Why do i do this to myself.
Dwarven coffee house. It is almost midnight. They are the only human and elf inside in a small crowd. Aveline leans over the counter to chat with the barista, a young dwarven woman. Anso steps out from the kitchen, wearing an apron and ready to assume the current barista’s shift. On sight of Aveline, he double takes, then visibly resigns himself to her conversation.
Anso: Not you again.
Aveline: Hello, Anso. Behaving yourself this time?
Anso: Certainly, guard captain. Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that. You can’t blame a dwarf for trying.
Aveline: I certainly can when he’s trying to smuggle lyrium. Back to the slightly more politic usual coffee bean trade, I see.
Anso: Might not be as lucrative, but it’s nearly as addictive and so much better for my heart—- (Fenris steps out from behind Aveline, casually. Anso cuts off abruptly. He tries to keep his expression bland and fails.) Hello. Ah. And, um. What can I get for you two tonight?
Fenris: Double espresso.
Aveline: (smiles at Fenris fondly) Planning on staying up tonight, are you?
Fenris: (lowers lashes, gives her a smouldering look) If I can help it.
I think there’s maybe two more chapters to go. Yes, there is an arc in this story.
Filthy rude obscene smut ahead, you have been warned!
Please help - I used the words “twitching hole”, Maker preserve me. Tanukiham? Fragilespark? Anyone who isn’t crap at writing smut? Heeeeeellllllppppp
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“What did you do to her that was so impressive? She still won’t tell me.”
Donnic had somewhat recovered the use of his grey matter, and was content to sit and watch Fenris and Aveline explore each other’s bodies. Fenris was still mostly dressed, and Aveline was running her hands over his silk shirt while he pulled her wrists away every time she tried to undo his buttons. The elf pulled away from nibbling on the point of her chin to suggest “if modesty prevents you from sharing, perhaps you would allow me to show him?”
Aveline turned a bright crimson, but nodded. Still kissing, they made their way onto the couch, where Fenris once again took Aveline’s wrists and held them tight while he tickled her neck and collarbone with his tongue. She hissed and arched her back as he made his way down to her nipples, drawing one in between his lips and sucking cold air around it, flickering his tongue and demanding “Look,” when she closed her eyes. He did this only on one side, knowing it would drive her just a tiny bit mad to not have attention lavished on the other, before trailing soft, fat kisses down her belly.
“Are you sure I can’t pour you some wine?”
“I’m fine.” Aveline sighed, relaxing back into the chair. “There’s an appeal in trying to find something to numb the ache, but this tiredness… Sometimes I feel stronger with the knots in my muscles.”
“So I can’t offer to-” Fenris cleared his throat. “The Fog Warriors had some effective… techniques.”
Aveline raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Fenris took a drink from the bottle and wondered if it was best to keep quiet.
The size difference, they thought, had started it. And why not let them think so - why not give them their lurid ideas, something to keep the taproom even fuller than it was.
And it’d been in the taproom they’d thought it started, that Fenris was drunk enough to be a sentimental fool when really he was only tipsy enough to not swallow all his words; when they thought Aveline went scarlet at the compliment or maybe the audacity or the setting. How little they knew.
Varric was a masterful storyteller, the elf knew, but in the many fabrications he wove so effortlessly he’d developed a poor habit of building too much, never going for the simplest explanation. Marian, for her part, seemed enamored of anything that could be twisted to a joke, and once he’d found her very cruel for it. But it was the only way their champion, their bitter hawk could see color in the world, and when he understood he envied her it.
Anders, he knew, sought depravity and falsehood in him wherever he went and whatever he did, and Merrill tended to follow the crowd through her ignorance of a culture not her own. And Carver was no more here to pass judgement, though Fenris thought he might’ve been the first to see it - the boy loathed settling in his sister’s shadow, and even taking an opportunity to voice another, contradicting opinion would’ve been in his favor.
No, but they knew the truth of it. He called her beautiful, and she’d flushed until her freckles stood out even more strongly, and that they’d followed it was not planted by the half-dirty, half-teasing idea that she’d dwarf him at best, crush him at worst. They followed it that they were lonely, that they were souls familiar with one another. Followed it that when Aveline woke in the morning and her limbs were loose from the night and the filtered sunlight played across her body that was all strength and strange, dappled grandeur he wanted to kiss her. Followed it that her hands could squeeze tight around his waist and she never needed to be ashamed of her strength, her fortitude. Followed it that in the afternoons they could spar and in the nights they could spar again.
But, let them think it was a joke tumbling crude and perfectly fitted from Marian’s mouth. Let them think they planted the idea. Because the taproom needed more - he did not.
fuck yeah Fenris x Aveline!
Commission by the wonderful harborblues!
Kirkwall’s Christmas Holidays #1 : Aveline&Isabela
Warning: Isabela’s butt… ;)
Did he jingle your bells?
Kiss under your mistletoe?
Stuff your stocking?
I am sorely tempted to print this out and use it for gift tags
Aveline found Carver hanging over the side of the ship, looking close to death. He hadn’t slept at all well, and his grey skin and sunken eyes made him look like a hurlock.
“Still haven’t found your sea legs?”
“Are you fucking joking… can’t even… throw up properly…” His comment had no force in it, and was followed by a horrible hacking half-cough, coming from the base of the throat and not quite making it to the mouth. Aveline nodded sympathetically. She watched him sweat for a bit, then leaned in and whispered quietly.
“A baby’s nose, running with snot. She puts her tongue out and licks it up, smacking her lips loudly.”
Carver quickly bent over and vomited copiously. Aveline put a hand on his back - and was immediately transported to earlier, happier times.
A flexed shoulder, a scar, rough, burnt skin. The flow of back joining hip. The smell of sweat.
Thrust. I love you. Withdraw. My wife. Thrust.
Carver was recovering now, gaining a little colour and starting to swear more animatedly. “My turn,” Aveline choked, and moved down towards the bow, leaning over the rail, shoulders heaving. Let him think her about to vomit - she would not let the boy see her cry.
Hello, my lovelies. This week, we will be examining a high-flying acrobatic ass. He’s an orphan who was taken under the dour and sour dark knight of Gotham City, and he’s supposed to be the cheerful one. He seems to have many female fans, both in-universe and out. I’ve discovered not one, but two separate tumblrs dedicated to this man’s rump.
And you asked for it:
So how could I refuse?
This week, we shall endeavor to explore the depths of this boy’s wonder.
OMG. I was going to do some work, but no.