#Solavellan fic
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Hey! I finally finished the solavellan winter palace smut!
Summary: She has never seen Solas quite like this before. He's had at least as much wine as her and it shows. His face is flushed, his eyes dark, his hands clumsy, and his mouth tastes like candied fruit.
They're a mess of limbs. The closet is too small. She can hear, faintly, voices and passing footsteps outside. She can't stop laughing under her breath and that makes him laugh, too.
Solas and Eira find some time alone at the Winter Palace.
Rating: E
No Archive Warnings Apply
Words: 2,424
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age)
Characters: Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Solas (Dragon Age)
Additional Tags: Semi-Public Sex, Closet Sex, Quickies, Vaginal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Alcohol, Drunk Sex, Drunk Blow Jobs, they're more just tipsy than actually drunk, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), Sex in the Winter Palace (Dragon Age), the ethics of leaving a cumrag in a broom closet, Solas: the hat stays ON during sex
#solas fic#solavellan fic#solavellan#female lavellan x solas#my writing#my fic#fic#solas x lavellan#lemons#dragon age fanfic
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WiP Whenever
I pulled out an old Solavellan fic and am editing it for a friend to re-read. Still not sure if I will repost it when I’m done, I’ll let it marinate for a while before I decide. But since it’s all I’m working on this week (taking a break), I’ll post a lil snippet of it. Thanks @kirkwallsdumbest for the tag.
...
Each step was a stalk, silent and graceful as her. Hips rolling, fluid, she could feel the rhythm from her toes to the swaying shift of her shoulders. The woods were quiet, but that was only cause for more concern. Solas was there somewhere. He had to be. The fool, hiding from her. He knew that could only make him more of a target.
She was hunting him, but now there were other predators following his trail, and only one could claim the prey.
The first howl came ahead and from the left, and then the others joined in. A curse, torn from her lips. A stalk became a run, panicked flight through the underbrush. There was no being quiet now, it was all life and death.
Leaping over a log like a halla, she burst into a copse of trees, grown thickly together in a wall around the clearing. They pressed together, denying her passage until she began to scale one, bare feet scraping on the rough bark. Breath heavy, she tried to outpace the branches as they twisted together, trying to squirm into any gap wide enough to allow her.
“Fight back!” she screamed through the trees as the wolves burst through, snarling, eyes red. She couldn't reach him. Despair rose as her broken heart begged, pleaded for him to do something, anything to stop the death that was surging towards him.
But no, could see him, standing with his back to her, waiting with his arms clasped together. Unmoving. He would let the oncoming tide swallow him. Why? Why did he never fight back?
And worse- why would he not let her fight to save him?
The parting of the trees began to close, vines twisting, writhing like serpents. She pushed through them, stretching a hand towards him desperately, fingers grasping and finding nothing. Thorns digging into her skin now, pulling back as she scrabbled, bleeding. Broken.
“Fight back...” she begged him weakly. “Please, vhenan. I'm almost there, just...a little longer. Just this once, please...”
Please take my hand.
The first of the black wolves struck as the darkness swallowed her, dragging her into the earth and filling her throat with decay.
#wip whenever#Solavellan fic#Solas x Lavellan#modern au#I know it doesn't look like it but it is lol#this is a dream#a shared dream
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Posted the first chapter of my solavellan dragon age fic over on ao3! This is a redo of a fic I started writing years ago, which is still up if you want to give that a read as well :D
read the new chapter here
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She Called Him Fen'Harel
Chapter 13 - "A letter"
Read on AO3
Huge thank you to @shanevre for all the help with editing <3 You've been so kind and patient with me <3
@dinrenan & @arideya - thank you for reading my writing. All of your opinions and suggestions are precious to me <3
@serphena Thank you for the perfect piece of art you gifted me :)
The ice on the frozen lake cracked and melted under her fingers - fire licked across the surface of the water warming it. A bath was her only desire - soothing and cleansing. Fen watched her from the wooden platform where he lay. The light wind ruffled the wolf’s fur and whipped her hair into her face. Her thin linen shirt offered no protection from the cold, but she did not care.
“Herald,” a voice harshly shook her from her work. Slowly, she turned and looked at the scout. Of course they would send someone to see if she was still here.
“Yes?” she asked with an indifferent look and a calm, stern tone.
“Seeker Pentaghast requests your presence in the war room,” the young man looked startled. From his perspective, she must have looked like a wild witch - messy hair, a dirty shirt, the spark of fire between her fingers, and the wolf at her side.
She felt the urge to growl at him, but instead she just nodded. “Yes, of course. Please inform Varric and Solas that their presence is required as well.”
The scout glanced at the spot where she was crouched, but only nodded and left.
She sighed and lowered herself into a hole in the ice.
The frigid water was good, it was comforting.
She shivered. The water rolled over and through her like a cold, gentle hand. She lifted her head, gasped for air, and smiled.
Falherna and her advisors stood over a map rolled out over the war table. Cassandra had brought them together to plan for their journey to address the Chantry in Val Royeaux. Falherna arrived as quickly as she could, hair still dripping from her bath in the lake.
Cullen’s presence loomed next to her, and a drop of water from her damp hair fell softly on his hand. She watched him out of the corner of her eye and winced slightly. His finger twitched, thumb trembling as if he was trying to imagine what that strand of her hair would feel like.
She took a moment to straighten and then slowly brushed her hair over her shoulder.
She looked down at the map again, letting her eyes slide over the supply lines and outposts circling the war table. It was a simple tactic to distance herself from the Commander. She did not need a map to know the way to Val Royeaux.
“It will take us six days just to make the trip, even on horseback,” she muttered as she reached for a cup of water that was sitting on the tray beside her and took a sip.
“Shit,” Varric cursed from his place on a bench. He polished his crossbow as he watched her. Solas sat beside him, silent but engaged.
“I’ll find you a pony, Tethras,” she smiled, giving Varric a knowing look.
The corners of his mouth twitched in response. He really did not like horses.
“The four of you can leave at daybreak tomorrow. The horses will be ready,” Leliana said slowly.
“Good.” Falherna nodded, glad the meeting was over.
The last hour had drained her.
Still, she was curious about the letter Leliana had mentioned. It was sitting on the war table throughout their meeting. Fal dismissed the idea of grabbing it and running outside to read it.
“Any objections?” Leliana asked, as if she could read Falherna’s train of thought - the desire to rest, to be alone with Fen and read that damned letter.
The room was silent, the breath of all present held as Leliana made pointed eye contact with each of them.
They waited. The Seeker shifted, “None.”
“Thank you, Seeker,” Fal nodded, ending the meeting with a shake of her head.
As her advisors began to leave the room, she drank what was left in her cup. Varric collected Bianca and made his way to the door as well, she was left with just Solas and Leliana.
“This arrived for you today,” she offered the letter to her.
Fal accepted the letter with a nod of her head and a simple, “Thank you.”
She wanted nothing more than to know the contents of the letter now, but concluded it would be better to read it when she was alone. She didn’t know what sort of news it may contain.
The spymaster smiled at her before slowly making her way to the door, “I will leave you alone.”
Fal nodded and her fingers traced lightly over the writing on the front of the letter, but she was still aware of Solas’ presence in the room with her.
Solas silently watched the Herald as she leaned against the war table, her legs outstretched in front of her. She looked down at the letter in her hands, but he couldn’t tell what she felt about it. She seemed so composed and unmoved, giving no sign of her thoughts.
He shifted slightly on the wooden bench and waited.
“It’s spreading.” She folded the letter and hid it in her pocket. Her voice was clear, her gaze fixed on the moonlight outside the window. “The scar seems bigger. My skin feels thinner, like parchment.”
Solas could not see her face overshadowed by her hair, but he assumed the situation must have been terrifying.
“Examine it,” she asked, holding out her hand to him. “My magic does nothing to it.”
His pulse quickened as he stood. He wasn’t sure which was more exciting; examining the mark, or the possibility of gaining access to the Herald’s thoughts again. He approached her slowly and watched her face for a moment, the play of shadows and moonlight on her features, so young yet so strong that she seemed as stern as steel.
She clenched her marked hand into a fist, and he forced himself to suppress the desire to tell her to hold it open.
His magic tempted him, almost singing in his ear.
If he dared and had the strength, he’d reclaim it now. But he couldn’t.
Bitterness tore at him.
The Herald’s gaze caught him staring at her. Her face shone bright and piercing, and he swallowed a pang of embarrassment.
“Of course,” he said, keeping his expression calm and detached.
He reached for her still outstretched hand, and she slowly placed it in his palm. Her skin was ice cold, and he gave her a quick glance, but her gaze was trained on the mark.
He dared to wonder if it would give him access to the Herald’s feelings once more. He should have told her the truth, but he was curious. The ability intrigued him, but more importantly, it could give him an advantage. He had to get her to trust him.
“It could cause you pain,” he warned her.
“It hurts every time. It will always hurt,” she replied softly, her eyes absently fixed on the moon outside the window.
He frowned but said nothing, running his fingers over the scar on her palm, his gaze fixed on the pulsing green light.
He sent a gentle flow of healing magic into her palm.
The mark stirred, flickering as if drawn by an energy that felt familiar. She hissed softly and forced her tense breath through her teeth.
Her aura sparkled at him, pleasantly sharp and deep.
Solas was about to say something when the air around him shifted.
A feeling of pressure coursed through him. Something was building inside of him, yearning for release. It tasted like metal and rust on his tongue. He swallowed and licked his lips.
The air felt muggy, too hot and too bright to bear.
Suddenly, relief flooded through him and he released her hand.
Her voice rang softly through the empty room. “Thank you. I tried the same spell but it did nothing. I suppose if I cast it on myself, it may have a different effect.”
He heard her moving and glanced at her. She was standing in front of the window, her back straight, almost relaxed.
“That’s possible,” he murmured as he gathered his staff, not looking at her. He needed to think and do more research.
“I thank you for your help, Solas.”
Good manners demanded that he give her an answer. He paused for a moment to compose himself. He looked up at her with his face contorted into a stern, uncaring mask.
He bowed and said, “It was nothing.”
She turned slowly, her gaze implacable, with her hands clasped behind her back.
Suddenly, he became aware of her: tall, cold, beautiful, and concealing a power he felt nonetheless. She stood as still as a stone, as if she was waiting for something.
Was she?
Solas bit the inside of his cheek to suppress any unwise words. It would be too easy to say too much.
A knock on the door broke the tension.
“I’ll let you get back to your duties, Solas.”
Light-footedly, the Herald walked past him and opened the door to the war room. She greeted the servant with a tray that had likely been sent by the Ambassador.
She paid no more attention to Solas.
It was as if he’d disappeared.
Later that night, she followed the winding road down to Haven’s gate, exhilarated by the cold air whipping across her face. She grabbed firewood stored outside the Taigen's cabin and stepped inside.
"Dian, Fen" she murmured and patted the animal. He tried to playfully nibble her.
She arranged firewood next to the fireplace and sat on the floor. Fen nuzzled into her side as she returned. Her eager hands pulled out the letter, unfolding it to reveal familiar handwriting:
I am not surprised that you are still alive, boss.
The news is that the Shems have captured you.
I would like to see that.
I FOUND IT.
I will be in Val Royeaux in seven days.
Meet me there.
- Faron
Falherna read it quickly, then read it again. Her heart pounded as she stared at the rough writing scratched into the damp, thick paper. It couldn’t be…
After a dozen years of searching, there was one precious object that had slipped through her fingers again and again.
She scanned the letter once more, and her eyes locked onto three words.
I FOUND IT.
*dian - stop
#DAI ff#DAI fanfic#iawv's writes#Dragon Age Inquisition fanfic#ff#fanfic#solavellan fic#solavellan#Solas#dai#She called him fen'harel#my writing#solas#fanfiction
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oh man what if i wrote a solavellan fic post-trespasser in which they remain secretly (and hopelessly) in love despite being on opposite sides of a war, haha
haha and what if i made it sadder somehow
what then
#yes this is probably too self-indulgent to share but#i'm at peace with it#also honestly he would prob not be a great father but that is what makes the idea compelling TO ME#solavellan#my fic#solas#solas dragon age#solas fanfic#fen'harel#dragon age fic#WIP obvi#dragon age trespasser#dragon age inquisition
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fan work friday
thank you for the tags @dreadfutures @about2dance and @greypetrel!
Rules: If you’re tagged, MAKE A NEW POST to showcase one fanartist and/or fanfic for any fandom you recommend (with links), and tag someone to give their recs next! Don’t forget to reblog the rec you were tagged in, and include these rules! :)
Bonus: Choose works by people you aren’t super tight with, or choose older works that maybe haven’t gotten some love in a while. :)
there is no god but they'll kill you for him by tenderest (@tendertieflings)
Female Lavellan & Dorian Pavus, Female Lavellan/Solas | G | 5116 words | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Summary: Women like Lavellan are dangerous. Women like her topple entire nations out of the goodness of their hearts.
For all your angst-ridden "Dorian & Lavellan deal with the mess of the world and everything that happened with Solavellan post-Trespasser" needs, look no further. It's a bit of a character study for both Lavellan and Dorian, and it highlights how messy good decisions can turn in the right (worst) circumstances. The story packs a gut-punch at every turn and the Dorian & Lavellan friendship is heartwrenching and authentic to both their characters and the trials and tribulations they shared throughout and beyond Inquisition. Solas haunts every corner of the narrative and the implications of that had me chewing on this story long after I actually finished reading it.
Tagging forward to: @oxygenforthewicked | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @rosella-writes | @plisuu | and @hollytree33
#fic rec#dragon age#dragon age fanfic#dorian pavus#lavellan#dragon age inquisition#dai#fan work friday#solavellan
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Honestly a lot of the romance pipeline joaks just aren't relatable to me at all.
Zevran > Fenris > Solas > Astarion? What is the man of mid Solas doing among those kings? He's nice like they're not, powerful like they're not, and doesn't play into the trope of being mean/"evil" and sexy. He also has so much power over Lavellan, which the others do not have over their love interests. Get him out of there. Yes they're all sad elves but that's it. Surface level reading.
Also I don't think Cullenites who are now obsessed with Astarion like Astarion for the same reasons I do. That is all I will say on the matter because I am seeing a large gathering of people outside my window and they seem to be chanting wishes of my death and gripping pitchforks.
#also fun fact the reason i deleted my old DA blog was because i was an avid cullen despiser and people hated that#so ppl going from cullen to astarion is like oouf ... why#explains why all the astarion fics are like that though#if someone fell for cullen's bullshit they will miss a lot of astarion's depth probably I MEAN WHAT AHHAHA i would never say that#ALSO i actually quite like solas and would've loved to romance him with my trevelyan#he's a great character and i love his demeanor and voice and personality and he was great friends with my trev#so adding a romantic angle to that whole angst would've been delish#solavellan in particular just gives me the ick#esp the popular fandom perception of it#anyway haha *gets shot and killed by the DA fandom*#bg3#dragon age
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WIP Wednesday
I'm finally doing one of these *on* a Wednesday 😂 Thank you for the tag @inquisimer! 💛
I'll tag @thebookworm0001, @crackinglamb, @mel-0n-earth, and @dragon--sage. No pressure to participate!
This is from a post-Fade kiss but pre-relationship solavellan wip, in which Solas helps Eira with a panic attack and then learns she's been dealing with difficult to control nightmares. This snippet is from a scene where he teaches her some meditation techniques so that she might better control her emotions in the Fade:
Eira watches with fascination as he lifts the teapot with practiced grace and pours two cups. She realizes then that it's the same teapot from his desk in the rotunda—the squat round turtle-shaped pot with four little turtle-shaped feet. It feels so out of character for him that a laugh—part genuine amusement, mostly frazzled nerves—bubbles up and out of her throat.
He glances at her as he sets the pot back down.
“It's nothing,” she says. “You know, I quite enjoy tea. I've never mentioned that.”
“Then this will be a much less painful experience for you,” he says, with a grave sort of dryness that makes her mouth twist into a smile. “Do you take it with honey?”
“No. Too sweet.”
Solas wrinkles his nose, and it's such a ridiculous display of disgust that she nearly laughs again. “Very well,” he says, stirring a generous spoonful into his own cup. “Suit yourself.”
#can u tell im obsessed with solas's weird little turtle-esq teapot#solavellan#solavellan fic#my fic#my writing#wips#wip Wednesday#tag game
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So, I’m noodling around a Dragon Age/BG3 crossover in my head, which is basically an excuse to write Astarion tormenting Solas and becoming buddies with Dorian.
One theory I’ve incorporated into my Dragon Age work is that elves are spirits who have taken a body (before the veil - after, things are more complicated). Iris Lavellan is a spirit of Hope that slipped through the veil, finding a body “in the oven”, so to speak - something Solas was able to discern pretty early on. In The Wolf’s Flower, Solas, desperate not to be the one responsible for shifting Iris’ nature from Hope to Despair, sends an old friend of his, Creativity, to keep her company. Another friend of his, Loyalty, appears to her later on in the fic, and opts to take a physical body.
Now, this crossover would tentatively have Petra and Astarion entering an eluvian they find in a coven they’ve dismantled while they’re in the midst of looting the place. They wind up travelling through the Crossroads, ending up in the Deep Roads a year or two after the events of The Wolf’s Flower. Iris, Solas and Dorian find them in the Deep Roads and they all need to travel to get to another eluvian to escort Petra and Astarion home. Solas and Astarion really do not like one another - they admire parts of each other, but Astarion thinks Solas, as a sad sack ancient godlike being who nearly destroyed the world again, is wasting his power and potential. Solas thinks that Astarion, as a man who has seen the worst people are capable of, and who survived horrors, should have more empathy and do more to help the downtrodden around him. Iris and Petra just wish their boyfriends would stop bickering already.
One thing I’m pondering is what sort of spirit Solas thinks Petra and Astarion are. Their natures are a bit different, on account of the fact that they’re from another plane of existence (and Petra is a half-elf, which don’t exist in Thedas). Petra, I’m leaning towards Creativity or Vivacious.
Astarion is tougher. Maybe Resilience? He has such strength to have endured and survived all he did, but it’s a strength he doesn’t seem to be aware of. I think his loudest trait being something he can’t see in himself fits, as a man who is still learning who he is and what he wants to be, after so long without control of his body, or any say in what he wants in his life. But, an argument can be made for Vanity, or Wit as well.
#Dragon Age#Spirits Dragon Age#astarion#BG3#Worldbuilding#Dragon Age/BG3 crossover#solavellan#astarion x oc#astarion x tav#j's fics#ask games#bg3 astarion#dragon age inquisition#dai#dragon age dreadwolf#dadw
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love when tumblr fic writers play with canon events like dolls
#me writing this Rolan fic#me with the durgetash fic too#the solavellan fic and the ascended Astarion idea floating around trying to become a fic are post game so not too much shifting of canon but#tbf this is markus' quote#ddxcrow#come get ur credit#fic writing#writing#fanfic#fanfiction
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ANOTHER QUESTION TO THE FANDOM IM SO SORRY:
Solas’s outfit. What are the green things he wears?? Stockings?? Leggings?? Pants??? I’m talking about the beige sweater with the wolf jaw necklace. His like casual outfit, you know???
I’m writing a different fic, literally so sad and in character depth for my lavellan, and I have to describe his outfit and I am STRUGGLING.
#dragon age#dragon age inquisition#solavellan#solas x lavellan#lavellan x solas#help me PLEASE. IM SO SORRY FOR ANOTHER POST BUT I JUST#can’t describe it properly. or at least I think I’m not. I just want to check so ppl know what I’m talking about#I’m so bad at describing outfits bc I have almost no idea what right words describe clothes#I read so many fics describing their clothes yet I forget each time I start my own fic like???#somethings wrong but I can’t figure it out lol#anyway thank you 🙏 😭.
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this is an old thing, a little during DAI Solas-perspective Solavellan for anyone needing something sweet this Saturday. For all my ‘nah, they totally boned there’ Solavellans. NSFW at the end. 2.8k. (i might put in on AO3 later, unless I forget [i will forget])
...
Solas had a feeling that if he asked Ellana to stop, she would. No, it was more than a feeling. A certainty. Whenever he paused, she pulled back, whenever he resisted, she stopped. To the outside it might look as if she was aggressively pursuing him, but he knew she would cease in a split second if he asked her to.
And yet, he did not.
It was a surprisingly pleasant thing, to be hunted in this manner. He knew she was skilled, but the talent extended to other areas besides her grace and the deadliness of her bow. After the kiss in the fade - still a sweet, stomach-clenching memory – she had allowed him all the distance he desired without a word of complaint.
Then she started courting him.
It was merely small things at first; she would see Leliana and afterwards bring down the books he'd asked for from the library. Cakes pilfered from the kitchen with an impish child's humor were presented to him proudly. They would have given them to her if she'd asked, but she seemed to find endless delight in thievery.
Her unflagging brightness, her sheer determination to find joy in her circumstances was admirable, and it amused him as well.
That alone was a revelation, the way she brought a smile to his lips even when she was absent. He would find a small note she'd written him slipped between the pages of a book, generally biting, witty commentary about the tome itself. She was sharper than the edges of her arrows, and he found it endlessly fascinating. The way she'd laugh and charm the people they met and then turn around and make some sort of sly, dark comment about it all.
There was no naivete in her humor, no denial; she saw her circumstances for the great and terrifying farce that they were.
Sometimes flashes of vulnerability would show through it all, depths of sorrow that she hid behind a smile. He could see how much she hated it all, the titles, the worship of the Andrastians. She flinched, every time someone called her Herald.
At first, in her posture, and then when she tempered that, he could still see it in her eyes.
Self-mockery and pain, and a bitter resignation.
He understood.
She kept it from him apart from the occasional dark and sarcastic joke, until the first note appeared anywhere but a book, left inside his bedroll as they camped at the outskirts of Crestwood. It had been folded into a small bird, and he smiled and admired it for a moment before carefully unfolding it. It almost seemed a shame to do so.
The words within were a shocking vulnerability, a heartbreaking confession.
Sometimes I wonder if they know how terrifying they are. How horrifyingly cruel and brutal. They say to me, 'You are the Herald of our greatest martyr', and they expect me, her victim, to be glad of it. I should be honored to be raised so far above my people, to be allowed to murder for them instead of being murdered by them. I laugh because it is easier than crying, or screaming. I wonder if they will burn me, too, when they are done with me.
I hope they choke on my ashes.
That was the first night he wrote her a note in return. He folded his into a star. It seemed appropriate. Not that the new vulnerability meant she had stopped pursuing him. If anything, she grew all the more flirtatious.
And indiscreet.
Solas became intensely aware that Dorian and Sera were very tired of her sighing about him over her drinks. Gossip traveled, and quickly. He struggled to hide his flushes as Dorian complained at him about it over the railing, reciting some of her more choice phrases with absolutely no shame whatsoever. It seemed she was very fond of his legs and had waxed poetic about them. At length. And his jaw, apparently, and nose, freckles, eyes, lips...it was getting to be a bit much, but the second-hand flattery was undeniably pleasant to hear. If embarrassing.
He did not ask her to stop, though Josephine did. Repeatedly.
After a week of this new assault, the next letter appeared, on his pillow in his chamber.
No one had seen her enter or leave, but his window had been open.
They say I should behave. But I will not, until you tell me to. Is it inappropriate? I wonder. They need me, so I will keep doing as I like. Dorian says that you smile, and so I think that you don't mind, even if you haven't said anything to me. I wonder about a lot of things. What your lips would taste like if I kissed you, what sort of sounds you would make if I snuck up behind you as you stand at your desk and slid my hands down the front of your pants. Do you moan? Would you say my name? You kiss as if you might. You kiss as if you might suck all the air out of my lungs, and make me glad to die of suffocation. I will remember it tonight, when I touch myself. Sleep well.
That note, he kept in a book next to the bed.
And then, for the next week, she had the oddest habit of popping up behind him while he was working. Innocent, oh so innocent her expressions, asking curious questions, smiling winsomely. There was absolutely no one who wasn't aware now that she was interested in him by then. Of all people, Cassandra seemed utterly invested in it all. She would ask the most prying questions, watch them with a hawk's gaze when they were in the field. It was not a threatening gaze, if anything it seemed soft.
Hopeful.
All of her wicked machinations, all of this playful and overt courtship, and she had yet to even touch him. If she was planning to drive him mad, she was doing a rather good job of it. She chipped at the edges of his restraint, slowly whittling it away. Eventually it was curiosity, more than anything else, that kept him from saying anything about it all. What would she do next?
She, apparently, asked him to dance.
He did not know she would have handled the Winter Palace with such grace. Knowing her fear and hatred, he was staggered at how flawlessly she had navigated it. When she stopped to speak with him, he could feel the tension in her, the exhaustion and wariness that she let show in her eyes. He wanted nothing more than to sweep her away to a quiet corner and let her relax, but they both knew he couldn't. That such luxuries could not be afforded. Instead they shared quiet, wry words about the artifice and intrigue, enjoyed what there was to be enjoyed. She made some cutting remarks about a some particularly egregious gowns, just to make him chuckle.
He saw her shoulders relax as he laughed for her.
Later, leaning against the railing of the balcony outside, he watched her slump as Morrigan swept away, releasing it all. It was then that he finally broke that distance between them, in the only way he could think of at that moment. The first time they had touched, apart from accidental brushes in the heat of battle, or when he healed her wounds. He gently placed a hand on her back, offering comfort in that moment when she let her vulnerability show in more than little hidden notes.
It was if that single touch, and then the dance that followed had broken some wall inside of her.
Suddenly her hands were everywhere, when she had been so careful not to intrude on his space before. Pressing too close when she passed him in a cave, the curve of her hip nudging between his thighs, making his breath catch. She'd smile in the low light, and then move on before he could decide if he would reach for her. She sat next to him around the fire, thighs touching, arm brushing against him when she leaned forward.
Large things, small things. Light touches on his arm when they spoke, a playful push against his shoulder when he offered a sly joke. And then, one particularly pulse-pounding afternoon at the base of a circular stairwell, when she poured herself against his chest to whisper a message from Josephine in his ear. Utterly ordinary, that little report, something that could have been sent with any servant in the fortress. Instead, she lazily murmured the status of his book requisition in his ear, a hand to either side of his chest, voice a breathy little sigh.
He nearly grabbed her by the thighs and pushed her up against the wall right then and there.
When it had turned to love, he didn't know, but he recognized it at some point when he was watching her, so serious and calm, lean over the war table with her braid spilling over her shoulder. Or maybe it was when he'd caught her delaying their departure from Skyhold to indulge in a game of chase and catch with the small gaggle of children that belonged to the servants. She looked so happy then, free, free of the weight of their titles and expectations, free of his mark that burned like a brand in her palm and poisoned her veins.
It made his heart ache, the knowledge of it, and then the acknowledgment of those feelings. It was the most unwise thing he ever could have done, falling in love with her, but how could he avoid it? She was...everything.
He hadn't known what he was going to say until they were on the balcony, but he knew he had to say something. Something to express even a fraction of the change she had wrought in his life. And again, she charmed him, until he almost found himself saying what he had decided halfway through their conversation not to. He simply couldn't. It wasn't right, it wasn't wise...
“Don't go.”
Her fingers caught in the curve of his elbow, a beckon that only asked, didn't demand. Never had she demanded anything of him in all this time, but nor had she stopped pursuing. He hadn't stopped her.
He wouldn't stop her.
The inevitability washed over him, the weight and knowledge of it crashing down on him as he turned and drew her in to him. He knew then, at last, how her lips tasted, how it felt for her to be as desperate as he had been all this time. The crush of her body, the way she gasped in against his lips as he pulled at her, her hands against his back. It was...
His body pulled back, but his heart stayed, escaping his lips in a confession of what she doubtless already knew.
He loved her.
Space. Time. He needed both, to try and decide what this all meant. The kiss had roused something in him, young and impulsive, and it was nearly impossible to cross those few feet to the stairs, especially with her bed out of the corner of his vision, inviting. A constant invitation, never withdrawn. An offering of comfort and peace for both of them. Even if only for a moment.
And then he made the greatest miscalculation in all of this, a mistake that would haunt him every night thereafter.
He looked back over his shoulder.
Ellana stood there, a hand on her hip, leaning against the door with the smuggest expression on her flushed face. Hair tousled, lips swollen and ruddy, the feline satisfaction in the look she was giving him was unmistakable.
She'd won.
He'd made the first move.
How had she tricked him? It left his mind blank for a moment, a laugh startled from the depths of his chest at being outmaneuvered by her, trapped into a corner until he had no choice but to react. What could he do now? She hunted, and he had been caught.
The fragility, the melancholy of his feelings for her shattered, leaving behind a fierce and uninhibited affection.
What a horrible vixen she was.
It was as if a dam had burst, as he succumbed to it, to her. She was so sweet under his lips, under his hands, and he took it all. There would be time for tenderness later, for now there was only the frantic need she'd been forging for ages now, that she'd sharpened to a hunger so acute that he was starving for her.
It was unwise to fill a starving belly too quickly, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
Somehow they found the bed, leaving tangled clothing behind, both of them tripping at one point or another. They fell onto it in a tangle of limbs, her with her shirt still half on, him in his leggings, pulled partway down his hips. They were laying the wrong way across the bed, but it was big enough not to matter, though his feet dangled down as he bit a line up her breastbone, making her back arch. She whimpered, and he found it absolutely fascinating.
Suddenly, his own need wasn't so intense. He heard say his name in protest, but breathy and moaning, token noises and not any desire for him to stop. His hands slid up the underside of her thighs, feeling the muscles shift under his palms, before he pushed her knees up, and then up again, letting them spread to either side of her chest, her stomach rolling in a smooth arch.
He knew she was flexible, he'd seen her fight. It was hard not to gloat over her like this, his torturer, all red cheeks and hazy eyes. Exposed, with her swollen, slick arousal so plain to see.
“You had to know...” he murmured to her, words breathed out between her thighs. “That you would eventually pay for all your wickedness, vhenan.”
And then, with tongue and lips, and his fingers firm around her knees, he found just what sorts of noises she could make. It was very little surprise that he found them all as captivating as her whimpers, especially when they involved his name.
He loved the way it slid off of her tongue, sinuous and breathy, preceded by a quavering intake of air. The way it became more and more frantic, until she lost the syllables in a cry of ecstasy, whole body shuddering. The strength in her lithe frame was astounding, the spasm of her hips so dangerous that he was forced to pull back.
How could he resist it?
She was so close, so exquisite, on his tongue and under his hands. Her hands were pulling down his leggings as his own slid over the curves of her calves, moving for her ankles, encircling them. He held her legs to his chest as he felt her fingers slide along the length of him, guiding him to her.
And then he took her, claimed what she'd been offering, sinking deep into her in triumph and surrender. There would be regret, and he didn't care in that moment, she was too wet and warm and alive, her vitality setting his nerves afire. She was all smooth, toned lines, but he could make her shiver and squirm, and so he did, watching the tumble of her hair, the bounce of her breasts.
It was over too quickly, greedy thrusts that made that fascinating rear end slap against his thighs, hunger that had settled too deep for anything but devouring satiation. Her sweat-slicked, supple body folded under his as he pressed over her, hilting deep, his hands finding hers and pinning them against the bed as he shuddered and let his hips grind against her.
The satisfaction that followed had been worth it all, he decided, as he tried to catch his breath while she nuzzled against him. He would have been content to hold her then, savor it all, try to understand just what was happening and what it meant...but he learned then, as he would learn in the weeks to come...
He had taken a step that there was no coming back from. She only gave him fifteen minutes to kiss and caress her before she pushed him on his back and kissed down his stomach. That night he learned a very sobering lesson, that he wished he had known before he'd looked over his shoulder that day in her chambers.
There was no escape now that he'd let her in. She was irresistible.
And she was insatiable.
#Solavellan#Solas x Lavellan#I am all for ace Solavellan and I think a lot of the fics I've read are better than sexy ones#I just know my Lavellan and she would fuck that old man
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I couldn't help it, yes, I let it get in
The helpless optimism of spring
Worn out and tired, and my heart near retired
And the world bent double from weeping
And yet, the birds begin to sing, ooh, oh
Daffodil
Daffodil
#solavellan#Solas#Lavellan#dragon age#Aili Lavellan#Pride#Daffodil#someday I will return to this AU#I has been a weird year for writing anything tbh#but I love them#artwork#FYI this is inspired by my fic Daffodil#which is on AO3#That tumblr will not let me link without blocking me from relevant tags#it's based on/inspired by Feynite's Looking Glass#With Permission
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Anyone got any good solavellan or fenhawke fic recommendations? I’ll also take Abelas and Lavellan.
#dragon age#dragon age 2#dragon age inquisition#fenhawke#Fenris#hawke#solavellan#solas#Lavellan#Abelas#abelavellan#fic rec
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it's WIP wednesday! and if regular solavellan hell isn't enough for you, lemme introduce you to my post-trespasser fic in which they continue to be in love and also at war 🥲
#am I dealing psychic damage to myself with every chapter? absolutely#wip wednesday#my writing#my fic#solavellan#solavellan hell#solas#solas x inquisitor#dragon age inquisition#dragon age trèspasser#dragon age dreadwolf#fen'harel
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FINALLY finished the next story for my Blueshift series. This one really fought me.
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