#but as usual my brain felt silly goofy and decided to twist it for the lols

[thedrotter]

cw blood (kind of? in different colors that dont make it look quite like it), organs

warm up + greyscale screen filter challenge !!! featuring yuuichi eating normal human (in origin) food😁😁😁

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/Rynne Hawke: Disappointment

A (VERY late) prompt fill for @talesfromthefade​​​, for @dadrunkwriting​​​ Friday! 

Set during the later end of Act II. It’s basically a drunken conversation featuring some cuteness, but even more angst, pining, and UST. 😭

~6100 words (SORRY, MY PROMPT FILLS ARE LONG). Read on AO3 instead.

************************

Fenris was sitting at the table in his mansion and struggling with a copy of Hard in Hightown when he heard a knock at the door.

It was more of a bang than a knock, really, and the sound instantly put him on alert. Before he could reach for his sword, though, he heard the laughter.

His shoulders relaxed. Hawke, he thought ruefully, and he went to open the door. 

Hawke tripped into his house with a giggle, followed closely by the scent of brandy. “Fenris!” she chirped. “I’m so glad you’re here, I was about to — hic — set up camp on your front step if you didn’t answer the door. Would you care for some wine?” She haphazardly waved a bottle of wine in his direction.

He hastily took the bottle before it could hit him in the face. “Er, thank you, but no. How much brandy have you had?”

She turned to him with wide eyes. “Brandy? Me? How did you know?”

“You smell like you were bathing in it,” he said dryly.

A beautiful grin lifted her lips. “Wouldn’t that be the dream? An entire — hic— bathtub filled with brandy, just for me. I could be persuaded to share with you, though.” She shot him a saucy wink, then began meandering toward the table. Her gait was loose and lazy with booze, yet somehow her hips were still moving with their customary alluring sway, and Fenris eyed her wistfully as he followed her to the table. 

She gasped and petted the pages of his open book. “Ooh, were you reading?” she asked brightly. 

He grunted and scratched the back of his head. “Trying to, in any case. It’s slow-going.” 

She looked up at him with hopeful eyes. “Can I help you? I can help, if you like.”

He eyed her with a touch of exasperation and placed the wine on the table. “You’re hardly in a position to be assisting with this at the moment.”

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “I’m not that plastered. I’m only a tiny bit plastered. Look, I can absolutely help you with this.” She peered at the page. “Now if only the letters would stop moving all over the place.”

Fenris huffed and pulled out a chair for her. “Sit down, Hawke. You look as though you’re about to fall over.” 

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. Then she promptly plopped down on the floor and started pulling off her boots. 

He shook his head, then sat in the chair he’d just pulled out. “What is the special occasion?”

She smiled blearily up at him. “Hm? Occasion?”

He gestured at her. “Is there a reason you’re this drunk?”

“Do I need a reason?” she said. “Maybe I’m just full of joie-de-vivre, as the Orlesians would say! But Orlesians would probably also spit on my taste in Rivaini brandy, so never mind that.”

Fenris frowned slightly. Her tone was as jocular as ever, but she wasn’t meeting his eye as she spoke. “Were you at the Hanged Man?” he asked.

“I was,” she said cheerfully. “Varric and Bels and I got into this fabulous darts tournament, and–”

She broke off suddenly and looked up at him in horror. “Oh fuck. Oh shit. Did you want to come? Oh Fenris, I’m sorry, I should have come to get you before going to the Hanged Man but I didn’t even think about it, I just went straight there, I’m sorry–”

He waved her off. “You went straight there from where?” he asked.

“From the Gallows,” she said, to his surprise. “I took Mother to visit Carver today, and–” She snorted. “Can I just say that it went swimmingly well? Swimmingly, splendidly well. It’s definitely something I’ll be doing again, perhaps in fifty years or so.” She broke off with a goofy giggle.

Ah, he thought. Now it made sense. Something unfortunate must have happened during her visit to the Gallows with her family. 

“Did it truly go well?” he said quietly.

She finally met his eye, and for a brief second, her smile slipped before returning to her face. “It did!” she said. “Mother was happy to see him, even though he could just visit the house when he gets his leave days. Can you pass me that wine?”

Fenris hesitated. It was probably a bad idea for Hawke to have anything more to drink. But she was a grown woman who was free to make her own (possibly poor) decisions, and who was he to tell her what to do?

He reached across the table and picked up the bottle of wine. Then he came to join her on the floor. By the time he was settled beside on the floor, she was beaming at him with so much uninhibited fondness that it made his stomach twist. 

He dropped her coppery gaze and pulled a small knife from his pocket, then pried the cork out of the bottle. But instead of offering it to her, he took three big gulps. 

She laughed. “Fenris, you boozehound! I thought you didn’t want any.”

I don’t, really, he thought. But if he didn’t drink any of it, Hawke would drink the whole bottle by herself.

“I changed my mind,” he said, and he offered her the wine. 

She beamed at him. “You beautiful thing, you. You’re joining in with me.” She took the bottle and took a long drink, then lowered it and gave him a quizzical look. “What were we talking about?”

“The Gallows,” he said. “Your mother.”

“Ah yes! Oh, Mother.” Rynne laughed and shook her head. “She said the funniest thing. There I was, talking to Carver and just, you know, needling him about the usual stuff. Asking about his love life, pointing out the irony of him becoming a Templar in the first place, the usual sort of thing. And my mother…” She snickered. “My mother jumps in and starts carrying on about how Carver was just trying to support the family while I went swanning off to the deep roads.” She snorted with laughter. “Can you believe that? ‘Swanning off to the deep roads’! Those are the words she used. As though—” She broke off with another giggle. “As though the deep roads are some fancy Orlesian spa that you and I and Varric and Anders just bloody decided to ‘go swanning off to’ for a few months.” She chuckled some more and lifted the bottle of wine to her lips, and Fenris watched with a pang as she took a few gulps. 

When she lowered the bottle, he gently took it from her hand. “Did you set her straight?” he asked. “Remind her of the reason why we were gone so long?” Namely, that Bartrand had locked them in the ancient thaig, resulting in the need to wander even deeper into the cursed bowels of the thaig before finding a way out?

“Oh Maker, no,” Hawke said. “I never told her why we were gone that long.”

He lowered the bottle and stared at her in surprise. “You didn’t? Why not?”

Hawke snorted. “Are you kidding? She’d have a fit if she knew. She’d fuss and carry on about how dangerous it was and how she never wanted me to go in the first place, even though we needed the fucking money to get the fucking Amell estate back.” She broke off and took a deep breath, then smiled at Fenris and pointed at the wine. “Can I have some of that?”

He quickly took another big drink before handing her the bottle. She took a sip, then broke off with a snort of laughter. “She thought all this time that I swanned off for months. Can you believe that? The deep roads weren’t exactly a cake walk. D’you remember those rock wraith things that were eating the lyrium down there?”

Fenris sneered. “Ah yes. And that hunger demon.” He shot her a reproving look. “I still think it was unwise for you to offer it sandwiches.”

“And I still think it was worth a shot,” she retorted. Then she sighed and offered him the bottle. “Ah well, what’s done is done. It’s just…” She huffed in amusement and shook her head. “She wanted the fucking Amell estate, so I got it back for her. Next time she wants something, maybe I should just become a Templar too.”

Her cheeky smile was still in place, but she was too drunk for the smile to fully hide her true feelings. Fenris eyed her sympathetically, but he didn’t know what to say. He had no experience with providing any kind of comfort. 

He took another sip of wine and wracked his brain for something to say. “I wasn’t aware that the Templars were accepting mages among their ranks,” he said finally. “Has Cullen found a soft spot for you that I didn’t know about?”

She grinned at him, and his heart fluttered; her smile was genuine and warm once more. “Oh Fenris, don’t be silly,” she said. “Cullen has had a soft spot for me all along. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.”

“Hm,” he said. “I suppose all that scowling and telling you off could constitute a soft spot, according to some.”

“Exactly,” she giggled. She took another sip of wine, then gave him a pitiful look. “I know I’m barging in on you and all, but I wasn’t in the mood to go home just yet. Is it all right that I came here instead? Any safe port in a storm and all that.”

He frowned. Safe port in a storm? “Are you concerned that your mother will harm you when you return home?” he said quietly.

“No no, of course not!” she exclaimed. “It’s just a figure of speech.” She barked out a laugh. “My mother, harm anyone? Don’t be ridiculous. She couldn’t harm a wasp even if it was about to sting her.”

Fenris eyed her skeptically for a moment, then shrugged. “You can stay for a visit. I suppose it is only fair, since I…” He trailed off awkwardly. He was about to tell her that her house had become something of a safe space for him as well — a place where he felt at ease, almost at home, particularly when he and Hawke were lounging together in front of the fireplace in her study. But to admit such a thing would be veering far too close to telling her how much he still longed for her, and he didn’t dare let the conversation venture there.

It was surprising that he’d even said as much as he had, in fact. He usually did everything in his power to keep his tenderness for Hawke under wraps, for fear of letting her think there was a chance of them being together again. Why had he nearly said something now?

She offered him the bottle of wine; it was three-quarters empty. That explains it, he thought in resignation. With a small sigh, he took the bottle and drank from it once more.

Hawke stretched her legs out and leaned back on her palms. “So! What were you reading before I came bursting in to ruin your night?”

He lowered the bottle with a smirk. “You really couldn’t tell? You are that drunk?”

“I am quite spectacularly drunk, yes,” she agreed.

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were only… what was it you said? ‘A tiny bit plastered’?”

She snorted. “What is this, an interrogation in Aveline’s office?” She poked his arm. “Come on then, tell me. What were you reading up there?”

“Hard in Hightown,” he said. “Varric gave it to me. I am only on page ten or so.”

Hawke chuckled. “Of course that’s what Varric gave you to practice with. Any excuse to get more readers.” She suddenly straightened up and gasped, and Fenris recoiled slightly in surprise; her face was bright with enthusiasm. 

“I just had the most fantastic idea!” she chirped. “You should write a book!”

He wrinkled his nose. “What would I write about? And besides, I can’t write.” He didn’t tell her that he’d been secretly writing terribly-spelled letters to her since the day he’d mastered the alphabet. That was one secret that even his half-drunken mouth would never spill.

She waved one hand dismissively. “You’ll be able to write in no time, you’re brilliant. And the book should be about your life, of course!”

He frowned. “My life? Why?”

“Because you’re strong and handsome and interesting. And you lived with the fog warriors!” she exclaimed. “You probably know more about them than anyone in the whole of Thedas!”

His frown deepened. “Reflecting on that time in my life is not exactly pleasant, Hawke. It did not end well, if you recall.”

She wilted. “No, I know, I just meant… oh fuck, I put my foot in it, didn’t I?” She nervously patted her cheeks. “Maker, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think about awful things. I was hoping to make you think of nice moments when you were with them since I know you liked living with them, but… ah, I’m an idiot. Don’t listen to me.” She reached for the bottle of wine. 

He allowed her to take the bottle. “It’s all right. I already knew you were an idiot.” 

She shot him a grateful smile. They passed the bottle back and forth for another minute, and when it was empty, Fenris placed it on the floor beside him. 

“You’re not wrong. I did enjoy living with the fog warriors,” he said. “It was… unusual to spend time around people who were not afraid of me. But I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised; the fog warriors were the most courageous people I ever knew.” He draped his arms loosely around his knees and glanced at Hawke. “Even their children had no fear of me.”

She nodded and didn’t speak. Her expression was a picture of attentive focus despite the boozy flush of her cheeks, and something about her attention prompted him to go on when he usually would not.

“I remember the first time I stepped into their… settlement, for lack of a better word,” he said. “I was weak after healing from my injuries. Every step I took required a great deal of effort. But as I walked through their settlement with one of their healers at my side, a child approached me. A boy, perhaps five or six.” He grimaced. “Or maybe seven; I’m not familiar enough with children to guess their ages.”

“Five, seven, it’s all the same,” Hawke said softly. “The little boy approached you. What happened then?”

Fenris tilted his head as he remembered the moment. “He was holding a ball that looked to be made of dried branches and twine. He stopped and stared at me, and I was certain he was going to run away. Or perhaps throw the ball at me in disgust. I’ve suffered worse from children in Minrathous. But…” He slowly rubbed a hand through his hair. “He asked in Seheronese if I would play with him. The healer translated for me, and I… I didn’t believe her, and I didn’t believe the boy. I thought they were taunting me. I…” He swallowed hard. “I went back to the tent and didn’t come out again for another day. But the same boy approached me again when I emerged. He continued to approach me until I agreed.” 

Hawke’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. “You played with the fog warriors’s children?”

He shrugged. “I had little choice. They are very persistent.” He gave her a tiny smile. “All of their people are persistent. Stubborn and determined. Or… they were, at least, before I…” 

Blood. Screaming. Women and children fleeing, to no avail. The horrible images flashed through his mind, raw and undimmed by time, and Fenris dragged a hand through his hair as though that could pull the memories out. 

The only time he had ever seen fear in the fog warriors’ faces was when he had put it there.

“Hey,” Hawke said softly. “I’m glad you were happy while you lived with them. I know it ended badly—”

“I killed them all,” he snapped. “It ended badly because of me.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you feel responsible. But I’m still glad you were happy there for a time.”

He stared hard at her for a moment, but her expression was calm and steady — surprisingly steady for someone who was so drunk. 

He sighed and shifted his position on the floor. “I was happy with them; you’re right about that. The only time I could ever remember being happy, really. Before I came to Kirkwall, at least.”

Hawke perked up. “Before you came to Kirkwall? Does that mean you like living here more than being in Seheron?”

He huffed at her hopeful tone. “I don’t know that I would say that. But… this city has its charms. They may be few and far-between, but it does have them.”

“Like what?” she asked. 

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Such as… that apple pie at that one particular stand in Hightown.”

Hawke nodded. “Oh yes, that pie is fantastic. What else?”

“The music at the Hanged Man isn’t completely terrible,” he said.

“I do love the music there, it’s true,” Hawke said brightly. “Anything else?”

She looked so hopeful. Fenris gave her a chiding look. “Why do I get the sense that you’re fishing for compliments?”

Her beautiful amber eyes grew wide – suspiciously wide. “Me? I never! I never ever fish for compliments. Particularly not from broody handsome elves with the sexiest voices I’ve ever heard.”

He scoffed and rubbed his mouth. “Kaffas, Hawke. You will make me blush.”

“I’m not talking about you,” she said. “I’m talking about some other elf.” 

She clearly was not. Her smile was coy and warm, and it made his ears feel uncomfortably hot. “I see,” he said dryly. He absently rubbed the red scarf on his wrist and studied her from the corner of his eye. She was humming to herself now and gazing at her bare feet with the sort of vacant smile that made it clear how drunk she was.

Then he surprised himself by speaking again. “I suppose some of the people here are tolerable as well,” he said.

She perked up. “Oh really? Like who?”

Fenris shrugged and leaned back casually on one hand. “Sebastian is a fine man.”

Hawke snorted. “Perfect Sebastian. He doesn’t count. He makes everyone look bad. Who else?”

“Varric,” Fenris said. “He’s forgiven my gambling debts on more than one occasion.”

She let out a scintillating laugh. “Has he? Oh, Varric. He’s such a soft touch.”

Fenris smirked and gazed idly at her legs – lovely legs that were regrettably covered by trousers. Lovely legs with soft golden skin that was so smooth beneath his hands… 

Before Fenris could stop himself, his drunken mouth was opening once more. “You are good company, as well,” he said.

Her face lit up with a slow and breathtaking smile. “Am I, now?”

He shrugged and ignored his suddenly thrumming heart. “You can be. When you aren’t aggravating me.”

She raised one hand innocently. “Those were all failed attempts at flirting, I swear.”

He gave her a chiding look. “That’s hardly a comfort, Hawke.”

“It should be,” she said. “I’m usually a very good flirt.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he said wryly.

Her smile widened. “Maybe I should try harder, then.”

Her cheeky voice was ripe with its usual humour, but there was something more to her tone now: something husky and heated that made Fenris’s clever retort fade away on his tongue. He studied her face carefully, and his heart jolted; only now was he realizing how close she was. She was sitting right next to him, and although they weren’t touching, they were so close that they might as well have been. Her knees were almost brushing against his thigh, and she was leaning in as though to take shelter against his chest, and he… kaffas, his shoulder was curled toward her as though he wanted her to take shelter against him. 

A rush of excitement filled his rib cage, followed by a surge of terror. I can’t, he thought. He couldn’t let her get any closer. Not because he didn’t want to; venhedis, there was nothing he wanted more. But the closer she got, the more she would see just how damaged he truly was, how unprepared he was for what she was trying to give, and he couldn’t… He couldn’t stand it. The thought of looking into her perfect amber eyes, of seeing their heat replaced with pity instead...  

She wet her lips, and Fenris was instantly distracted by her mouth: her lush raspberry-red mouth that he vividly remembered kissing, even though it had been almost a year. 

Then Hawke nibbled her lower lip, and Fenris could feel his own lips parting as though by instinct — as though the movement of her lips was a siren call, a lure drawing his own lips to react, to lean closer to her, to breathe in the wine-scented warmth of her breath…

He inhaled slowly, and his heart thudded in his ears. She smelled exactly as he remembered, of sandalwood and sweetness and a hint of sweat from dancing at the Hanged Man, and overlaid on it all was the scent of the wine she’d drunk — that they’d been drinking together. 

Then Hawke’s hand rose slowly toward his face.

His breath stuttered, but his heart burst into a galloping race. Her fingers were reaching for him, reaching for his cheek, reaching so slowly that he knew she was giving him time to stop her. But he was frozen on the floor with Hawke sitting so close to him, so damned close that he could smell her intoxicating scent, and her fingers were drawing nearer still… 

She stroked his cheek gently: so incredibly gently, with just the tips of her fingers. And with that one simple touch, the buzz of longing in his gut hit a fever pitch.

Fenris closed his eyes and turned his face toward her fingers, and her thumb brushed over his lower lip. He exhaled shakily, and he was distantly aware that his breath sounded far too much like a groan. 

“Fenris,” Hawke breathed. 

Fenris. That was all she said: just his name in her husky voice. But it was almost enough for him to come undone. His name in her voice, carried through the air on a breath of desire: fasta vass, it was too good, too evocative, too strong of a reminder of the past — of the mistake he’d callously made by going to her in a moment of anger-fuelled impulsiveness. 

A mistake he was primed to repeat right now, in a moment of impulsiveness that was fuelled by alcohol instead.

He reached up and grabbed her wrist. “I can’t,” he rasped. 

Her eyebrows tilted in a way that made his chest ache, but he forced himself to stay still, to not move, to not bridge the mere inches that separated his lips from hers. He held her wrist in a steady grip and stared steadily into her glittering amber eyes, and he forced himself to remember – to remember the way those same amber eyes had filled with tears when he’d walked away from her before. 

The memories of their night together still tortured him, along with all the attendant reasons why he couldn't let this same mistake happen again. He was an empty shell whose history had been carved away and replaced with anger and hate, and nothing about that had changed in the year or so since he and Hawke had tumbled together into her bed. He was still the same broken man, the same ex-slave with a mind as scarred as his body, and in the time that had passed since that one glorious night in Hawke’s arms, Fenris had failed to make any changes in his life. 

He hadn’t tried to find his sister. He hadn’t done anything other than take on jobs as an errand boy and follow Hawke and her friends around in their ill-advised adventures. He still sat alone in his mansion at night fuming about Danarius and Hadriana and all their misbegotten ilk. He was still just as blank and ruined as he’d always been, and he couldn’t… he didn’t dare inflict that on Hawke, not again, not even if he was drawn toward her in a way that he’d never been drawn to anyone else before. 

They sat frozen on the floor for an interminable minute, Hawke’s fingers a hairsbreadth from his cheek and her wrist entrapped by his intractable grip. Fenris stared into her eyes and ignored the plumpness of her lower lip, and he prayed for the strength to move away from her now – right now, right this second now, now before his frenzied thoughts led him away from the reasons he shouldn’t touch her and brought him back to all the selfish reasons that he should. 

And oh, the reasons he should, the reasons he wanted to fall into the crystal clear pools of her eyes and take what her slightly-parted lips were offering: those reasons were… fasta vass, they were far too close to the front of his mind. The pleasure of her body stretching beneath his own, of her needy gasps filling his ears, of her comforting hands cradling his face as she told him that there was nothing ruined about him–

“I can’t,” he snapped. He pulled her hand away from his face and turned away from her, dragging shaking fingers through his hair as he did. 

For a brief, terrible moment, Hawke was silent. Then she laughed.

“Of course!” she said brightly. “Of course, I didn’t mean to – I was just, um – I’m terribly drunk, you know, and it’s – I should go home. I’m just about ready to fall asleep right here on your floor, which probably means I should go crawling into my bed before I end up like another one of those corpses in your corners here.” She snickered and pushed herself to her feet, and Fenris watched painfully as she stumbled toward the door.

She wasn’t wearing her boots, though. Fenris hastily pushed himself upright and ignored his own slightly spinning head. “Hawke, wait,” he said. “Your boots–” 

She cut him off with a haphazard wave. “It’s okay, please, don’t say anything, it’s like it never happened.” She reached for the doorknob. 

Fenris darted forward and planted one hand on the door. “You need to put on your boots,” he said. “You can’t go out without boots.”

“Why not? You do it all the time,” she said belligerently. 

Fenris raised his eyebrows, but before he could reply, she sighed and sank down to the floor. “Ah, you’re right. My feet are terribly tender and delicate. Where are my bloody boots?”

Fenris silently brought her boots and socks, then waited with an ugly mixture of fondness and misery as she clumsily pulled them on. When she was finally shod once more, she stood up and did a dramatic curtsy. 

“On that sparkling note, Rynne Hawke takes her leave,” she announced. She giggled and opened the door, then promptly tripped on the front step. 

Fenris snatched her arm and her waist before she could hit the ground. “Fasta vass,” he complained. 

She didn’t reply; she was far too busy laughing. Fenris sighed heavily, then stepped out of his mansion and pulled the door closed behind him. “Come on, Hawke,” he said wearily, and he looped his arm around her waist to guide her home.

She hiccuped and squeezed his arm. “Did you see I—” She broke off with a giggle. “I didn’t even make it one step out the door! Oh Fenris, aren’t you pleased I came to your house tonight to entertain you?”

“Not particularly,” he muttered, but not for the reasons she thought. He hadn’t had his hands on her this much since the night they’d spent together, and her drunken state wasn’t making the curve of her waist any less appealing. And his drunken state wasn’t making it easy to maintain the barriers he’d been building to keep her at bay. 

She squeezed his arm again. “I know, I’m horrible, I’m a nuisance. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll — hic — bring you some of that apple pie that you like first thing in the morning, bright and early. You’ll be woken by the smell of fresh-baked— eek!” She tripped over a paving stone with a squeal, and Fenris scowled as he pulled her upright. 

“Quiet,” he hissed. “If you cause a disturbance, I will be the one who’s blamed.” He scooped her up into his arms and continued in the direction of her mansion at a faster pace.

She gripped the collar of his tunic and beamed at him. “You hero. You chivalrous thing. You’re making a drunken girl’s dream come true.”

“Perhaps you can return the favour and keep your voice down,” he scolded softly. He was already on Hightown’s radar as ‘that elf of Hawke’s who squats in the derelict Vint mansion’, and he didn’t want anyone to find a reason to complain to Aveline again about his presence. 

“All right, all right, I’m being quiet now,” she stage-whispered. Then, to his surprise, she actually fell silent. 

He carried her in silence for a couple of minutes. She eventually rested her head against his shoulder, and he guiltily savoured the scent of her chestnut hair. But she still didn’t speak, and eventually Fenris wondered if she’d fallen asleep. 

He glanced down at her, and his heart lurched; her eyes were closed, but her face was tinted with melancholy, and there were tears trickling down her cheeks. 

He hastily looked up at the path ahead, but his entire rib cage was aching now, as though his heart was swelling and pushing against the walls of his chest. He ought to say something – something to soothe her, like the way she was always trying to soothe him when he was angry. But he was the cause of her distress, so what was there to say? 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and didn’t speak, and they made the rest of the trip to the Amell state in silence. 

As they approached the door, Hawke finally spoke. “Don’t knock. I don’t want to wake her.”

Fenris nodded. “Where are your keys?”

“In my pouch belt,” she said. “You can put me down now. I promise I won’t disgrace myself by falling onto my own front step.” 

Her tone was cheeky and warm, and for some reason, this made his chest hurt even more. He shook his head slightly. “I’ll bring you safely inside.”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “All right. I won’t complain about being carried by Thedas’s most handsome elf.” 

He scoffed softly, then waited as she pulled out her keys and unlocked the door. But as they were moving toward the stairs, Leandra’s bedroom door opened. 

Leandra stepped out with a scowl. “Rynne, I’ve been beside myself—” She stopped short at the sight of Fenris and clutched the neckline of her dressing gown. 

“Surprise!” Rynne exclaimed, and she patted Fenris’s chest. “Two for the price of one!” 

Fenris cleared his throat. “Hawke, keep your voice down,” he mumbled.

She pulled a little face. “Right, right, people sleeping and all that,” she whispered. Then she blew a kiss to Leandra. “Hello, Mother! Go on back to bed, all right?” 

Leandra stared at them for a moment longer, then lifted her chin and went back into her bedroom. As soon as the door was shut behind her, Hawke burst into giggles.

“Maker’s balls,” she whispered. “She’s going to be furious in the morning when you’re not here. I might not be able to bring you apple pie after all. I’ll be too busy nursing the new asshole she’s going to tear me in the morning.”

Fenris grimaced at the vivid image, then headed for the stairs. When they were in Hawke’s bedroom, he set her down on the bed. 

Hawke snickered to herself as she pulled off her boots. She clumsily shucked her vest, then started pulling her shirt over her head, and Fenris hastily turned away. 

He awkwardly tugged his ear. “I’ll, er. I’ll just…” He trailed off and started shifting toward the door.

“She’s disappointed,” Hawke said.

He glanced cautiously at her. She was tucked in bed and covered up to her chest, and her lips were curled in a sad sort of smile. 

Fenris took a cautious step closer to the bed. “She will get over it soon enough.”

“No, I mean she’s disappointed that I’m not Bethany.” Hawke’s smile widened. “Honestly, so am I sometimes. She had the most perfect milkmaid skin. I bet you would have loved her too.”

His heart twisted painfully. Whatever Bethany’s virtues were, there was no doubt in his mind that she would never have found her way past his armour and burrowed beneath his tainted skin the way that Hawke had. 

But he couldn’t tell that to Hawke. Such words meant nothing if he was incapable of backing them up with the devotion that she deserved. 

He swallowed hard. “Get some sleep,” he said softly. “I will see you in the morning.” He slowly made his way to the door. 

“Fenris?”

He glanced at her. “Yes?”

“Do you want to know what I like best about living in Kirkwall?”

“Half-off Tuesdays at the Hanged Man?” he suggested weakly. 

She let out a bark of laughter. “Aw, half-off Tuesdays. That’s almost my favourite thing.”

He leaned against the door jamb. “I give up, then. What do you like best?”

“Running around this fucking place with you,” she replied. 

In the dim lantern light of her bedroom, her smile was sweet and free of guile, and Fenris felt his throat growing thick once more. He felt the same way, of course; Kirkwall would have no value if not for her. She was the reason he had decided to stay, even after the exquisite disaster of their night together. Even knowing he was no good for her, he was incapable of leaving her side. 

He gazed at her for a moment and drank in the perfect softness of her smile. It is the same for me, he thought. You are the only reason I’ve remained in this Maker-forbidden city. The confession crept close to the edge of his tongue, ready to spill into the soft and intimate atmosphere of her bedroom. 

But the walk from his house to hers had cleared the booze-induced boldness from his mind, and he was no longer at the mercy of his selfish heart. 

He bowed his head politely. “Get some sleep,” he said.

Her smile widened, and she snuggled down into her blankets and reached for the bedside lamp. “Goodnight, Fenris,” she said softly. 

“Goodnight, Hawke,” he murmured. A moment later, her bedside lamp went out.

Fenris quietly closed her bedroom door, then padded silently downstairs. Orana was awake and waiting nervously by the door to lock it behind him, and he murmured an apology to her as he left. Then he was slipping stealthily through Hightown back to his empty mansion. 

Once he was in the mansion once more, he sat at the table and stared at Hard in Hightown, but the words were meaningless on the page, unseen by his unfocused eyes.

Hawke thought she was a disappointment, but nothing was farther from the truth. Nothing about her was a disappointment — not her incessant jokes or her drunken visits to his home, not the fact that she was a mage, and the memories of her naked body bending beneath his hands… venhedis, nothing about those memories were a disappointment either. 

It didn’t bear thinking about, though. Hawke might not be a disappointment, but Fenris certainly was, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. 

With that heavy thought, he closed his copy of Hard in HIghtown and went to bed.

[wonderlustlucas]

for science - na jaemin

⇢ prompt Standing beside him not as his best friend but as his girlfriend is a whole extra level in Hell. ⇢ pairing jaemin x female reader ⇢ word count 2k ⇢ genre fluff ⇢ warnings as requested, mega fluff overload. you may get a cavity. you’ve been warned ⇢ summary “request for another jaemin fic!! Fluff overload”—request ; fake dating ; friends to lovers ⇢ a/n i  rlly only wrote this cuz i wanted to call this level 100 thot gay. happy belated birthday my love, i adore you endlessly❥

“You told them I’m your what?”

Sensing your sudden terror from the moment he parked and refused to unlock the doors, Jaemin winces at your alarmed tone, fiddling with the cuffs of his dress shirt as a sort of recalibration.

“Na Jaemin—”

“I know, I know! I’m sorry—it wasn’t my plan, I swear,” Jaemin sputters, reluctantly raising his gaze to finally meet your own distressed grimace. “Then why did you tell your whole family I’m your girlfriend, Jaemin? How am I supposed to go about this night pretending?”

Ignoring the pain in his heart that results from your piercing words, ignoring the utter disbelief that hardens your features, ignoring the urge to reach out to smooth over the stressed crease on your forehead, Jaemin gulps, “Before I came to get you, my cousins were giving me shit about not dating anyone and—and then I thought of you, and it was fine at first. But my Aunt overheard me and then it got back to my Mom and I had to make up a bunch of shit.”

Sighing at last, you decide it’s better to accept it as it is—one night pretending to be dating the boy you’ve been madly in love with for years was better than nothing, right? “I’m sorry,” Jaemin adds breathlessly, you would have missed it if the vehicle’s engine was still running, a heartbeat later you reach over, cupping his hand between your own and stroking his knuckles with your thumb.

“Don’t be sorry, Nana. I was just… surprised.”

“You’re not mad?”

Heart positively melting from the fretful façade he bears, sparkling eyes now dull and petal lips scarlet from biting, you smile tenderly before, “No, I’m not mad, silly goose. So, how about you tell me how we started dating?”

With a shaky laugh, he explains, “Back in July, when we went to Donghyuck’s graduation party. I said we accidentally kissed and then I asked you out.”

Focusing more on the way his fingers gradually began to intertwine with your own rather than listening to his pathetic excuse of a story, you too let out a mesmerized sigh, shaking your head to clear your brain of all the daydreams you have spent conjuring up moments like these, “O-Okay. Yeah, that sounds good. Didn’t your parents ask why you didn’t tell them?”

Jaemin shrugs, “I said I didn’t want to deal with all their questions and was waiting for tonight.”

“Well, I guess that works. Should we go in? Aren’t they waiting for us?” Nodding towards the restaurant, resembling a mansion more than anything else, tan stucco walls illuminated primrose with gold encrusted barn lights spaced between the floor-to-ceiling windows, you wonder, momentarily, why Jaemin’s parents would ever choose to have his birthday dinner at such an upscale place knowing he would be so much more content with something simpler. “Unfortunately,” Jaemin sighs, when his hand finally slips out from your own you have to take a moment to regulate your heartbeat before following him out.

Scampering to catch up with him and grumbling at the added difficulty walking in heels creates, you are simply trying to adjust the hem of your dress to an appropriate length when Jaemin grunts, curling his arm around your waist, “What are you huffing and puffing about? You look perfect.”

Unless an angel from heaven fluttered down, swept up your jaw, and placed it back onto its hinges, you truly have no idea how you manage to shut your mouth after having it hang open for such an embarrassingly long eternity, nearly choking on your suddenly desert dry vocal cords because oh God his arm is around your waist and oh God he smells good and did he just say you look perfect?

You clear your throat, “Wow, you’re gay. Just making sure, was that boyfriend Jaemin or my normal Jaemin?”

“Boyfriend Jaemin could always be your normal Jaemin, you know,” he winks—the sucker winks—but withdraws from you to swing open one side of the majestically tall oak door and nodding for you to enter first, leaving you to wallow in your pool of self-pity and near-death reality alone. Luckily, he follows after you not a second later, hand instead targeting your own instead of your waist and oh is his heart beating just as erratically as yours.

Leaning in, petal soft lips brushing the shell of your ear, Jaemin whispers, “We should probably hold hands. For science.”

Swallowing the saliva that ceases to exist, you look to the strawberry blonde to catch his prize-winning smile. Is he glowing or is it just the lights in this place?

With your brain displaying a system failure, you only grant him a timid nod and follow his lead to the front desk, where he greets the hostess with a softer smile and after giving her his name, you continue to walk further into the dining room. With walls varying between amber paint and warm red brick, you conclude this will most certainly be the only time you’ll be dining at such a restaurant, judging by the long, gold and oak tables adorned with cream lace table runners, colossal vases stocked with red roses, and rinky-dink dishes served on what looks like the finest of china.

“This is… extravagant,” you mutter, turning to the boy beside you. He seems to mirror your own expression, eyes full of wonder and irises reflecting gold, you subconsciously lean into him because that’s just how it is with Jaemin.

“Yeah, they really went all out for me.”

Debating on whether to reply with something along the lines of him ‘being worth it,’ you bite your tongue at the missed opportunity when, after what felt like a lifetime walking with Jaemin’s hand in yours, the hostess stops before the designated table. “Jaemin, ___!” Exclaims his mother, a spitting image of him when she beams the same starring smile and suddenly all eyes are on you, soaking in the image of standing beside Jaemin not as his best friend but as his girlfriend.

“Hello,” he greets, nodding to his family with a gentle smile as he tugs you to the remaining two seats—of course you would be late with Jaemin to his own birthday dinner—and, heart fluttering like bird’s wings when he pulls out the cushioned beige chair, you smile gratefully to him and settle into the seat.

Lucky for your awkward ass, the elongated table is the shape of an oval, and you find yourself at the curved corner, Jaemin next to you at the head, and his Aunt beside you. You’re not even finished familiarizing yourself with the members of Jaemin’s family when your seat is being tugged—oh, you jolt in surprise, turning to him with wide eyes as he fixes your chair until it is hardly half an arm's length away from his.

“Did you just—”

“Yes,” he purrs, smirking smugly and reaching for your napkin, you watch with a mind devoid of any rational thought as he flattens it over your thighs. “What’s up with you?” You hiss, startlingly aware of his family staring at the two of your like a cheetah waiting greedily to chase its prey. “Nothing,” he smiles, the corner of his mouth twitching into a threatening smirk but he hides it by bringing a prefilled glass of water to his lips, you watch, anticipating, as he takes a sip for him to add, “sorry, babe, am I boyfriending wrong?”

“Stop,” you whine, wrinkling your nose to play off your humiliation as repulsion. Did he just call you babe?

“You’re cute when you’re blushing.”

“I’m not even blushing.”

“Yes, you are. You’re smiling at the table,” he giggles—what a child—and pokes your warm cheek with his index finger, “don’t lie.”

“Na Jaemin, if you don’t stop harassing me, I will have no choice but to shove this fork up your ass,” you warn, gripping said weapon and waving it in his face. He pouts, reaching for the utensil and placing it back with your other silverware, “That’s not nice. I’m just being sweet to the love of my life.”

Heart hammering against a glass ribcage, your brain once again glitches for the umpteenth time tonight, “You don’t have to fake this when no one is listening, you know.” Jaemin huffs and rolls his eyes in order to buy some time, his confession, everything he has always wanted to say, is right there, lingering on the tip of his tongue but, as usual, something always seems to get in the way of his thought process.

“Sir, what will you have to drink?”

You watch, stifling a laugh as Jaemin jumps in surprise, sputtering for words and you almost take pity on him if it were not for the unhealthy beating of your heart as a result of his words. “Uh, c-chocolate milk, please.”

“And for you, miss?”

“Chocolate milk, too.”

“You did that on purpose,” Jaemin snorts once the waiter moves along, flipping over his menu and you gape, ready to smack the sly grin off his face no matter how unacceptably gorgeous the warm glow of the lamps make him.

“What? What’d I do?”

“Order the same thing as me on my birthday,” he smirks, scanning over the laminated paper and ignoring your annoyance like nobody’s business. “Excuse me, sir. Am I not allowed to have the same drink as you?” Snorting, you finally look to your own menu, picking at the hem of your dress because why does he have to be so infuriating?

“Yo,” he bugs you not a heartbeat later, digging his elbow into your side, “my Mom wants to take a picture.”

“Oh! Sure,” sitting up, you first reach up to fix a stray strand of his hair before leaning impossibly closer, shoulder against his chest and presenting your best smile as she taps her phone screen. “Ma, make sure you get this one,” Jaemin pipes up, pushing you off from his chest only to twist you to face him, you giggle at his mindless manhandling, allowing him to lay your hair however he likes.

“What are we doing? Goofy pic?” You ask, reeling him back after his meticulous fixing. When he does not answer, you tilt your head curiously, unable to read his expression but then he’s leaning closer and oh.

His lips taste and feel just as chapped as they look, although you cannot think of any feeling better than them pressed to your own, breathing him into your lungs like a starved man, and wow this is so much better than all the hours you have spent imagining this. The warmth of his tongue just barely brushes your own when you pull back, no matter how much it pains you to do so but now is not the time to shove your tongue down his throat, nerves burning a fire under your skin.

“You stopped,” Jaemin whispers, warm breath fanning over your cheeks when he leans his forehead against yours. “Believe me, buddy, I wanted that kiss to be more than a peck, too. But I don’t want your family to judge,” you chuckle breathlessly, itching to kiss him again but what was that?

“Buddy?”

You sigh, “Nana, I don’t know what to call you after that,” Jaemin sucks in a sharp breath at this, finally fluttering open his eyelids to gaze upon you with all the adoration in the world as you go on, “that was more than pretending, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he hums, scanning over your features for any sign of doubt before, “I don’t know how to ask out my best friend.”

“Do you just want to skip all that talking nonsense and just go right to the dating part?”

“Yeah, I like the sound of that. I think we’ve done a pretty good job so far,” Jaemin smiles softly, pressing an angel soft peck to the corner of your mouth before pulling away with yet another grin brighter than the sun itself and oh my you could get used to this.

[commentaryonhowwelive]

November 2015. Age 23. Inside the Womb of Apathy

My older brother was in town looking for a job in Denver, so he was staying with me in Boulder during the search. He was just as clueless as me in regards to what he was trying to do with his life, which was kind of nice. Misery, or rather, cluelessness loves company. Kind of like in a folie a deux, no matter what you’re doing, if you have another person doing it with you, it makes whatever you’re doing just a little bit better. 

He used to work at a local brewery so we all decided to go grab a few drinks there one night so he could catch up with some old chums. My roommate, Freezerp, and I were incredibly cheap. In fact, thinking back on it now, it was laughable. So naturally when my brother said we’d probably get hooked up with free beers if we gave him a ride over, we were up and out.

We were a couple of bohemians when it came to craft brews, so we stood there and stared at the rotating tap for a few minutes before my brother and his old coworker came by and asked us what we wanted. We grabbed a “Weeeeeeee!” which is a dark scottish ale and he grabbed a “North Star” which is a very high ABV porter that was just about to run out, so he jumped on it. It was “Geeks Who Drink” trivia night so it was packed, but we found a nice spot in the sitting area where we settled in next to a cute girl drinking alone.

“I’ve been at a Yoga seminar all day, and it’s been all about health, so I just want to do something that’s unhealthy and have a nice beer. I’m not from here so I just typed in ‘brewery’ to google and I found this place.” She said with yoga pants on that were actually being utilized.

“Oh yeah, I mean.” I said slightly slurring, “Twisted Pine is just like the OG place to go around here.”

It’s amazing how easy it is to just strike up conversations with a girl, or anyone really, when you’ve both had a drink or two. We talked about species of bananas, my buddy’s rap project, jokes about me being a substitute teacher. She left after just a few drinks, and I never even caught her name.

I remembered that I had to drive home so I wanted to sober up a bit before driving home. We had a swear jar at home which was a joke in itself, but in addition to it being a joke, we decided to use all of the money in the swear jar to buy beer with, which we wouldn’t count swears that we said while drinking the beers we bought with the swear jar. Perfect right? I know it’s perfect, thanks. 

Anyways, we realized that we had probably $15 or so in the swear jar, so Freezerp and I decided to walk to the liquor store to buy some more beer. We figured that we’d sober up enough before having to drive home, but just enough to drive, then when we got home we could keep on drinking. We went to the liquor store and in our usual goofy stupor to fill up a “You-Pick-6”. We searched and arrogantly yet superfluously judged the beers based on the labels and ABV. 

“The guy on this bottle has a fuckin’ attitude and I like it.”

“Look at those muscles too. He does, in fact, lift bro”, Freezerp replied. He stopped the conversation and looked around, dropped and did 20 push ups, then popped back up again. We continued as if nothing happened.

“He probably just drinks eggs for breakfast.”

“Paleo. Just like this beer. We’re getting one.”

We ended up with the same shit we probably would’ve bought if we were completely sober, with the exception of the $5 stout from Fort Collins because we wanted to see whether it was 3.5 times better than the other beers.

On our way back to the brewery, Freezy yelled “LAST ONE THERE LOSES” and when I’m drunk and I’m sucker for challenges, so I started sprinting, even though I was carrying a 6-pack of beer. I realized that I probably looked like I was stealing the beer, but I didn’t even give a shit because I was too busy laughing so hard and running as fast as I could that I literally couldn’t focus on anything else except for how absolutely hilarious it was and how incredibly tired I was, even though I’m a long distance runner.

I texted Sophia when we got to the bar. “Hey giiiirrrlrlllll wanna come over?”

She usually didn’t respond quickly, but when it came to sleeping in my bed with me, she was all over it.

“Yes! When?”

“I’m at the Twisted Pine but were about to leave. Meet me in funbarrel at 10?”

“K :))”

Allow me to explain, I don’t live in a town called Funbarrel. It’s actually Gunbarrel, but we call it Funbarrel because we’re just a couple of kooky crazy kids. 

“Woo!” I exclaimed and did a little jig as my phone vibrated in my pocket on the way to my car.

“Do I bring beer?” Sophia texted me again.

“We just got more beer after the bar but if you want to bring more I will never say never.”

“Ok biebs. Sweaty Betty it is.”

Sweaty Betty is our favorite craft beer.

I started dating Sophia a few weeks prior and thus far it’d been pretty great. She wasn’t the prettiest girl, nor the smartest, nor had the greatest aspirations, but she was who she was and I appreciated her for who she was. We vibed in a way that I had never vibed with anyone before, and that was good enough for me. I knew I could’ve probably found someone better if I tried, but I was too tempted to stay with her because of that good knob slobbin. Ew that’s gross sorry you just had to read that. But anyways, we pretty much just got together every night, got drunk and had sex. It was casual as fuck, and sure it was probably super unsustainable and we knew we were gonna crash and burn, but fuck it, I was gonna ride that shit out as long as I could because for the time being, it fuckin rocked. Plus, since I was on Lexapro, I wasn’t freaking out about the constant sex all the time. 

My first girlfriend panicked any time our gonads were even semi close, calling me a few days after hooking up when I had gone back to Orlando for the week for class, absolutely sure that she was pregnant, even though we never even had sex. It was absurd and kind of scarred me to the point that I started freaking out every time I had sex with anyone afterwards. Kind of like when you’re a little kid and your mom tells you that if you stop making that face it’ll stay that way. Somehow I let some constantly freaked out girl convince me of how easy it was to get someone pregnant (subcutaneous semen absorption I guess?). But Lexapro fixed it all. It seemed like this little white miracle pill let me have sex all the time and not worry about pregnancy. I mean, come on, I pulled out and used a condom anyways. Ok enough with the detailing my sexcapades, I promise. 

----------

I was chilling pretty hard at that time in my life. I kept thinking about what I wanted to do and accomplish and whatnot, whether I wanted to go back to graduate school or not, but it always ended up with the same conclusion.

“Fuck it”

I did whatever the hell I wanted, I had a job that, yeah it wasn’t glamorous, but I looked forward to going every day. Not everyone can say that and I felt blessed. My brother was talking about some courier job he saw in the newspaper that night before Sophia came over.

“That’d be the perfect job because you’re just doing normal things.” He said describing the courier job. 

That’s how I felt about the delivery job I had: I drove around town bumping tunes, then when I’m back in the shop I’m usually just working with a few other people. Plus I never had to be at work until 10:30 A.M., so I could drink any night of the week and be fine by the time I had to be at work. In addition to that, it wasn’t like I had to use a whole lot of brain power at work anyways.

Goddamn, things were pretty alright. Right as I finished my 2nd beer after getting back home, I heard a knock on the door. 

“GET THE FUCK OUT” I yelled. 

Sophia daintily walked in with her typical awkwardness that she hid so well behind a veil of confidence. Her silly half smile made me want to take her to bed immediately, but I knew we couldn’t for at least another hour or so until everyone else started settling down too.

I got up and gave her a foot-lifting-off-the-ground-hug. Our hips pressed together hard and I looked into her eyes devilishly. I put her down and walked toward the fridge while she put her stuffed backpack which whatever the hell she kept in there in my bedroom.

“PORTER OR IPA”, I yelled across the apartment.

“Ummmm, I don’t care whatever you have more of”, her soft voice struggled to carry from the bedroom into my kitchen. 

I had more porters than IPA’s, but the IPA’s were 7.5% and the porters only 5.2% and frankly I wanted us both to get drunk quicker. I cracked open an IPA and brought it directly to her.

We were both two beers in within 20 minutes. We cracked into the Sweaty Bettys, going in for number three with no hesitation. My little brother who had just turned 21 started pouring shots for him, Freezy, my older brother, me, and Sophia. I looked at Sophia and gave her a quick double eyebrow raise. 

At this point, it wasn’t a question of whether we were going to hook up that night. In fact, it was virtually never a question of whether we were going to hook up when she came over to stay the night. The only question was how ok I was going to be with it while we fucked. The more drunk I was, the more I was able to pretend like there was love, instead of two directionless early twenty-year-olds attempting to fill the void with shallow dopamine. 

-------------

I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her towards me. As she did an assisted sit up, she lifted her arms up for me to lift her shirt off. No bra. Perfect. I remembered she didn’t shave her arm pits but luckily I had successfully drank myself to the point of benevolence toward anything that wasn’t perfect, which was everything.

We don’t have to fall in love, in love, in love

We don’t have to feel the touch, the touch, the touch

We can do it for the rush, the rush, the rush

I’m waiting for you

Breathe Carolina sang out of my phone on my bedside table

I took my shirt off as well and pushed her back down; as I did she grabbed me and took me with her. The teasing hip thrust I gave her the moment she walked into my door came back ten fold. I pushed into her crotch with mine, both of our pants still on, taunting her because I knew she wanted me more than I wanted her. Holding my breath followed by audible exhales accompanied my thrusts as I was getting off just from knowing how full of lust she was. It didn’t take long for us to be completely naked and send ourselves into a hermaphroditic entanglement, but I’m not sure what happened from there because that’s when I blacked out.

-------------

A few nights later and we were sitting on the couch watching Samurai Gourmet on Netflix. I was eating a sweet potato and drinking malt liquor. She was knitting. 

“I’m going on a date with a girl from Bumble tomorrow,” I said nonchalantly. 

Sophia’s eyebrows furrowed, “What?”

“I told you, we’re not exclusive,” I said not looking up from the conversation on my phone with the little 21-year-old blonde girl. 

“But, like...that’s just, like..shitty,” she said starting to cry. 

I ate the last bit of sweet potato, “Oookay, I’m going to bed.” 

She slept on the couch that night and I didn’t care.