A/N: This is a good time to mention that if you do not indicate otherwise for games with a protagonist, I will put the reader in the position of that protagonist. In the case of games with multiple origins, it’s super helpful if you specify your preference! This is unbeta’d so sorry for any grammatical errors.
Requests are still open!
Fenris sighed, attempting to push himself more fully into the corner that he occupied. It was rare that he bothered going to a bar at all, and he never went anywhere other than the Hanged Man. This was a mistake, and a bad one. As he swirled his untouched wine in its glass, he wondered how he had ended up here at all.
He knew the answer, of course. You had asked him, eyes wide and pleading, hands clinging to his spiked gauntlets. Varric wouldn’t come to Hightown bars at risk of running into the merchant’s guild and Isabela was no longer welcome in establishments of any repute. Aveline was a stick in the mud, Merrill wouldn’t be safe, and Anders… was Anders. You really, really just wanted to drink something other than the swill that Corff served at the Hanged Man and—and—
He had acquiesced, not wanting you to be on your own. (Or so he told himself.) Never mind the fact that he always seemed to acquiesce when you requested something of him.
Still, you could not convince him to sit at the bar with you. It was too open, too vulnerable – so he had taken the corner. Calloused fingers gripped the stem of his wine glass more, still never raising the liquid to his lips. It was a good vintage, but he was not here for that.
He frowned as he watched you finish your third pint and accept a fourth with a grin.
This rate of drinking was fine at the Hanged Man when the drinks were diluted, and you could be hauled up to Varric’s room when you inevitably couldn’t make it back to the Hawke Estate.
Here, when the ale was twice the price and three times the strength and you only had Fenris to get you home, he thought you would know to be more careful.
-
You took a sip from your fourth pint, doing your best not to glance towards Fenris in the corner. You had been foolish to ask him along. You had hoped—It really didn’t matter what you had hoped.
You turned your attention back to your ale, taking another sip of the amber liquid. You knew that you needed to slow down, but it was so nice to drink something that didn’t taste like bog water for once. You would sip this one slowly and hopefully avoid doing more damage.
Sitting by yourself at the bar with Fenris’s eyes trained on you from across the room, it was hard not to feel bad for yourself. The two of you had been carefully circling each other for years now, but it was always just a bit too soon or just a bit too close to the most recent disaster. Part of you was starting to feel like maybe it wasn’t that Fenris wasn’t ready. Maybe he just didn’t want you.
“Shame for a pretty face to look so down.” Someone sat down to your right, drawing you out of your self-pity. It took a moment for his words to sink in, but when they did, you furrowed your brow.
He was a tall man with ruddy brown hair and impossibly dark eyes. When he smiled, there was an undercurrent of something dangerous that repelled you and excited you in equal parts. You swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to glance back at Fenris. He was the one who had left you to drink alone at the bar. He was the one who didn’t want you. Surely allowing a stranger’s attentions couldn’t be so bad.
You smiled nervously.
“I didn’t realize that I wore my mood so plainly. My apologies, Serah –” You trailed off, raising an eyebrow.
“Raphael va Remierre, cousin to the de Launcets.” He said, bowing his head ever so slightly, “And your name?”
You fought the urge to wrinkle your nose. In a Hightown bar, you should have expected a nobleman, but he still put a bad taste in your mouth. It had to be who he was that bothered you because it certainly couldn’t have been who he was not.
You took a sip of your ale, playing coy to buy yourself time. You should give him a chance. He had called your face pretty.
“Hawke.” Fenris’s voice was harsh and jarring. You hadn’t noticed him leave his corner, but then you had been pointedly not paying attention to him at all. It was more snarled than spoken, and you rounded on him immediately.
“Yes?” You asked, feigning innocence. He looked from you to Raphael va Remierre, cousin to the de Launcets and sneered.
“I believe you have more… pressing matters to attend tonight.” He stated flatly, his eyes never returning to you. You narrowed your eyes. What was his game? He wouldn’t have you but no other man could either? You opened your mouth to protest, but Raphael spoke first.
“Serah Hawke! My apologies, I… I didn’t realize.” You tensed as he spoke your name. It would seem that your reputation preceded you, even here. “I’ll leave you to your evening. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
He was gone as quickly as he had come, along with your chance at feeling… pretty.
You settled your tab and left the bar with Fenris on your heels. You just wanted one chance, one to feel like a woman and not Serah Hawke. You did not think that it was too much to ask.
The walk from the tavern was silent, save for the sound of boots against paving-stones. Rage simmered in your chest at what you had been denied, at what you were continuously denied, and you held your tongue lest you say something that you could not take back.
“Hawke.”
For once, it was Fenris who broke the silence.
You grit your teeth, turning to regard him.
“Yes, Fenris?” You asked, your voice strained and icy. You made no effort to hide your displeasure.
“Are you alright?” If you weren’t so stunned, you might have laughed in his face. Were you alright? How dare he.
“If you didn’t want to be there, you could have just said so. You didn’t have to ruin my evening along with yours.”
Fenris looked stunned, then hurt, then annoyed. You watched his expressions shift, hoping that somewhere you might see a hint of guilt. You found none. Instead, he settled on annoyed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. You couldn’t help but to admire the delicate play of lyrium against his skin, its gentle glow illuminating him in the darkness. You hated how wonderful it was.
“I wasn’t aware that being bothered by idiots is your idea of a good evening.” He remarked coolly.
“He wasn’t bothering me, Fenris. He called me pretty.” You spat back. Fenris scoffed. Scoffed!
“What?” You barked, “Is it that strange to think that someone might actually find me pretty?” You were either too angry or too drunk for the hurt to sink in fully. You knew that screaming in the middle of a darkened Hightown street was a sure way to have Aveline on your ass the next morning, but you didn’t care, and the guards hadn’t been summoned yet anyway. Damn him. And if he got you in trouble, then double damn him.
“No.” Fenris said evenly. The fury froze in your throat.
“What?” Softer this time. Fenris stepped to you, gently taking the hands that you hadn’t realized you had balled into fists.
“I find it unbelievable that someone would think that you were anything less than beautiful.” He said, his voice soft.
It was a heady feeling. Your anger drained away as confusion and something resembling hope bloomed in your chest. Was this Fenris? Was he drunk?
“What?” Softer still. He carefully slid a hand up your arm to cup your face. You couldn’t help but to lean into his touch. It was rare that Fenris went without his gauntlets, but he had done so for the sake of drawing less attention in the tavern. His hands were warm and large, his callouses pleasant against your smooth skin. He stepped forward, close enough that your face was gently illuminated by the lyrium veins on his chin. You could feel each breath fan out across your face and you wanted, you wanted—
“I have spent so many years trying to become a man worthy of your affections.” He said and you felt your breath catch in your throat all over again. You started to call his name but he shook his head. “Every day, I fear that I have fallen short but I do not have the willpower to wait any longer. When I saw that… man” He spat the word as if it were a curse “flirting with you I—I was afraid that I might have waited too long. Have I… waited too long?”
His voice wavered at the end of his confession and your heart ached for him. He was so utterly infuriating. So frustrating. So stupid. And yet there you stood, loving him, wanting him, waiting for him. This close, with those vibrant green eyes peering through you, you weren’t sure that you could deny him anything.
“You haven’t.” You meant to say it aloud, but it escaped as a whisper. It was all Fenris needed to hear.
He leaned in, claiming your lips in a searing kiss. His kiss was possessive, demanding, claiming. All that you were, he took from you in one brush of his lips, giving you all that he was in return. Your hands found his arms to steady yourself and you could feel the lyrium veins etched across his body singing to you as he pulled you in further. He tasted like honey and crystal grace – but not wine. He hadn’t been drinking, but he kissed away any inclination you might have had to consider what that might mean. You lost track of how much time the two of you spent there on a darkened Hightown street, but when Fenris pulled away his lips curled in a teasing grin and you would have gone anywhere with him.
“I shall not leave you waiting again.” He assured you.
