~mine[2]

7

similar to my previous drawing but with my style 🙆

aaaaaaaaa letss play brave New World 

Draw on instagram https://www.instagram.com/p/BaeSQlpBjtm/

anonymous asked:

It’s bloody and raw but I swear it’s sweet for fenhawke please :)

She tangles their hands together under the table. Resting on his thigh, finger locked between finger, palm against palm. She moves even closer, arm pressed against arm, and he feels the hard press of her chin on his shoulder. Turning his head to see her looking at him plainly, blinking bright eyes. “Will you stay tonight?” She never usually asks. He knows the offer is always there, her door open, but she never pushes, never pressures. Fenris squeezes her hand, gives her a nod. The smallest smile, turning her head to rest it on his shoulder. The others chatter endlessly on, pay this affection no mind.

They leave much the same way, still hand in hand, arm against arm. “You were quiet tonight,” he tells her. He says tonight, but means far more than that. He means the growing dark circles under her eyes, the nightmares that keep her up at night. He means the nervous glances she casts the Templars on the streets, the worried downturn of her mouth when Anders refuses to speak to her. Where once the Hanged Man was a place for laughter, it’s now a refuge – something like safety.

“Was I?” Hawke looks thoughtful as she ponders what he said, until she shrugs, continues to walk. He stops on those steps, and she turns back to look at him, a little surprised. Pulling her down to him, free hand reaching for her face. Brushing against her cheek, fingers curling at her nape as he presses the kiss to her lips. She leans against him, winds a fist in his tunic, surrenders completely. The taste of ale lingers on her tongue, the night air cool on her skin.

At her estate, he sits cross-legged on the floor by the fire. She passes him a glass of wine as she settles herself down beside him, a blanket wrapped around her. He places the glass beside him as he opens the book to where they left off, tucking the bookmark between further pages. She curls up like a cat, her head resting on his leg. She closes her eyes as she listens to the sound of his voice, carefully read words. He fixes that stray strand of hair for her, tucks it behind her ear.

He knows why she asked him to stay. Even without asking, he would have come to her. Without asking he would have held her, hugged her close. Chased away the dreaming, kept the nightmares at bay. How many times had she done that for him? His hand lingers in her hair, thumb brushing against her cheek. Pulling the blanket upwards to cover her completely, staying there as he continues to read. He can hear her breathing slowing, the twitch of sleep in her fingers.

Placing the bookmark, putting the book down beside the glass. He feels greedy, wanting to steal her away. There have been too few of these moments lately – too much time taken by Templars and mages, bandits and thieves. If he could lift that weight from her shoulders, he would. For now, all he can do is help her bear it, hope he makes her days a little easier. He lifts her carefully, carries her gently. Tucking her into the bed, crawling in beside her.

“Fen,” she says, and their legs tangle together. He smiles as her nose scrunches, as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around her, and smooths her hair, fixing errant strands. “I love you,” and it’s barely a mumble, a passing statement as she fades back into sleep. Hardly coherent, and yet she always makes sure he knows it. He holds her a little tighter, kisses the crown of her head.

“I love you too,” he tells the silence, and it sounds like a promise. Telling himself that he would keep her safe, that he would take her from here – that he would find them some sort of peace.