering in the corner.

He started and tried to straighten up, to little avail. "D - Doryn."

"That's Doryn! He's your blind date!"

Hawke gave him a look that was meant to be an encouraging smile, though it became more of a wince as she watched him curl back into the corner chair. "Why does he look like he's been kidnapped, Merrill?"

"Oh, I just told him that it had better go well so I win this bet, or I'd make him a literal blind date." Merrill beamed at Hawke.

"Do you even know him?"

"Nope! I made him a deal! He goes on this date, he gets a hot meal!"

Hawke nodded sagely. "Okay, well, I'm just going to talk to my, uh, date."

She walked carefully over to Doryn as if approaching a scared animal. She slowly put her hand out for a handshake. He took it, though he still regarded her suspiciously. "Doryn, I'm Hawke. You're free to leave. I'll send someone with a week of food for you."

Doryn promptly fled the house, leaving a stunned Merrill in his wake. Hawke put a hand on her shoulder, shaking her head. "Merrill, please don't ever set me up on a date again, okay?"

"Yes," Merrill nodded thoughtfully, "yes, I think I can do that, Hawke."

Hawke headed to the market to buy the biggest bottle of wine she could find before going home.

-

A few days later, another missive landed on her desk, this time bearing the seal of the Kirkwall City Guard - Aveline.

"Hawke - Please meet your blind date at the cafe in the market district this afternoon. You'll know when you see him. Your friend, Aveline"

Hawke dressed in something a bit nicer for the fashion expectations in the market district establishments, said her goodbyes to Sandal and Barkspawn who were both sprawled out in front of the fireplace while Bodahn did administrative duties, and made her way to the next dreaded date. This one, she supposed, at least had a leg up on the last due to being in a neutral location.

Any hope she possibly had in her friend was quickly dashed, however, as the only person in the cafe upon her arrival was someone she could not in several lifetimes imagine speaking with for more than ten minutes, and certainly not in anything other than a strictly professional setting. Seneschal Bran luckily seemed just as appalled as she was to see her walk up to his table.

"Seneschal." She greeted in a very even tone, if she did say so herself.

He couldn't manage quite the same, an edge of disgust creeping into his own greeting. "Hawke."

"Aveline?"

He nodded. "Aveline. I was told she had someone I 'just had to meet' because we had 'so much in common.'"

"Respectfully, Seneschal - " she started.

"Oh trust me, I agree. I can't imagine two people less suited to each other." He sighed. "You can at least call me Bran outside of professional business, though, I suppose."

"I'm going to have a tea while I'm here, since we've made the effort. Could I get you something for putting up with Aveline's meddling? I feel like it's my responsibility by extension."

Bran huffed a laugh, but agreed. "We may as well get a little business out of the way away from prying ears anyway. I've been needing to talk to you about something I've been hearing relating to Carta activities. I've also heard you may have a bit of a personal stake?" He arched a brow in question.

Hawke felt the phantom scratch of rope against her wrists, followed by the memory of a steadying presence checking her for injury.

"Yeah, you could say that."

-

Hawke was looking through the notes she had taken on her "date" with the Seneschal, trying to find connections between the current Carta activities and the group that had kidnapped her. She walked inside, kicked off her shoes, and wandered to her bedroom, oblivious to the relative quietness of her normally bustling home.

A voice shocked her out of her thoughts. "So I hear you have a thing for elves."

She yelped and jumped back, hands reaching for a dagger that was currently hanging by her front door. A man, well, an elf, was stretched out on her bed, barely clothed, posing seductively. As she fumbled around for her non-existent dagger, she wracked her brain for anything familiar. As she studied his face, his eyes, his hair, it finally clicked. "Jethann?"

"That's me!"

"What are you doing in my house?"

"Oh, I figured you'd know I was coming. Your friend, uh, name started with a V maybe? Said you'd be expecting company, let me in and the whole bit. Said you'd been a bit pent up." He waggled his eyebrows.

Hawke cursed under her breath. "Oh Maker's balls, I'm going to kill that bloody dwarf." She looked to the ceiling like it might hold the answers to her life. "Look, Jethann, it's really great to see you, I'm sure, but I'm not - this isn't - and I'm not looking for something like this. No offense."

"None taken! Are you sure though? He seemed pretty certain about the whole thing."

"Jethann, no. Also, please put on some pants."

"Ah, right." He started pulling clothes out of the corners he'd stashed them in, getting dressed while Hawke reconsidered every choice that brought her to this moment.

"Wait, what did you mean, I 'have a thing for elves'?"

"Oh, well, the dwarf just said that you might have a bit of a special interest in - "

"Nope, no, no more elaboration needed, thank you."

"So you do, then?"

"No!"

He eyed her disbelievingly.

"I don't. It's not like that. Elves are just as lovely as anyone else I'm sure. It's just, Varric is being a shit is all."

"By setting you up with an elf."

"Well that just sounds racist."

"You said it."

"No, not by setting me up with an elf. Well, yes by setting me up with an elf. But not like that. I'm just - " she took a deep breath. "Look, I wasn't expecting to bear my soul to a, uh - "

"Prostitute? Whore? Escort?"

"I don't know, what do you prefer?"

Jethann shrugged. Hawke shrugged back.

"Anyway. It's not like that. I was, uh, involved. With an elf. Previously. And Varric is just trying to - "

"Ah, tall and brooding is more your type then."

"- make me get over it. Wait, what?" Hawke did a double-take at Jethann, who had settled on her floor, back leaned up against her bedframe.

"Well, you did come by my place of business once, remember? And there was that absolutely delectable specimen of an elf with you. I just assumed. But based on your reaction, I'm right." He patted the spot next to him. "Your dwarf friend already paid for a whole night, you may as well come tell me all about your elf problems."

"I'm going to need to be intoxicated for this. Do you drink wine?"

"I drink whatever you bring me, darling."

Hawke dug around her kitchen for the bottle of wine with the best size to price ratio and brought it back to her room. She dramatically flopped onto the ground next to Jethann. "So first let me tell you about these dates, since you were supposed to be one. One of my friends decided to essentially bribe somebody in the alienage with food to 'do well' at a date - "

Jethann's cackle spread through the Hawke Estate, bringing some much needed levity to a place that had seen too much despair. Hawke smiled as she continued to regale him with ridiculous stories of her companions, their bottle of wine quickly disappearing.

-

After spending two days recovering from the Jethann-induced hangover, Hawke found the time to go through the letters Bodahn had been leaving on her desk. Most of the notes were requests for assistance or junk, but she had letters from each of her remaining friends. Sebastian had let her know that while he wished her well, Varric's idea seemed ridiculous from the start and he had better things to do with his time. It had also included a postscript that let her know he believed it to be a waste of time, as she and Fenris would "figure it out" in the end, but she was choosing to ignore that.

A letter from Anders informed her that his blind date would be occurring tonight and would be picking her up at her home. She wasn't sure about a stranger knowing where she lived, but she glanced at her daggers hanging in their normal spot by the door and shrugged.

Lastly, Isabela informed her that she would be meeting her last blind date at the Hanged Man the following night, with no additional information. Hawke sighed, tossing the letters aside.

She lazed around until almost too close to the time Anders's blind date was to be retrieving her, but she found she wasn't particularly bothered. Something about the string of dates gone wrong had made her much less stressed about the initial meeting, since she would know immediately how the date was going to go.

As she was pulling on her shoes, a knock sounded at her door. She hopped into her shoe in the general direction of the door, opening it as she tied off the laces. She stood up, and brought herself face to face with her date.

"Oh, you have got to be shitting me."

Anders stood before her, dressed as nicely as she'd ever seen him. He may have even washed his hair, for all she could tell. He brought a hand to his face, which had flushed slightly, she hoped in embarrassment. "Hello, Hawke. Are you ready for our date?"

"Our date?" She stared at him, unmoving.

"Well, yes, I thought this would be the perfect time to - "

"No."

"No?" His brows furrowed in confusion.

"No. We're not doing this."

"But, I thought you wanted to get back out there! Date again! And now you're not with the elf - "

"Fenris. The elf has a name. And it's Fenris. Which you know."

His eyes narrowed. "Right. Whatever. You're not together, and since we had something so good before - "

"No. We didn't."

"Yes, we did."

"No. You did. You had someone willing to do anything for you, and you barely had to do anything in return. Except that you should have, because when push comes to shove, Anders, I am a person, with needs."

"So what, you left me for the elf over sex?"

Hawke scoffed. "No, you absolute cunt. I didn't 'leave you for the elf.' I left you because you didn't respect me, you were never honest with me, and you didn't listen to a single thing that came out of my mouth. I fell in love with the elf because even when we fought, he respected me, and even when he didn't want to, he at least listened to what I had to say, and even when he knew I wouldn't want to hear it, he was honest with me about his feelings and his actions."

Hawke paused to breathe. "Oh, and I fucked him because he is fine as hell, and it was the best lay of my life. Also, the elf's name is Fenris."

Anders looked like someone had slapped him.

Hawke turned away from him. "Get off my stoop before I do something I regret, Anders." And she slammed the door.

-

Hawke spent the twenty-four hours since the Anders incident in bed, trying to stave off thoughts of Fenris. The whole point of the blind date situation had been to make her forget him, yet she found herself missing him more than ever. As the sun grew dim in the sky, she peeled herself out of her nest and prepared for the last of her dates.

She watched the foam swirl around the top of her ale as she waited for the last absolutely abysmal setup from her friends. She thought back to what she'd been through thus far, and wondered what Isabela could possibly have up her sleeve. She hoped it was at least someone that wasn't as forward as Isabela herself was. Her thoughts turned then to why she let herself get in this mess to start with. She was thankful, of course, that they were so invested in getting her back to her old functional self, but after four of these had gone so horribly off the rails, she was starting to question if it was worth it.

Her first question had, of course, been if her friends even knew her at all. She had easily dismissed Varric’s setup as a joke, and clearly Anders had alternative objectives. But when even Aveline, her oldest friend, had struck out so spectacularly, she had to start wondering if she was just that inaccessible.

The more she thought about it, though, the more she questioned whether or not the problem was simply that she was romantically incompatible, that no one could imagine her successfully romantically entangled with anyone, and that’s why it had all been such a consummate disaster. She buried her head in her hands and groaned, trying to come up with some sort of optimism before her next date walked through the doors of the Hanged Man.

Boots clicked across the floor nearby, and before she could fully acknowledge the person, the chair across from her was filled. Hawke looked up and made eye contact with Isabela, the person responsible for tonight’s entertainment. Isabela slid a fresh mug across to Hawke, who raised an eyebrow. “Please tell me you’re not taking the Anders approach. I don’t think I could take another confession of love right now.”

Isabela chortled, her own drink sloshing precariously in its mug. “Hardly. You’re lovely, Hawke, but I think I could do better than a drunken confession in the Hanged Man. I thought you could use a night out, without everyone’s nosy asses involved.” She paused at Hawke’s skeptical look. “Without everyone else’s nosy asses involved. Happy?”

Hawke slumped over onto the table in relief. "I've never been happier in my life, Is."

Isabela patted her gently on the shoulder before heading back up to the bar. She returned with a tray of shots. "First, we're going to do two of these each and finish our ales. Then, we're going to dance."

"But there's no music."

"That does not factor into my plans at all, my dear."

As the night progressed, Hawke felt herself begin to loosen up. Isabela didn't expect deep conversation, or seemingly any conversation at all. They simply drank and danced together near the bar, letting patrons pay their tabs and keep their night going. Eventually, Hawke wandered over to their table, bumping into someone on the way by.

She put a hand out to steady herself, but was caught by strong hands setting her upright. "Sorry, I'm a bit dizzy."

"It's okay, Hawke. You look like you needed it." The amused rumble was familiar to her intoxicated brain, and she looked up, bringing herself face to face with Knight-Captain Cullen.

"Knight-Captain! Oh, Maker. This is embarrassing."

He left a friendly hand on her shoulder as he guided to her table. "Not at all, Hawke. I'm in a bar, after all. I was expecting a drunk person or two."

"It's, well, it's different. We work together!"

"Do we, now? Did you become a templar when I wasn't looking?"

Hawke made a gagging sound. "I'd rather die, honestly."

Cullen let out a hardy laugh at that. "And is this drunk honesty or honest honesty?"

"Honest honesty." She crossed her heart solemnly. "I think templars are traitors to society."

"With your sister, and, ah, certain members of your group, that makes sense. Any chance I can change your mind?"

"Highly unlikely, Knight-Captain."

"Cullen."

"What?"

"You can call me Cullen. As we've established, we don't work together."

"Are you flirting with me, Cullen?"

"That entirely depends." "On?"

"Whether or not you'd enjoy it."

She searched his eyes, kind and soft, and traced the lines of his face. "You know what? I may be a traitor to my own morals here, but I think I'd rather enjoy it actually. Would you like to walk me home and try to convert me to your cult ideals?"

Cullen's brows rose in surprise, but he stood and offered his arm. "I would be honored to make the attempt, Hawke."

-

They laughed the whole walk from the Hanged Man to Hawke's Estate. Maybe it was the last dredges of lingering alcohol, or maybe it was just Cullen, but Hawke wasn't sure she had laughed that much in months. As they approached the door, she found herself not wanting the joy of the night to end.

She reached up and kissed him gently as he moved to let go of her hand she hadn't even realized he was holding. "Would you like to come in?"

His hand was warm where it held her jaw, never moving where he didn't have permission, his nose bumping hers when he nodded, completely following her lead straight to the bedroom.

She kissed him harder as she let them into her home, trying unsuccessfully to banish the unbidden comparisons to Fenris's lips against hers, their clothes scattered across her home that she wanted to be theirs, his hands roaming anywhere he could reach as they fought for control, his desparation as he tasted her against that desk, his groans as her lips wrapped around him in the hallway, his surety as he pushed into her in the bed.