eatmysmalls:

skillethelm:

i was lookin thru some older art to get a sense of what id wanna do commissions-wise and it made me realize i missed painting stuff! so i really… really self-indulgently threw some colors around :>

Inspired by the gorgeous art above, a fic called Persuasion (which is lovely by the way), and written for dreadwulf (also lovely) because she needed a pick me up. Excuse my ineptitude.

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Bathed in shadows of his own volition, Fenris moves against the warm lights threatening to expose him. Threatening to lay him bare- snarling and animal; wretched and weak; hungry and insatiable.

The Pirate is a light. The Champion is a light. Together they unknowingly illuminate a dimly lit path of which he cannot tread- cannot. 

More than once they invite him to their bed, to touch and watch and relish them all the same. They offer him easy smiles and speak to him as if he is more than what he isn’t. Like he is someone to be trusted. Someone they care for. A friend. 

More than once he levels his gaze and musters up the resolve to deny them. “No. Leave me be. I do not wish to do this.” A beat andHawke’s faces softens in a way that makes his stomach churn and his jaw set. His sincerity matches Hawke’s in the most unbecoming way. Isabela always notices. Always pretends she didn’t.

And each and every time the duo is denied, Hawke overcompensates with terrible jokes to lighten the mood and Isabela throws lewd barbs designed to make Fenris flush. Hawke feigns outrage “You want to- his what?! How?” and gasps aloud before her breath catches and becomes a soundless laugh. She folds her cards. The pirate once again meets his gaze, to distract him from her inevitable attempt to cheat he assumes, but instead he finds something alien in Isabela’s eyes. Compassion perhaps? He does a double take at that, looks up and sees Isabela mouthing Hawke’s ear playfully.

He tells himself he imagined any hint of something beyond naked lust in Isabela’s eyes, that the pirate was finding enjoyment in rousing him, and this public display in front of him is undoubtedly another one of her dreadful schemes. 

Hawke mouths an apology, and an embarrassed giggle slips out before “Sorry about her.” does. He shakes his head to imply non nonchalance. He quickly looks down at his cards to distract himself and realizes his hand is pitiful. He folds.

Isabela smirks “Knew you would.” and her brilliant gold earrings sway, catching the light of the fireplace in them. He stares for too long. She catches him of course. Smiles warmly before she returns her attention to the drunk Champion in her lap. 

He does not look up.