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rosella-writes · 2 years

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Happy Friday Ro!!! For your consideration... Lavellan, Solas, & Felassan + “ We can't keep this up forever. ” from the Angst, Fluff & Smut list. :D

>:] thank you so much Niriiiiii you gave me a chance to try out a funky lil headcanon I spun up today. Just a head's up — in my canon Virelan finds Felassan as a tranquil and puts in the work to cure him. He was once a bodied spirit of Hope. I credit @dreadfutures for the final line and the headcanons surrounding it (you'll know it when you see it and I'm sorry Blue for borrowing aksfhjgkfjhgkfdjhg). It's rambly and all over the place aaaaaaaaaaaaa

For @dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Felassan x Virelan Lavellan (with past Solasmance for both of them) Rating: M for casual nudity? they're in bed

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Felassan didn’t have the heart to tell Virelan that she cried in her sleep.

She was so strong otherwise — head held high, shoulders braced, spine curved like a tensed bow — and to know she showed such vulnerability would steal the iron of her will. But he held it close, that knowledge, and her when she allowed it.

It was rare, but happened with increasing regularity, for her to invite him into her bed. It was not her heart — for she showed that only to her son now — but it was a comforting, safe place to be. She didn’t expect platitudes and explanations and professions of love from him. They knew each other’s pain and burdens as only two people who loved the same person could.

They never spoke of Solas, but he was the ghost between their lips all the same.

It was during one of these nights, when she had dared ask him to stay, that he felt most drawn to her. He woke with a start when her hand gripped his wrist — expecting her to be awake, to need him — but stilled when her sleep-stricken voice called out with raw, wordless anguish.

He curled close, barely taller or wider than she, and allowed her grip on his arm. He reached out to touch what remained of the arm Solas had taken — she reached back, as if the hand remained. Felassan wound up awkwardly clasping the end of her stump, swallowing back tears of his own as she screamed hers into her pillow, then his chest.

“Ir abelas,” he murmured beneath his breath, dragging her sleeping body close. “Ir abelas, falon.”

This pain in her — raw and unfiltered, fresh in her dream as if happening at that very moment — spoke to a pain deep within him that matched. While he had settled somewhat in the wake of Tulin and Cole bringing him back to himself, ragged, torn pieces did not always fit back where they had been whole before. Some festered and rotted, worn more ragged still by this muffled scream against his chest.

Felassan took as much of Virelan into his arms as he could, searching for the old comfort he could once offer. He used to know exactly what to say, what to do, how to find that one shining piece of possibility in the impossible. But now, in the dark, in the room that smelled of Virelan’s soap and their blended sweat, that swam with the sounds of sobs and gasping breaths, there was nothing but the cold chill of finality.

In the end, he didn’t need to tell her. She woke herself, her sobs suddenly cutting short with a startled gasp. For a moment she seemed as if she would remain in his arms, clutched close, but with a deep, heart-rending groan she shoved at him and tore away. What had ached for her now bruised deeply with his own hurt.

“No,” she stammered thickly. “No, stop, I don’t need —”

“Of course not,” he snapped, feeling his pain sharpen further to a cutting edge. “You don’t need anything or anyone, do you, lethallen?”

Her eye was bright in the darkness, and there was an audible snap when her dropped jaw closed. Felassan leapt upon that chance, leaning up on one elbow and jutting his chin in defiance.

“You stand alone. You go your own way. You call upon me on your own terms, asking for cheap comfort, borrowed closeness, and shove me away when your tears escape on their own? Do you know who you remind me of?”

“Stop it,” she snapped, chest heaving. The moonlight glinted off a silvery scar on her breast. “I’m not… no.”

His nose wrinkled as his lip pulled back over his teeth. “You are not the first I’ve held in such a way. But where before I could offer hope for a brighter future, there’s nothing in me now. Would you kill my comfort too?”

Her hand rose to cover her face, and she shook her head frantically side to side. It looked as if her fingertips dug into her flesh. “Stop it. Stop it.”

Something loud, frantic, hopeless sprang up in his chest, screeching aloud its despair until he let it out in a whispered, “We have to talk about him.”

“No!” she all but screamed.

“We have to!” Louder, this time, but not nearly a shout. “We can’t keep this up forever. We can’t.”

“I want to,” Virelan begged. She lowered her hand and plucked at his — he could see gouges from her nails underneath her eyes. “Ignore it with me, put it away in that unspoken place where it can’t hurt us. I thought you understood —”

“And that is why I must insist upon it now,” he said firmly, returning the clutch of her hand. He grasped her other arm, which reached as if with its missing hand, and ignored her wince at the touch. “You’re using me. I’m using you. We can’t. All it does is hurt us.”

At the confession, the sharp hurt, the bruised hurt, the rotting, ragged pieces all coalesced into an ache that was the ache of cold. It spread through him, icy and leaden and heavy, and there was an odd, self-indulgent comfort in it. It satisfied him, this despair, and he reached for her with it.

“You are loving me in the place of Solas, aren’t you?”

Her lip shook, and her eye darted away. “No, I —”

“Don’t lie to me.”

A wordless groan, paired with a weak pull, was not enough to free her from his grasp. He didn’t let go.

“I know because I am doing the same,” he hissed. “I use you to bandage my pain and yet I bleed through.”

She turned her eye to the ceiling, her mouth working open and shut. No sound escaped.

“I feel this despair of yours,” he continued, “as surely as it is my own. It fills me up, like so much poison, and yet it will not do me the pleasure of letting me die. No, we keep on living, Virelan, we keep on going, clutching at each other like drowning rats. We pretend like we can stop him if given the chance, but can we?”

“Of course —”

“Could you kill him, Virelan?” Felassan said, his voice rising finally into something resembling volume. “Could you? Will that rage drive your sword through his heart, or will your misery drag you down into uselessness?”

Her eye finally met his, and tears streamed from it down her cheek. She held on to him tight, until he could almost feel her fingers wringing the blood from his frozen hand.

“No,” she sobbed. It pitched up into a strangled wail. “But I have to, Felassan, I have to —”

He shook his head and pulled his hand from hers, raising both instead to cup her cheeks. “You don’t have to do anything. Haven’t you done enough?”

The steel of her spine collapsed. He caught her, clasped her close, and drew her beneath the blankets once more. She was nearly as cold as he felt. What echoed within him, between them, perhaps even inside her now, was a soul-killing refrain.

Futile. Futile. Futile.

#this is the most raw off the press shit ever #barely scanned back over it so who knows if it makes sense #dadwc #felassan #virelan lavellan #solas #dragon age #solavellan #virelan x solas #lavellan #my writing #dragon age inquisition #felassan x virelan #felassan x lavellan #felassan x solas

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amarmeme · 2 years

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Rare pairs to love!

Creators have been revealed for the @black-emporium-exchange — if you haven't looked at the collection, go do it! I received amazing gifts this year, and want to make sure they get more attention and love.

Le Petit Mort by Toshi_Nama Dusana Helmi/Varric Tethras, T, 1.1K

Just when are assassination attempts foreplay? ...just when does seduction become an assassination attempt? Ah, the questions Varric must ask himself.

The rarest of rares. But I loved it! Toshi took some minimal scrap of DA2 dialogue and created a wonderful backstory and voice for Dusana and really nailed home what it is we love about Varric. I need more Dusana (sobs). Go read!

7:00AM by @hollyand-writes Caver Hawke/Merrill, E, art! My soul flew out of my body for a moment upon opening this. I just love this ship so damn much and Holly delivered. Honestly, it inspires me so much. I feel like these two are such a good pair for modern AU. And smut. Definitely smut.

Never Fall Apart by Dawnstone Abelas/Female Lavellan, G, Aralthan AU, 3.6k This was rated G, but it is basically porn for people who enjoy world-building. I am so into this exploration of Arlathan, the Temple of Mythal, Lavellan's role, everything was fascinating and curious and thought-provoking. Thank you!

Advisors by Ciella Leliana/Cullen Rutherford/Josephine Montilyet, M, art! Another art that stole my soul; I am flailing over this one. Soooo gorgeous and we love a war table sammich. The expressions and poses and just everything about this art screams DIVINE. Twin Souls by @cathyfowl Dirthamen/Falon'Din/Female Lavellan, T, drabble YOU ARE A TEASE of the highest order. Ahem. I loved this drabble and again am struck with wanting more, more, more. Cathy's ability to pack so much in so little is admirable, and I really dig the imagery she evoked.

#black emporium #rare pairs #dragon age #other people's writing #fic recommendations

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pikapeppa · 5 years

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Abelas/Lavellan smut: Ma’av’in

An older piece that I never posted on Tumblr!

Ma’av’in: an elvhen term, from @fenxshiral, that literally means ‘my mouth’, but is also a very personal and slightly sexual endearment meaning “I love and desire you so much that my mouth tastes like yours,” but also “we understand each other on such a personal level that you could talk for me”.

In which Athera Lavellan and Abelas sneak into the kitchen for some cake and run into Solas, who is doing the same thing. Oh, elves with a sweet tooth.

Read on AO3 instead.

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Athera poked her head cautiously into Skyhold’s kitchen. “Hello?” she called softly.

When no one replied, she relaxed and turned to Abelas with a smile. “It’s clear. Everyone’s gone to bed.” She scurried into the kitchen and made a beeline for the large icebox that held the leftover sweets.

Abelas followed her at a more decorous pace. As Athera opened the icebox and poked around, he studied the icebox itself with clear disapproval. “This cooling spell is inefficient,” he said. “The magic is slowly dissipating. It will need to be recast in less than a year.” He frowned at her. “Who was the spellcaster here? Someone on your staff is in dire need of training.”

Athera shot him an exasperated look. “Who cares about the icebox? Look at what’s inside!” She enthusiastically pulled out a platter, then removed its metal lid with a flourish to reveal a selection of bite-sized desserts.

Abelas’s disapproval melted into a tiny smile, and Athera’s cheeks warmed with pleasure at having wiped away his frown. She happily set the platter on the table. “Those cakes I gave you were the first kind of Orlesian dessert I tried when I first started hanging out with humans,” she said eagerly. “They all have funny names.” She pointed to each of the desserts in turn. “This is a macaron. Chocolate-raspberry, it looks like, and this one is… a blackberry macaron, maybe? This cake is called ‘le coup de grâce’. It’s made with a lot of brandy - they’ll actually make you drunk if you eat enough of them. This one is ‘la langue fourchue’ - I think it contains dragonthorn, it’s weirdly spicy - and this one is ‘la belle rose’. It’s made with rosewater. That’s what Josie said, at least.”

Abelas listened carefully as she named the various cakes. Then he selected a small square cake with pink fondant icing and a tiny flower on top.

Athera wilted slightly in disappointment; the cake he’d picked was the same kind she’d given to him when he first arrived at Skyhold. “You don’t want to try something new?” she asked. “You’ve had that kind already.”

He settled his gilded gaze on her face. “I am fond of this kind. They remind me of you.”

The tips of Athera’s ears suddenly felt hot. She bit the inside of her cheek to hide her stupid grin, then selected a rosewater cake for herself. “Well, I guess that’s all right then.” She lifted her cake and gently touched it to his. “Cheers.”

“On’enansal,” he murmured, and Athera smiled and popped the whole cake into her mouth.

Abelas, on the other hand, took a small bite of his cake. Athera covered her full mouth self-consciously while she chewed, feeling boorish compared to her lover’s dignified munching.

He studied the cake as he chewed. “What is the name of this confection?”

Athera swallowed hastily. “It’s called ‘la petite bise’. Leliana said it means ‘the little kiss’.” She leaned back against the table as she watched Abelas enjoy his cake. “It’s named after this weird thing the Orlesians do. They kiss each other on the cheeks as a greeting. They even do it to people they’ve only just met.” She remembered the first time someone had greeted her this way; it was one of Josie’s contacts from Val Royeaux, Madame la Marquise of Something-Or-Other, and Athera was shocked when the woman leaned in to bump her cheekbones against Athera’s face. She was still grateful that her surprise had made her freeze like a rabbit instead of flinching away from the Marquise; she didn’t want to imagine the kind of unintentional offence a flinch would have caused.

Abelas’s gaze slid from the cake back to her face. “The little kiss, you say?”

His eyes dropped to her mouth, and Athera bit her lip coquettishly. “Yes,” she confirmed.

He swallowed his tiny bite of cake, then tilted his head thoughtfully. “I would like a demonstration of this strange custom.”

His face was serious, but his golden eyes were warm and playful, and Athera grinned. “All right,” she said. She took a step closer to him and placed her hands on his shoulders, then lifted herself onto her tiptoes and leaned in to graze his sharp right cheekbone with a kiss.

He turned his head at the last second and met her lips with his own.

Athera smiled against his mouth, then wrapped her arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss. His sculpted lips gently coaxed hers apart, and Athera released a shivery little sigh as he lightly nipped her lower lip with teeth.

His unoccupied hand curved around her waist, then up along her back to pull her flush to his body, and Athera happily pressed herself against his chest. He tasted sweet and fruity, a warm reflection of the cake in his hand, and she shamelessly savoured the smooth feel of his tongue caressing her own, the exciting feel of his hard and muscular thigh sliding between her legs-

“Oh,” a surprised voice said, and Athera sprang away from Abelas as the mild-mannered voice continued. “My apologies. I, er, I did not think anyone else would be here.”

“Solas!” Athera gasped. She covered her burning cheeks with her hands and stared at the apostate in complete mortification. The pinkness of his cheeks was evident even in the warm orange light of the hearthfire, and Athera couldn’t decide if she was more or less horrified to find him looking as embarrassed as she felt.

She glanced up at Abelas, and was further ashamed to see him looking as discomfited as Solas. Desperate to smooth over the awkward moment, she focused on Solas again. “What, er, what brings you to the kitchen?” she stammered.

Solas cleared his throat. “I believe the same thing that brought you here,” he said, then gestured at the platter of desserts on the table. “An insatiable taste for all things sweet.”

At his words, the thought of Abelas’s sugar-laced tongue in her mouth flashed through her mind, and Athera cringed as her face became even hotter.

Fortunately, Abelas seemed to have recovered his aplomb. Unfortunately, his aplomb was far too polite for Athera’s liking. “Please, join us,” the Sentinel said, then gestured to the platter of sweets.

Solas shot her a quick glance, and Athera’s face and shoulders performed some kind of strange combination of grimace-and-shrug. Solas slowly made his way into the kitchen. “Thank you,” he said with a gracious nod to Abelas, then selected a small cylindrical cake enrobed in dark gray fondant and painted with intricate red curlicues.

Solas took a delicate bite of cake, and Athera watched the two men with increasing discomfort as they ate their cakes in excruciating silence. She twisted her fingers together as she desperately cast around for something to say.

“How about the paint job on that, huh?” she finally said with a nod to the elaborate swirls on Solas’s little cake. “Must take a long time to paint each one. No wonder they’re so expensive.”

“Yes, it is its own form of artistry, is it not?” Solas replied eagerly, clearly relieved that she’d broken the silence. “I must admit that this particular kind is my favourite. Do you happen to recall what it is called?”

Athera narrowed her eyes. “That’s the one with the slightly bitter filling, right? I think it’s called ’le souffle du loup.’ It means ‘breath of the wolf’.”

Solas suddenly went still, and Abelas coughed loudly. Athera turned to him in alarm as he continued to cough into his hand. “Are you okay? You’re not choking, are you?”

“He is fine,” Solas said hastily, then patted the coughing Sentinel on the back in an oddly fraternal manner. “Perhaps I will leave you in peace. It was not my intention to interrupt. Not that you were doing anything that - I mean, that is -”

“No, you stay,” Abelas rasped. “Please. I insist. The Inquisitor and I will go elsewhere. It would not do for us to, er - that is, we will take ourselves to a more private, er…”

Solas’s cheeks reddened further, and Athera wondered wistfully if she could just melt into the floor right now. “Yes, perhaps that would be wise,” Solas replied weakly, and Abelas nodded brusquely before taking her hand and tugging her toward the door.

Athera glanced over her shoulder at her apostate friend. “Sorry,” she squeaked. Then Abelas pulled her out of the kitchen.

The Sentinel whispered a quiet word in Elvhen, and goosebumps ran down Athera’s arms as his fade-cloak spell settled over them both. “Come,” he muttered, and he laced his fingers with hers as he led her back up the stairs.

The further they got from the kitchen, the more her humiliation began to melt into humour. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing as they traversed the Great Hall. By the time she had unlocked the door that led up to her quarters, her shoulders were shaking with suppressed mirth.

She opened the door and let Abelas in before her, then closed the door behind them both and slumped back against the wall, her hands clapped over her mouth to prevent an outburst of glee.

“Dread Wolf take me, that was horrible,” she wheezed. “It’s like being caught in the act by an older brother. Oh gods.” Then she finally broke into a storm of nervous laughter.

A reluctant little smile lifted Abelas’s cheeks as she continued to helplessly laugh. “I can see how it would feel that way,” he murmured. He slowly stepped close and brushed his thumb over her smiling lower lip. “We should be quiet now,” he whispered. “I do not think you want to wake the rest of the castle.”

Her laughter hitched in her throat as his knee brushed against her thighs, and her amusement slowly faded and deepened into the foiled desire that had begun to brew in the kitchen. “Maybe you need to find a way to keep me quiet,” she breathed.

She watched with interest as he inhaled deeply, then smiled more broadly at her. “Veraisa,” he whispered. Then he slanted his mouth over hers.

She parted her lips instantly, granting access to his delicious tongue. He still tasted of fondant, a hint of fruit and sugar, and Athera eagerly suckled his tongue as though to steal his sweetness for herself.

Abelas groaned against her lips and pressed his knee between her legs. She gasped and released his tongue as the hardness of his leg rode against the vee of her thighs, sending a shock of sensation from her groin up to her nipples and throat.

His hands were suddenly cradling her neck, his fingers cupping the back of her skull as he stole her breath with another kiss. Athera wrapped her arms around his lean body, pressing her chest against him and spreading her legs more widely to welcome the muscular bulk of his thigh. He delved his tongue into her mouth, and with every lap of his tongue and every gentle pull of his lips against her own, her desire surged like the eager rising of high tide.

Finally Abelas broke their kiss to gasp against her cheekbone, his fingers still tight in her hair. He breathed hard for a moment, the heat of his lustful breaths sending a delicious shiver down her spine. Abruptly he lifted her chin with his fingers and kissed her hard once more, then knelt at her feet.

A mewl of desperate want escaped her lips, and she slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle herself as Abelas slid his hands under her nightshift and peeled her smallclothes down to her ankles. “If this is your idea for keeping me quiet, I’ll have you know it’s a terrible idea,” she whimpered.

Abelas shot her a quick look, and the intensity of his expression stopped her breath again. “Solas was right,” he told her. “I hunger for something sweet. But it is not some mere shemlen confection that I want.” Without further ado, he gathered the fabric of her cotton shift in his fists and pinned her skirts to the wall, then slicked his tongue between her legs.

Heat and pleasure rippled through her blood at the sleek stroke of his tongue. Athera took a shuddering breath and fisted one hand in her hair, then bit the back of her other hand as Abelas diligently stroked her plump folds with his full lower lip before sliding his tongue over the swollen button of her clit.

Her hot breath ghosted across the back of her hand as Abelas continued to work his talented mouth at the apex of her thighs. The lapping of his tongue was voracious yet tender, very much as though he was savouring a favoured treat, and Athera’s thighs began to tremble with the strain of holding herself upright as he stroked his tongue along the length of her cleft, caressed her clit with his lower lip, drank in every drop of her heated arousal from her exquisitely sensitive folds-

She gasped in a faltering breath, then muffled her pleasure against the back of her hand as Abelas brought her to a scintillating peak. Her fingers were twisted painfully in her hair, her teeth pressing ruthlessly into the skin of her hand, but she was numb to it all, numb to anything but the blissful feel of her lover’s tongue between her legs.

Finally Abelas rose to his feet and wrapped her in a tight embrace, his body hard against her own as he kissed her. His lips held the perfume of her own arousal, tangible and earthy evidence of his carnal devotion, and the familiar musky scent drove her desire to a fever pitch.

Her fingers clutched his arms convulsively; she was internally at war, mired in the dual desires to have him right now and to have him as freely and loudly as she liked. Finally she pushed him away, only to tug him toward the stairs up to her bedroom. “I can’t keep up this quiet thing. Let’s hurry,” she urged.

He huffed with amusement as he followed her hasty steps up the stairs. “I admire your discipline,” he said.

She stopped on the first landing, then pulled her shift over her head and flung it to the floor. She shoved her long dark hair back, then faced him boldly. “Trust me, my discipline is hanging by a thread,” she said bluntly, then turned on her heel and ran up the stairs.

Abelas caught her on the second landing. She gasped as he penned her against the wall, his hands cradling her neck as he pressed his forehead to hers. “As is mine,” he breathed. “I want for you so strongly, and it… it is not enough.”

“What’s not enough?” she asked breathily, her fingers digging into his arms.

“Everything,” he replied instantly. “Every moment. Your skin, your taste, your voice. Every moment we spend together until… until the time comes. It will never be enough.”

Athera closed her eyes to block out the reminder of his eventual departure. She knew ecactly how he felt, and it was so incredibly bitter.

She shook her head, then gently pushed him away. She wrenched open the door to her bedroom, then she strode up the final set of stairs and waited impatiently until Abelas drew level with her. Then she flung herself at him in a storm of longing and lust.

He grabbed her naked body, lifting her and wrapping her legs around his waist. She gripped the back of his neck and stared desperately into his eyes as he walked them toward the bed. “Abelas,” she pleaded. “I… maybe I shouldn’t say this, I don’t want you to think poorly of me, but… You make me want to throw this all away. I can’t do that, I know I can’t, and I know you can’t either. But it’s my imagination, it’s a fantasy or an amazing dream or something, and I just…” She gulped in a breath and stroked his face. “I hope you don’t think less of me. I just-”

“No,” he interrupted. Then Athera’s breath left her in a rush as they tumbled onto the bed, his reassuring weight between her legs.

“I understand how you feel,” Abelas breathed. “I…” He pressed his lips together in a seeming struggle for words. “Ma’av’in,” he finally blurted. “This is the only term I can think of. I do not know the word in your language for this. Just know that I feel as you do.” He stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs. “I see this dream, just as you do.”

A scalding tear wended its way down her cheek, and she gasped in a tiny sob as he wiped it away with his thumb. “No more talking,” she begged. “No more, please. Just…” She trailed off and tugged futilely at his strange ancient armour.

He swiftly responded to her wordless command, sliding off the bed and shedding his armour with practiced ease. When he settled himself between her legs again, Athera didn’t hesitate; hesitation left room for words and heartache, and she couldn’t have that right now.

She reached between his legs and grasped his cock, then slid his length against her cleft to spread her heat across him. Abelas hissed in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening in her hair as he rocked against her slick folds; then, with a quick shifting of his hips, he sheathed himself inside of her.

He moaned longingly against her neck, and Athera mewled in kind, a long and pleading keen of pleasure as she savoured the perfect pressure of his cock. He moved against her in a slow and sinuous thrust and she happily arched into him, her hips a perfect cradle to meet the confident curving of his hips.

Within seconds, she and Abelas were moving together in perfect harmony. His palms were hot against her own as he pressed her hands into the bed, her fingers laced and clenching against his own as she lifted her hips to meet his every careful thrust. Even their breathing was synced: they gasped with need as he withdrew, then burst out an exhale as he tenderly delved back into her heat. His cock was utter bliss, the perfect length of steel to fill her up and stroke the pleasure from her core.

When he began to increase his pace, his fingers tightening in her own and his face twisting with rapture, Athera eagerly met and matched him, the hardness of his thrusts wringing her nerves beautifully raw. “Kiss me when you come,” she begged. “Abelas, please-”

“Yes,” he gasped, his hips pistoning into her with passionate zeal until he finally groaned and captured her mouth in a ferocious kiss. He thrust his tongue into her mouth while thrusting his cock as deep as he could reach, and Athera wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging tightly to his lean muscled shoulders as he shuddered in completion in her arms.

He pressed his cheek to hers as he grew still, but his fingers remained clenched between her own, and an overwhelming burst of tenderness bloomed in her chest as he braised the pointed line of her ear with gentle kisses. This perfection couldn’t last, and she knew it; they were doomed to end, and that fate was far too close for her liking. But this ancient warrior filled her heart as readily as his cock filled her body, and she was suddenly desperate to tell him so.

I love you, she thought with a heartwrenching burst of longing. She wanted to say it, it was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t shake the sense that saying it would only hurt them more.

Then Abelas spoke against her ear. “Ma’av’in, ma vhenan,” he whispered. “I cannot explain it better than this, but I promise you, I feel as you do.”

Athera swallowed hard, then hugged him closer. He might as well have been reading her mind. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll take your word for it.”

#abelas #abelas fic #abelas/lavellan #abelas x lavellan #abellan #abelas smut #pikapeppa writes #pikapeppa reminisces :(

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ashalle-art · 3 years

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I got over the 2k follower mark on Twitter last night, so I uploaded a little treat with Felassan/Abelas/Solas & Yara <3 Uncensored on Twitter

#dragon age fan art #Felassan #Abelas #Solas #Yara Lavellan #Shameless smut #lemon #lemons #dragon age smut

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a-french-lady-s-diary · 4 years

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Hello to the Solasmancers~ Unfortunately for now this story is only in french, but I will translate it in english as soon as my university work is over ! ( Around the middle of may ;) ) Here is the summary: As a young doctoral student in history passionate about art, Rosal'in Lavellan was introduced to painting after a painful break-up. On the advice of her friends, she decided to apply for private lessons given by her favourite painter, the famous contemporary artist Solas Wolfe. An ambiguous relationship between teacher and pupil began, under the critical eye of modern Orleans society and their respective entourages.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #solavellan #solavellan fanfic #art #painting #Solas is a famous contemporary artist #Lavellan is a doctoral student in history #teacher x student #Abelas is her thesis director #fluff #Smut #solavellan smut #age difference #au modern #modern theda

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dirthenera · 5 years

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I have lost control of my life so I made this.

page 1 of what will probably be a 4 page comic? Need to figure out if I want to color it? Or partially color it? Or leave it as lineart?

Goes with my fic Secrets From Dreams because I’m a normal person who likes things a normal amount I mean what? Ahem.

#solavellan #solavellan hell #solavellan fanfic #my art #solas x lavellan #why am I like this #ir abelas banal #this was honestly one of the most whiplashy chapters #why couldn't it have just been smut

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katalyna-rose · 6 years

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Sorrow’s Joy

Chapter Eight

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 Epilogue

Fenora paced in her room, having difficulty getting her heart rate to slow to an acceptable pace. She was giddy, excited, maybe even nervous. In her agitation, she straightened her bed sheets, then rumpled them on purpose. She didn’t want it to look like she’d spent an hour choosing the right color of silk sheets for this day. Even though she had. Then she draped herself over a chair, arranging her legs this way and that, spreading out her skirt to make it look carefree and tasteful. As soon as she was settled, however, she shot back up to her feet to pace. It was pathetic.

She wasn’t even sure that Abelas would accept the invitation that she had carefully and secretly given him. The favor, her first, was simple on purpose; she knew what kind of man Abelas was and he would prefer simple. But more than that, she preferred simple. It was also woven from the sheets that currently adorned her bed. She had chosen them because the silk would glow in the light of the dawn, her east-facing windows letting in the light that was slowly beginning to brighten the sky. The celebrations would continue past dawn until midmorning, and then everyone would retire to their rooms, most in pairs as favors were exchanged.

The tradition of the favors was odd to Fenora. She didn’t understand the appeal in flaunting the fact that she was going to sleep with someone when she left the celebration; it seemed like too private a matter for all the frivolity. She had given a favor to Abelas only because it was the easiest way to convey her intent without using words. She did not expect him to wear it. In fact, she would probably be upset if he did; what they did in the privacy of her rooms was no one’s business but theirs.

A soft knock interrupted her fifth time rearranging the books on the low table in front of her fireplace, and she repressed a squeak as she dropped what she held. The end result of the dropped books was actually more visually appealing than what she’d been attempting to arrange, so she shrugged at it and went to the door.

Abelas stood at the threshold, looking as though he was debating whether or not he should simply retreat. His brows were drawn low and his shoulders were tense. She smiled at him, hoping that she was showing only gentle excitement rather that the anxiety that was wrecking her stomach. She probably failed. Hesitantly, he stepped inside her room and she shut the door.

Read on AO3!

#katalyna writes #abelas/oc #abelas #fenora #get ready for some smut #it's coming now #and it's gonna be a super slow reveal of what comes next #because i have it all broken up like the rest of the story into tiny chunks!#prepare to hate me #abelas/fenora

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crystal-grace · 6 years

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#salem speaks #laying in bed and i just had a lovely idea for a smut drawing #and its for the arlathan au #just abelas all tied up and yavi and solas taking turns torturing him #because the poor thing had a horrible day and not thinking for a few hours is the best cure for that #then it just dissolving into a cuddle pile after #if any one wants to swipe the idea to write feel free #i just #yeah #welcome to salem’s gutter brain

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darethshirl · 2 years

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so now that Smutquisition is over and authors have been revealed, it’s time to do an Official Post about it! 👀🙌

First, my gifts:

in the name of friendship by @bogunicorn

Pairing: Anders/Fenris/Female Hawke

Summary: Fenris and Anders are both (separately) fucking Hawke and can’t stop asking about each other. Hawke takes matters into her own hands and helps them with a dick measuring contest. Almost literally.

Tags: Red Hawke (Dragon Age), Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Come Swallowing

Wordcount: 2560

Notes: An absolutely DELIGHTFUL piece of smut containing: fenders bickering, a Hawke that knows exactly how to handle them, and absolutely smoking hot threeway sex (intersperesed with more bickering, of course, cause that’s Fenris and Anders for ya lmao) The narration was hilarious and the smut was scorching. Ten out of ten! 👌💯

No Place I’d Rather Be by @wildercrow

Pairing: Zevran Airanai/Isabela

Summary: Isabela stops by Zevran's place during a work trip to Antiva. The two old friends catch up with some feelsy but decidedly platonic sex.

Tags: Friends With Benefits, Platonic Sex, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, Restraints, Blindfolds, Orgasm Delay, Light Dom/sub, Praise Kink, Begging, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Biting, Porn with Feelings, Trans Zevran Arainai, Post-Canon

Wordcount: 3283

Notes: Soft and beautiful platonic sex between two old friends. You can feel the affection and intimacy between these two and it went straight to my little heart. 🥺🥺🥰🥰 Also the teasing in this fic is long and GLORIOUS. 👀👌 Wonderful all around!

Now, my offerings:

The one where Merrill has a gangbang for @hollyand-writes

Pairing: Arishok/Merrill/Original Qunari Character(s)

Summary: “Oh,” Merrill breathed at the sight that greeted her. “That’s very impressive.”

The Arishok outright chuckled this time, the sound rich and rolling. “Go on,” he said, magnanimously indulgent. “You know how this goes.”

She did.

Tags: Forced Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Blow Jobs, Finger Sucking, Creampie, Bukkake, Spitroasting, Size Difference, Large Cock, Rough Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Gangbang, Slight Horror Elements, merrill is having fun tho, exactly what it says on the tin my dudes

Wordcount: 2410

Notes: please ignore the title lmao I really have no excuse or justification for this. 😂 It’s literally just. Merrill having a gangbang. :’) Enjoying herself. :’) As one does, when you’re the filling in an Arishok/random beefy qunari sandwich. That is all!

come on hold me in this space for @kaiju--burgers

Pairing: Male Hawke/Merrill

Summary: "You know,” Merrill said, straddling his waist with easy familiarity, “if our situations were reversed you wouldn’t be following your own advice, I don’t think. You’d just press steadily on, unheeding of your poor friends’ advice, until you accomplished whatever it was you wanted to accomplish.”

“I never said to stop.” Hawke rose up and gripped her hips, casually possessive. “Just to take a break.”

“Hmm,” Merrill hummed, amusement hiding in the corner of her mouth. “And you volunteer to be my distraction?” She cupped his face, his beard thick and prickly under he palms. “How very kind of you.”

“That’s me,” Hawke said, both his voice and his expression perfectly deadpan. “The very picture of kindness.”

Tags: Red Hawke (Dragon Age), Established Relationship, Light Bondage, Magic in Bed, Magic vines, Woman on Top, Femdom, Size Difference, Rough Sex, Biting, Fingerfucking ** **

Wordcount: 1767

Notes: Merrill/Hawke is already an underappreciated ship in fandom, but you what’s even more underappreciated? A Red!Hawke who’s soft for Merrill and lets her dom him. 👌 Also featuring Magic Vine Bondage. You’re welcome. 😌

here I want to be found for Key_FF, WickedWitchoftheWilds

Pairing: Abelas/Well of Sorrows

Summary: Existence feels heavy, these days. Time has a weight to it.

Tags: Angst, Loneliness, Pining, Touch-Starved, Character Study, I guess?? lmao, Crack Treated Seriously, Sexual Content

Wordcount: 1447

Notes: Look I know the pairing sounds like complete crack, and it is, but... I went way too serious with this? I’m almost embarassed to toss this in with all the dirty smut. 😂😅 Anyway here’s an angsty introspective piece where Abelas deals with the loneliness of duty......... and also fucks the Vir'Abelasan . :’)

Alright that’s all folks! Hope you enjoy all the smut! 😇🥰

#fic recs #my writing #dragon age #fenris #anders #isabela #zevran #merrill #abelas #fenhawkeanders #zevran x isabella #merrill x hawke

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irlaimsaaralath · 7 years

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Drawn By Sorrow - Part 5

This didn’t really turn out how I wanted, but I’m tired of staring at it! So, here’s some fluff and Solas getting in trouble with Abelas.

Since before Niyera had walked out of the Fade in Coracavus, the pale amber message crystal tucked within an inner pocket had been thrumming, ever more insistently. Abelas had continued to ignore it. He’d had more important matters to attend to, but now that things were quieter and the Inquisitor was resting easy, he relented to the summons of the crystal. He withdrew from her chambers to the steps just outside the inner door and retrieved the gem. It warmed instantly in his hand, and a voice from the other side came sternly through, “I trust there is a reason for your avoidance.” Abelas rested against the wall, the stones cool on his back, even through his clothes. “There have been other urgent matters that required my full attention,” he explained.

The voice was silent for a while, then strained when it asked, “Corypheus is truly destroyed then?” Golden eyes slanted down to the crystal in his hand with a hint of annoyance. “That is the question you choose to ask? Not ‘how is she?’ or ‘is she safe?” The silence that radiated from the message crystal was intense, and after a while, he began to wonder if the connection had been terminated. Then, the voice came again, “I could feel that she was still alive. What she did echoed across the Fade,” there was a pause, then, “I knew I could trust you to guarantee the mission’s success.”

The Sentinel made an incredulous sound, following with, “I was not there. What she did, she did alone.” The voice’s reply was so sudden and filled with heat that the crystal’s gentle thrum turned into a tremor in his palm, “How could you not go with her? You were explicitly instructed to protect her, and you let her face him alone?” Abelas stood away from the wall, eyes narrowing as he spoke, “None of us knew Corypheus was behind this. We all thought him dead. No one could have predicted tha-,” and his voice drew off. A cold fist coiled in his stomach at the same time as fire licked up his spine and across his scalp.

“You knew,” Abelas hissed, “Tell me I am wrong. Tell me that you did not let her go there blind when you could have warned her of what she would find.” When only silence greeted him, he raised his voice until it was a loud echo off the walls, “TELL ME.” There was a distortion in the crystal, before the voice returned, “I knew, but I could not risk his forces discovering that I was aware. I needed more time to ensure that he had regained all his shattered fragments before he was killed. If he was not whole, it would not be sufficient.”

“Needed more time?” Abelas asked, his mind turning over as he stalked along the short corridor. “You sent the assassins. You sent them as a diversion, and you led me, let me believe that they were opportunities to bring her remaining enemies among the Venatori out into the open. So that we could cut off the head of the snake.” The voice that came through the crystal faltered, then said, “They were Venatori forces.” Anger flared hot on the Sentinel’s cheeks, and he slammed a fist down on the wood railing. The sound reverberated around him, “But, you sent them! I will not abide your games. I am not one of your feeble Dalish recruits that fawn over themselves with the blind desire to do your bidding.”

The Sentinel’s eyes were dark, “There are limits to my loyalty. I will not stand idly by while you so blatantly jeopardize the woman you profess to love, the bearer of the Well. She deserves better.” The normally calm facade Abelas wore like a shield was fractured, and his breaths fell heavy from his chest. He paused, willing the volume of his voice to a more acceptable level, “I will do as I swore, I will protect her, even if that means protecting her from you.” He could feel the fluster burning on his cheeks. His eyes slipped closed as he braced his hands on the railing and bowed his head between his arms, attempting to regain some semblance of composure.

“I understand your anger, Abelas, but it was necessary,” the voice said, somewhat quieter than before. The Sentinel huffed an incredulous laugh, “Necessary to whom? Do you even know what they did to her? To the others? Do you even care?” “Of course I care,” the voice answered before continuing, “But I needed-,” and Abelas cut off the voice. “Yes, I am aware of your needs, those that come at the expense of all others. I am done with this, Solas. I intend to tell her everything I know, and she can decide for herself what she wants to do and if she wishes me to stay.”

Solas’s voice grew in pitch with the haste of his answer, “Abelas, reconsider this decision. Think of what it might do to her. Do you think she will thank you when you confess your lies?” The Sentinel stood straighter as he answered, “I have not lied, I have simply not given her the whole truth. That was a mistake I intend to remedy.” He straightened his back and squared his shoulders as he gripped the crystal so tightly it bit into his palm, “And, she is not a child, Solas. It is past time you ceased to treat her as such. She deserves to know. I owe her that. You owe her that. I will not continue to insult her by hiding the truth from her.” Solas’s voice pleaded through the crystal, “It will break her. You do not kn-,” but before he could finish, Abelas dropped the crystal to the wooden walkway and crushed it under his heel.

Only a sliver of light was slipping through the curtains when she woke, and it slanted diagonally across the bed. She felt heavy and dense, both in body and in mind. Her memories of the last couple of days were hazy at best, but she recalled flashes of faces: Cassandra, Varric, Bull, and always Abelas. Her eyes scanned the room, but didn’t find her constant companion. Pushing herself into a sitting position, she flipped the blankets back to dangle her legs over the side of the bed. Dizziness made her sway, and while she waited for her body to adjust, she idly took account of herself. Her marked hand was still covered in bandages, there was a new scar on her thigh, and her side felt like she’d been hit by a battering ram. It caused her to groan when she stood, the muscles tight and tender as she pushed to her full height. One of the only people she hadn’t seen was Dorian, and she remembered what Abelas had told her. Not dead. Alive. But, she needed to see it with her own eyes.

One careful step at a time, she made her way to the chest of drawers, then simply stood gripping it for support. Her legs were shaking, and she took a few steadying breaths in an effort to calm the trembling. When she was sure she wouldn’t collapse under her own weight, she fished out a shirt and a pair of pants before shuffling over to the end of the bed. She puffed out a huge breath when she dropped onto the mattress to sit, attempting not to be so discouraged that such a small distance winded her. Tucking her hair back behind her ears, she shrugged into the shirt and buttoned it most of the way up before she got frustrated with the small size of the buttons and decided she was decent enough. Maneuvering into the pants was a little trickier, but she eventually managed and found their laces more agreeable.

She was just tying a knot into the leather cords when she heard the door open, and she saw the white-blond top of Abelas’s head come into view. He didn’t see her until he’d mounted the top of the stairs and turned, and his eyes widened at the sight of her. “Where, may I ask, do you think you are going?” He came up to her and set his hands on her upper arms. Glancing up, she braced a hand on one of the posts of the bed; her legs were shaking already. “I’m going to see Dorian,” she replied, her voice hoarse and soft. “No, I do not think you are,” he corrected, sliding a hand down to her elbow as if to lead her back to the bed. She set her jaw stubbornly and tightened her grip on the bed post. “I am,” she insisted, refusing to be led anywhere. His gilt-hued eyes panned down to her, the line of his mouth growing taut, “How, exactly? You can barely stand.” By now, the trembling had moved up her legs, past her stomach, and into her arms, but she refused to be swayed.

“I’ll crawl if needs be,” she began as she tried to push past him, but he was as unmovable as Skyhold itself. Dragging in a deep breath, she lifted her chin defiantly to look him in the eye, “You have two choices, Abelas. You can help me, or you can get out of my way.” They studied each other in silence, two unrelenting forces at an impasse, for so long that she had to lean her hip into the end of the bed or collapse. One corner of his mouth pinched, and the line of his brow furrowed. “Very well,” he relented, then added, “At least allow me to fix your shirt.” She frowned as she inspected her shirt and was taken by surprise when Abelas’s hand caught her waist. He’d moved to sit on the end of the bed and pulled her between his legs.

“Hold onto my shoulders,” he ordered as he began to deftly undo all the buttoning she’d had such a hard time with. He glanced at her briefly when she gripped his shoulders, and noting the confusion in her expression, he explained, “You missed a few button holes. It was lopsided.” She mouthed a quiet Oh and thank you before she turned her attention over his shoulder as she tried to ignore the cool touch of his fingers on neck when he straightened her collar. Finished with the task, his hands on her hips pushed her back enough to allow him to stand, and she started to wrap an arm over his shoulder, expecting that she would walk while leaning on him.

Instead, he hooked an arm beneath her knees and another behind her back and lifted her. Her lips pursed as she stared at him, and he adjusted her weight in his arms until it was comfortable. “I can walk. I just needed help,” she insisted. With a flat expression, he glanced at her, saying, “You want to go, and I agreed to help. If you go, this is how you are going.” There was a tone to his voice that discouraged questions. “Do you still want to go?” he asked, one brow arched. “Yes,” was her simple reply. “Then put your arms around my neck,” he instructed, and in compliance, she slid an arm across his shoulders and laced the fingers of both hands on the side of his neck. Satisfied, he nodded, and they departed her quarters.

When they arrived, Dorian’s door was closed, and once in arm’s reach, she rapped on the wood. “I think I can make it the rest of the way on my own,” she said, and Abelas was still giving her a doubtful look when the door swung inward. “Boss!” was Bull’s greeting as he filled the doorway, “You’re looking loads better.” The Qunari’s voice trailed off into an amused expression as Niyera pinched Abelas’s shoulder, and he finally sat her down. “Thanks, Bull. Is he awake?” she asked, managing to keep her voice even despite her insides being twisted like a dough pretzel. She couldn’t see anything beyond the wall that was The Iron Bull, so the image that kept flashing through her head was the last she’d seen of Dorian.

“Oh, sure,” he said, standing aside to allow the elves to enter. She was alright when she hobbled through the doorway, and she was alright as she was making her way to the bedroom that sat just off the small sitting room. She became not alright when she finally found Dorian propped up in bed, reading a book, and quite alive. She couldn’t be sure if it was the happiness that made her cry or the fear of what they might actually have done to him or the anger at them and herself for the entire mess. However, the tears were there all the same, and she barely choked out his name before he looked up from his book and noticed her. The tome was promptly discarded, and his arms opened wide to catch her when she half jumped, half collapsed onto the bed. They both grunted in pain, but it wasn’t enough to make either let go of the other.

“I thought you were dead,” Niyera sobbed against his neck, arms locked around him. The circle of Dorian’s arms closed around her midsection, and he rested his cheek in her hair. “You know I’m too pretty to die,” he said, voice thick, before he placed a kiss on the crown of her head. She couldn’t help but laugh and pulled back, releasing his shoulders only to grasp his face in her hands. There were tears in his eyes, but he smiled regardless, and she leant up to kiss one cheek, then the other. “You are, in fact, far too pretty,” and it was his turn to chuckle before kissing her forehead.

On the other side of the archway in the sitting room, Bull and Abelas stood side by side, casually spectating the reunion. Bull slid a glance over at the elf, “Couldn’t keep her in bed, eh?” Abelas could only shake his head, “No. I left for a moment, and when I returned, she was already dressed.” The Qunari grunted in acknowledgement. “If I had not agreed to help her, she said she would crawl here,” the elf commented as he turned his eyes to Bull, who gave a hearty laugh. “That sounds about right. Doesn’t do anything half-way, that one. It’s all or nothing,” he said as he folded his arms. Abelas looked back to Niyera and Dorian, and admittedly, her happiness was infectious. He smiled faintly. “So, she is always this difficult, then?” Bull laughed again, but said nothing as he clapped the Sentinel on the back, rocking him forward slightly.

After leaving Dorian’s quarters, Abelas insisted on carrying her back to her own, though they made a stop at the kitchen on the way. Neither had eaten, so one of the cooks made up a basket of breads, cheeses, and fruit for them. Sitting now on opposite ends of the couch facing each other, the basket rested between them. “‘Ma serannas, Abelas. It was important to me to see him,” she said, picking up a small cluster of grapes from the basket. He studied her for a moment, finishing with his apple slice before cutting another wedge, “Sathem, lethallan,” he replied with a slight inclination of his head. “I can only imagine that trying to reconcile what you saw with the truth was difficult,” he added, layering a thin piece of cheese on his apple wedge before taking a bite. Her chewing slowed, and she swallowed thickly before she nodded. “Dorian was the last among us standing. Cullen fell first, then I did,” she said, almost idly plucking the last grape from the stem before discarding it into the basket.

“And, that is when you activated the crystal?” he inquired, cocking an elbow over the couch arm as he leaned back. She chuckled, but it was nearly bereft of any humor, “No, I never got a chance to use it. It must have broken when...when they threw me against the wall.” Her voice drew off when her eyes strayed over his shoulder, “When I woke up, I found myself chained to the wall in an anti-magic collar. I’d hidden it in my jerkin pocket, and I wasn’t wearing it then.” Though Abelas’s expression remained neutral, a sort of hardness stole over his eyes as they darkened. She took in a deep breath as she found his eyes again, and noting the change, she shook her head, “It’s not a story that needs to be told right now,” and she popped the last grape in her mouth.

He bent forward, resting his forearm against his knee as he spoke, “It is if you need to tell it. I know I have no need to remind you of the danger of buried memories,” he paused long enough for her to nod in response before he continued, “Just know that if you need, I will be here to listen.” She watched him as he leaned back, comforted by his recognition of her need and with a great appreciation for his tendency to tell her what she needed to hear, not always what she wanted to hear. With something of a grunt-groan, she pushed to her feet, and when he started to rise, she laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He tilted his head upward to find her gaze and also found a smile, haunted and small, but there. She leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on his forehead.

“‘Ma serannas, Abelas,” she said, resting her palm against his cheek for a moment before she shuffled over to the bed. Settling on top of the covers with an arm curled beneath her head, she hugged a pillow to her chest. He still hadn’t said anything and was still regarding her with a concerned eye when she asked, “Will you be here when I wake up?” One corner of his mouth twitched upward as he settled back against the couch, saying, “Yes. Rest now.” She needed no further encouragement to close her eyes.

#abelas #lavellan #solas #why can't I skip straight to the smut?#dorian pavus #iron bull

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