Happy Friday, Law! Here's your dinner, stay cool out there :)

Written for @dadrunkwriting

Rated: M | Words: 630 | TWs: Dirty talk, suggestive content

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“I’m not a dog,” Hawke huffed. The sea felt like bathwater, glimmering brightly beneath the Antivan sun.

“You are a dog. You’re my dog,” Anders teased, playfully splashing him. Hawke feigned shock, despite the water’s warmth. The Waking Sea was comparatively brisk all year round, even when the days were brightest and longest.

“Bold words, coming from a cat,” Hawke hummed and splashed Anders back. The water smacked him squarely in the face, and his hand instinctively flew to his ponytail.

How about: the last thing i want is to see you get hurt. Featuring Arlow and Viago?

thank you for the prompt!! it hit really well, which is to say that it got much longer than I intended 😂 but here we go, from the requisite "Viago routinely poisons Rook de Riva" bit to Angst and Feels and Crow Politics 🤌

Arlow de Riva & Viago | 2035 words | @dadrunkwriting - da4 spoilers

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Not for the first time, Arlow hesitated outside Viago’s study door. She knew he was within, but her stomach churned with worry and anticipation. She was happy, unbelievably happy, and he had the power to crush that with a single look.

She unclenched her fist and stared down at the ring. Dragon bone, inlaid on a band of intertwined nevarrite and obsidian. Black and purple and gold—the colors of the Crows. But she had always been a Crow; this represented something so much more.

“I can hear you thinking out there. Come in, or go away—do not linger. It’s rude.”

It was so typical, so normal in a way that things had not been for a very long time, it almost erased Arlow’s concerns. Her fingers closed, hiding the ring from view, and she pushed the door open.

Viago had a spread of vials on his desk, and a tray for checking antidotes in the middle of the array. Emil was curled around his shoulders; his tongue flicked out at Arlow in greeting as she shut the door at her back.

“Hello Emil,” she said dryly. “Viago.”

“Come here.” He beckoned her forward with one hand; the other held a pipette filled with a murky brown-green solution. “Perfect timing. I need to test this.”

Thank you for the ask friend! This one got a little away from me and probably isn't exactly what this prompt meant but have some Rana yearning lol

@dadrunkwriting | divider credit

neve gallus x rana savas | 604 words | cw for alcohol/drugs

hi hi! tysm for the prompt. 🌟 ended up writing fenhawke for this. 🙂‍↕️

rating: general / word count: 327 / @dadrunkwriting

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Fenris has grown out his hair.

It dips between his shoulder blades now, a flare of stark white slithering down his naked back, as he is getting ready for bed.

(These are his last few days in Kirkwall, before it gets ravaged by a single desperate man's actions, though he does not yet know it.)

Fenris is aware that Hawke is staring. Has been for several long moments now. In fact he seldom does anything else when Fenris is in the same room as him. It does not bother him anymore, even if he still finds it strange.

For a moment Fenris considers teasing Hawke's unsubtleness, but decides against it, because of the sheer tiredness he feels. He sighs, flexing his arm and watching the lyrium flicker under his skin. He does not hear Hawke getting out of bed, but he does hear the tenderness of the kiss that Hawke presses on his nape. It's almost a worshipful act in its sincerity, and something in Fenris aches for it. For Hawke. Sometimes it feels it is all he does, and he has not grown used to it yet.

Hawke murmurs something against his skin. It might be a declaration of devotion, it might be a compliment, it might be… something else. Fenris hums under his breath and Hawke presses another kiss to the back of his neck and then another. He has to brush Fenris's hair back to be able to touch skin, and Fenris feels a slight thrill in his stomach at the chapped press of Hawke's lips.

Hawke curls his arms around Fenris's waist and settles his chin on top of Fenris's head and for a moment they simply are like everyone else. Fenris has to close his eyes because of the all-consuming feeling inside his chest swelling.

~ @lordgoretash

Thank you!! @dadrunkwriting

The canal water caught the dying light of sunset, oil-slick rainbows dancing across dark waters. Neve stood at the railing, one hand resting on the worn stone, her weight shifted to her good leg in that way she did when she was thinking. The wind pulled at her hair, dark strands escaping the careful arrangement, and she didn't bother to fix them.

Lucanis watched her from the table where he sat cleaning a blade he'd already cleaned twice. The cloth moved in slow, mechanical circles over steel that needed no attention. His eyes kept drifting upward despite himself.

She looks like moonlight, Spite hissed Pretty. Dark. You should touch.

"I'm not going to—" Lucanis caught himself before he said it aloud. The words sat behind his teeth instead, pressed against the inside of his lips. I'm not going to burden her with any of this.

Why? The demon's presence curled tighter behind his ribs, restless and sharp. She looks. She looks at you. I see her looking.Trying to see inside.

Neve looks at everyone like that Spite. It's her job to read people, remember?

No Insistent. Petulant. She looks differently at us now. Softer. You know this. You feel this. I feel YOU feel this.

Lucanis's jaw tightened. The cloth stilled on the blade. Of course he felt it—the thing that had been growing in his chest like ivy climbing old walls, slow and inexorable and impossible to rip out without taking part of the masonry with it. He'd been a fool to let it take root. A worse fool to water it with every conversation, every shared look across the Lighthouse, every time she'd laughed at something dry he'd said and he'd felt like a man seeing the sun after years in the Ossuary dark.

She deserves—

SO WHAT? Spite's frustration cracked through him like a whip There is your mouth and her mouth and the space between—

She deserves someone whole. The thought was bitter and true. Someone who isn't carrying a demon who might hurt her. Someone whose hands are clean.

Your hands are clean now. You just wiped them. On the cloth. For an hour. Stupid.

A breath of almost-laughter escaped him. Spite had a way of being absurdly literal when it suited him.

Neve turned from the canal.

The motion caught him—she moved with that particular economy of hers, no wasted energy, everything purposeful. Her gaze found his across the space between them, and she didn't look away. Didn't pretend she hadn't noticed him staring.

She smiled.

It was small, private, the kind of smile that didn't perform for anyone. The kind that started in her dark eyes before it reached her lips. It knocked the air from his lungs every single time.

She smiles. Go to her. NOW.

He stayed exactly where he was, fingers wrapped around a knife handle, it weight familiar and comforting.

Neve pushed off from the railing and walked toward him. Her gait was uneven—the prosthetic clicking against stone, the slight hitch in her step that she'd never seemed self-conscious about. She came around the table, and he tracked her movement like a hawk watching a mouse in open field, except she was no prey and he was the one caught.

She leaned her hip against the table's edge, close enough that he could smell canal water and something else underneath—something warm, distinctly her. Her arms crossed loosely over her chest, and she looked down at him with that appraising gaze she used on crime scenes and difficult witnesses.

"You can kiss me, you know?"

The words landed in his chest like a crossbow bolt.

DO IT. DO IT NOW. SHE SAID—

Lucanis's throat worked. The cloth fell from his fingers. The knife clattered against the table, forgotten. He stared up at her, searching for the catch, the angle, the thing that would make this make sense. "Neve—"

"As much as I love a good song I'm not much for dancing these days," Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact, but something flickered in her expression. Something vulnerable she was choosing to show him anyway. "I've been waiting for you, in case that wasn't clear."

SHE WAS WATCHING. I TOLD YOU. I TOLD YOU SHE WAS—

"I know." His voice came out rougher than intended. "I know you were."

"Then what are you waiting for?" She uncrossed her arms, let them fall to her sides. Open. Unshielded. "Permission? An invitation in writing?"

YES. YES. KISS HER. LUCANIS.

He rose slowly, the chair scraping back behind him. She didn't step away—if anything, she tilted her chin up, holding her ground. They stood close enough that he could see the individual lashes framing her dark eyes, the faint scar near her hairline he'd always wanted to trace with his thumb.

"My hands aren't clean," he said quietly. "Not really. Never really."

"I'm from Dock Town, Lucanis, no one I know has clean hands, least of all me, " One eyebrow lifted.

A purple light flared behind Lucanis's eyes. He could feel it, see it reflected in Neve's gaze, in the way her breath caught and smiled.

The demon's voice dissolved into static as Lucanis lifted one hand, finally, and cupped the side of her face. His palm was rough with calluses from blades and poisons and work that left marks deeper than skin. Her cheek was soft against it, warm, real. She leaned into the touch—just slightly, just enough—and something in his chest cracked wide open.

"Neve." Her name tasted like confession on his tongue.

"Lucanis." She said it back at him, and there was challenge in it, and patience, and something that made his breath catch.

He kissed her.

Not fast, not desperate—slow. Giving her every chance to pull back, to change her mind, to decide that this was a mistake and he wasn't worth the complication. His mouth found hers like a question he didn't deserve to have answered.

But she answered it anyway.

Neve's hand came up to rest against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and she kissed him back with deliberate intent. Her lips were softer than he'd imagined in the moments he'd let himself imagine, and she tasted like the bitter tea she always drank and something sweeter underneath. She didn't hesitate, didn't hold back—kissed him like she'd made up her mind a long time ago and was simply waiting for him to catch up.

FINALLY, Spite crowed, and for once, Lucanis didn't argue with him.

His other hand found her waist, drew her closer, and she came willingly, her hip pressing against his as she deepened the kiss. The sound she made—somewhere between a sigh and a hum—vibrated against his lips and sent heat pooling low in his stomach.

When they finally broke apart, her eyes were bright and slightly dazed. Her fingers were still twisted in his shirt. She didn't let go.

"Took you long enough," she murmured.

TELL HER SPITE HELPED. TELL HER I—

"Thank you," he said instead, thumb stroking across her cheekbone. "For being patient with me."

Her smile returned—wider this time, less guarded. "I'm a detective. Patience is half the job." She tugged lightly at his shirt. "The other half is following up on leads."

He laughed—actually laughed—and the sound surprised them both. "Is that what this is? Investigation?"

"Preliminary findings are good but…" She pretended to consider, her free hand coming up to rest over his heart. "I might need to do a bit more investigating on this one."

YES. KISS HER AGAIN—

Thank you for the ask! 'we kissed for hours straight' is very sapphic to me haha

@dadrunkwriting

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There was no time. There was no time but they took it anyway, the hours they should have spent on saving the world slipping like chiffon through their hands – the soft light of the aquarium, the cool air on naked skin, the little cries that Rook made, her gasps rising, shattering against the arched ceiling –

It was strange, awkward at first. The couch was not the right shape for kissing. Rook lay along it and Neve propped herself above her, supporting herself on one elbow, her thigh between Rook's, trying to keep some distance. Of course she wanted to move, to press upwards, to feel Rook writhe against her, but she – it was all so new, so uncertain and she was afraid as she had never been, more afraid than on the battlefield, all her blood thrumming in her veins like struck glass. Her elbow shook from the effort of holding herself up and she felt her teeth clack against Rook's and she felt so young, so full of doubt.

As if she had never kissed anyone before, she thought, furious at herself. Why is it always so tentative, so sweetly strange? Why does she never learn, why can she not become accustomed?

Then – no true change, but all of a sudden something fit, and she was still trembling but it was not from the effort any more, she felt her skin yearning toward Rook's, her hips slipping closer, the sound of Rook's little breath as their bodies met. Oh, why she could not stop shaking? But it did not matter, Rook was kissing her anyway, elbow hooked around her neck, kissing and kissing and kissing, their legs intertwined, cheeks pressed hot and close -

Somehow hours went by. She does not know. They kissed, that is all, just kissing, hours and hours until finally they moved too enthusiastically and Rook fell off the couch and sat on the floor, breathless and laughing; the aquarium's cool light a blue curve along her cheeks, rendering her preternaturally beautiful, flushed pinks, lips swollen.

Thank you for the prompt! It also made me melt.

for @dadrunkwriting | divider credit

Fenris has one request before his first time with Hawke.

M | 295 words | CWs: sex vibes

Hawke didn't know what to expect as he led Fenris back to his bedroom. He had almost expected to never get this far, to always flirt with him and be in a will-they-or-won't-they situation. He was sure Fenris had a myriad of things that stopped him from just kissing him until this night, from his past to his present, to the simple fact that Hawke was a mage.

Fenris was all nerves as he undressed, wired with anxious energy. "I have a simple request," he said, his raspy voice low and so attractive. Hawke stepped forward and pressed a kiss to his neck.

"I'm all ears," he said, running a hand down Fenris' side, fingers pressing against the spots of skin that were without brands. Fenris hummed at that, didn't flinch or cuss like he so often did when someone touched him.

Fenris looked up at him as he pulled back to meet his eye. He chewed on his lip. "Be gentle with me." He said it with the same steely resolve of him saying he had to kill Hadriana or that he hated mages. He said it like there was no vulnerability in it. His armor cracked minutely and he broke eye contact, looked away. "Please," he added, in a whisper, an afterthought. His emerald eyes shone with something like fear.

Hawke stepped forward and put his hand on his chin, leaning down to give him a tender kiss, all lips until he felt good enough to let his tongue press against his mouth. Fenris let him in and he relished in it.

"Done and done," Hawke said into his mouth, and Fenris sighed a little, rolled his eyes. But he smiled.

Decided to do Garrett Hawke and canon Anders for this one since I have a lot of Marian/ Anders in the queue right now - thank you for the prompt! @dadrunkwriting

Garrett wasn't sure how Anders managed it.

For three long, lonely years Garrett had day dreamed about sharing a home with Anders. About long, languid mornings spent lounging in bed (and everything that came with that. About waking him up with a hot cup of tea or, if he was feeling fancy, spoiling him with a rare cup of snobby antivan coffee. Mornings spent in hushed and gentle conversation, exchanging sweet kisses and sweet nothings.

Anders had moved in 2 weeks ago, and they had yet to share a single morning in such quiet repose because Anders had on uncanny and cat like ability to sneak out the cellar door to darktown before Garrett had even reached a state of functional consciousness.

This morning, however, Garrett had a plan.

Garrett had enlisted Bodhan to get the kettle going at the crack of down and the minute - nay, the second - that he felt Anders weight shift beside him as he rose to get cleaned up to face the day, Garett leap from the bed, meeting Anders befuddled smile and raised eyebrow with a sheepish grin and a chipper "nice day for a morning!" (earning a snort from Anders which Garrett felt the bare minimum he deserved for that quick witted display of improvisational genius).

Garrett scurried downstairs - hopping as he pulled on this lounge pants as he went - with what he believed to be the dexterity of a man at least 5 years younger and at least 2 hours more awake, skidding into the kitchen to grab 2 mugs of steaming tea, arriving at the cellar door just in time to slide between the cellar door and Anders outstretched hand.

“Sorry Love, no time this morning. I've got to ..”

Garrett interrupted him with a kiss and pushed the mug towards him.

"Hey hot stuff,” Garrett quipped, “want some hot stuff?"

Anders gave an eye roll that was a frankly unjust (ha) response to such a perfect turn of phrase.

"No, really Garrett, I need to..”

Another kiss. "Nope."

Anders blinked.

" What do you mean nope?" Anders asked, sounding somewhere between annoyed and amused - in other words right where Garrett wanted him.

Another kiss.

"Not until you've had a cup of tea with me" Garrett said, using his most charming smile, and then,more earnestly, "I miss you. Indulge me? "

Anders visibly softened and Garrett knew he would not be having tea alone that morning. This time, it was Anders who leaned in for a kiss, taking the steaming mug from Garrett's hand.