my muse’s reaction to yours: ❤ – kissing mine.
ophelia liked lazing around in the estate with varric. it mainly consisted of her talking about her day & everything he missed, while he jotted it down carefully. she didn’t mind - she liked that he desired to keep any stories he told as accurate as possible. ( plus, it let her know he was actually listening. it was comforting. )
she had been less outgoing with her talks, her speech less eloquent after her mother had died. ophelia was willing to let herself be vulnerable around varric, her trust in him just that strong. she had been describing the way some lowtown thugs were dressed ( she was getting suspicious. what if this was another corypheus thing? what if it was a group? varric always settled her down, saying he’d keep an eye out for anyone with the descriptions. he never found anything, but he kept looking. anything to help her feel safe. )
she trailed off in the middle of a stuttered out sentence, her eyes going blank and her hands fidgeting. ophelia did that sometimes, when she thought too much about malcolm or bethany or carver or leandra. varric stood from his seat on her couch, leading her to sit down. ❝ hey. smiles. ❞ he said, his voice barely louder than a murmur. ❝ they’d be proud of ya. you’re doing your best, and they know that. they’ll always love you. ❞
ophelia snapped out of it, the life going back in her eyes and a soft smile on her face. ❝ thank you. i’m.. sorry for doing stuff like this a lot. ❞ she laughed, her softened eyes watering gently.
varric looked at her, putting a hand on her chin and pulling her head towards his. he wiped her eyes, & pushed her hair away from them before pressing his lips against hers. she liked - no, loved - kissing him.
his stubble always pricked at her skin, but ophelia didn’t mind. he smelled like cheap ale, & expensive cologne. fresh ink & crisp pieces of paper. he smelled like him, unique and comforting. his hand, calloused from his constant usage of bianca, always held to her cheek with a gentleness you wouldn’t expect from someone like him. his lips were chapped & dry, but she couldn’t care less - so were hers. varric never minded when her lipstick rubbed off onto his lips ( he’d always joke that he should just borrow it sometimes. that it looked better on him. she always said he’d look good in some of her red. )
he’d pulled away after a few moments that felt infinitely longer, his hand still on her cheek, his other moving to her hand. ❝ you don’t ever have to apologize, smiles. i love you just the way you are. ❞
she smiled again, more genuine this time. ❝ i love you too. ❞