#mhawris | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justwhoiamthisweek · 8 years

Text

Fenhawke week- day 2

AUs - Tattoo Artist/Florist AU! (That got totes out of hand)

Hawke was holed up in the back of the shop when the bell rang. He almost didn’t notice with how engrossed he was in the zinnias. They were absolutely stunning, even in the dim lighting, their tiers of petals curled over each other in bright yellows and pinks as if nature tried to capture a sunburst in the best way it knew how. There was something melancholy but peaceful about making an arrangement for a funeral, and Hawke was deep within his own head, assessing and snipping and placing flowers with care.

What startled him out of his focus was the sound of his own voice as he instinctively called, “Be there in a moment!” at the sound of said bell. Grumbling to himself about weird conditioning experiments, Hawke ran a hand over his beard to make sure there weren’t any flowery bits stuck there before he waltzed to the front of the shop.

He stopped short when he got a glimpse of the man who was ambling around. The man wasn’t especially tall, nor was he especially broad, but the width of his shoulders did belie the existence of some muscle beneath the leather jacket covering them. His legs were surprisingly long for his height, covered in deep blue jeans. The man’s hair was white, as if it had been bleached quite viciously, but it appeared soft as it caught the fluorescent lighting.

Hawke cleared his throat and then promptly regretted it. The stranger turned, and Hawke was trapped in the roundest, saddest, most complexly colored eyes he had ever seen. They must have been some shade of hazel, appearing almost green, but the slightest tilt of the man’s head had them looking dark, like a murky forest pond, their true depths never fathomable.

Eyes narrowed, Hawke almost stepped closer, but then it was the stranger’s turn to make a sound. “Hello,” he said.

How does he have a voice like that? Hawke thought. He was not expecting to be thrown this far into the deep end of lust-at-first-sight. That voice was already low and rumbling, and Hawke likened it to the intimately scratchy way a voice usually sounded in the early morning before being broken in with practice. Or after being over-used in other ways…

“Ah, well, yes,” Hawke stammered, regaining his bearings. “Welcome to the Amell Flower Shoppe, how may I help you?”

“Are you an Amell?” the man asked.

Hawke noticed that the man’s tanned skin was interrupted underneath those slightly chapped, but no less full, lips, by what looked like a tattoo in light ink. As if Hawke didn’t already need an excuse to look the guy over, it appeared the tattoo continued downward, over his neck. Hawke certainly couldn’t be blamed for wondering how much farther down it extended.

Noticing that he was being frowned at after he tore his eyes away from the delicate lines on the man’s neck, Hawke supplied, “Technically I’m a Hawke- Garrett Hawke. The Amell comes from my mother. It’s her family’s business. As such, she wasn’t really keen on my suggestions for renaming the place, but honestly, with a name like ‘Amell’ it was such a wasted opportunity. ‘Wake Up and Amell the Roses’? Comedy naming gold.” Hawke fixed the man with a smile.

Those chapped lips curled up just slightly at the corners, and Hawke gathered that it was this man’s way of acknowledging the joke. Subtle but cute.

“Well, Hawke, I was hoping for a bit of assistance.”

Hawke felt his spirits fall just a little as he realized that people usually came into flower shops because they were looking for something for a significant other. Dammit, of course he’s here to buy his girlfriend flowers. Keep it together. Smile still in place, but with more force behind it, Hawke motioned to the various displays around the store. “We’ve got vah-ses and vay-ses, bouquet-ses? With just about any type of flower you want.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the man replied. “I work at the tattoo parlor down the street,” he indicated the way with a finger that Hawke noticed was also tattooed with the same color and style as his neck. “A client of mine has asked for a particular flower tattoo, and I was just stopping by for reference.”

Ah, so that’s what it was. Hawke let out a breath of relief, cleverly disguised as a chuckle. “No problem, sir, just let me know what you’re looking for.”

“Fenris.”

“Come again?”

“My name is Fenris.”

“Oh good,” Hawke exclaimed, “and here I thought you were testing my knowledge with a flower I’d never heard of before.”

Fenris snorted, eyes lingering on Hawke’s face for just a moment before flitting to the ground. “She was looking for a,” he reached into a pocket and pulled out a scrap of loose-leaf, “gladiolus.”

Nodding sagely, Hawke strode over to the bin of fresh gladioli hanging over by the window. “Mmm, yes, the flower of strength of character. Honor. Remembrance. Lovely choice, much more original than a rose.” He fished one out, one that looked especially healthy with six blooming flowers sprouting from the stem. The colors were beautiful, a creamy white bleeding into yellow with a tinge of pink blushing around the edges. It was perfect.

Hawke held it out for inspection, noticing that Fenris looked a little…flustered? His ears were slightly pink and his eyes kept darting from Hawke’s arms to his face and then to the floor before he took a look at the plant being touted in front of him.

“Oh. That certainly will suffice,” Fenris remarked, voice strained through tight lips.

“Allow me to pack this up for you, Fenris.” Hawke found that he liked the way the name fell from his lips. So unusual, but then it seemed to suit the tattooed man so well. He moved behind the counter, getting out the thin green cylinder that would keep the bottom of the stem wet while in transit. Bustling about, he filled the small container with just a smidge of water before popping on the green rubber top.

Just as Hawke was about to open his mouth to ask for help, Fenris spoke up. “You don’t seem like the type of man to be so knowledgeable about flowers.”

“The muscles tend to warp people’s perception of me.” Hawke winked, only flexing his biceps just a little. “‘Won’t you break the delicate petals with your big bara arms?’” he said, voice raised mockingly, “But really, it’s not that difficult to know when a little extra care is needed. Unless it’s the beard that has you thrown off. I’ll have you know it looks splendid covered in daisy blossoms.”

When hazel eyes met square on with brown, this time there was a more confident twinkle in those depths. “I’ve no doubt,” was all Fenris said.

Positively tickled that his flirting wasn’t outright making the customer uncomfortable, Hawke was struck with an idea. He punched a few numbers into the register. “That will be $6.00, please.”

Fenris pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, flipping the appropriate bills out of it. They made the exchange, one gladiolus for the cash, but Hawke wouldn’t let Fenris leave just yet. “Give me just a moment.”

Waltzing to the back with a frenetic sort of excitement, he found exactly the flower he was looking for. They only had a few in the store at a time, their popularity waning and flaring with the seasons. But Hawke took one look at the deep purple blossom, edges ruffled and tinted white like rumpled silk, and he couldn’t imagine allowing Fenris to walk away without one.

Hawke marched back out again with the same level of determination before presenting a second flower to the smaller man. “For you,” he said, “on the house.”

“Its lovely,” Fenris said, hand hesitating only slightly in surprise as he reached up to take it.

Their fingers bumped together.

“What does this mean?” Fenris inquired, eyeing Hawke through his lashes as he bent his head to sniff the blossom.

“Now, if I told you that, it wouldn’t be any fun, would it?” Hawke smiled again, lopsided and a little goofy-looking.

“I’ll consider it a challenge, then.” Fenris inclined his head. “Let me know if you ever consider getting a tattoo.” He eyed Hawke’s visible biceps again before reaching for the door.

“Let me know if you ever need any more references.”

“Good day, Hawke,” Fenris called before jostling the bell again as he exited the shop.

Hawke sighed. “Well,” he thought aloud, “I suppose I’ll have to cover the cost of that gloxinia.”

#fenhawke week #fenhawke #mhawris #dragon age #broody chihuahua baby #briton writes

46 notes · View notes

ivelostmyspectacles · 8 years

Text

Matching [A FenHawke Fanfic]

A/N: Ummm it's Fenris appreciation week and you can bet your buttons I'm taking part in this?? Fenris is so important to me so.

Prompt: "I am yours."

Inspired by this artwork, by @keltbh!

It is a wonder, Fenris thinks, as he sits resolutely still, that he is where he is today. He still does not know exactly how it happened. There was Danarius, and then there was ‘freedom’; there was Kirkwall, and then there was Hawke. And suddenly, somehow, Fenris is sitting stock still as the burly mage in question brushes paint across the bridge of his nose.

How he has fallen to this point, he does not know. Hawke chastises him as he shifts uncomfortably, the tiny hairs of the brush tickling his nose. Fenris stills, and does not roll his eyes even if he wants to, and he has to mask the way that warmth blossoms into his chest as Hawke smiles and hums and contemplates the red swipe on Fenris's nose.

Hawke's smile is decidedly worth this.

"There," Hawke announces, leaning back. The brush flourishes through the air and Fenris winces as red paint scatters across the stained tabletop. "We match!"

He says it like it is the most obvious and beautiful thing in the world, and, no, Fenris does not know how he got here, per se, but he is truly and wholly happy that he is.

The paint is more wet than dry at this point, but he can feel it across the bridge of his nose like a foreign object on his skin. It feels strange, and he goes cross-eyed to look at Hawke's handiwork, nose crinkling in concentration as he tries to see. There's a mirror across the room, but Hawke is across from him, and Fenris has no immediate plans on moving.

"Evidently," he says out loud, looking away from the project and to the artist in question. Hawke's is much more sloppy, large fingers dipped in the liquid and smeared over his nose, but he had said he wanted Fenris's to be perfect. "Only perfection for the perfect!" he had boasted, and before Fenris could even open his mouth to refute the statement, Hawke had pushed ahead to remind him that he was perfect and no, Fenris was not going to tell him otherwise.

Asinine.

Fenris has to splay his hands on the table to lean across it and kiss Hawke, but it gets the job done. The sentiment may all be foolish indeed, but did it feel nice to be told he was perfect, that he was loved?

Hawke's lips curve into a smile beneath Fenris's, and maybe after all this time Fenris's knees still go to jelly beneath the table, but he doesn't admit it, and he will not, and he smiles, too.

The swipe on his nose does match Hawke's, Fenris realises later, when they're washing up at the end of the day. Of course it does; it is only a swipe of colour against skin.

It is so much more.

It is calm and chaos; it is loss and love. It is running away and being found, and it is Hawke's arms looping around his shoulders as Fenris contemplates themselves in the mirror. Fenris is not a man of undue sentimentality. Many of the things he thinks about regarding their relationship will stay private, if only because it is too embarrassing to say such things out loud. (Never-mind if Hawke puts on that goofy grin and never lets Fenris forget he said something romantic.) With Hawke, however, Fenris finds that he never needs the words, exactly. Now is one of those times, as Hawke peppers kisses against his hair and smiles at him and reaches for the cloth in the bowl of water sitting nearby.

Fenris catches his wrist. "Leave it." Hawke looks at him questioningly, and Fenris touches the mark on his own nose.

It is a swipe of colour against skin, but is it a tie to Hawke. A connecting factor, a symbol; Hawke is his and he is Hawke's. That is new, that is strange, that is terrifying. Even today.

"I like it," he says softly, and leans his head against Hawke's chest.

#Fenris Week 2016 #Team Blue and Angry #FenHawke #mHawris #Fenris #Garrett Hawke #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Summer writes #Summer's writing #OTP: I always understood

51 notes · View notes