#Sasshole's OC: Faeven Lavellan

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This is a call to action @herald-divine-hell @dismalzelenka @rivainisomniari uwu what's this?

[herald-divine-hell]

Faeven wants to know what Alexandra's favorite drink is and if she'll be joining her, Blackwall, and Bull later at the tavern. The night's rounds are on her. 👀

Alexandra: Of course I’ll go out drinking with you, ma cherie! I do enjoy the company of the both of them, truthfully. Or do you have something else in mind? She grins. 

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DADWC Prompt List

Writing only the following pairings from now on:

Scout Faeven Lavellan x Blackwall

Cassandra x Cullen

Faeven (any au) × [insert mutual's oc]

Inquisitor Thorin Lavellan x Dorian Pavus

Ambassador Mel Lavellan x Solas

Prompts I am asking for are:

List #1

Drabble List

LI Scenarios

Atmosphere Prompts

Any from any of the eerie prompt lists!

Currently working on The Bear and the Raven Fair and Faded Glory. Thank you! 💕

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Iron Bull: how is that old lady of yours been? Heard she's been keeping you busy.

Blackwall: [whispers] Between us, She could teach rabbits a thing or two about stamina, if you catch my meaning.

Faeven: Hmm? [laughs] Oh! Do try to keep up.

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11/10 times this is how Faeven walks around Blackwall's house and its usually when they have company over and she just comes down the stairs to grab snacks. Queue Blackwall shaking his head and shouting from across the room as he deals cards for his buddies, "Put some clothes on, pudding." And she shouts back, "I am wearing clothes..." and he throws back. "Not enough."

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For DWC: Wicked, Watching, Accident, writer's choice but I hope it's a little steamy? :-)

A Choice and Consequence

Established Relationship | Post Revelations | Smut for @dadrunkwriting

Summary: Faeven and Thom find an 'abandoned room in Skyhold to blow off some steam. When will they learn there are consequences to their actions.

***

Fat raindrops slam against the window of their borrowed chambers. Well, whoever owns this wasn't using it, judging by the smell of dust. At least, they were out of the rain. Someone really just abandoned a room as luxurious as this. A shame really.

"You like when I do this, puddin'?" Thom asks. Faeven moans her approval as his fingers explore her depths inside this old bed. His fingers give her pause to adjust, before those too, move in time with the rain. Fast, unrelenting. She can hardly catch her breath. 

"Get...your...cock...out." Faeven pants. Her eyes shining with desire. 

She looks down as he backs up to untie the front of his trousers. His cock flying free of its confines. Thom wastes no time rubbing it through her slick folds. Over and over and over. His cock slowly being covered in her juices with each slow thrust. Faeven growls, "Just get your cock in here already." She gives her folds a quick slap. "Come on!"

Thom gives her folds another rub with it. He hesitates. "You're almost ready. Not quite. Be patient. " He states, calm and careful. 

Faeven sits up, face aglow with pleasure and impatience. "I can handle it. Stop being so fucking gentle with me. You've always taken your sweet ass time to make love to me. Please just fuck me already." 

Thom sighs, and shakes his head. "Fine." She blinks, and he pins her hands above her head. The air rushes out of Faeven. "Hold your breath until it's in." 

"Oh please, I've had it before." 

Thom adjusts, hips aligned like an overcast. He reaches down between them, parts her lips with his tip. He waits, she holds her breath, and then he leans. She knew why he was spreading his fingers inside her and stretching and curling soft moans out of her throat. 

“Oh.” She gasps, hanging on to his shoulders as he fills her. He waits, steeping himself inside her. He waits, until she is dripping around him in anticipation. Hot, dark, and steamy as if brewing cloves and cinnamon on a cold fall day. She wants him to stay inside her. He waits, until his thumb is barely rubbing her clit, but she’s shaking under him. She runs her tongue over her top lip. She’s mumbling something, lips trembling. It is his name. Thom. 

He stops rubbing her. She’s so fucking wet and his fingers, his hands are holding her head now. She blinks. Something drips from his thumb as he brushes it over her lips. One bear palm on the crown of her raven-colored hair, the other cupping her cheek. Fingers curling into the damp hair at her nape. It's her juices, Faeven realizes as she sucks on his thumb. The wind picks up sneaking through the window, cooling the wetness on her dimple. 

“Tell me when you're ready, puddin'.” His nose is pressed against her cheek as he holds her head. Steeping. His breath is hot in her ear and she’s burning in the fine linens. “I can stop if you need me to.”

She wets her lips again, swallows or tries to. It's so hard to swallow and he has such a girthy cock. Creators, why is he...? He’s leaning again. “Sathan,” She slips into elvhen as he slips further into her, thoroughly cutting off all her thoughts. “Sathan, lasa...” She finds her clit, rubs it. Fast. “aman na’mis!” 

“I don't know what you just said, but it's making me harder.” He still isn't moving, but she feels his cock throb inside her. She wants to scream in frustration? Desire? She really doesn't have room to think. 

“Please, fuck me!” Faeven let's out the scream she was holding in. Distantly, she is aware of its echo down the corridor. 

Thom gives her a smirk that she is damn sure means trouble, as he shakes his head, and pulls his cock out of her. The strained noise coming out of Faeven made it twitch, and she dissolves completely. "No, no, no please. Please get back inside me! Thom please!" She begs. "Thom!"

Thom sits up on his knees, a wicked smoulder on his face as he commands: "Fuck yourself for me." 

Something changes in him, Faeven senses it. The utter dominance radiating off of him as he sits there, expectant. 

Faeven bites her lip, and obeys. 

***

Thom watches her impatiently as she pleasures herself. 

How her fingers dip and delve into her wet folds. Fingers that he wants to be clawing at his back as he nails her into the silky linens, like the temptress she is. 

How her juices drip down her freckled skin covered in ink, pooling ever so nicely on the thin linens. Juices that he couldn’t wait to have dribbling out of his starving mouth. 

How her luscious lips part into the perfect shape. Lips that should be wrapped around his cock.

Her breathing quickens, then slows. His eyes are honing in on the rhythm of her fingers synchronizing with her breath. It all sounded like an extravagant melody. Her voice sounded otherworldly, like silk woven from the sweetest of dreams. The way those moans nip at his eardrums, teasing him, hardening him. 

Faeven is spitting out some sort of elvhen, and he has butter for brains. Something in him turned more and more unhinged for her. 

Thom groans, gripping the silk of the sheets in fists, desperately wanting it to be fistfulls of her hair. Desperately wanting to pound her scrumptious cunt until those delectable screams resembled the likes of his name.

Thom waits for it hungrily. 

The aggravating torture of her pleasure and the lack of his threaten to overpower him. 

He gazes at her soaking cunt with lust-drenched eyes, mouth salivating at the thought of tasting her.

Savoring her. 

Devouring her. 

Taking her.

“I need you.” Thom demands through gritted teeth. “Right now.”

“Just…” Faeven whispers in between pants. “Wait.”

Her breaths become quicker.

She is on the verge of climaxing. 

No. 

The heavenly juices threaten to spill out of her lovely cunt with every whimper and moan she emits. 

Faeven was going to waste her glorious concoction on the fucking silk sheets, and he wasn’t going to have it.

He wants to ravage her with his tongue until her cunt pours its salty juices down his throat. Until it drips off his beard leaving it smelling like her, like lotus, intoxication and sex. These things that were unapologetically Faeven, and now they were his too.

He just needs to make it known. To her, to him, and to the fucking Inquisition holed up around them. He will have her singing for him and to everyone this maker-damned castle. 

Thom grabs her by her thighs, pulls her to him, and throws her legs over his shoulders. His mouth descends onto her mound. Tongue exploring the deepness of her. The sea he gets lost in. He would happily drown in each morning and each night for the rest of his life. Her back arches, her throat too as she uses her head to lift off the bedroll. To ascend. She was screaming now. Maker's balls, how did she get so loud? He loves it. His tongue is deep inside. Her muscles shuddered around it. He curled it slightly, started bobbing. The milkiness of her ecstasy drizzling down his chin, soaking his beard. He licks his lips. A passion-splashed smile against her clit.

He enjoys pestering it, pushing the hood back and unveiling the bundle of nerves she keeps hidden. He tickled it with his tongue, and she squirms,  breathless and laughing. He loved this aspect of them too. How comfortable she is during this. How she can laugh and tease him when he is in her or tasting her. He holds her down by the dips of her hips. 

“Thom!” She squirms some more. He feels her thighs press against his head.  “Creators, have mercy!”

He lets up, if only to reclaim his face from the trap of her thighs. He traps the bundle of nerves between his lips. Faeven cries out. Her body shudders at the sensation. He suckles on the sensitive bundle apologetically, not wanting to hurt her. Her body hummed with sheer unbridled pleasure. Her legs shaking from the stimulation of those nerves. It pulses angrily, wanting more. 

Faeven grinds her twice-ruined slit against his cock, awaiting the torment Thom was about to unleash upon her. Her hand found a way to pump his cock. Soft hands and slippery dew. 

Thom flips her on her back, he doesn't wait for her to settle around him. He just dove in, thrusting into her with reckless abandon. Her moans help him set his pace. He rocks into her like a ship on the waking sea. The scent of black lotus and the feeling of her tightening around him drives him mad. Her muscles clenching and unclenching like his fists in her hair. Her tits are heavy, bouncing. He leans down to suck at one that had pebbled before him. She is falling apart in the best sense under him, quaking, and everything is wet. His name. Andraste’s tits. His name on her lips. It was liberating. He was fucking free. He could hear it forever, bottle it and drink it. Drunk on his own damn name on those wicked lips. It didn't matter who the fuck he was when he was inside her. She was an endless drizzle, just like the coast. Her dew raining down on him, and washing his soul clean as he lost himself in his own completion. Fuck, not yet. He didn't have time to pull out. 

It is a long while until either of them speak. Only breathing, rain, and the smell of sweat permeate the silence. 

“Would you look at that? I made a mess of things.” It's Thom who breaks the silence. "Fuck, I'm sorry, Fae. I didn't mean to finish early. We can get some deathroot, if necessary." 

“That’s more me than you.” Faeven dips a finger into the mess that is her cunt, pulling it away to reveal the sticky seed trailing her fingertip. "I don’t mind." 

“Well someone has to clean it up.” His face hot with consequences. 

She shakes her head, accepting. "I would like to keep the mess you made." 

He rolls on his side and grabs the shirt-turned-rag, but her tongue is already on his balls. She licks their mess off of him. Seaglass pinning him there. His fingers found a home in her hair, ruffling it with love. The rag dropped, so did his head. Some strange noise bubbled out of his throat, he believes it is words. It is. 

“Oh, what did I ever do to deserve you?” 

She pops off his bits. “You’re fucking blessed, aren't you?” 

“I am.” Thom states. 

He lifts his head. Her spit connects her mouth to his bits in ivory bridges. He groans, bearlike and drops his head into the pillow.

“Maker damn you, woman.”

It is then that Thom hears footsteps. They scramble to put their clothes on when the door flies open. He hears his voice before he knows who it is. "What in Andraste’s name, is going on here?"

Then it clicks. Maker's ball's! Harriet. Again? Thom knew what was coming to them. He tugs on his trousers almost tripping onto his face in the process. "How is it that its always my bed you two happen to fall in?!" Faeven throws on her blouse, before making a run for it. "Get the fuck out!"

***

[sasshole-for-rent]

SHE

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Faeven, running off of five elfroot blunts, three hours of sleep, an orgasm, and one inconvenience away from a mental breakdown, absolutely stabbing the fuck out of a bandit: ...

Blackwall, shocked to his core, no brain cell, just standing there with his sword at the ready and with a noticeable boner: what a woman

[sasshole-for-rent]

Do it! My OCs are in the tags!!

Send me a "👀" and My Muse will give 3 things they find Physically Attractive about Your Muse.

—Send even if our Muses haven’t spoken yet or don’t know each other

[sasshole-for-rent]

DWC prompt: (Lost souls) Wispy clouds over a full moon!

Established Relationship || Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Summary: Faeven and Blackwall get separated from the rest of their party in the Hissing Wastes.

For @dadrunkwriting

It was autumn everywhere else in Thedas besides in the desert. These lonely sands were frigid, especially so tonight. It was a harsher cold than the bittersweet chill of the forests back home. The cold here had a unsettling intent. A nail of fear stabbed through her heart and the wound bled upwards in waves of anxiety.

Blackwall had busied himself with starting a fire out of the tumbleweeds and lonesome branches they managed to scrounge up. He had been silent since the sand storm. It was one of those freezing nights that knocked on the walls Faeven had kept up during the duration of this relationship. The cold had her kept in the limbo of indecision, where she wasn't sure if she should put on more layers or if she should just let the cold pierce through her armor and skin, so maybe just maybe, it would shock her senses enough to make her truly feel real. She had tried to light up, but it was too cold that whatever high that managed to surface was immediately shredded to ribbons.

As if the universe could hear her thoughts, a particularly strong wind picked up and all she could see and feel was sand and ice. The wind died as quickly as it had sprung to life, and it left her coughing and shivering. Faeven was used to coughing, relying on smoke for most things really wasn't good for her lungs. This was a different cough. It felt deeper, full of little sharp edges.

"Faeven, are you alright?" Before she had a grip on her surroundings, familiar hands had a grip on her shoulders. Those hands gently steering her. "Please don't stray from camp." She hadn't realized her feet had taken her to the top of the dune he was walking her back. "Maker balls, don't make me have to forget the desert again, especially if it took you from me..." There was a panic in his voice, however small, it was still there.

"I suppose I was looking for the others. I just don't understand how we were separated from them so fast. Do you think they are safe?" Faeven could hear the panic in her own voice as Blackwall sat her down by the fire. It had a sweet scent to it, she guessed from the saplike coating of the branches. It crackled, snapped, and popped as it burned. In this moment, Faeven was glad to be lost, even with the fear, a kernel of peace and gratitude brightened inside her chest.

"I don't think we are safe." Blackwall said as he drapped the lambswool blanket they bought back in Redcliffe over her shoulders. He pressed his body against hers, warmth filled her slowly, completely. Faeven almost laughed at how at odds with reality that statement was, because she felt so safe here with him. She took his hand under the warmth of the blanket, brought it to her lips to grace it with a kiss. With a smile, Faeven rubbed his hand with her cold hands until she was confident she had made a little body fire in their palms. "We are safe..." She said to him, the desert, and the universe.

Blackwall looked at her in disbelief, and Faeven could practically see all of the practicality that invalidated their safety running through his mind, but she didn't want to acknowledge it. She knew his mind was in survival mode, and that mode wasn't kind. The what-ifs hound you until you give the merit, when sometimes, most times, those what-ifs didn't matter. So with a squeeze of her hand, Faeven added. "...because of you."

The disbelief eased up in his eyes, but it lingered. Faeven focused instead on his crooked nose. Its lovely wonky shape. How the cold had turned it red at the tip, and eventhough the cold left that nose runny too, and they both had to sniff to keep the drip at bay. She still had the desire to kiss it, because she loved that nose. Faeven loved the man who owned it even more. Despite his anxieties and tendency to look at the more dark side of things, she loved him. So deep that she was scared of it, because they mirrored what she saw in herself. Those things she still had trouble loving within herself were so easy to love when it came to him.

Faeven let out a breath she wasn't aware that she was holding. Blackwall apparently had to been holding his breath too, and he looked at her. "What are you looking at?" As if her gazing at him like a lovesick girl wasn't so fucking obvious.

"You." That was a simple answer. He seemed satisfied with that answer and it was a lovesick boy who smiled at her. Faeven had more to say however. "I love your crooked nose, because it tells a story of how you have always been a fighter. How you have survived whatever sort of punch life has thrown at you."

"The scar above your brow tells me a similar story about you. I don't think you truly know how strong you are but I hope I can help show you the strength I see in you."

"I don't usually feel strong..." Faeven trailed off, looking up towards the moon that decided to peek through the sad wisps that called themselves 'clouds' who lived in the desert sky. "But with you here, I feel that we will survive this particular punch together and it will be okay."

Blackwall nodded. Their souls understood each other. With the moon as a witness, he kissed her forehead. "There are times when I don't feel strong either, but you are showing me that it is okay to be vulnerable." He was quiet for a moment, still looking at her. "I am very grateful I met you."

It was in that moment that they were no longer two lost souls stranded in a desert, but two souls who realized they have found each other after all this time.

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Some somft faewall sketches for your night...

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I'm adafhlkhsayllkhfffsfsfsda I AM SO.... THANK YOU!!!! MY TRASH BABY BUT AS A SIM AHHHHHHHHHH YAY!

@sasshole-for-rent ‘s Faeven Lavellan! I just love her so much 🌺🔥💖

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Blackwall: Dare I ask why that dagger of yours has that for a hilt?

Faeven: Well, His name is Poppycock for a reason.

Sera: You're really out here whacking baddies with stabby dangles? *titters*

Varric: Andraste's ass, are those flowers sprouting from it?

Faeven: Yes, that's the poppy part. How did you only just now notice?

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The lovely Faeven Lavellan done by the wonderful @elizastarkart! Thank you so much, she looks absolutely perfect! I am jetlagged as all hecc but I had to post her face! Thank you again!

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Faeven: How much longer until we make camp somewhere? My back is aching something fierce.

Blackwall: Soon. It's near dusk. When we get there, I'll give you a rub.

Faeven: Oh! Can't wait! Now if you're gonna give me a good rubbing, I'm sore in other places too.

Blackwall: [laughs] My bad. Sorry.

Varric: Look, I'm happy that you two found each other, but I'd prefer if you could hold off on going at it when I'm not three feet from you?

Iron Bull: Speaking of feet, Blackwall, could you give me a footrub?

Blackwall: [sighs] No.