#M!Hawke x Fenris

[whimscicle]

"In the low lamp light, I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me."

Work Song - Hozier

[tiredwaterboy]

That one Laios and Kabru meme but with my wife

[privatebooth]

Least favourite thing about rendering is choosing the angle. All the tweaking of their hands and fingers, and they don't even get into the frame! D:

[perlen-gold]

~ Perlengold's DADWC writing prompt list ~

🌹 Favorite Romance: Dragon age II

m!Hawke/Fenris

Yeah, I know, I'm not versatile...

✍🏽 Some writing prompt ideas: (or anything you feel like throwing at me <3)

Sensuous Prompts Aesthetic Words Beautiful Words Lost Words

Angsty Dialogue Prompts

Angst Prompts or Angstier Prompts

Kissing Prompts or More Kissing or Even More Kissing

Dragon Age Dialogue Prompts

Happy Writing my friends! 🌺

[jespkii]

you're still here, despite everything

[fuckyeahmhawkefenris]

Originally posted by miyuli sometime in 2016 (the source posts and blog were deleted, but they granted me permission to post their works)

[asha-mage]

I have largely said nothing about Veilguard because I am not, by nature, a hater and if I have nothing good to say I try to avoid saying anything. And also because watching a beloved franchise (and a huge ground breaker for LGBT rep for me personally and games in general) utterly crater brings me nothing but heartache.

But with the news I feel like this at least needs to be said: this is not the fault of BG3, or "woke", or whatever other excuse annoying chuds want to trot out. To a limited extent it's not even really the fault of the industry- at least no more so than usual. Bioware has been on this trajectory since Inquisition. They had ten years to turn things around and they didn't. Instead they chased trends and fairytales and the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow called "live service" and never considered they might just need to stick to what worked and tell a good story.

All the while they were shedding more talent and more passion until we ended up with Veilguard. The fulfillment of the promise of Inquisition: a cynical triple a cash grab meant to appeal to everyone and so appealing to no one. A game that ignores the most interesting rich parts of it's setting to serve up a calorie free action RPG that manages to say absolutely nothing about the ideas at the heart of the Dragon Age series.

No one deserves to lose their job and layoffs are an unethical bloodletting to please investors, but things didn't have to go this way. The rails had come off with Inquisition but it wasn't too late to prevent a crash.

Instead they barreled full steam ahead. And we ended up here.

[junie-junette]

I wish you all a very nice weekend with a soft morning kiss between Hawke and Fenris ! I was like coming home, drawing them again so I hope you'll like the drawing !

The joy of finding an old forgotten WIP in my files haha ! Fenhawke will still have the place n°1 in my heart ! ♡

[yourworsttotebag]

translation

Fenris/Hawke ~1.1k words teen

“I want to tell you something Fenris said to me in Elvish but I don't want you to translate it.” Merrill sucks in a quick breath, her eyes wide with interest. “Of course.” Siv runs a finger along one of the many scars marking the Hanged Man's worn table. “It was something like - vhenan.”

[voukkake]

I fcking love that dynamic

[tacticianmagician]

close enough. welcome back 2012

[whimscicle]

All that's left is the ghost of you

[fashionablyfyrdraaca]

If Hawke romanced Fenris ❤️

[privatebooth]

Yeah, I'm just glad the ban was lifted.

[perlen-gold]

Lyrium

Prompt: Lyrium for @14daysdalovers

Pairing: fenhawke

In spite of everything they imply Hawke loves running his fingers along the iridescent white rivulets on Fenris skin, still dewy from sweat, and trailing each and every delicate path, still incandescent, with soft fingertips. White, pearl white as his hair.

“It is alright, isn’t it?”

A deep voice, resonate as gravel under swiftly flowing water.

“I have told you before.” Fenris answers in unconcealed exasperation for he is none to offer redundant information – never saying more than needs to be said – a character trait that cannot be erased by even the most winsome smile on Hawke’s face.

“What’s this?” Hawke asks, brushing a tender spot just below Fenris bare shoulder blade. Weeks had passed since their leaving Kirkwall till Fenris finally allowed the charcoal black armor to rest on the ground instead of buckling it on as soon as their strained breaths and Hawke’s lips left his body.

“An old wound. I defended Danarius from a rival blood mage who conjured up a beastly demon, ironclad and armored with poisonous thorns.” Fenris voice is slow and low with slumberousness.  Hawke likes his voice this way, bereft of any harshness, less thunderous and quite deep.

“And he didn’t heal you?” Hawke’s brows meet in thought.

“No. It was his opinion that I might become a fast learner that way, obviously.”

After those words, Fenris extends one elbow in order to push Hawke’s heavy torso away from his backside since, despite the drunken droplets of rain outside the frigid glass windows, Hawke’s broad-shouldered body is radiating heat. Hawke lets himself be pressed away only to move closer the moment Fenris ceases to move. It has become a kind of game between the pair of them by now that Hawke is only too happy to indulge in.

“And this?”

At a lighter touch now Hawke’s fingers travel to another patch of roughly mended almond skin on the small of Fenris’ back. He leans in closer to catch Fenris’ drowsily mumbled words.

“Danarius had me flayed. Hadriana stole my food so one night I stole hers instead.”

“I remember her. She looked like one voracious woman to me.”

Fingers tracing the intricate, icy white markings up Fenris’ neck Hawke’s face remains placid, revealing never how grave Fenris’ words may or may not distress him.

“What about this one?”

This time, Hawke cannot grasp Fenris’ next words, so easily do they evaporate into slumber, except for “dragonling”, and he makes a mental note to let his healing power wash over Fenris every time they encounter so much as a half-starved stray dog, even if it will drive Fenris mad with irritation.

Though he can feel his breathing fluid and even beneath his own arms, Hawke allows his inky beard to scratch Fenris’ jawline when he asks once more: “It’s alright this way, isn’t it?”

A huffing snort.

Across Hawke’s face a deliberate smirk scurries and his mind floats back many, many weeks to a similar night.

Still, he keeps asking the question. Not every time, perhaps, but from precious time to time as if to catch Fenris off his guard;  just to make doubly sure; even if he knows the answer because his hands tell him so.

Some months ago it came as a severe shock with the force of an ear-splitting explosion when Hawke first discovered another shred of truth about those elaborate lyrium marks.

Misreading Fenris flinching at Hawke’s most gentle touch for a reaction of unfamiliarity, he had not been paying his occasional recoiling much heed anymore as even their kisses seemed to be sheltering something wild and heedless.

And then, one day, when their skins were cooling off slowly, adding it as an afterthought, really, Fenris casually mentioned the pain.  

Shock. Anxiety. Guilt. Horror. Fury.

Fenris, how could you not tell me?

I did not think it something worth mentioning.

How can this not be worth mentioning to you? To me?

Anger was welling in Hawke’s chest so rapidly it caused his lungs to hurt just as much as each white-hot, luminescent curve blazing before his eyes in the close-lipped dark of night. It built its way into his veins, infusing his skin with the very agony Fenris had been enduring for months and decided not worth mentioning.

Fenris noticed it, this non-characteristic display of ungoverned emotions on Hawke’s face. Between them the air was suddenly bare and raw with stillness.

Fenris’ eyes narrowed as they did slightly before immediate battle.

Each wince or cringe, each small hiss under Fenris’ breath on Hawke’s lips now colored in a different shade of hue.

The mere thought was sickening.

Holding his gaze, Hawke felt his voice rising in his chest when he observed the emerald in Fenris eyes sparkle as it does whenever one of his adamantly unwavering beliefs is to be casted with the shadow of doubt. Instead of shouting, however, Hawke shied away from Fenris outstretched hand, appalled at himself, when it reached for him.

However, even this thronging sensation resided under Hawke’s skin, tangible, yet not to lash out.

Instead of shouting, Hawke sat up. Quietly, he leant over him, scrutinizing Fenris jowls, eyes, brows for any clandestine signs of lingering pain, his voice as calm as the wind rustling under forest green leaves, his emotions spreading none the stormier throughout his bitter body but channeled to where he could master and contemplate them.

“Fenris. Why didn’t you tell me at the very beginning? ”

“I do not fear pain.” Fenris stated, an unpleasant smile lurking at the edge of his eyes still squinting in warning.

Hawke chose his next words carefully.

“You should have told me.” And then, without waiting for the answer: “I can help you, Fenris. If only you permit me to.”

Fenris anger, on the other hand, flared up immediately and disastrously as a torch of flame might blaze fierce white-hot light into utter darkness.

It took Hawke days upon days of coaxing, reasoning, pleading, reassuring, arguing, even fighting, with Hawke refusing to touch him at all and Fenris becoming broodier and more irritated by the hour, and eventually more coaxing for Fenris to reluctantly admit Hawke’s magic to response to the lyrium’s violent power.

For the first time ever Hawke could remember, while he was merely touching his hand, cupping it in his own and fingertips simply resting on Fenris’ tense palm, he felt Fenris rigid fingers slacken. Gritted teeth, set jaws relaxing.

Suspicious eyes smoothing as a firmly shut door might quiver when confronted with the softest of pushes.

And then, if only in the briefest blink of an eye, Hawke witnessed the violent smoldering waver.

That very night Hawke exhausted himself working his magic on every inch of Fenris trembling skin until he felt drained with anemic debilitation.

And still he asks the question. That, too, is a kind of childish game between them, one that Fenris cannot refuse to join in for his own slight dishonesty, and one that Hawke cannot forsake for his own stubborn, lovesick, unvoiced needs. The third time he poses the teasing question, Fenris remains silent with sleep. Hawke smiles, seeking out the tell-tale spots of scarred almond skin and planting a scratchy kiss on each before he gives in to fatigue himself, Fenris’ cold fingers reaching out and interlacing with Hawke’s just beyond the brink of slumber.

Over time Hawke has adapted, learned to bestow just the right amount of magical power to soothe the vigilant lyrium into peaceful hibernation. Soon, this newly discovered ability comes without asking, without concentrating, of its own accord, without thinking.

Under his touch his skin, Fenris confessed, some days later, prickled nigh on without pain, so close to innoxiousness he could even imagine analgesia.

He will never touch Fenris without this gift of his again, and, among so numerous a thing, Hawke discovers that there is an unflinching, appeased quality, void of hissing and restrain, under that menacing white-hot colored blaze.

[scarfacemarston]

Thank you for doing these! Since you mentioned Dragon Age, can you do letter K for Fenris? :D.

Yesss please send me more Dragon Age, especially Fenris!!! Prompt here. He goes all in, baby. He was in control for the first and he was in control for that in Act 3. Those kisses are rough, and full of passion, he pours everything he can because he tells Hawke he'd have to show them rather than tell them again that he loves them, a wee bit like he has something to show or prove. Other times, it's like you're the air he breathes. "I need this. I need you". The sweet kisses are in private. He really likes to cup his partner's cheek, I noticed. I see a lot of kisses with Marian on his lap or Garrett between his legs. Or sleepy kisses when his hair is being played with. He'll glance up with a serene, happy smile and pull Hawke in for the lightest of kisses. Blink and you would miss it. He'd then would get sleepier and insist on going to bed. But his favorite kiss? He loves Hawke to come in while he's bathing , joining him, soaping Hawke up, rub their shoulders and just pepper little kisses from their ear to their neck- while messing their hair up, of course. He is a sucker for the same being done to him. He melts every time. Of course, it's not a surprise when things go further than that.

Finally, morning kisses up and down the spine. He's very soft in the morning.