#x. fenris post | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shivunin · 2 years

Note

barges into your ask box!! hello/goodbye hugs that linger for fenris and maria 👀?

Can't barge in if the door is open! Thanks, Zen c: I'll have you know that this was originally two thousand words longer before I reconsidered, so...here is the happy version instead c: (the prompt list)

(Words: 2,548)

A Fond Farewell

In the early days, Fenris cataloged Hawke’s mannerisms out of suspicion. She was a mage, after all, for all that she’d helped him without the promise of recompense. It mattered little that she seemed to wear her heart on her sleeve. There might be some trick to her—no, had to be some trick—and it was wisest to watch her so he would be warned if the betrayal ever came.

So: Fenris watched her smile at the others, the way she would wrinkle her nose when Varric told an especially bad joke, the way she tipped her chin back and laughed with her whole body when she was pleased. He watched the way she fought, as if she’d been born doing it and it came as an afterthought to her now.

But most of all, Fenris saw the way Hawke was always reaching out for someone.

In the beginning, she would pull in Carver whenever she told a story about Ferelden, elbowing his side or resting a hand on his shoulder while she gestured with the other. Her brother seemed used to the contact and did not react at all when she did so, as if this behavior was to be expected from her.

Fenris didn’t understand it, but he didn’t need to; in the beginning, it was enough just to note that it was a habit of hers and move on.

Over time, her casual contact branched out to the others: she would drape her legs over Isabela’s lap when she was tipsy, and lean against Merrill’s side. She linked arms with Aveline when they walked, or rested an arm around Varric’s shoulder when one of them was telling a story. In those early days, there was plainly some awkwardness between her and the human mage—all of them saw it—but soon enough that faded, too, and she would prod Anders' shoulder when making some point or other as they walked.

It was as if she couldn’t help herself, as if she was actually reaching for something else and forever finding it in contact with others.

More than any of these, Hawke always, always hugged her friends goodbye.

Every one of them…except Fenris.

On one of those early days, when they’d said long goodbyes outside the Hanged Man, she hugged the others and paused before him. Fenris stood on the periphery, watching her with narrowed eyes, and she surveyed him with a tilted head.

“G’night, Fenris,” she said after a pause, smiling brightly, and reached behind her for her brother’s wrist, “Come on, Carver. Told you that girl wasn’t interested, or she’d be here by now.”

“But she said—” her brother began, already irritated, and the two of them walked away still arguing.

Fenris, only mildly surprised, walked away without any further fanfare. He was not impressed by her decision to leave him be; he’d been indicating with every syllable of body language he had that he’d no desire to be touched. That she’d honored the unspoken request was good, but nothing especially notable—though, of course, he did file the interaction away with his other observations.

For a long time, this was how they parted: she would hug the others, perhaps even kiss their cheeks, and then she would pause before Fenris, smile at him, and say her goodnights.

If he wondered what it might feel like to be touched by her, however briefly, outside the context of healing—well. He was the only one who needed to know what he wondered about when the lights were doused.

It was at least a year before this habit changed, not until well after the disaster in the Deep Roads and the loss of her brother to the Wardens. There was sorrow, and a frantic span of time in which she adjusted to her newfound wealth and moved her mother to Hightown. During that time, Fenris began to wonder if she might be done with her old friends entirely. But no: only a few weeks after the move had commenced, Hawke was barging into Varric’s quarters with all the subtlety of a summer storm just she always did, and discarded her cloak over the back of a chair instead of on the coat rack.

“Sorry,” she told the table at large, and settled onto the bench beside Fenris, “Didn’t mean to be late. Had to help a girl find her lost doll.”

“And you didn’t get mugged over it? Color me impressed, Hawke,” Varric said, dealing her in without a pause, “Haven’t missed much yet. Bela was telling us about her conquest of the week.”

“Oh, I’ve finished now,” Isabella said, rolling her eyes and lifting her tankard, “Not that I had any help, if you take my meaning.”

Some small, hidden worry gradually lifted from Fenris’s shoulders at Hawke’s presence. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for the others; some of them were perfectly tolerable. It was just—Hawke made sense of their group. If she had left for good…Well. He’d begun to wonder if it was wise to stay in the city; that was all. Such considerations seemed less reasonable when she was sitting at the table, nudging Bela with her elbow while she described her mother’s choice in decoration.

In the small hours of the morning, when they finally parted ways, the group exchanged their long, messy goodbyes as usual. Only—this time, Fenris stepped forward and set a hand on her elbow when he might otherwise have stood at a distance.

“Goodnight, Hawke,” he said, immediately regretting the change when her eyes went wide at him.

“Oh!” she said. It was foolish, it was absurd, but for a moment it felt like the whole world hung in the balance.

Then, just as she had with the others, Hawke reached for him. She did not embrace him, but instead set a hand on his shoulder and took a step closer. They were rarely so near each other unless one of them was bleeding, and then they usually had more urgent things to worry about. Fenris wondered how he’d never noticed before that her eyelashes were so dark and fine, or that smile line bracketed her mouth even when she wasn’t smiling.

“Goodnight, Fenris,” she said, the lines around her mouth deepening, and then she dropped her hand and turned away, reaching for Aveline’s elbow.

“Aveline,” she was already saying, unperturbed, “I have a question about a fine point of city law.”

“Maker, what now?” the other woman asked warily.

“If one is nude in one’s own courtyard—” Hawke began, her voice trailing off as they walked away.

Fenris stood for a moment, watching them, abruptly aware that he would need to walk up the same set of stairs to go home. Usually, he would be well up them before she even finished saying goodbye to the others. It felt…odd, somehow, to trail her home, if only because she followed the same route he did now.

Best wait a moment, he thought, and caught the dwarf’s speculative glance when he turned.

“What?” Fenris asked, pausing, and Varric shook his head.

“Oh, nothing at all,” he said, turning for the door, “Goodnight, Fenris.”

“Yes,” Fenris said, and decided it would be best to round a corner before giving Hawke a lead up the stairs.

It had been fine.

It had been—it had just been a goodbye. She did it constantly; it meant nothing, and it meant nothing that he stood around the corner for nearly fifteen minutes thinking about what her hand on his shoulder had been like, and what he might have felt if she’d touched bare skin instead.

In nights that followed, Fenris decided that it would be stranger to go back to the way they'd been. He would simply have to accept that cursory touches were part of his evenings from now on. Aveline was increasingly busy with the guard, and it seemed increasingly foolish to trail behind Hawke like a lost pup at the end of the night. Fenris walked with her instead, all the long way up the stairs to Hightown, parting at her door. This was not a problem; he’d have to walk that way regardless, and Hawke was good company.

Goodbyes took place at her front door, between the two of them alone. The longer this remained their routine, the more casual it felt to talk with his hand resting on her shoulder or elbow. She went from carefully touching his shoulder to patting his chest or nudging his hip, and Fenris didn’t stop her. When she finally reached up to embrace him, it felt natural, normal, even inevitable.

But here was the problem: Hawke had a habit of continuing conversations while she hugged the others goodbye, and Fenris was no exception. If she was midway through a point about something when she reached for him, she would keep on talking into his ear until she was finished or one of them pulled away.

One of them—it was always Hawke who pulled away; Fenris found that he did not have the urge to let go of her so quickly, even if she’d wrapped her arms around his shoulders for several minutes. It was nothing; just another quirk of hers. There was no doubt in his mind that this was true.

One evening, after nearly two years of this, she embraced him to say goodbye and spent at least ten minutes explaining one of the finer points of the horrible play they’d just finished watching.

For his part, Fenris had missed much of it, so focused on not looking at Hawke that he hadn’t heard any of the dialogue and had only minimally absorbed the actual events onstage. He’d no idea how he’d wound up in this position after all that; he felt hot and itchy now, desperate to dance away and put distance between them. The longer she held on, the stronger the feeling grew, until at last he cleared his throat and interrupted her.

“Hawke,” he said, and just that.

It was easy enough to grasp her waist and set her away from him, and she let go without protest, wincing faintly.

“Sorry!” she said, taking several steps back.

In the light of the flames outside her front door, he could see the flush on her cheeks.

“It is…fine,” he said, also taking several steps back, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she said faintly, and spun on her heel for the door.

Fenris walked away before he had to think any harder about the interaction, but it was no use. He could still feel her breath against his neck, the lines of boning in her bodice pressed against his hands, and he couldn’t seem to banish the foreign urge that had seized him while he’d held her. He didn’t want to kiss Hawke—did he?

He paced in his room for a time, scowling hard at his own feet over the broken tile.

His clothes smelled like her.

No; he would not think of it.

Hawke should be seeing someone else, someone who wasn’t on the run. Surely there was someone out there who could give her a better life, who would make her happy.

She’d blushed. He’d never seen Hawke blush.

No, no; think of something else.

Surely she did the same thing to the others when she was in the middle of some explanation; surely this had meant nothing in particular, even if she had flirted with him in the past.

Why could he still feel her in his arms?

Frustrated, Fenris dragged a hand back through his hair. This was—it was simply an aberration. That was it. The next time they saw each other, she would say goodbye in her usual manner and that would be—it would be fine.

More than fine. Yes. This would not be a problem.

Later that week, the two of them walked together up the stairs from Lowtown, companionably discussing the benefits of upgrading one’s armor to a higher class of steel. It seemed an ordinary enough evening, but when they reached her door she immediately turned toward the manor.

“‘Night, Fenris,” she said cheerfully, and shut the door behind her.

Fenris froze, hands slightly raised, and stared after her for a moment.

This was…fine.

Fenris had gone a very long time not touching Hawke. It should matter very little now that she hadn’t said goodbye. It shouldn’t bother him, and she was not obligated to—to—well, she could do whatever she wished. That was all. It was none of his affair.

But she walked away without touching him the next night, and three days after that when they all met for drinks, and…

He’d had no idea how important that simple gesture had been to him until it was gone, and now he felt its absence as keenly as he felt the absence of his blade when he set it aside at night. The next time they saw each other, Fenris approached her door with grim determination.

“—and that’s why it never made any sense to me at all that there could be werewolves in Ferelden,” she was saying, waving a hand as she spoke, “I don’t care what the stories say, it’s illogical at best.”

“Quite,” Fenris said stiffly, and she glanced up at him, blowing a black curl away from her forehead.

He wished, intensely, that he’d never noticed the way her lips pursed when she did that.

“Everything alright?” she asked as they paused at her door. She was already angled toward the door, ready to walk away from him. Fenris sought an answer, but came up with nothing; he stepped forward and embraced her instead, his body moving before his mind could properly disagree.

She sucked in a breath when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, but she returned the gesture readily enough. It was different holding her like this; she was slightly shorter than him, though Fenris rarely noticed. When she wasn’t reaching up for him, the top of her head rested just below his chin.

There was—there was a scar on the top of her head that he’d never noticed before, arching across the center part of her hair. For a strange moment, Fenris was seized by the urge to press his lips to the point where the two lines met. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head instead, and she relaxed against him all at once.

It was…nice.

He admitted it to himself, tightening his arms slightly. It was pleasant to hold her; he enjoyed it. He liked the place where her arms had settled around his back. He liked how warm she was where the exposed skin of his upper arms touched hers. He liked the way her hair smelled, and he particularly liked the way she was holding him—as if she liked it, too.

This was…Fenris needed to think about this. Slowly, reluctantly, he loosened his grip and stepped back.

“Goodnight,” he said, his voice rough, “Hawke.”

“Goodnight, Fenris,” she said, her hands falling slowly until they rested at her sides again.

Fenris took a deep breath, considering and discarding several other things to say. Instead, he smiled faintly—the best he could manage under the circumstances, just a quirk at one side of his mouth—and turned to walk away.

He could have sworn he heard her sigh behind him—but perhaps that was only wishful thinking.

#maria hawke #fenris #fenris dragon age #fenhawke #fenris x hawke #f!hawke #da2 #da fanfic #my writing #i would have posted this half an hour earlier but i could not for the life of me think up a title #naming things: the eternal struggle #i might go back and finish the long version of this eventually but i was like...okay i don't need to recap their whole relationship #for each of these #also i didn't say it earlier but “touch” by july talk is the theme for this one #if there are errors in this pretend you didn't see them (unless they're egregious)#also zen i am taking a leaf out of your book and putting the word count on these from now on (if i can remember)#shivunin scrivening

60 notes · View notes

theoverlyenthusiasticwriter · 6 months

Text

Woof

Read it on Ao3

Masterlist

They're falling for each other. They both know it. There's no going back now. On the evening of Fenrys' birthday in Prythian, Azriel takes him out to a secret spot.

*****

Since Azriel had shown it to him, Fenrys spent much of his time in the theater. The director didn’t mind when he sat in the audience with his notebook and had even given him copies of the lyrics to follow along to.

The music here was haunting. Deep and soulful, Fenrys was only beginning to understand it. Translating it was a near impossible task, but one that kept his mind pleasantly busy. It was strange to actually hear the words he’d been learning these past months. His notes were now filled with pronunciations as well as definitions and grammar.

The technicians were changing out the curtains between songs when Azriel came in. Fenrys was alerted to his presence by the shadows, darkening at his feet as their owner drew closer. Azriel leaned over the back of his seat. “What are you doing?”

Fenrys suppressed a shudder at his voice so close to his ear. “Learning more about your culture.”

Azriel peered at his notes. “Your head is always in that damn book.”

“It's far more interesting than anything you have to show me.”

“Then maybe I’ll find someone else to execute my evening plans with.”

At that, Fenrys looked at him at last. He narrowed his eyes. “What plans?”

“I have somewhere I’d like to show you.”

Interest piqued, Fenrys closed his notebook and stood. Azriel tilted his head to the entrance. “Shall we?”

“Do I get to know where we’re going?” Fenrys followed him outside, blinking against the light of the falling sun.

Azriel shook his head. He held out his arms.

Fenrys sighed but stepped forward to be lifted. Azriel shot into the sky.

The flight was short and by the time Fenrys realized where they were going, it was too late.

“Oh, just fucking drop me.”

“Hush.” Azriel dove down into a clearing.

Fenrys groaned as he was set on his feet. “I thought we were going somewhere interesting.”

“This way.” Azriel set off through the trees.

“We already trained today. I’ve got the whole moving quietly thing down.” Fenrys didn’t point out that it was still light out, if just barely. They were near the peak of the mountain, facing the ocean, so he could see the orange painted sky.

“We’re not training.” Azriel reached back and grabbed his hand. “You said it was your birthday today.”

Fenrys blinked. “I don’t really celebrate my birthday. I was just trying to get you to be nice to me.”

“I’m nice to you.”

“You are not.” Still, Fenrys let him lead him by the hand over one last hill.

And before them… it was a pool of pure starlight. It glittered in the falling sun rays, stretching nearly to the edge of a cliff and the sea beyond.

“Holy shit.” Fenrys stepped forward and dipped his hand into the liquid. It was like touching silk. “This is beautiful.”

Azriel set down his pack on a rock, then sat to work the laces of his boots. “There are pools like this scattered all over the continent, but they are kept secret. There are rumors that the waters can heal the injured, make wishes come true, make mortals immortal… stuff like that.”

“Let me guess: it doesn’t do any of that.”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Why does it glitter?”

“No idea.” Azriel stood, barefoot, and shrugged out of his jacket, fluttering his wings to slide it down them so he could undo the clasp between.

Fenrys watched him. “I was always wondering how that worked.”

Azriel turned. “The shirts don’t have the middle panel. There’s just a clasp on top.” So, half of his spine was revealed, as well as a line of tattoos between his wings.

“Are you going to… swim in it?”

Azriel’s belt dropped onto the rocks. “Yes.”

He stripped of his pants too, then sank into the water.

Fenrys went to the very edge. “Is it cold?”

“No.” Azriel dunked his head. He emerged, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes.

“How can you swim with those wings?”

“Well enough.” They were tucked tight to his body. “Are you coming in?”

Fenrys arched a brow. “Are you sure it won’t turn me into a frog or something?”

“It hasn’t done anything to me.”

“Except magically turn you into an asshole. Oh, wait.” Fenrys grinned and narrowly avoided getting splashed.

He shed himself of everything but his undershorts, reasoning that Azriel had seen him plenty of times. Stepping into the water, he found that it was warm indeed and no deeper than his chest. He ran his hands through it in wonder, bathed in the orange light of the falling sun.

“Fenrys.” Azriel’s voice was hoarser than it had been a moment ago.

Fenrys turned to him and threw the water in his face.

Azriel blinked as glittering rivers dripped across his face.

Fenrys laughed, which earned him his own mouthful of water. He tried to splash Az again only to find his wrists caught in each of Azriel’s hands.

“That’s cheating!”

Azriel shoved his head under the water.

Sputtering as he rose, he bombarded Azriel with he could manage. Azriel gave as good as he got.

By the time the war was over (Fenrys won) the sun had slipped all the way down past the sea. Without it, the pool seemed to glow brighter, as if in recognition of the stars overhead.

Fenrys pushed his wet hair out of his eyes as he stared up at the night sky. He took a breath. “Az, can I tell you something?”

“Of course.” Azriel pushed away from the edge of the pool where he’d been watching the sea. He faced Fenrys.

Fenrys couldn’t look at him. “I don’t think I want to go home.”

Azriel was silent for long enough that Fenrys glanced his way. He’d moved closer without Fenrys realizing. “I don’t want you to go home either.”

Fenrys turned fully towards him. “Does that make me a horrible person? I know my brother is suffering in my wake, but surely… surely…”

“His suffering is not your fault. It’s hers.” Azriel caught his eye. “And your brother is just as capable of making it here too.”

“Connall wouldn’t, though. He wouldn’t betray Maeve like that.”

“Then the results of his actions are not your fault either. He chooses where he puts his loyalty.”

Fenrys nodded, even if his heart sank a little in his chest.

“Don’t think about that right now.” Azriel drifted closer.

“What should I think about instead?”

There was a moment of heavy silence before Azriel lifted a hand, dripping in starlight, to cup Fenrys’ face. “Close your eyes.”

Fenrys closed his eyes.

His heart was pounding, arms limp at his sides. He knew what was coming—what had been building these past few weeks. He didn’t know what to do about it, but he certainly wasn’t about to step away.

Azriel, who had seen the ugliest, darkest parts of him. Azriel, who had offered him a way out. Azriel, who had been nothing but honest, even when it stung.

Even when it didn’t.

Fenrys tilted his face. Azriel exhaled, the breath rushing across his skin.

Then his mouth met Fenrys’, soft and warm and everything he’d imagined. He kissed him, leaning in close so their chests brushed. Fenrys’ hands slid around his waist beneath the water. It was unfamiliar. He’d never kissed a man before, never touched one like this. He liked it, he decided. Azriel was solid, unmoving. He made Fenrys feel small, but not in a bad way. Protected. Coddled.

Azriel’s fingers drifted across the nape of his neck, his other hand settling on the small of his back. He broke the kiss before Fenrys was ready, pulling back bare centimeters.

Fenrys opened his eyes.

Neither of them said anything. There weren’t words anyway.

Fenrys leaned in this time, rising up onto his toes before Azriel met him. His arms slipped from Azriel’s waist to wind around his neck.

The kiss deepened. Azriel’s tongue was hot in his mouth, demanding. It was like a leash had snapped and Fenrys suddenly felt himself being devoured, pressed against the stone at the edge of the pool. He loud out a noise of surprise that had Azriel jerking back.

“I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s okay.” Fenrys kissed him again, but Azriel didn’t allow it to deepen.

“No,” he said, pressing their brows together. “I want to do this right with you. You deserve that much at least.”

Fenrys licked his lips. He’d have to do some research, he decided. He knew the basics of sex between two males, but just that. He’d never had the urge to invite a male into his bed, but he’d also never really thought about it. Very rarely did Maeve allow him to seek pleasure in other avenues and when she did, he usually just got as shit faced as possible. Sex wasn’t something he did for himself.

But maybe with Az…

Another day. Fenrys knew if he pushed hard enough, Azriel would give in, but it could wait. They had time.

Azriel lifted his head and pressed a kiss to Fenrys’ brow. “I brought you some of that wine you like.”

“Really?”

“In my pack. Ah, ah, I’ll get it.” Azriel caught his wrist when he lunged for the bag. He was smiling.

Azriel hadn’t brought glasses, so Fenrys swigged from the bottle. The wine was so sweet it was hard to believe there was any alcohol in it at all. In fact, even if it was just bubbly juice, Fenrys would still drink it.

Azriel took his own sip before setting it back on the rocks. He reached for his bag again. “I have something else for you. It’s just something small, really…”

Fenrys drifted closer peering over his shoulder.

Azriel offered him a small rectangular parcel, horribly wrapped in brown paper.

“Did you let a toddler wrap this?” Fenrys asked as he took it.

Azriel scowled. “I wrapped it.”

“I see. So, I’ve found a weakness of the great shadowsinger: wrapping gifts.”

“Just open it, jackass.”

Smiling so hard his face hurt, Fenrys tore through the paper to reveal a small leather-bound book. A tie held it closed and pinned one of the charcoal pencils Fenrys preferred to its side.

Azriel was rubbing the back of his neck. “I noticed you were running out of room in the other one and I thought…”

“I love it,” Fenrys interrupted. He kissed Azriel on the mouth. “Thank you.”

“Cassian bought you some new quills to go with.”

“Spoiling his gift like that? How cruel.”

“It was my idea,” Azriel said around a pout.

The thought warmed Fenrys to the core: the two greatest warriors in this land, whispering behind his back about a birthday gift.

Azriel put the notebook back in his bag away from the water and drew Fenrys back in. “Your Prythian is getting better.”

“You’re damn right it is.”

“Given that you never shut up, I suppose you do practice a lot.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Fenrys pushed him away. “Let’s see you learn a new language.”

“I could. I mean, I would.” Azriel cocked his head, his hair glittering blue. “You could teach me yours.”

“I think you might be too old. What’s that saying about old dogs and new tricks?”

Azriel crossed his arms over his chest. “I bet I could teach you a few new tricks, puppy.”

Fenrys grinned. “Woof.”

Azriel reached out and took his wrist, drawing him back in. He tucked his hair behind a pointed ear and applied his mouth to Fenrys’ throat. “I could have you yapping for me like a proper lap dog.”

Fenrys shuddered and all his confidence bled from him, replaced by the blush that took over his cheeks. He didn’t even have a witty comeback.

“Come on,” Azriel said as he pulled back. “Let’s go home.”

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #sarah j maas #acomaf #acowar #acofas #a court of thorns and roses #my fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #post kingdom of ash #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys tog #throne of glass fenrys #fenrys x azriel #fenrys x happiness #azriel

7 notes · View notes