da girls body language + kisses
Sera leans forward at the waist to peer at you, head tilting mischievously. She pops your nose with a finger and bounds away, laughing when you flash a fake scowl. When her arms cross, she’s angry, but if the fingers of one hand land at her chin she’s contemplating her next prank. Hard to keep still, she slips through your hands when you try to hug her one day. Later she returns it, when you least expect it and when you most need it, surprising you from behind with her chin settling on your shoulder. Her body sways with the breeze and she takes you with her, the beginning of a dance. One day everything changes - she no longer touches you, withdrawing. When you ask her what is wrong, she feigns nonchalance, but you can see the tension in her shoulders. Then when you confess, she tangles her fingers in your clothes and pulls you to her. You can feel her laughter from your lips to your toes.
Josephine’s smiles are gentle, the subtle flutter of her eyelashes when you pay her some compliment she automatically denies. Nonetheless it brings her clipboard higher to her chest, to hide behind and begins to write. Always busy, her eyes light up when you visit her, doing more than she needs to keep as much paperwork off of your desk. She sits close to you at dinner, and brushes your hair out at night, always turned towards you and open. You notice when the clipboard isn’t in her hands, it seems she doesn’t know what to do with them, fumbling with the fabric of the other sleeve, or fingers pressed against her lips. When she hides her smile, you wrap your hand around hers to pull it away. She almost turns away from you, not knowing, but you don’t let her go. Asking permission first, she says yes. Your nose glides along hers as your lower your lips slowly, to place a tender, chaste kiss at the edge of her mouth.
Cassandra is deceptively no different than usual, at first glance. One night you sit together talking long after everyone else has gone to bed. Once the chill sets in, she drapes her blanket over your shoulders, lets you twine your fingers with hers. Neither of you speak on it for days, maybe for weeks. Until you’re injured and she paces outside your tent. You can hear the metal of her greaves scraping against itself, slightly muffled by the fabric walls. When she thinks you are sleeping, she takes your hand and holds it until the fire dies down. It is longer waiting still, when you tuck a flower behind her ear, and her eyes soften and lips smile even as she berates you. A hand on the back of your shoulder until she realizes someone noticed, you return the gesture with a hand resting on her knee in front of everyone at camp. No one makes fun of her, and her reservations slowly fall away until you can press your lips under her ear in passing and it doesn’t phase her.
Leliana is much more than meets the eye. One day you hang out in the rookery long after she’s given you reports, listening to her hum and the scratching of her quill on parchment. She never dismisses you, neither does she speak to you but - somehow it is comfortable. This continues for some time, until one day she tells you a story of a bard turned chantry sister and her love. Shoulder leaned against the window, she gazes out over the mountains and snow, instead of at your face. You return each day for more, and the two of you grow into close friends. After Adamant, despite being distressed over the new information about the Divine, she sees your exhaustion-hardened eyes, and invites you to sit near her. Fingers stroke away your headache as she lulls you to sleep with her voice. She tells you, sometime later, she never wants to see what happened to her during the Blight to happen to you. Having your heart protected is like being cherished by the older sister you never knew you needed.
Vivienne is a mentor, guiding you with gentle hands and gentle words. It is a game she plays at first, one that humors the fledgling upstart noble, one that you don’t notice might have been a facade at all until Halam’shiral. Well, because it didn’t stay that way. She flashes you a small smile as you sit in one of the chairs near her chaise, where she reclines, reading. Instead of speaking, you lift the book you brought, and open it to join her. When anyone else comes by, she sits up straight as an arrow, schooling her expression into the aloof indifference so known of her. When you find someone to love, she lets you tell her your woes, pouring wine into a glass and pressing it between your fingers. Sitting next to you closer than before, her presence brings you comfort, her wine swirling in her glass as she listens intently, openly concerned. Her approval consists of a hand on your forearm, her pride an arcing brow and a smirk. No, this isn’t a game anymore; she asks something of you, and allows you to fold her into your embrace when she mourns. Only the one time. Only you.
Lace is a person you wish you could spend more time with. You look forward to seeing her out on the field, you worry about her well-being, but each time not only is she fine but she’s several steps ahead. You start to slip compliments in here and there, and each time her weight shifts from one foot to the other. With a tilt of her head and the curl of her lips, sheepishly she replies only to gently divert. She gestures more with her hands when she’s anxious, or when the mission worries her more than usual. Once she relaxes around you, her hands clasp behind her back and your forward flirting garners you a laugh and the shake of her head. There’s a day where you find her in Skyhold, and as she crosses her arms across her chest, asks you of your intentions. When you tell her that you’d like to see more of her, she grins, only half surprised. You’ve been flirting for months, after all. She lets you wrap an arm around her, to lead her to the tavern, spending much desired time to know her more at last.
