#To The Gleaming Stars Halfway Through a Dream | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bandgie · 3 months ago

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Dreaming of Painter on Floor Two | EP. 2

MASTERLIST | KINK: ORAL

🗝 It's exactly like the Pink Palace, only a thousand times better. It helps that the beautiful man upstairs is infatuated by you. Maybe the buttons for eyes isn't too bad.

3.7k words

warnings! MDNI18+, fem!reader, oral (f!rec), fingering, hyunjin has button for eyes (duh), face riding (brief)

The tunnel is felt material. It’s all smooth and soft as you crawl your way to the Otherside.

Whatever the Otherside may be.

You can’t see much other than the opened crawlspace straight ahead. It looks identical to the one you came from, but the feel is…different.

It’s welcoming. Though you’re roughly halfway across, there’s a warmth pouring from the other door that beckons you closer. It’s like a ray of light on a cold autumn day, and you’re a cat wanting nothing more than to bask in it.

So you do. You smile when you reach the Otherside, putting a hand forward to push the door fully open and to see your living room.

Wait? What? Did you crawl the wrong way?

The smile on your lips turns into a confused frown, but you squeeze through the opening anyway. It’s not until you stand and finally look around that you notice it’s not quite the same. The boxes are gone, and rather than the dirty couches you begged Chan not to bring in the middle of the room, the ones here are clean.

The only thing that vastly differs is the painting on the wall. The boy in blue is not crying over his ice cream. Instead, the scoop sits perfectly on his cone and he smiles hungrily at his dessert.

Okaaaay?

You suppose it does make sense to dream about the apartment. The rumors you’ve heard and the anxiety you felt moving, maybe this is your brain's way of coping.

But, damn, how disappointing. Maybe you weren’t necessarily expecting a terrible nightmare, but at least something…fun.

Whatever. Hopefully, Chan and Changbin are dreaming of something more exciting. You consider going back into the tunnel before the kitchen light flickers on. Even the bulb doesn’t have that buzzing sound it normally would. It’s a much warmer tone that says, I’m in here!

Who though? Did your friends decide to make a cameo in your dream? Each step closer is like a rollercoaster. It fills you with anxiousness, excitement, and everything in between.

All that wonder fizzles into confusion again when the kitchen is utterly empty. There’s a hint of bacon and eggs as if someone was cooking only seconds ago. It’s the note on the table, however, that catches your attention the most:

I’M WAITING FOR YOU UPSTAIRS :) SEE YOU SOON <3

This has Changbin written all over it. You smile at the thought of him appearing in your dream despite sleeping beside him. Of course, you’re the one conjuring him here, but when you wake and tell him, Changbin would quickly say, ‘Of course, I was there! I just can’t get enough of you.’

You take the note and skip to the front door, wondering what your dream-Changbin has in store tonight. Does he feel bad about making you choke on his cock and wants to make up for it? He did say he wanted to use his tongue. Maybe you went to sleep thinking about it so much you decided to dream about it.

All the different ways he can and has swirled his tongue on your cunt come to mind, but opening the door silences them all.

It’s…

“Oh my god.”

Beautiful.

The grass is green. The sky is blue. The flowers are alive. It’s nothing compared to your actual front yard. Even the stars gleam with excitement, as if happy you’re here. The air isn’t chilly when you step out like it normally would be. The breeze in the night is so gentle on your skin, like a hug from someone who’s missed you dearly.

Changbin…he can wait. Yeah, maybe your legs are still a little sticky being that you got excited and aren’t wearing underwear, but none of that matters. The scene in front of you is mesmerizing and it takes a strong gust of wind to keep you from walking down the porch.

Leaves pick and blow in front, causing you to see how they trail to the stairs and up.

Ah, he’s really trying to get your attention.

You giggle and clutch the note a little tighter. “I know. I know. I’m coming.”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Something clutters on the other side of the door. You grin at the thought of Changbin panicking, trying to clean the room before letting you in.

“Hellooo!” you press your ear to the door. “I’m waiting out here!”

“I-I know! I’ll be there in a sec!”

The way you jolt is almost like you’ve been electrocuted. That’s not Changbin’s voice. That’s not even Chan’s voice. It’s softer than theirs’, almost nervous. You don’t have much time to try and figure out who it belongs to before the door opens.

He’s tall, his narrow build makes him seem even taller. His hair curls at his neck, long and dark.

The fullness of his lips and the wideness of his eyes go over your head. You’re stuck staring at the dark pits of his eye sockets.

Black buttons for eyes.

“Oh shit.” It slips out before you can even register them leaving your lips. His eyebrows cross, and despite not having pupils, you know it’s from confusion. Maybe even some interest.

“I’m sorry. You’re not…you’re not who I thought you were. They don’t have b-b-buh…”

“B-b-b-buttons? Of course I’m not who you were thinking of.” His buttons gleam mischievously. "I’m better.” He widens the door and grins, hardly giving you any time to comprehend the person - the being - in front of you.

He turns inside, craning his neck back and pursing his thick lips. “Well, aren’t you coming?”

You take a deep breath. The pounding of your heart is subdued by his aloofness: his curious…buttons and the beckoning of his slender finger. Plus, you’ve heard you only dream about someone you’ve already met. Or at least seen. Perhaps you’ve come across him at some point.

Your brain just decided to play a sick trick.

Exhaling, you walk through the door. The man waits until you’re fully inside before shutting it and the lights in the room brighten immediately.

Canvas, brushes, and colorful rags messily lay on the floor. Art stains the floor and now that you’re standing right beside him, you see it’s on his hands as well.

“I was painting when you knocked.” He sees your staring. “I tried putting some stuff away but…I tend to work a little messy.”

You wander further into the room. His artwork ranges from the moon in the sky to a black cat perched on a branch. As you keep exploring, you see the painting of you.

Not just you, but your roommates. The three of you are outside, the grass notably browner, and talking while the moving truck drives up the hill. The perspective is drawn from the higher window, right where the second floor is.

Goosebumps travel on your skin. No wonder you felt like something was watching before you walked through the front door. “You… saw that?”

The man comes closer and crosses his arms, squinting like he’s evaluating his piece. “Yup. I mean, I live here too, you know? Just on the Other side.”

“The Other side?”

He nods. “Yeah, every place has one. This is the Other side of the Pink Palace. Didn’t the place you lived at before have one?”

Besides the random dreams of the rooms being switched and the walls curing in, none felt like this. “I guess. I mean, a dream is a dream. Right?”

Something like danger flicks in his expression. His buttons seem to darken, but he smiles just as quickly as it appears. “Right.”

You shake off the shivers and look back at the painting, noting how he managed to capture Changbin’s height and Chan's build even from up high.

“You’re really good um…” You never got his name.

“Hyunjin.” He smiles bashfully. “You can call me Hyunjin. And thank you. I love art. I just see something beautiful and I have to paint it.” He steps closer, your shoulder on his arm. “Like, I just wish I could see beauty forever. I have to keep it somewhere or else I’ll forget.”

“And you think this was beautiful? The dying grass and everything?”

Hyunjin laughs. “There’s more than that. There’s you.”

You whip your head to him. “Me?”

“Of course.” His smile is infectious. “I told you I like drawing beautiful things. Your friends are pretty too, but I would love to get a portrait of just you.”

You’re flattered, but also off-put. “Why? You wanna keep me forever?” It’s meant to be a joke, a play from his words earlier, but he doesn’t laugh with you. Hyunjin keeps his smile still like he’s controlling himself from saying what he truly wants to say. But he finds something to settle with. “I think a painting will do for now.”

Finally, he laughs. It doesn’t quite reach his buttons, but it’s better than the eerie silence. Hyunjin pulls a chair and tosses the rags off, gesturing for you to sit.

You’re all too conscious of the fact that you’re pantyless. Even as Hyunjin keeps insisting that you sit more comfortably, you keep your legs crossed at all times.

It’s after a few strokes of his brush that Hyunjin breaks the silence. “Can I be honest with you?”

You raise an eyebrow. You can’t help how your body goes rigid, making you move from the position you’ve been in, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Yeah.”

Hyunjin’s buttons meet your eyes only for a brief second before he looks back at his work.

“I saw more than just you three moving in.”

Your thighs tense. The movement makes them rub against your cunt and hit your clit, but you can ignore the burst of pleasure to focus on the pit in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

“Like. I saw you… find the key.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Saw you open the door. The mouse, ah, I didn’t mean to scare you.” There’s a faint smile on his lips. “But last night - tonight, I saw you and your friends…make love.”

You’d spit out water if you were drinking any. “I- I wouldn’t really call it making love but-”

“It didn’t matter what you call it. Sex, fucking, piping, none of it matters.” The sounds of his paintbrush cease. “I…I liked watching.”

There should be red flags going off. Hyunjin isn’t even looking at his painting. He isn’t even sitting on his stool anymore. He’s walking over to you and stopping just a few inches away, clenching and unclenching his fists like he needs to ground himself.

“I liked it a lot.”

There should be red flags, there’s none in your mind. All you can see is the memory of Chan and Changbin fucking you. How one cock stretched your mouth while the other stretched your cunt. You’d be lying if you said you aren’t trying to hump against your thighs subtly, but all you can do is pulse and bat your eyes innocently at Hyunjin like you’re embarrassed.

“D-did you?”

Hyunjin falls to one knee. He’s so close you’re scared he might smell the sex on you. “I did. And, I also saw that you couldn’t get kisses.”

His hand rests on your knee. He doesn’t have to use any strength to pry them open. You part your legs all on your own to put your cunt on display. Hyunjin inhales like he’s starstruck. His buttons seem to shine and he swipes over his bottom lip hungrily.

“I can do that for you now.” He leans in, lips ghosting over your inner thigh, and presses a gentle kiss to it. “If you’d like.”

Okay. You need a mental check-list:

One: He has buttons for eyes

Two: He’s from another world (apparently)

Three: He’s been watching you.

Four: HE HAS BUTTONS FOR EYES

But despite all that, you opt to tell yourself this is all a silly dream and nod, threading your fingers through his hair to guide him closer. Hyunjin lets his tongue trial the softness of your skin before finding your cunt. It’s not his tongue he prods it with, but his lips.

He’s kissing you as if it were your mouth. Soft, gentle pecks just on your clit. The sound of his lips smacking your own fills the room soon, and you widen your legs so he has full range.

But his tongue doesn’t make an appearance yet. Hyunjin trails his lips low to your entrance so he can kiss you there too, getting acquainted with every inch of your pussy. It feels way more intimate than if he were to use his tongue. Hyunjin pulls your skin taunt so he can properly plant his kitten kisses.

It’s when his lips are on your clit that he sucks. Your nub enters his mouth suddenly and you moan. Finally, his tongue swipes over you. It’s so much hotter than you would have imagined, and when he lets your cunt go, he licks a stripe up.

“Fuck.” Your legs threaten to close from the stimulation. You’re already shaking, but Hyunjin has just started to eat you properly.

He smiles with his tongue prodding your entrance. “Sensitive still?” It turns into a grin when he finds your clit again, flicking his tongue back and forth just to watch you grip the chair until your knuckles turn white.

The room erupts in giggles. Hyunjin can’t contain his laughter when your glossy eyes cross.

“Dick.”

His tongue moves back into his mouth, taking a string of arousal with it. Hyunjin moans at your taste, his throat bobbing as he looks up.

“Yeah. I bet you’d like that right now.” One of his fingers slides into your entrance. There’s hardly a stretch, but you squeal anyway. The tip of his finger feels so deep that you can’t stop clenching.

“Look at how you act with just a finger.” Hyunjin can’t look away from your cunt swallowing his digit. “Tight fucking pussy. No wonder why you always need it fucked.”

You mewl at his words. It only adds to the pleasure building in your stomach. Pools of arousal leak onto his finger down his wrist. You know he can see the cream oozing from your throbbing hole. He seems almost entranced by it.

“Are two cocks even enough for you?” Hyunjin’s buttons lock with your eyes. “You had one in your mouth and one right in here. And you’re still wanting more.” His finger curls inside. You swear it’s touching your cervix, squeezing so much that your vision nearly goes black.

“You gonna fuck me?” You don’t know how you manage to speak. It comes out more as a challenge than a question, but Hyunjin perks up anyway.

He slows his finger, deep in thought. His lips are still shining with your arousal when he licks them.

His answer is another digit sliding into your cunt. Now you can feel the light stretch. You completely still for the first time, drinking in the feel of his knuckles dragging up and down your walls.

It’s normally hard to cum from just being fingered, but Hyunjin seems as if he’ll get it on the first try.

“I don’t think you can even handle my fingers, baby.” You can feel his warm breath on your cunt. “Feels like you’ll cum any second.”

You’re trying to hold out, to ignore how his fingers hit that perfect spot and wiggle. You can feel your clit throbbing every time he buries his digits deep, and Hyunjin can’t help but take it into his mouth again.

A near-scream leaves your swollen lips when he licks you. Hyunjin doesn’t hold back in ravishing, nose digging into your swollen nub so his tongue can flick your folds. The pumping of his fingers only quickens, and you can hear how your cunt gushes with every piston of his hand.

“Yesyesyes, I’mma cum. Dontstopdontstop.”

You tug on his hair harshly. It’s almost like you’re trying to pull him off from how raw your cunt is getting, but Hyunjin knows to keep going. The spasming of your walls and your moaning only spurs him on even if your yanking makes him groan.

He only has to pump you a few more times before you come undone. Your stomach caves and your pussy feels like it’s on fire. You can feel the dribbling of your thick cream running down Hyunjin’s fingers.

His digits slow, but they don’t come to a full stop. Hyunjin lets you ride out your orgasm on his face and hand, uncaring for how you move his head down and up down messily on your pussy. He moans with you, making sure to keep his tongue stiff so you can rub your clit on it as you please.

It’s when your grip loosens that he pulls out. You whine from the loss, bucking your hips to catch his fingers, but meeting his lips instead. He kisses you gently, similar to when he started before your eyes turn droopy and your skin glows from the post-orgasm.

You widen your eyes when he pulls away. You nearly forgot about his buttons when you see them again, but you don’t flinch or look in horror this time. Instead, you wrap your legs around his waist when he stands and leans down to place his lips on yours.

You can taste yourself on him. The scent and everything about the kiss feels so real. Even his clothed cock pressing against your bare cunt throbs realistically. You giggle in his mouth, grinding your hips to hear him groan. “Now what? You gonna fuck me?”

Hyunjin smiles with you. He pulls away to make sure he can see you, really see you. It’s one beat of silence that passes, but the intensity of his buttons makes it seem like an eternity.

“Now, you wake up.”

The worst part about dreams is forgetting them seconds after you wake. But even as you open your eyes to the sunlight streaming in through the window and sit up, you seem to remember everything.

The upper level, the paintings, Hyunjin, and the buttons.

And of course, the ache between your thighs helps to keep the memories fresh. You should be too tired to get turned on by his plush lips and soft tongue, but your body seems to be awake almost immediately thinking about it.

Chan and Changbin aren’t here to help you with morning sex. Based on the letter they left on you on the bed, they’ve gone to the studio.

Workaholics.

It still takes a second to get your legs to move without shaking. Your wet dream felt so realistic, so tangible. You could feel his mouth on yours if you tried. You can remember how his buttons gleamed between your legs.

Too real. So real.

You need to touch some grass.

The Pink Palace’s property is huge. You thought the dying garden was a sight to see, but the little woods in the back quickly became your new destination.

If you ignore the creepy atmosphere and dying October trees, you can see this area as bewitching. You like the crunch of dead leaves beneath your boots and the twisting branches. You keep following the pathway until you stumble upon a fairy ring.

Weird. The mushrooms seem to circle perfectly, and you can't stop yourself from stepping right in the middle.

“Stop!” a voice calls in the distance. “Don’t stand there!”

You scream when you hear an engine revving. There’s not enough time to move when the motor rides down the top of the hill. All you feel is dirt hitting your face and strong arms swooping you until you are no longer surrounded by the fungi.

“Put me down!” Your fists connect with his back. Your shouting makes your kidnapper shout, and you swear you can hear the hissing of a cat somewhere.

“Owowow! Stop that!”

You’re set on your feet moments later. The rider stops in front of you to hop off his bike and kick the stand. You’re clutching at your chest when he takes off his helmet, showing a rather shy expression and wide eyes.

Okay, so not a kidnapper. But a weird guy for sure. It doesn’t help that his black cat sits on a tree stump, blue eyes narrowed accusingly towards you.

That cat looks like just the one in Hyunjin’s painting.

“Geez.” The man rubs his back, arms bending awkwardly. “You an MMA fighter or something?”

“Who are you?” His comment flies right over. There’s still some adrenaline thrumming in your veins, but you cross your arms and try to act unbothered. “Where did you even come from?”

“Oh.” He turns pink. The man rubs the back of his neck timidly. “I’m Han Jisung. I was riding my bike up there when I saw you walking into the woods. I didn’t mean to uh…follow you.”

The cat stretches uninterestedly when you point a finger at Han Jisung. “You’re stalking me?!”

“No! No, I was just-”

“I don’t like being stalked, not by stalker-weirdo-freaks, or their stupid cats!”

The feline hisses.

“H-Hey! Don't call him that.” Jisung walks over to the cat, petting it behind the ear. “He’s sensitive. And he’s not mine. Well, maybe a little. I like to feed him at night. He leaves me little dead things as presents. It’s cute.”

You nod slowly. “...right”.

“And I know who you are. You just moved into the Pink Palace, right? My grandma owns the place.” He moves his hand away from the cat that chirps in protest.

“She stopped renting out after…everything.”

You know exactly what he’s talking about, but you can’t help but press. “After everything?”

“Oh, you know.” He laughs nervously. “Just costs a lot to keep a building as old as that one running. Maintaining the upper and lower levels even though they’re closed. Maybe she thought having tenets would help with the bills.”

But he’s talking too fast, too much. Almost as if he’s trying to find something you’ll buy while he flicks the kickstand up and hops on his bike.

“But uhhh, I hope you’re liking the place! Old houses like that are full of mystery and history.” Jisung lightens up. “Oh! That rhymed. Haha. Uh, be careful where you step next time.” He gestures to the fairy ring. “You were standing on a well.”

You look at the mushrooms. “A well?” But his response is to start the engine. You take a few steps back and watch as he drives up the hill, leaving the stray cat behind.

It looks at you curiously. There’s a shine in its eye that feels more than just an animal. “What? Don’t tell me you’re gonna be my stalker too.”

#smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #skz #skz hyunjin #skz hwang hyunjin #hyunjin smut #horror october!#October #hyunjin stray kids #hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #hwang hyunjin

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youngsadlesbian · 7 months ago

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TEENAGE DREAM — wanda maximoff.

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

summary: you managed to live out your teenage dream with wanda maximoff.

a/n: this came out of nowhere in my mind and i couldn't help but write and post it, even though it's super random lol. hope you like it 😉

word count: 1k

warnings: none, just pure fluff.

The first time you saw Wanda Maximoff, she was alone on the edge of a rooftop at the Avengers compound, looking out at the horizon. The sun was setting, casting a warm golden glow over everything. You were new to the team, still getting used to the extraordinary world you were now a part of.

You approached her hesitantly.

"Hey," you said softly. "Mind if I join you?"

She turned to you, her green eyes reflecting the colors of the sunset. A small smile played on her lips.

"Sure," she replied, moving over a bit to make space for you.

You sat down beside her, letting the comfortable silence envelop both of you. There was something serene about Wanda, a calmness that belied the power you knew she possessed. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you felt a sense of peace you hadn't experienced in a long time.

In the weeks that followed, you found yourself increasingly drawn to Wanda. She was kind, thoughtful, and incredibly intelligent. Despite the chaos that often surrounded the Avengers, being with her was like a breath of fresh air.

One evening, after an especially tough training session, you decided to take a walk around the compound. The sky was clear, and the stars shone brightly above. As you walked, you talked about everything and nothing, sharing stories from the past and dreams for the future.

"Do you ever miss your old life?" Wanda suddenly asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

You thought for a moment before answering. "Sometimes. But I wouldn't trade this for anything. Being here, with you... it feels right."

Wanda smiled, her eyes gleaming in the starlight.

"I'm glad you're here," she said softly. "You've made everything... better."

You felt your heart swell at her words. Reaching out, you gently held her hand.

"You too, Wanda. You too."

As the weeks turned into months, your bond with Wanda grew stronger. You found yourself falling for her more and more each day. Finally, you gathered the courage to ask her out.

"Hey, Wanda," you nervously began one afternoon. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me. Like... on a date."

Wanda's eyes widened in surprise, but then she smiled warmly.

"I'd love to," she replied, a hint of enthusiasm in her voice.

You planned a simple yet thoughtful evening. A picnic under the stars, complete with her favorite foods and a cozy blanket. As you spread out the blanket and unpacked the food, Wanda looked around, her eyes shining with happiness.

"This is perfect," she said, taking your hand. "Thank you."

You spent the night talking, laughing, and enjoying each other's company. As the night wore on, you found yourselves lying side by side, gazing up at the stars.

"Have you ever wondered what's out there?" Wanda asked, her voice soft.

"All the time," you replied. "But right now, I'm more interested in what's right here."

Wanda turned to you, her eyes meeting yours. Slowly, she leaned in, and you met her halfway. The kiss was gentle, sweet, and filled with all the emotions you both were feeling. It was a moment you would never forget.

After that night, you and Wanda became inseparable. You trained together, fought together, and supported each other through tough times. The other Avengers noticed the change in both of you and were happy to see you both so content.

One night, after a long day of training, you and Wanda were curled up on the common room couch, watching a movie. When the credits rolled, Wanda turned to you, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"I was thinking about the future," she replied. "About us."

You felt warmth spread through your chest. "About us?"

"I want to build a life with you," she said softly. "I want us to be together, no matter what happens."

You smiled, pulling her closer.

"I want that too, Wanda. More than anything."

From that moment on, the two of you worked towards that future. You supported each other on missions, injuries, and the day-to-day challenges as Avengers. And through it all, the love you felt for each other only grew stronger.

Life as an Avenger was never easy, and there were times when stress and danger took their toll on both of you. But no matter how tough things got, you always had each other to lean on.

A particularly tough mission left both of you physically and emotionally exhausted. As you were together in the medical wing, tending to your injuries, Wanda held your hand.

"We'll get through this," she said firmly. "We always do."

You nodded, grateful for her strength.

"As long as we're together, I know we can face anything."

And face it you did. With every battle, every challenge, you faced it together. Your love for each other was a constant source of strength and comfort, a beacon of hope in the darkest times.

Years passed, and you and Wanda continued to build your lives together. You moved into a cozy apartment in the city, creating a home filled with love and laughter. Despite the demands of your roles as Avengers, you always made time for each other.

One night, as you were on the terrace, watching the sunset, Wanda turned to you with a smile.

"Remember our first sunset together?"

"How could I forget?" you replied, holding her hand. "It was the moment I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you."

Wanda's smile widened, and she leaned in to kiss you. "I feel the same."

As the sun set, you knew that no matter what the future held, you and Wanda would face it together. Your love had stood the test of time, and you were ready for whatever came next.

Your life with Wanda was filled with countless moments of joy and celebration. From birthdays and parties to quiet nights spent together, each milestone was a testament to the love you shared.

On one particularly memorable anniversary, you decided to recreate your first date. You set up a picnic under the stars, just like that night many years ago. As you laid out the blanket and unpacked the food, Wanda's eyes sparkled with delight.

"This is perfect," she said, holding your hand. "Thank you for always making me feel special."

You smiled, pulling her close. "You are special, Wanda. Every moment with you is a gift."

As you lay side by side, looking up at the stars, you felt a deep sense of contentment. Your love for Wanda had only grown stronger over the years, and you knew that no matter what challenges came your way, you would always have each other.

As time went on, you continued to grow together, both as individuals and as a couple. You supported each other in new endeavors and challenges, always striving to be the best versions of yourselves.

One day, while working together on a new project, Wanda turned to you with a thoughtful expression.

"Have you ever wondered what the future holds for us?"

"All the time," you replied, smiling. "But I know that whatever happens, we'll face it together."

Wanda's eyes softened, and she reached out to hold your hand.

"I love you more than words can say, detka."

"I love you too, Wanda," you said, pulling her close. "And I always will."

Life had its ups and downs, and there were moments when the challenges seemed insurmountable. But through every trial, the two of you faced it all together, your love being a constant source of strength.

A particularly difficult period tested your resilience like never before. You had been trying to get pregnant, and it turns out that you couldn't. Wanda presented a certain difficulty with this. As you lay together, Wanda whispered words of comfort and reassurance.

"We'll get through this," you said firmly. "We always do."

Wanda nodded, her eyes filled with determination. "As long as we're together, I know we can face anything."

And face it you did. Through every storm, every setback, the love you felt for each other remained unwavering. You emerged stronger, more resilient, and more deeply in love than ever before.

As the years passed, your love for Wanda only deepened. At some point you realized your dream of being a mother. The twins, Billy and Tommy, filled your life with a light that you didn't know could exist. Logically, it brought another dynamic to your routine, but you learned to love every peculiarity of it.

With Wanda by your side, you knew you were capable of anything.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #marvel #mcu

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carolmunson · 2 years ago

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eddie munson x fem!reader | steve harrington x fem!reader

COMING SOON TO THEATERS. A FANFICTION ADAPTION OF ACADEMY AWARD WINNING FILM 'TITANIC' WRITTEN BY:

@loveshotzz @newlips and @carolmunson

ORIGINAL SCREEN PLAY + FILM WRITTEN AND DIRECTED BY JAMES CAMERON. ALL OF THOSE ICONIC SCENES AND LINES ARE, OF COURSE, CREDITED TO WHOM CREDIT IS DUE: JAMES CAMERON

PREVIEW:

Wednesday, April 10th, 1912 Southampton, London

The blare of the fog horn is unmissable, rattling the conversations in a small pub off the White Star Dock. Even through the dusty windows she was clear as day, big as anything anyone had ever seen. Large black body met with a red base, multiple decks, and four large smoke stacks. The ship seemed to go on forever, her beauty unmatched to anyone who had seen it – a behemoth on the seas. A glory – a masterpiece.

The doors of the pub fluttered open and closed all morning as it edged closer and closer to noon. Pints poured by the dozens, the hundreds – half the country coming to the piers to see off the Ship of Dreams and its passengers. The bar was alight with chatter, mixing in with the roar of people from outside — hundreds of people halfway to boarding, waving and kissing goodbye. Beer glasses clinked and people cheered while they watched a long line of high end cars gleam in the spring sun as they rolled down the dock. Precious cargo full of Europe and America’s elite.

Reporters and bellhops alike flock to them like flies, pub patrons ogling through the dusty windows while they exit their buggies.

Among the commotion, the endless chatter and screeching of pub seats, sat four men oblivious to the spectacle. They’re sitting around a small table with sweat on their brows as the April sun pours golden over them. Eyes burning over their cards as cigarette smoke wafts over their heads — the players lost in the fog during an intense round of poker.

The pot was mostly meager — a few pounds and swaths of change, a pocket watch, a penknife. But in the center was the crown jewel, a prize that would change the winner’s life forever. Two pieces of pressed parchment reading:

The men leer over their hands, not a friendly face between them — the tickets were not the dealer’s, but two of the players who had bet the wrong guys. Guys who had been beyond the break and back again, meeting in Morocco, then Paris, and traveling together back to London — guys who had never lost a game of poker.

Eddie places his bet, pulling a small silver ring off of his right ring finger and tossing it in the center.

“Are you kidding?” Jeff asks from his left, “That’s everything we have.”

Eddie grins at him, taking a drag of his cigarette. The sun dances in his big brown eyes like he knows something the rest of them don’t, “When you got nothin’, you got nothin’ to lose.”

The two other players speak to each other heatedly in Swedish after one of them hits for a new card. The outburst makes it clear that things aren’t looking good for the Swedes — it makes Eddie’s heart leap. Maybe this is it, maybe he’s finally gonna get back to the states. “Sven?” he asks the man next to him. “Hit,” he replies, putting down a card and taking another. Eddie follows suit, furrowing his brow while his bangs meet his eyelashes. Sweat collects on the nape of his neck where his dark curls are twisted up in a graphite drawing pencil – a trick he picked up from women he met in France. He puffs the smoke from his mouth, eyes meeting the Swede across from him who looks like he couldn’t be having a worse day.

“Alright,” he says, putting his cigarette down on the ashtray between then, “Moment of truth. Somebody’s life’s about to change.”

He leans back in his chair and looks at his friend, sweat beading at the edge of his hairline and glinting off of his deep skin, “Jefferey?”

Jeff throws his cards down with a roll of his eyes. “Nothing,” Eddie nods.

“Nothing,” Jeff says curtly through a grit in his teeth. His heart pounds in his chest while he looks at the last of their money on the table – they can’t afford to lose.

“Olaf?” Eddie asks, the Swede throws down his cards in a huff, “Nothin’.”

“Sven?”

Sven puts down his cards and Eddie frowns, “Oh…two pair.”

His shoulders droop while he looks at his own cards, eyes lingering on the silver ring in the middle of the table, “I’m sorry, Jeff.”

“What do you mean ‘sorry’?” You idiot! You bet all of our bloody money! You imbecile, you–”

“I’m sorry, you’re not going to be able to visit your cousins in Paris again for a long time,” Eddie says with a serious edge. Jeff quirks his brow, triggering Eddie’s winning smile behind plush pink lips.

“‘Cause we’re goin’ to America!” he exclaims, slamming his cards down on the table, “FULL HOUSE, BOYS!”

Jeff leaps from his chair in the back of the pub, reaching for the tickets on the on the table, “WE’RE GOIN’ TO BACK TO AMERICA!”

“I’m goin’ home!” Ed exclaims while the boys hug tightly. The pub cheers for them, pints still flowing — men and women with red cheeks having no idea what they’re cheering for until a fight breaks out between the Swedes.

Eddie laughs, hoisting his bag up over his shoulder and Jeff does the same — their white shirts dirtied with the stains of the day before.

“I can’t believe it,” Jeff says, teeth shining in a grin across his face, “Goin’ back to America!”

“Titanic’s going back to America, boys,” the barkeep says, pointing at the clock, “In five minutes!”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #titanic au #stranger things au #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x reader #steve x reader

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mumms-the-word · 2 months ago

Text

In the Company of Wolves

Characters: Solas x fem!Lavellan Summary: Solas spends part of the evening at Halamshiral admiring Iren and pondering the similarities between an Orlesian masquerade and ancient Arlathan. When he's not being grim and fatalistic about it all, he's imagining a few naughty things he would like to do with Iren, should the evening give them a chance. Basically it's a whole lot of Solas pining and pondering and wishing, at least for one night, that he were not the Dread Wolf after all. A/N: Some of this is inspired by information we learn in Dragon Age: The Veilguard, but does not contain any Veilguard spoilers. Also, tried something new with verb tenses and flashbacks. I haven't decided if I like it yet, but an attempt was made! AO3 link if you want to read it there! MDNI 18+ even though most of the smut is relatively tame (teasing and such, you know)

Solas cradled a glass of wine in his hand, lifting it to his lips as he watched the Orlesian nobility wandering past. Each one was dressed in their finest silks and brocades, buttons and buckles gleaming, feathers floating, jewels sparkling. There was more wealth in one antechamber or narrow hallway here than in whole towns and villages around Orlais and Ferelden. And as was the fashion, the requirement of Orlais, every single one of them was masked, their faces covered with thin plaster or porcelain, paper-mâché or paint, imitating lips and noses and mustaches and carefully plucked brows. Faces upon faces. Falsehoods upon falsehoods.

It was as familiar as it was foreign. Had he come here alone, had there not been any threat of Corypheus and his Venatori conspirators, he would have been content to watch and observe. Smile to himself at the frivolous concerns of a nobility that cared more for their appearances than anything else and stand unseen and quietly amused at how seriously they conducted their clandestine affairs in half-hidden alcoves and darkened stairwells.

In this sea of masks, it was all too easy to believe they were little more than mindless animals, prettied and painted up to appear as intelligent creatures. If he wasn’t careful, everything would seem as a dream, each person drifting by as no more than a blur of meaningless color. Not real. Completely beneath his notice.

But then she would appear again, sweeping quietly through the hall, and the world would sharpen into focus again.

Iren. His vhenan.

She stood out among the crowd as easily as a single star in a void of night. Whereas everyone else here was dripping with color, turning about the room in their jewel tones, vibrant satins, and complex patterns, she was dressed simply and elegantly in a white dress of soft linen and breezy chiffon that left much of her sides and all of her arms bare. A brushed gold collar and matching thin belt gave the dress shape and held it close to her body, preserving all the necessary modesty that the court required, though her bare arms and sides had already been the subject of several scandalized whispers. Solas alone had overheard a handful of remarks here in this hall where he lingered, so he could only imagine the talk that went on in the ballroom proper. The court was undecided on which was the most offending detail, the sight of her bare skin or the dark red vallaslin she wore so boldly on her face, a vallaslin that also adorned her back and curled gently beneath her collarbone, faintly visible even beneath two layers of chiffon over linen.

She was ornamented lightly with gold in the same brushed finish as her collar and belt—a golden armband around one bicep, a set of simple thin bangles around both wrists, earrings that threaded thin chains between her earlobe and piercings that sat halfway up the line of her pointed ears. And of course the thin ring she always wore in her lip, the gold indenting her bottom lip and drawing the eye there every time. She had painted her hands with dark henna, a pattern of swirls that matched the markings of Sylaise on her face and darkened the tips of each finger to a shade of dark rust red. Crowning it all was a gold headdress of sorts, shaped in curving lines to form a pair of halla antlers that stretched back from her head.

She looked like a long-forgotten goddess among distracted mortals, a being from an ancient empire whom nobody could remember. She appeared simultaneously as a creature out of place and a being that rose above as something more.

She looked like one of the ancient elvhen.

No. He smiled to himself. Even among the nobility of ancient Arlathan she would have stood apart. There, the nobility had been just as opulent and colorful. More so, in fact, when Arlathan was at the height of its power. Iren, in all her simplicity, wearing only white and gold, would have appeared not as one of the Evanuris, but as something set apart. Something not even they would know what to do with.

He doubted she knew the effect her appearance had on those around her. She had wanted simple and she had gotten it, for better or worse. For here, simplicity was an outlier. Here, simplicity was rare.

Simplicity meant every eye was on her now, rather than passing over her.

As she drifted by him again, offering him a small smile that he returned as she made her way toward the gardens, he recalled how nervous she had been in the days leading up to this ball.

She paces his rotunda restlessly as she frets over the ambassador’s choice of fashion and uniform. “She’s talking about corsets and laces now, Solas.”

“Oh? Has our ambassador already selected your outfit for the evening?”

“She’s working on it.” She stops with a sigh, resting a hand on a stack of books that stand on his desk. “I requested her to go as simple as possible, but I’m not sure she understands what that word actually means.”

He laughs at that and takes her hand from his books, raising it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Lady Josephine can be reasoned with, after a fashion. She will honor your wishes if you communicate them clearly.”

“I just want to be…comfortable,” she says. But he knows that isn’t the word she wants to say. She wants to be helpful. She wants to heal hurts and move on. She wants to be invisible. She wants to be herself. It is, in part, why she is so drawn to Cole, and so protective over him. If she were a spirit, she would be Compassion.

But she is flesh and blood, and the Inquisition needs an Inquisitor. Who better than the woman who heals the sky and who stops the pain of every conflict ravaging the land?

He gently pulls her in close for a soft kiss. “Whatever you wear, you will be beautiful, my heart. You always are.”

And she was. The light of hundreds of candles illuminated golden light over her warm, dusky skin as if to cast her in polished bronze. The dark red of her vallaslin and henna added an enchanting, otherworldly effect to her natural beauty that these Orlesians, in all their paints and powders, didn’t know what to make of.

So as with anything they did not understand, they warped fear and curiosity into scorn and hostility.

Primitive. Rabbit. Savage. Knife-ear. Witch. The nobles used these words so carelessly, as though the sight of her bare skin and unmasked face were an open invitation. Like wolves, they surrounded her, thinking they scented blood, ready to sink their teeth into her flesh and tear her to shreds. They saw the halla antlers that adorned her head and thought her a prize beast to fell in a hunt.

She had predicted that.

He steps into her rented room in the city of Halamshiral, nodding quietly to the assistants who are putting the final touches on her face. A subtle dusting of shimmering powder on her eyelids, a line of dark kohl around her eyes, and a dark red stain on her lips, just a shade or two darker than that of her vallaslin and henna. Iren sees him in the mirror and dismisses the assistants with a smile.

“What do you think?” she asks, standing as the others file out of the room, leaving them alone. “I doubt I’ve ever worn this much finery in my entire life. This part in particular seems a little excessive.”

She touches the golden horns that curve and curl back from her head, an elegant mimicry of halla antlers to remind the court of her proud Dalish heritage. Her dark hair has been carefully arranged to cover the headbands that keep them secure on her head, the rest of her long tresses left to fall loose down her back and over her shoulders. He clasps his hands behind his back and smiles.

“You wear them well,” he says. “And the court will certainly have opinions about them.”

“Of course. I can’t wait for someone to call me a halla rider and think it’s a compliment. I’d almost rather they just insult me outright.”

Her eyes drift away from him, toward a painting that hangs on one wall. A group of Orlesian nobility dressed in the fashion of the age long since passed, gathered as a hunting party, their bows drawn. At their feet and beside the fine horses, sleek gray hunting hounds lead them through the forest. Their prey, a white halla with silver horns.

“They hunt them for their pelts and antlers, you know,” she says quietly. “In Orlais, a single halla is worth a fortune. Dead, of course. No point in capturing the creature alive.”

He says nothing. He is all too aware of the destructive tendencies of a people who would rather attack first than seek to understand, to appreciate, to learn. After a moment, Iren purses her lips, playing idly with the bangles around one wrist.

“I wonder what they will think of me.”

“They will think you are simple and easily defeated.” He smiles. “And like the stubborn, clever halla, who has no doubt felled many an arrogant Orlesian hunter, you will prove them wrong.”

She had said nothing to that, but he had seen how she entered the main ballroom, how she had navigated the first hour of the masquerade. As they thought, the nobility here watched her with predatory stares, eager to pounce on a single mistake. They tittered behind their fans and perfumed the air with cruel whispers. They murmured ridicule just low enough to sit at the edge of one’s hearing,

She had acted as though they hadn’t spoken, keeping her back straight and her chin high as she entered the ballroom on the Grand Duke’s arm. She had curtsied to Empress Celene, walked a confident circuit of the ballroom, and made it out into the hallway where Solas had taken up a place in one corner. It wasn’t until she had slipped her hand in his that he noticed the tremor in her fingers, the fine trembling tension that sang in her body as her blood thrummed with adrenaline and fear. On the surface, she had kept all of that hidden away.

He was the only one who knew how terrified she was.

“You will be fine, vhenan. And I will be here if you need me.”

But she didn’t need him. Or at the very least, she had no need to rely on him as a wounded man might rely on a crutch. She was, above all, adaptable and clever, and she had a natural grace and elegance that made her seem nearly at home among the more civilized Orlesians. They still derided her, of course. But they found very little purchase for their barbed words and veiled insults.

He watched her through the window as she perched on one of the railings that lined two sides of the Winter Palace garden, only a few feet away from him. The only things separating them were clear glass panels, but she didn’t look his way. She sipped from a glass of wine and pretended to find something interesting in the statuary of the fountain, but he knew she was listening for secrets. Feigning indifference or boredom to lure others into a false sense of security, where they may let slip something vital within earshot.

But then, as he watched, she lifted a hand and traced one finger against a spot on her neck, beneath her hair.

Ah. He smiled again. Perhaps her mind was not as much on the mission as he thought.

She turns to look again in the mirror of that room in Halamshiral. Her eyes are on the halla horns she wears, contemplating his words about proving the court wrong. He comes up softly behind her and wraps his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. Beside her, he looks pale and sharp, his indigo eyes darkened by the falling evening light. Still weak. A shadow of what he had once been. A humble disguise he didn’t even have to fabricate.

He focuses on her instead, admiring the curve of her brows over her dark brown eyes, the shape of her lips when she purses them faintly as she considers the two of them in the mirror.

He presses a slow kiss to her bare shoulder. “You will be the envy of all the court, ma vhenan.”

Her lips flicker with a darkly amused smile. “No, I won’t. Even with all this finery, I have no doubt I’ll be the most underdressed guest at the masquerade.”

He hums into her skin as he brushes another kiss against her shoulder. “But you are beautiful. You are enchanting. I doubt even the empress herself could compare.”

“Only to you, perhaps.”

To that he says nothing. Instead, he carefully moves aside the long, dark hair that trails over her shoulder, pushing it back to bare her throat above her golden collar. From his place behind her, he has easy access to the space just below and behind her long, slender ear, and it is there that he kisses now, lathing his tongue against her neck before gently taking her skin between his teeth in little nips. She relaxes against him, nearly melting, listing her head to one side to give him better access.

“Solas…” His name is a sigh, a breath from her lungs.

“Relax, my heart,” he purrs against her throat.

One of his hands finds purchase in her skirt, slowly and carefully drawing it up until his fingers brush against warm skin rather than cool fabric. He brushes his fingers up the inside of her thigh, inching closer and closer to her heat, only to smooth his touch back down and away. Teasing and tempting, the game they play, have played, since that first kiss in the Fade. She shifts, parting her legs to give him better access as she leans back against him, but he ignores the invitation. They don’t have time for what he wants, what he has planned. It would have to wait. For now, though…

He flicks his gaze back toward the mirror, watching her eyes flutter closed as his fingertips brush featherlight against her inner thigh again, close but not quite where she wants him. He sees himself in the reflection, too, his lips pressed against her skin as he sucks a dark mark onto her throat just below her ear. He watches them both, his gaze hungry, intense, while she relaxes back against him with her head to one side. The halla antlers curve back over their shoulders, glinting in the warm evening light. As the last of the daylight falls, shadows creeping into the room, his pupils reflect gold-green, a predator’s gaze in the dark.

If they had a few moments more…

A knock at the door brings him back to his senses.

“Are you ready, Inquisitor? We are gathering outside at the carriages now.”

The ambassador’s voice. Iren shifts as if to draw away, but Solas wraps an arm tighter around her, determined to finish what he started with the mark on her neck. “Y-yes,” she calls. “I’ll be down in a moment!”

He listens for the telltale sound of a latch being thrown at the door, but instead they hear footsteps drawing away. Satisfied, he finally lifts his head, brushing her hair away to admire his work.

There, just below her ear, a red love mark almost dark enough to match the red of her vallaslin and henna. By the end of the night, it will be bruise purple. A semi-permanent mark of his own making. One more adornment to add to her finery.

He smiles and rearranges her hair to cover the mark, hiding it from view. A secret, just for them.

Back in the garden, she seemed to catch herself and dropped her hand in her lap, idly rubbing the fabric of her dress between her thumb and forefinger. She had chided him when she caught a glimpse of the mark in the mirror. But her hair hid the bruise, so long as she kept it over her shoulder, as she did now. No one knew it was there, except for the two of them.

She turned her head again, following the sound of some whispered secret or another. With her dark profile set against the white and blue of the Winter Palace, he was free to admire the curve of her aquiline nose and the plump shape of her lips. Strong features. Regal features. You would not have found them among the nobility of the ancient Elvhen, who favored delicate noses and pointed chins, large eyes and small mouths. But the ancient Elvhen had not made her.

She was a product of this world. The world he had been forced to create and had hated with each step in its hollow realm. Millennia of elves fighting, surviving, fleeing, dying, carving out an existence in a world that should have been their ready inheritance, all funneled down to the happy accident of her birth, her creation. Solas hated the Dalish for the same reasons he hated the Orlesians—their arrogance in thinking they knew the world, knew their own history, better than any outsider might. But for all that he disliked the Dalish, they had done one thing right.

They had made her.

She was so beautiful. But that wasn’t the only thing that had drawn him in. She was kind and empathetic; she felt every emotion too deeply, raw and ragged, even as she was forced to suppress it all to maintain her solid facade as the Inquisitor. And she was stubborn, too, as immovable as a rock in a churning sea. She didn’t stop until a task was complete and someone got the aid they needed, whether that be healing a wound, clearing out bandits in a fortress, or saving a wayward druffalo. She sought wisdom and guidance when she needed it, but once her mind was set, there was no persuading her.

But she wasn’t reckless. If anything, she was patient, selfless to a fault, watching everyone else and planning ways to help them, often at the expense of herself. He recognized these traits easily. He shared them, or he had once, when the world was different. When the Evanuris ruled, and these traits were what he had aspired to. Kindness. Patience. Resilience. Selflessness. She bore these traits better than he ever had.

His stare must have been more piercing or intense than he intended. She turned her head, as if feeling the weight of his gaze, and their eyes locked through the panes of glass that separated them. He offered her a light toast with his goblet, a smile playing on his lips.

To your hunt, ma vhenan.

A hint of a smile flickered on her plump lips. She pretended not to notice his toast, turning her head away again. But then she gathered her hair carefully over one shoulder, bearing her neck toward him. Bearing the side that was, as of yet, blemish free. He saw her dark eyes flick back toward him, trying to gauge his reaction in the corner of her eye.

An open invitation, or a tease. Solas suppressed a smirk.

He wasn’t certain whether it was the wine or the atmosphere or some other terrible influence that was weakening his resolve, but the sight of her skin, offered so freely, tempted him almost beyond his control. He longed to pull her aside into some hidden shadowed corner and make a mark to match the one she already wore beneath one ear. To guide her away, his hand on her hip, fingers brushing over her bare waist, while the eyes of the court followed them and whispered about how dreadfully forward the Inquisitor’s elven serving man was being, to touch her so openly and boldly. Then to find a private corner away from all else and press her back against the cold marble of some column or wall, inhaling her surprised gasp as he closed the distance between them for a kiss, slipping his hands through the opening of her dress to the smooth planes of her back.

If this were any other party, if they were there for any other reason than to stop a madman’s agents from threatening chaos over an entire nation, he might give in to such fantasies. It would be all too tempting, once he had her there in those imagined, stolen moments, to lose himself to her henna-stained touch. To guide her fingers to the buttons of his coat and press in close, hiking her skirts up just enough to slip his thigh between her bare legs and leave her with nowhere to go, save closer to him. Her sex against him. Her perfect breasts heaving against him. Her panting breaths mingling with his.

They’d have to get rid of the halla antlers, of course, if he was going to make such ample use of the wall to satisfy them both. Pull them free from her hair and toss them aside as he caught the skin of her neck between his teeth again. A halla caught in the jaws of a wolf…

His smirk faded as the thought, unbidden, bitter, sarcastic, invaded his fantasy. What was that old Dalish curse? May the Dread Wolf take you? And now the fantasy was ruined, as reality crashed down around him. A reality of his own making.

Not that she had any way of knowing the irony. Here, she thought the Orlesian nobility were like wolves, crowding around her on the hunt for blood. If she had any idea who he was, who he had been, would she bare herself so openly to him? Would she look at him the way she did these days? With nothing but tenderness and care, and perhaps more than a little hunger of her own? No. If she ever truly knew…

There was no one here to warn her save himself. And he could not. It would risk everything, ruin everything, and it…it was too soon.

Even so, he could all too easily imagine the whispers that would follow her if his secret was known. Old Dalish warnings and snide comments from the ancient elvhen, allies of the Evanuris, mingled together in his mind.

See how the Dread Wolf stares at her, so lurid and open. See how his great, fanged jaws salivate for a taste of her flesh. Cavort not with wolves, young elvhen, lest you fall prey to their charms. For He Who Hunts Alone may devour you, if you let him draw close, and then where will you be?

He tightened his grip on his glass of wine and then, after a moment, set it aside. This masquerade brought too much of the old Solas out of him. All this courtly intrigue, this heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex, it all felt so familiar that he could easily conjure the sort of talk the elvhen would have said, had said, about him.

Some things never changed. The scorn was the same, it was only the words that differed. And here, just as it was then, the powerful preyed on the weak and boasted their victories prematurely, while others lay in wait for their chance to usurp, to upset the balance, to rebel and create change.

Like his Inquisitor, he supposed. For all his wine-muddled thoughts about wolves and halla, predators and prey, Iren was ultimately neither. Though she wore the halla antlers for the sake of costuming and carried herself with the elegance of nobility, and though she was on the hunt for agents of the Elder One to stop his plans before they even began, she did not fit so easily in these categories. She was neither halla, nor noble, nor huntress.

She was what she had professed to be from the start, when she had first introduced herself to him. A shepherd guarding her flock. A Dalish Keeper in training.

Therein lay the true irony. He should have seen it from the beginning.

“I am surprised you offered to stand watch,” he says, approaching her as she sits by the campfire in the midst of the Ferelden Hinterlands. After only two weeks of knowing her, she remains a mystery. Beautiful. Gifted in magic and in healing. Quiet, but stubborn. She is the bearer of the Anchor, a gift that should never have been hers, but which she has learned to use with surprising rapidity. But as with so many others in this world, she still seems a little unreal. Unfinished. Unrefined.

Yet he can’t help but be drawn to her, at least a little. The warm tones of her skin, the soft fall of her dark russet hair, the ring she wears in her lip that never fails to draw his gaze. The way she tilts her head, listening closely to his words when he speaks. The way her eyes flash with surprising anger when someone attempts to dissuade her from a path she has chosen to take. There are hints of cleverness within her he wants to see more of, despite knowing that what he ought to do is keep himself distanced and aloof.

At his casual remark, she looks up at him, the glow of the firelight warming her dusky skin. “Pardon?”

“I would not have expected one of the Dalish mages to be accustomed to the task,” he says, by way of explanation. “I suspect most of them sleep comfortably while their hunters do all the watching…and lose all the sleep.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” she says, smiling dryly. “In my clan, the Keeper, the First, and the Second each take one of the three night watches with the hunters. The Keeper always takes the first watch, then the First takes the middle watch, and the Second the third watch early in the morning. In Clan Lavellan, there is always a mage awake and relatively alert every hour of the night. Just so you know, the middle watch is the worst.”

He tilts his head. These Dalish clans never do the same thing twice, he’s found. “Fascinating. And what do you keep watch for? Bandits and wolves, like your hunters do? Or are you there to watch for demons?”

Her dry smile is still on her lips, but it shifts. “Any of it. Among other things.”

She twists a thick sylvanwood ring on her first finger, carved to depict a wolf flanked on either side by delicate elven figures. The elves face away from the wolf, as if marching toward a destination not depicted on the ring. He recognizes the scene instantly. A depiction of the Betrayal. Or at least, how the Dalish remember it.

It was a gift from her Keeper to guide her on the way to the Conclave, she had once told him, the first time he had noticed the ring. A reminder of the people she left behind. A people she hopes one day to return to and eventually to lead.

“Anyone can watch for bandits,” she continues. “But we were meant to watch for something else. Someone else.”

She twists the ring on her finger again. He knows the answer even before the name crosses her lips, a title he will never be able to escape, not even in death.

“Fen’Harel. The Dread Wolf. It is our job to keep him from leading our people astray.”

If she only knew…

No. It would shatter her. She would be left ashamed and embarrassed, or worse, betrayed. He would lose her in an instant.

He would never be able to tell her the truth. No matter how much he longed to. No matter how much he saw in her the traits and strengths and the determination that he himself had once exemplified in his early days of rebellion. If this were another time, another place, perhaps then he could bring himself to trust her with the truth. But those days were long gone. Elvhenan was gone. He had destroyed it.

How different would things be, would things have been, if she were there in the days of the Elvhenan empire? Would she have sided with him in rebellion, or clung to Sylaise as a devoted follower or slave? He doubted sincerely that she would be content in slavery, content to sit idly by while people suffered the whims of the powerful and the corrupt. If she had been born in the time of ancient Arlathan, if she had been part of his rebellion against the Evanuris, if he had been drawn to her in the days after Mythal, would she have been able to find a better solution that he could not see at the time? Would her wisdom have shown her better paths?

Would he even have listened?

That was the real question, and he knew the answer. He wouldn’t have. He hadn’t listened to the friends he’d had. And even now, seeing what world he had created, he wasn’t entirely certain that if he had the chance to go back and correct his mistakes he would choose any differently.

All this, to stop powerful tyrants and would-be gods…

“Solas?”

He blinked, drawn from his brooding thoughts by the sound of Iren’s voice. She stood now just a few steps away, waiting for him to see her. And as before, the world crystallized with her at the center. Everything made a little more real.

He softened his brooding expression as best he could. “Ah. My apologies, vhenan. My mind was…elsewhere.”

She fought a smile, but he could see it twitching at the corners of her mouth, her lip ring glinting in the candlelight. Unbidden, his thoughts were drawn there, focused and warm. He wanted to catch the ring between his teeth and tug gently at her lip while his hands pulled her flush against him. He wanted—but then she smiled, amused, and he realized how brazenly he stared at her mouth.

“I can guess where your mind was,” she murmured. “But…later. We still have work to do.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice even further. “No matter how much I might wish otherwise.”

“Indeed,” he breathed. Better that she thought his mind wholly distracted by her than to suspect him of other treachery. And, if he were honest, it was all too easy for his mind to turn, again and again, to the subject of her beauty, in praise of her figure, lost in fantasies of what he would do if he didn’t fear the consequences so much. He cleared his throat gently. Back to work. “How goes your search?”

“Something is happening in the servant’s wing nearest the ballroom,” she said, keeping her voice quiet, lest anyone try to overhear. “It has me worried about the elven servants…”

“You think they are involved?”

“I think they’re being killed, and that worries me.” She gnawed at the corner of her upper lip a moment. Then she forced a little smile, as if they were once more flirting, their words meaningless and shallow. “Can I interest you in a distraction soon?”

“You are already a distraction, ma vhenan,” he said softly, taking the risk, despite all the eyes and ears potentially turned their way, of taking her hand and lifting it for a brief kiss. “But I understand your question. I would be very interested. And I am ready whenever you are.”

“Good. The door in the next room, down the stairs, to your left. I’ll have it unlocked soon. Meet me there in a few moments.”

“As you say.”

“And…Solas?”

“Yes, vhenan?”

She hesitated, the first obvious sign of reluctance or even doubt he had seen in the time since they’d entered the grounds of the Winter Palace. Her hand was still in his. In her hesitant silence, she gave his fingers a fierce, firm squeeze, as if she were nervous and seeking reassurance.

“Nothing,” she said quietly. “I’m just…I’m glad you’re here with me. That’s all. I don’t think I could do all of this without you.”

And just like that, he remembered just how mortal, how fragile she was compared to the elvhen, the Evanuris, compared even to himself, weakened as he now was. This was not Arlathan. She was not one of the People. She was Dalish, part of a quickened race of elves who forgot everything and clung to legends and fanciful stories as if they were true history.

And he loved her. His foolish bleeding heart couldn’t help but love her. Try as he might to harden his heart, to remain callous, distanced, cold, neutral, he couldn’t. With her hand in his, drawing strength and courage from his touch, her warm brown eyes earnestly seeking his to convey not just gratitude, but love, her plump lips holding the hint of a smile meant just for him and no one else, how could he do anything but love her? As she was. Mortal. Dalish.

Real.

He wished he could be anything but the Dread Wolf in that moment. That he could be nothing other than an odd, wandering, elven apostate, a scholar of the Fade. That he could set everything aside and be what she needed him to be, nothing more, nothing less. That this night would end with a victory, in some form or fashion, and her hand once more in his as he led her to a private room to celebrate. No more danger of the Dread Wolf leading the Dalish Keeper astray. Just a man in love with a woman and proving his love with searing touches and whispered words. He would give anything to be just that, to be the man she believed him to be.

She saw the best in him. He wanted so dearly to live up to her vision.

Perhaps, for tonight, he could try.

Let there be other wolves. For one night, let him be as he began, simply Solas, and as he wished to become, a man devoted to his heart’s desire. His Inquisitor. His Iren.

He lifted her hand to his lips for another kiss, reverent and slow, a silent response to her remarks. Then he let her go, watching as she slipped her hand reluctantly from his and drew away; watching as the eyes of Orlesian nobles and elven servants alike turned to follow her as she left the room.

She had nothing to fear from them. She had already faced worse than an Orlesian court. Like so many other obstacles she had already faced and overcome, she would find a way forward, a way to help those who needed help, a way to stop the Elder One from sowing chaos. She would succeed, one way or another, because that was simply what she did. She could handle a few predatory glares and poisonous whispers, in light of all that.

She would be fine. She had grown accustomed to the company of wolves, for better or for worse, whether she knew it or not.

But for tonight, he would not be another among them.

#please don't ask me how long I've worked on this #i don't even know if I like it at this point lmao but it's done #and i want to post it #also look how pretty iren is!!!!#I love her!!!!!#solas #solavellan #solavellan hell #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #wicked eyes and wicked hearts #my inquisitor #my fic #iren lavellan #dragon age fic #dai fic #da fic

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