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scribeofmorpheus · 2 months ago

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Var Lath Vir Bellanaris

PART 1: Vi'Revas Warnings: Veilguard spoilers, Solavellan spoilers, angst, yearning, the feels! Words: 2.5k, not proofed, straight word vomit. Sequel to: Harellan (post-Trespasser) & Not Some Fanciful Story Recommended song: In Cold Light NOT PROOFREAD

The sky was blackened. The spire covered in the entrails of Lusacan, the last Archdemon. So much of that moment reminded her of the final push at the Valley of Sacred Ashes, of the last fight to save all of Thedas.

“Bind yourself to the Veil,” Rook’s voice carried as clear as a bell. “…stop it from falling.”

Revas’ blood turned to ice, a gasp fighting its way out of her quivering lips.

This wasn’t how she’d imagined her future, crippled, heartbroken, beaten-down from losing friend after friend to the blight in the south. She hadn’t expected to survive her encounter with Corypheus all those years ago, but she had always imagined hope would endure if she fell in that battle; hope that there would always be a promise of tomorrow.

There was none of that now.

She’d felt it when she walked the streets of Tevinter, seeing so many feet sway above the hanging post, nooses digging through skin. Cries of loss trickled from near every home and it was worse back home. The Free Marches. The Dales. Denerim. There were no more roaming halla. The aravels were gone. Cities, older than she would ever be, were lost to the blighted growth of endless decay, lost to the sourness of rot and the heat of death. Skyhold remained. And the sick, the poor, the wounded, they all flocked to her walls. Last she was there, they had turned the rotunda into an infirmary. She’d watched as countless strangers and friends had erected a wall of remembrance over the frescoes. Drawings, letters marked with the names of loved ones, red hand prints, every creative indicator of loss was mounted on those walls, a candle lit by the feet each night.

She had hung up the letter from Briala a few months ago, the one that spoke of the loss of the Dalish clans and city alienages, the loss of what little elvish resistance had begun to rise in the face of human tyranny. She had cried when she’d added the title of Last of Clan Lavellan to her speeches, rallying the dwindling number of her troops to their death as they tried to save Grand Enchanter Fiona and her Circle mages, and then the Arl at Redcliff, and then the entire city of Halamshiral. Walking the palace she had once danced in, seeing barely a soul, hearing no music, it broke her.

The morning after each hard-fought battle, when she went to count the new dead amongst the half-living, she’d hear the curse she’d once foolishly cast on the very walls that stood as the final bastion against complete ruination.

I hope, wherever you are, 'ma vhen'an, that you are as miserable in your lonely hunt as I am miserable in this broken body, carrying the weight of two hearts. May the dinan’shiral break you, for that is the only way I could ever hope to see you again; or let this cruel world open its maw and swallow me whole, into nothing, past the Fade and out of memory so my sadness can never touch another again.

Regret. O, such a dagger, blunted and rough, pushing past bone to tear at your insides. She understood it better than she did joy. Because why else would the world try so hard to tear itself apart if not to answer her prayer?

Was his dinan’shiral not breaking them both?

A week ago, she had placed a Chantry necklace at the foot of a pile of jewellery recovered from the dead for Mother Giselle and Charter. And then the letter from Varric… she had carried it with her, through everything. Her last shred of hope.

I found him, Freckles.

She had cried as she held the paper in her hands, Dorian’s hand pressed to her back as Rook walked out to face the last of the Evanuris.

Revas should have been used to losing. All those lessons of Wicked Grace she’d had with Varric, all the sparring matches with Bull, the debates with Dorian, the arguments on Circle infrastructure with Vivienne, talk of belief in the Maker with Leliana, belief in elven gods… Crestwood. Losing should have been as easy as breathing, but every breath was a shard of glass to her lungs, a battering ram to her spirit.

There were no ties left to bind her to her home in Thedas.

There was but one choice to make.

Revas looked down at Elgar’nan’s body, disappointed at what rotten fruit the ides of godhood bore. There was always someone bent on breaking the world. Uncertain, she looked ahead, dismayed by just how much the tide had turned in a few months.

It cut her deeply, to know that it was her heart that stood at the helm of this unending cycle.

From where she stood, she could see the Veil gouged open like the slit of a tired eye; poised to waken, yet still full of the promise of further sleep. That same light had once shone from her very palm.

Despite everything, she found herself fighting off the pull of a smile. Herald of Andraste here to face the very maker of the Veil. It was poetic enough to make a religion out of it. Varric would’ve made a killing with a twist like that. His best and last seller for all of Thedas. A love story.

She paused by the doorway, watching him ascend the steps slowly, unsure of what it was she was hoping to see, but when Solas bowed his head in that very same manner he had done before he bent to kiss her that last time, she knew the words that would fall from his lips before they even had a chance to grace the air.

He couldn’t do it.

Not on his own.

Thirteen steps. That was all she needed to surmount. Not a high dragon. Not a blighted, ancient Tevinter magister who had walked the Black City. Not the fall of the South. It was just thirteen steps across the divide, past Rook and past every decision that led them to this point.

Back turned to her, wrecked and ravaged by a hard fight, Solas’ body was wrapped beautifully in armour stripped down to its barebones, a remnant of the one she’d watched gleam through an eluvian, wolf pelt slung on the side in place of a sigil. It made him look vulnerable. Nowhere near as regal as he’d been in the Fade, yet neither draped in humility as he’d been in Skyhold.

When Solas climbed the final step, dagger balancing dangerously in his open palm, he declared full of regret: “I cannot.”

His voice, quivering and mournful, sent tremors through Revas.

She quickened her pace, half afraid she’d turn into a shemlen in the process.

He was so close. So close to touch. Her every muscle ached to reach out and be reunited with him, her chest heavy as though she could feel the very weight of him pressed against her bones. Yet, despite how much she desired it, she could not run to him. She had to take each step carefully.

Rook gave her a look of warning, but shifted to the side, letting her pass.

They would work together on this.

Revas would have her shot.

Until she wouldn’t.

The ground seemed to stretch farther with each step, creating even more distance the closer she got. The air, acrid with the smell of blight and blood, grew thick, electric in that habitual way the Fade had felt when it coursed through the anchor, when it bound her every fibre to a spark of light and used her very spirit as flint to cauterise the tears in the veil all those years ago.

Three steps left.

She could practically feel what it was like to be beside him, to be near his magic.

They had once been like ice and thunder. Her, this brewing storm like the kind that kissed the horizon on the Storm Coast. Him, the kind of avalanching cold that could rival the fall of Haven.

Whenever she’d been close to him in battle, feeling the strength of his barriers, nearly impenetrable, she’d felt unstoppable. And at the mark of terrifying blizzards that’d turn the skin of any enemy brandishing a blade against her to glaciers, she’d feel so possessively loved.

That is what she had to hold onto. Not the pain or the betrayal or the losses. The love that was always there, slipping through the cracks, chipping away at his polite mask, bolstering her with the knowledge that she was not so easily avoided, no matter how hard he’d tried to steer clear of her.

Elfroot, ozone and poultices. The scent of an apostate. A teacher. He was only three steps away.

Solas stared at the Veil, his back holding fast with purpose, his fingers twitching by the dagger's grip. He took a breath, and without looking back at Rook, he pressed on with his reasoning: “To stop now would be to dishonour those that I’ve wronged to come this far!”

Solas raised his hand, dagger’s edge close to his bleeding eye, and she knew not to wait any longer. This was it. The moment when she’d test how well she’d kept his heart.

Time went still. His body turned ridged as he turned to face her the moment she spoke.

“Even if those you’ve wronged asked you to stop?”

He looked so utterly broken. Revas watched in relief as she saw just how much of an effect those simple words had had on him.

Solas’ lips parted ever-so-slightly, his brow moving up a fraction, showing a hint of familiar awe—that surprise at having been affected so deeply by her. It was good to see that things didn’t change. And for a second, she imagined he’d smile. But then he bowed his eyes, snapping his eyes away from the heat of her gaze, turning his head to look downward.

Shame.

He was ashamed.

In a solemn breath, one meant for reunited lovers, not opposing forces at the end of the world, he whispered her title; her name; her place in his story: “Vhen’an…”

That simple word was enough to knock the wind from her, but Revas would not give him the satisfaction of being backed into a corner by pain. Not like in Halamshiral. Not again.

Her heart quickened as she took another step forward, “You think you’ve gone too far to come back but you’re wrong. I am here,” she gestured to the desolation around them, beseeching, “walking the dinan’shiral with you!”

Slowly, he lowered his dagger, his temples burdened by the dawning of his actions, by the gravity of what she’d just said.

“I lied,” he urged, trying to draw on any nerve that might still be raw, unwilling to believe she truly meant the words she’d spoken. “I betrayed you.”

And what did that matter?

Through everything.

How could that matter when she was beginning to remember what it was like to be in his gaze, to hear the tremors in his voice, to feel the power of his yearning across those steps?

“I forgive you!” She felt her voice crack. “All you have to do is stop!”

Please, for me, my heart, stop.

Solas turned to face her completely, his head, once high, was brought low in reverence. Humbly, as was his way all those years ago, he bowed before her and her heart broke.

“Ir abelas, vhen’an, but I cannot.” His head rose up, his eyes hardening, replacing humility with purpose. “Long before we met, I failed my oldest friend. She died for my failure. If I leave the Veil in place, I am destroying the world she wanted. And I will have… She will have died for nothing.”

He turned back to the tear in the veil, raised the dagger once more, and was halted by the cry of a raven—a creature Revas had once held sacred as a Keeper of Dirthamen’s Secrets.

Morrigan transformed before him, her entrances as memorable as always. She approached Solas with ease, speaking to him with the cadence of an old friend.

Revas took another step forward, mind focused on him. Always him. All she could do was push; pushing past the doubt that tried to claw up her spine when she witnessed him shrink with the realisation that he was not speaking to Morrigan entirely; pushing past the wrenching in her gut when she heard how torn he’d sounded as he’d spoken Mythal’s name; pushing past the anger as she learned of his corruption at her hands, past the devastation as she watched him crumble in the last light of forgiveness before Mythal vanished.

The petrifying sounds of his sobs sent her to her knees beside him, as he had knelt for her when she’d been wracked by pain when the anchor tried to rip its way out of her.

Finally, she would say the vows she had dreamed of saying.

“Banal nadas. Ar lath ma, vhen’an,” she could see him shake, hear him whimper, but it had been enough.

With a clenched fist, Solas resolved to stand tall, his hand ghosting the deep bruise near his forehead as he tried to control his sobs. With a steadying breath, he found the strength to turn to the Veil and do what must be done.

In the blink of an eye, he brought the lyrium dagger to his palm and sliced clean through, holding his fist up as he made his oath.

“My life force now sustains the Veil. With every breath I take, I will protect the innocent from my past failures. The Titans’ dreams are mad from their imprisonment. I cannot kill the blight, but I can help to soothe its anger.”

Solas placed the dagger in Rook’s hand, finally turning to Revas to say his goodbye, “I will go and seek atonement.”

Then he paused in front of the tear, and Revas was certain this was where her path would always end.

“But you do not have to go alone,” she walked up to him, hands outstretched.

There was that look again. Awe. Disbelief, Adoration.

When next he spoke, he sounded so small, so mortal.

“Ar gelass vir banal,” she shook his head, his eyes gleaming with tears that were barely being held at bay. Soft. So unbelievably soft. Revas would not be talked out of this.

“Tel banal arama,” she refuted his excuse.

Solas swallowed down another sob, except this one was half laughter. Because, of course she’d cast aside any fears he might have used to persuade her otherwise. His hand pressed down on hers, hopeful, full of need, and she complied.

As a child, she’d heard lovers exchange the vows of eternity during marriage ceremonies. Once, she’d dreamed of uttering them to him, when they’d been in the Inquisition. Sylaise enaste var aravel. Lama, ara las mir lath. Bellanaris. The words had sounded so beautiful. Inevitable, even. But knowing what she knew of the Old Gods, if she were to make a vow of forever, it would not be in Sylaise’s name. It would be in honour of the distances they’d spent apart. The journey.

“Vir shiral ma’lasa, bellanaris,” she sealed the vow with a kiss. Gentle, compassionate, tangled with relief. They had endured. As Ar Bellanaris had, the burial grounds in the Dales, through war and occupation, an untouched beacon of old Arlathan. Bellanaris. Eternity, come what may. They had made the journey, and now all that remained was the love.

Solas deepened the kiss, wincing through it as he carefully moved his cut lip against hers, the taste of blood shared between them.

When they finally parted, they were one. Bound. Spirits entwined. And then they became the heartstone of the Fade. The place where Cole was from. The place where they had shared their first kiss. As Revas had made Skyhold a home, made Thedas a place worth living in, for however short a time, she knew Solas would do the same for her. A home for a home.

The Maker returned back to his beginnings, but he was neither alone, nor surrounded only by regret. He was with his bride. The Herald of Andraste. Inquisitor. Revasan Lavellan, the Last of Her Clan; a Paragon of Freedom.

Now all that needed to be done was face the regret.

#dav #dav spoilers #solas #solavellan #solas x lavellan #dragon age #veilguard spoilers #datv spoilers #solavellan fic #the love WAS there #she changed everything #and will continue to #colour will bleed into the Fade #Harellan #revasan lavellan you are literally committed to myth #a love story for the ages

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secret-smut-sideblog · 4 months ago

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The Hound

Lavellan x Blackwall

18+ scent kink, masturbation (m!), break up (sort of), angry sex, dom/sub, dirty talk, roughness, restraint, oral (f!), fingering (f!), face riding, control kink, hurt feelings, porn w/ light plot

Finally reaching Skyhold, Vella reaches her breaking point after Blackwall pulls and pushes her away again. Anger flaring hot into him when he comes to darken her balcony...

Masterlist, Prev Chapter

He shouldn't be doing this.

Kneeled on the blankets he knew harbored the maddening sweet of her scent, he stared at the discarded clothes she had shed.

As they traveled, she had taken up the burden of hunting for game. Something she turned out to be frighteningly good at. Arriving back to camp with a heavy shoulder of kill, shrouded in pine hidden clothes and breath damp cloth wrapped around her snow bitten cheeks. Teasing that if it wasn't so cold, it would be easier to hunt naked. He couldn't tell through the blood ringing in his ears if she was joking or not.

She was out now and had even allowed Sera along in a very trial based arrangement. Smiling ruefully at him as she ducked into his tent to change from her scented clothes, already pulling her top even before the flap closed behind her. He averted his eyes, but he still saw the soft curve of her waist.

Maker, was she was infuriating. The more he protested her un-ladylike behavior, the worse she got. Delighting in his torment the entire way.

Now, he stared down the discarded clothes that had hours before clung to her. Practically thrown in his small world. He could see it so clearly, her striding around tossing clothes like they were a nuisance to her.

His thighs tightened. The desire he had been giving only stalwart ignorance reared its head.

It wasn't a valorant exercise in restraint or any knightly chivalry that had kept him from his own pleasure. It was that every single piece of his need was threaded through her.

He was raw with it at this point. His abstaining only built into the gnawing thrash of a dog, pulling so tight against its chain it couldn't breath.

He couldn't continue like this.

With a shame that bordered on salacious, he pulled her clothes to him.

Maybe if he gave in, he would get her out of his dreams.

He pulled her underclothes, still with the slight damp of sweat on the hips from their hiking.

Maybe she would stop haunting the fabric of his desire.

He paused, mortified at what he was about to do. But not enough to stop the lift of his hand. The twitch of his already throbbing cock spurning on.

He held the thin fabric in his fist and took an indulgent pull against his face.

His eyes rolled back into his head. Hand tightly gripping his cock, he fell forward on his forearm. Huffing the scent of her against the ground like an animal. Gathering his precum to force his pleasure out in near agonizing bliss. Rocking back and forth into his own thrusts.

The sweet musk of her sex was far better than he had imagined. Taking command of his body in the way beasts must feel in rut. Near nauseous with need. Imagining his face buried between her thighs sent him fully forward. Just the meager of his imagining too much, too good.

How soft would her thighs feel around him? The plush of them grasped between his fingers. Lapping at her sweet flesh, the hard of her clit teasing against his tongue.

His fist practically blurred, bent down into his shoulder. Hand flat above him. Breath lost in her. Orgasm threatening at his back.

How would she sound above him? He had heard the whisper of her singing on the outskirts of camp. The call of it as clear as a sweet bell. Sending an ache through his heart in its beauty. If she was capable of that haunting siren call, what would she sound like crying out with him buried in her thighs?

Well past the point of no return, his eyes strained upwards. Huffing as quiet as his need would allow. Only flashes of her playing behind his mind. Body pulling and pulling. Gnashing at the promise of release.

He braced down into a curl, biting into his forearm as it hit him. White hot pleasure unfolding and unfolding inside him. Shuddering ripped from deep in his pelvis, belly clenching as he writhed against the ground. Giving in to what he always was; a beast spilling its seed on all fours.

It held him down by his throat for a few more tremoring contractions, huffing into the floor. Low involuntary groans with each strike from him. Exhaustion heavy in his limbs.

"Shit." He hissed. Some part of his subconscious had urged her underclothes to catch his spend. The fabric utterly ruined by his shame.

Worse, he heard the tell-tale sign of her return with the quiet cheer of their companions. Surely carrying the spoils of her hunt.

Fuck.

He quickly tucked himself back in his thick wool trousers. Fighting the panic in his gut, training his face into the impassive scowl he naturally wore. Shoving feet into boots.

She chatted with Sera as they set down their success. Catching his eye, she pulled down her face scarf to smile that terribly wicked charm at him. Cheeks so flushed, breath coming out dragon plume. If he was a beast, she was a spirit. Something that darted between trees and called men gratefully to their death.

Sera caught his eye as well. Sticking out her tongue at him, wiggling her fingers along her ears.

Vella laughed loudly, sticking out her tongue as well.

He nearly buckled when he saw a flash of silver embedded in her tongue. Hurrying to the river, cursing every god he knew under his breath.

He only felt a platonic fondness for Sera, but those two together... Maker, save him.

She sat in a low ridge of the rampart wall, leaned against stone. Staring out at the frozen tundra with unreadable eyes, an elfroot cigarette poised between her fingers. Already haunting the places he saught.

They had been walking for what felt like a near month but could have only been a week or so. Sending scout Harding out to 'survey' ahead, when really it was all Vella. Getting flashes of silver along her irises, smiling at Harding in thanks. Harding more than willing to play this ruse up for their people. Giving brief nods and assuring Vella that she had some 'promising leads'. Bounding ahead again to find more buried winter fruit and herbs.

When they reached Skyhold, there was an undeniable air of joy. The disrepair irrelevant, they had made it. Cheers and smiles spread like an infection.

While Vella gave small smiles in return, he could see the daunting stare she gave the place. Feeling the same overwhelm he felt, softening his heart further for her.

Now, the light caught her hair, undone from its twin braids. Flowing out behind her in spun gold. Her expression soft, lips slightly pursed in that way he adored. One of her few tells of dwelling thoughts.

"Something on your mind, my lady?"

She looked over her shoulder, smiling at him with warmth he hadn't earned.

"Hey, you're getting good at finding me. Come sit." She beckoned sweetly.

He paused, certain this was a bad idea. Settling next to her, grateful for the little slide she gave to press to stone for his space.

"Gods, this place is so... big." She sighed, pulling smoke between her lips.

While he usually found smoking an irritating habit, her choice of herb was pleasant. The elfroot burned sweet, leaving an aura as light as cherry tobacco around her. A smell he had come to recognize as another facet of her. Lingering in the air around the castle, drawing his nose up. A soft sigh of longing sitting in his lungs.

"I was thinking the same thing." He gave an easy dismissal of his hand as she offered the cigarette to him. He kept refusing, and she kept offering. That bone aching soft in her eyes when she did. As if the thought of sharing with him was the sweetest joy.

"Yeah, Haven was a lot, but it was manageable at least. I feel like I'm going to wander into a dungeon and never be seen again." She held her hands up in a pantomime of dissipating. Fingers unfurling in a little flourish.

"Ah, I wouldn't rest until you were found." He assured in a chuckle. "I'd lead the search."

"Oh, I know you'd find me." She gave that mischievous twinkle that meant trouble. "You've got my scent, my hound."

"You know, most men would be insulted to be compared to a dog." Ignoring the blush unfolding up his neck at her too close of a tease.

"But you're not most men, are you?" She smiled, pulling her legs up to fold beneath her. Tossing the spent butt over the ravine as she pulled her hair back in a twist. The act of tying her hair up somehow deeply erotic. The surety of her fluid grip. The raise of her arms behind her lifting her ribcage up. The action practiced in its hypnotic twists, taking a lockpicking pin from her hip to spear through the full bundle along the crown of her head.

He got so lost in the innocuous moment it took a second for her words to catch up.

"I am. And you can't afford to think differently. I'm a soldier, same as the men we lost at Haven."

Her shoulders fell, and he immediately felt sorry for bringing it up.

"I'm glad I didn't lose you." She hushed, eyes falling away from him. The vulnerability making what he must do ache like rot in his belly.

Please don't make me break your heart.

"I would die for you, but this can't go any further. I'm terribly fond of you, but this... whatever you think this could be. It's just not possible."

"We could die tomorrow, Blackwall. You know that." She turned to him on her knees. Eyes too wide in their soft questioning. His heart fighting his will with ripping teeth. "I would like to share more with you while we still have time. It doesn't have to mean anything if you're not comfortable."

He nearly laughed. How could intimacy with her not mean anything?

He rose back onto his feet, and she followed him up. Those wide eyes brimming with a desire to understand his denial of her too much. Casting his eyes down like the coward he was.

"My lady, don't. You're the Herald of Andraste. We must remain focused."

It was a weak reason, and she saw it. The curve of her fingers lifted his chin back to her eyes.

"Hey, speak to me." She gently searched his eyes.

He took a step back, huffing out breath. The desire for her in his heart too much.

She went quiet in front of him.

"Did I do something wrong?"

The hush of her question struck spear through him. The genuine of it spurning an ache he had to clench his fist to fight. To keep going. To keep hurting her this way.

"You're the Herald."

"I never... I don't want this. I don't want to be strong like they need. I'm not who they want from me. I dont want them to believe in me."

It cut him to ribbons to hear her say it out loud. And still, he must persist.

"But they do. It's too late to go back. Whoever you were is gone."

Her breath pulled in a hiss between her teeth. Body tightened into a curl away from him. Hiding the tears he knew were filling her eyes.

He was a bastard for hurting her. He knew this. The source of her identity was so raw in her heart. But it was the right thing to do. Please, Maker, let it be the right thing to do.

He turned from her to keep from stepping forward. To cradle her hurt in his arms.

"You must be who they need. Without your hope, all we have is despair. We're both bound. Our lives are no longer our own."

She got quiet again. Finally calling in an ached whisper.

"Why did you tell me you wanted me?"

Tears clouded his eyes, keeping his back to her. Heartbreak jagged in his chest.

"Please, don't make this harder." He urged, striding away from her as it spilled down his cheeks.

Vella focused her foresight into a point. Blade held between fingers. Searching beyond the silk tied to her eyes.

She breathed through the tender hurt that wouldn't stop circling her chest. Cigarette poised in her teeth. Arm curled behind her back forced to relax. Taking clarifying pulls of smoke.

There.

She flicked her wrist. The sound of her mark striking in a thunk against wood.

Her success cut short by the feeling of eyes on her back.

Please let it be Sera.

But she knew better.

"Sera would be sneaky about it. Or at least try to be."

She drew forward and pulled the blade from the target.

She had kept him at an arms length. Kept everything cordial and proper. A perfect lady. She had done everything he wanted.

"What do you want, Blackwall?"

She heard him enter and suddenly realized she was angry with him. Very angry.

"I wanted to see you. Its... not sitting right with me."

"What isn't? You got what you wanted." She held the hilt loosely in her fingers, turning blind toward him. The sudden desire to throw it at him rising up her back.

"I... I thought I did. But you've been different to me."

A bow snapped inside her.

She flung the blade and heard it snap into the wall behind his head. Hearing his shock before she saw it as she ripped the silk from her eyes. Striding forward in righteous anger.

"You want me to empty my heart of you and not treat you differently? How?"

She nearly took his throat, backing him into the wall. The blade grazing his ear.

"You can't have it both ways. I've been rather good to you, considering. I've resigned myself to walking alongside you, nothing more. That's what you wanted."

His eyes were wide, staring down at her with huffed breath. His body telling his arousal. Her own burning angry in her pelvis.

"So what, you want me again?" She challenged, head heavy with rising lust. Anger sharp as the dagger she pulled from the wall. "Fuck you."

He took a harsh pull of breath. Both staring each other down. Both coiled in the burning silence.

"Say that again." He urged.

"Fuck." She caged him against the wall. "You."

He rushed her, crushing his lips into hers.

She moaned, pressing hard into his warm body, the dagger scattered out onto stone. Kissing him back with all of the anger she had been holding in her mouth. Pulling at his clothes. At his arms. At his hair.

He moaned, the sound of his pleasure exactly how she'd imagined. A rumbling growl that bordered on a plea. Tangling into her as fire tangles into wood. Gasping against her mouth. Fingers holding her to him by the back of her head.

"No." He pulled away. "This is wrong."

"Shut up." She hissed, pulling him back by the front of his gambeson.

He pulled back into her like he had begged her to let him stay. Kissing her in desperate pulses. Breathing hard through nose. Pushing her back to the banister. Fingers tightly digging into the fat of her thighs.

She spread them and demanded him between, grinding into the hard ridge she knew she'd find.

"Is this what you wanted?" She hissed into his ear. Licking up the curve of it when he shuddered breath. His hands shot out to brace on the banister.

"Hmm, seems like it." She smiled, curling a leg around his hip. Snapping open his gambeson with her trained fingers. "Too bad I couldn't be all sweet for you, huh?"

"Too bad you've reached the end of my patience, now we do this my way." She pulled the gambeson over his shoulders. Sighing out at the heaving expanse of his chest, covered in a trailing of dark hair. Leading down his strong belly. Exactly the bear she had seen in him.

She licked a line up his chest, her tongue dipping into his clavicle. The silver piercing in her tongue grazed against his skin along her trail. He shivered, then groaned loudly when she pulled his nipple into her mouth. Undulating her tongue in what she knew was tortuous pleasure. Popping her lips and nibbling the hard nub.

A strangled breath left him, and he fell to knees. Lifting her robe over her thighs, pressing his face to the seam of her hip as he urged them apart.

Her head fell back, the near desperate nuzzling of the scratch of his beard against the soft of her spiking a jolt of need. Leaning back on the banister.

He looked up at her with begging eyes. Hands grasping her hips.

"What, are you hungry?" She arched her hips toward him.

"Yes. Please." He whispered. Hand rising up to urge her thigh over his shoulder.

"Please, what?"

"Don't make me beg."

"You're already begging." She took his hair in a tight fist. "Please. What."

He huffed breath. Eyes glazed over with heavy lust. Lost to her power.

"Please let me eat."

"Good boy."

His eyes heavy lidded and lust blown. Staring up at her. The delicious look of a man fully submitted.

She dug her heel into his back and opened to him. The underclothes soaked on her cunt his last obstacle.

"Eat."

He dove forward, pulling under her hips. Nearly taking her off her feet. Pushing his face into her clothed sex. Huffing and pressing into her with his nose. Already near delirious against her.

She shivered at the graze of his nose against her clit. Pulling her robe fully off with a tug on the tie around her waist. Falling into a silky pool around her feet.

He looked up, moaning out at her revealed body. Hands pressing firm along the exposed skin. Face still buried between her legs.

"So soft." He moaned. "Maker..."

"Your Maker isn't here. And I told you to eat, hound."

She made to pull away.

"Unless you don't want this?"

He gripped her hips, forcing her back with a strength that shocked her and sent a dangerous thrill up her back.

"Don't move." He growled.

"Or what?" She dared.

He pulled her hips hard, laying her out on the ground in one pull. Her hair splaying out around her head. Gasping out.

"You want to be mean? Oh, I can be mean." He rose over her. Ripping her underclothes down her knees. Abandoned at her ankles as he forced her legs open again.

"And to answer your question. I've wanted this so much it's made me sick."

He planted a hand flat on her lower belly, holding her down in a firm push of his calloused palm.

"Now I'm going to fucking eat. Or do you have more back-talk?"

She shook her head.

"Not yet."

"Bloody fuck, I can't stand you."

"Prove it."

He lifted her hips to his mouth with a pull on her ass. Bending her body up to him.

She choked out a moan as he lapped hard at her clit. His tongue perfectly curled and slurping against her. Fuck, he knew what he was doing.

His eyes burned down the writhe of her hips. Sliding her thighs up his shoulders. Reaching his hand around her hip to pull above his mouth. Latching onto her clit with his lips.

She shuddered as he sucked, his tongue cupping in fast pulls under the suction of his lips. Pleasure ripping sharp up her.

His fingers pushed inside her without warning. Thick and curved up into her navel. Not stopping the torture of his mouth for a second.

"Fuck!" She cried out, head turning against the cold floor. Her hips threatened collapse.

"Not done yet." He growled against her. Pulling her back into the seat of his mouth.

She moaned in soft calls, lost to her pleasure.

"Oh, fuck. It's so good. I'm going to-"

He smacked her ass hard. Soft skin blooming red.

The orgasm tight in her belly sharpened to a finer and finer point. The anger of his mouth and the thrust of his fingers too much.

Her whole body went rigid when it struck. Rising up into a curl as it forced out inside her. Pleasure ripping out a strangled shriek from her throat.

"There we go." He growled. Flipping her onto her belly, hips up as it still broke inside her. Sliding onto back between her legs.

"But I'm not done." He pulled her thighs back down to his mouth.

She cried out, his tongue too much on her clit.

He slowed for a moment, giving her a small mercy. Her eyes still lost in lids. Hips rocking against his mouth.

His mercy short lived, he lifted her hips to plunge his tongue into her. Earning him another shuddered cry. The clear sound and feeling of him gathering her cum into his mouth in messy slurps buckling her into him again. The nastiness of it grinding her into his mouth.

"You're disgusting." She praised, taking his hair into her fist. His eyes glazed over again. Nodding against her thighs.

"Licking me out like a whore." She hissed, leaning back onto his propped thighs. Letting him stare up her stretched body. His hands tightened on her hips.

"I bet you could cum just from this." She reached back between his legs. His cock greeted her stone hard and leaking.

He groaned against her. His hips thrusted up into her palm.

"No." She felt the tremor of her second release building in her pelvis. "You're going to cum from eating my cunt."

She tightened her thighs around his head. "Got it?"

He nodded, lost in submission again.

She rose on knees, lifting her hips just high enough to make him arch his head. Smiling down at him. Playing with her food.

Watching the empty thrust of his hips in delight.

"Oh, you're close, aren't you?" Her eyes met his again.

He gripped onto her hip, a desperation in his wide eyes.

"You're waiting for me, aren't you? That's sweet."

She pushed back into his mouth. His fervent sucking sending tremors through her again.

He whimpered into her cunt, clearly at his breaking point. Body tense and twitching under her.

She cupped his face in her hands, her own orgasm tight inside her. But she kept her touch gentle. He froze.

"Cum." She commanded simply.

His eyes clenched closed, face crumbling in agony. His cries buried into her cunt. Cumming up his belly in tight writhes. Hands bruising into her thighs, fingertips white in the dig into her.

Seeing him completely unravel under her sent her over. Shuddering as her second undoing crashed headlong into her. Riding into his mouth.

She fell back onto the floor, arms thrown wide. Gasping into the night laced air from the balcony. The cool of stone against her back a perfect balm.

He gasped into his own aftermath, similarly splayed out. Hand seeking her hip. Pulling her towards him.

"Get out."

He rose on elbows, staring shock down at her.

"My lady...?"

"No. You don't get to push and pull me and spend the night."

She stared back at him. Her anger still hot under her breast.

"I don't play games and I'm not interested in playing yours. I don't want to see you again tonight. Make up your fucking mind by morning."

She stood and gathered her robe. Tying it securely around her waist again. Tossing his gambeson to him.

He paused at the stairs.

"I'm..."

"I'm too angry with you to hear it right now. Go."

He ducked his head. Leaving her in shuffled steps.

She sighed when the door softly shut behind him. Sparking up another cigarette that she took to the balcony. Pinching her brow between fingers.

"Don't you dare cry, girl."

Next Chapter

#its happening!!!!#my girl said fuck ya life. bing bong #lavellan x blackwall #blackwall x inquisitor #blackwall smut #dragon age smut #lyrics from: you forced me to - lizzy mcalpine

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1800i-dont-write-fanfiction · 21 days ago

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(4) bath time

Predictably, he returned.

Much sigh.

Lavellan pushed herself up on unsteady feet, her body trembling under the strain. Sweat slicked her skin from the exertion as she braced against the stone wall for support. Her ears rang with a high-pitched whine and for a moment she feared she might collapse, her legs threatening to buckle beneath her.

Elgar'nan stopped in front of her, eyes glinting with malice. His visage rippled with an unsettling, otherworldly aura. As Lavellan’s vision wavered, he seemed less solid, more like an ethereal force barely contained in form. The air around him crackled faintly as if even the air recoiled from his presence. Disdain and something predatory flickered in his gaze, lingering on her disheveled state.

"Inquisitor Lavellan," he sneered, his voice a deep, mocking rumble. "You are unsightly."

Lavellan forced herself to meet his gaze, her chin lifting in defiance. “You'll forgive me if your accommodations have been insufficient,” she replied smoothly, her poise a product of years spent dealing with haughty nobles and self-important rulers.

Elgar’nan’s lips curled into a semblance of amusement, though any trace of warmth was absent. “I suppose we can do better than that.” As he raised his hand, a wave of magic rippled outward. The chains binding her clattered to the ground, the sound like the toll of a funeral bell. The weight lifted, but only slightly.

“You will follow me,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Lavellan narrowed her eyes, forcing the tremor in her legs to still. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”

Elgar’nan tilted his head, studying her as one might observe an insect underfoot. “A peace offering,” he replied smoothly, extending one hand toward her, his long fingers curving like talons. “I would not see you so… disheveled. It is a disservice to my eyes.”

She hesitated, her instincts screaming against the gesture. This small mercy was likely a tactic to unnerve her. Yet any shred of dignity, any fleeting opportunity to regain control, was an opportunity she would not refuse.

Elgar’nan turned sharply and began to walk, leading her out of the cell. His hand was cold.

The halls were unfamiliar, and she couldn't recall the path they took through the labrynth of twisting corridors. Time and distance seemed to blur as his presence distorted her perception. By the time they arrived an unassuming door, she could no longer remember where he had designed to take her in the first place.

The decor was unmistakably Tevinter in origin. Ornate carvings adorned every surface, the dark marble wash basin and its surroundings bearing the telltale austerity and decadence of a noble's estate. Was she in Tevinter? How far had she been taken? She tried to piece together the fractured recollections of her capture, but the edges of her mind felt raw and frayed. The effort to bridge the gaps in her memory sent a spike of pain through her temple.

“You’ve done something to my mind,” she accused, her voice sharp despite the dryness in her throat. She turned to glare at Elgar’nan, who lingered in the doorway like a shadow made flesh. His gaze betrayed nothing.

Her accusation hung in the air, unanswered. His silence was more maddening than denial. For a brief, unbearable moment, Lavellan thought he might smirk, acknowledging the truth with a flicker of cruel amusement. Instead, he remained utterly still, as though her words were beneath a response.

Gathering herself, Lavellan shifted tactics. “Does your ‘peace offering’ extend to affording a woman privacy?” she asked, her tone steadier than she felt, though her chest tightened with unease as the words left her mouth.

Elgar’nan’s brow lifted fractionally, his expression inscrutable. “Would you prefer I think of you as a woman, Inquisitor?” His voice was sharp and probing, daring her to falter. He took a single step forward, the movement deliberate and measured.

Her breath caught, her pulse hammering as he drew nearer. But then, mercifully, he stopped. His gaze swept over her once more, brimming with disdain. “I will grant you an hour,” he said, his words clipped and unyielding. The statement was a dismissal as much as it was a command.

Lavellan let out a slow, measured breath, the weight of his presence lifting like a suffocating fog. Alone, at last, she approached the basin with cautious reverence. She ran her fingers along its edge, the cool stone grounding her as she allowed herself a fleeting moment of relief.

She worked methodically, scrubbing away filth that clung to her like a second skin. Yet even in this fleeting reprieve, her mind could not rest. Elgar’nan’s motives gnawed at her thoughts, and the uncertainty chilled her as much as the cool water. This was decidedly some perverse game. He intended to lull her into a false sense of security.

She frowned.

Does he really think I'm that stupid?

She caught her reflection in the basin’s surface, distorted by the water's ripples. This was no act of charity. Whatever kindness Elgar’nan feigned, it served his purposes, not hers.

An hour.

#sollavellan #lavellan x elgarnan #solas #solas x lavellan #datv spoilers

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vir-tanadahl · 3 months ago

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The Melody Between Us

Formerly named A Night Out. A re-write of my 2015 fic fan. Fluff. Ellana Lavellan nervously asks Solas out on a date to a musical, sparking a night filled with tender glances, soft whispers, and unexpected warmth. As they navigate awkward moments and teasing interruptions, they begin to discover that sometimes, the quietest moments speak the loudest. Find it on Ao3!

It started innocently, just glances shared when no one was looking, brief touches that lingered a heartbeat too long. But then Ellana grew bolder, catching him off guard.

She brushed her fingers along his arm as she laughed, her eyes catching the light in a way that made his breath hitch. “What about a date?” she asked casually, though her gaze never wavered from his.

Solas blinked, the question catching him mid-thought. He hesitated, his words stumbling out. "Ellana, I—" He cleared his throat, retreating a step as if to put some distance between them.

Her smile faltered. With a soft huff, she crossed her arms, her lips—usually so quick to smile—now curving into a small pout. “Solas," she said, her voice gentle but insistent, "it’ll be fun. The musical’s gotten amazing reviews.”

She tilted her head, eyes searching his face. His silence spoke volumes, the hesitation written in the way his brow furrowed, despite his calm facade.

“You know,” she continued, a teasing edge to her tone, “the Fade might be fascinating, but you need to experience life. With living people.” She smiled again, but this time there was a challenge in her gaze, daring him to step out of his world and into hers.

Solas scoffed, a hint of indignation in his voice. “The spirits are living—”

Ellana cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand, her frown deepening. “You know that’s not what I meant,” she said, her tone softening. Her fingers moved to the back of her neck, a nervous habit, as her gaze flickered down. “I just… I want to spend more time with you,” she murmured, almost shyly. “To get to know you… and stuff.”

Solas sighed, the sharpness in his expression melting into something gentler. Her wisedome and thoughtfulness, unexpected from a Dalish, tugged at something deep within him. There was a thirst for knowledge in her, one he hadn't encountered since Arlathan. And beyond that, the way she viewed the world—thoughtful, questioning—aligned so closely with his own.

His gaze lingered on her eyes, those warm honeyed orbs that seemed to pull him in. Few possessed such a rare shade of amber, and yet, they revealed so much. He knew that indulging in this would only deepen the inevitable pain, but the words left his lips before he could stop them.

“Very well,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Her face lit up in response, the tension melting from her features, replaced by pure, unfiltered excitement. The joy that radiated from her smile chased away his usual melancholy, if only for a fleeting moment. He would allow himself this—just this.

“Then it’s settled,” he added, watching her eyes brighten as the nervousness faded entirely.

“Really?” The word slipped out before she could stop it, her voice tinged with surprise. Ellana’s eyes widened as the tips of her ears flushed a deep crimson. “I mean—good. That’s... great,” she stammered, her nervousness rushing back, tripping over her words as she searched for the right thing to say.

Solas’s lips curled into a quiet chuckle, his gaze never wavering from hers. He found her flustered state charming. “Ma vhenan,” he murmured, the word soft and familiar. What had once been a simple title now carried a warmth that wrapped around them both. “I will meet you in the Great Hall at the toll of the seventh bell. I assume I must dress accordingly for this event?”

Ellana’s attempt to gather herself faltered as she coughed awkwardly, her gaze darting away from his steady gray-blue eyes. “Yes... yes,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t hold his gaze—not for too long. His eyes were too intense, too knowing, as if he could peer into her very soul. That prolonged eye contact felt like a secret only they shared, something that left her breathless and exposed.

She stole another glance at him, her cheeks still burning, while Solas watched with that same quiet amusement, his presence grounding her even as her thoughts scattered.

Ellana stood in the shadowed hallway just off the Great Hall, her heart fluttering wildly against her ribs. She had arrived long before the seventh bell, unable to stand the waiting any longer. Pressing her back against the cold stone wall, she took slow, deliberate breaths, trying to calm the nervous energy that buzzed through her.

Weeks of planning had led to this night, though Solas had only just agreed. Josie had been a quiet co-conspirator, helping Ellana prepare every detail with the precision and secrecy the occasion demanded. The idea had taken root long ago, even before she had gathered the courage to ask him. She had enlisted Josie’s aid to design something truly special—a dress inspired by the remnants of ancient elven formal wear she had glimpsed in the Fade.

Her explorations, though, had only gotten her so far. Ellana's skills in the Fade were nothing compared to Solas’s mastery, and even under his mentorship, she had struggled to find what she sought. Still, she had managed to uncover fragments—enough to give Josie a starting point. Together, they had worked tirelessly, sketching the design in secret. A trusted tailor had been discreetly commissioned to bring their vision to life.

Now, as she smoothed her hands down the soft fabric of the dress, Ellana still wondered if she had done enough. The material felt foreign against her skin, elegant in a way she wasn’t sure she could carry. What had she found in the Fade? A noblewoman’s gown? A warrior’s ceremonial garb? She hadn’t been certain then, and even now, wearing the finished piece, she still wasn’t sure.

Only Josie knew of the dress’s existence—well, Josie and likely Leliana, who had a way of learning things without being told. But no one else. Not even Solas. Not yet.

Ellana closed her eyes and took another deep breath, her fingers trembling slightly as the seventh bell loomed. Soon, she would see his reaction. Would he recognize the effort she’d made? Would he care? The questions swirled through her mind, but for now, she could only wait.

The dress was unlike anything Ellana had ever worn, crafted from lavender Dales loden wool that felt soft yet substantial against her skin. The fabric hugged her figure, its low-cut neckline baring her sternum, while a corset adorned with delicate silver detailing cinched her waist, flowing gracefully down to brush the floor. The sleeves, loose and flowing, parted to reveal glimpses of the soft, tan skin of her inner arms. Silver links, thick and intricately woven, fastened the fabric at her elbows and wrists, catching the light with every subtle movement.

Her feet, like those of most elves, remained bare, though her steps were far from unadorned. Barefoot sandals, designed by a jeweler in Val Royeaux, trailed over her second toe, wrapping her feet in delicate strands of diamonds that sparkled with each step. The gems wound their way up her foot, clasping around her ankle with a dark blue sapphire—oval-shaped and elegant—nestled just above the split where the sandal framed her slender leg.

The weight of the evening pressed against her chest, a mixture of anticipation and doubt. She smoothed her hands over the fabric, her fingers trembling slightly as she worked up the nerve to move. With a quiet breath, Ellana peered around the corner of the dimly lit hallway, her heart quickening. Was Solas already there?

Her eyes scanned the Great Hall, searching for his familiar figure. Each second felt stretched thin, her pulse thrumming in her ears as she waited for that first glimpse of him.

He was already there. The moment Ellana spotted him, her face flushed with warmth. Solas had shed his usual "apostate hobo outfit," as Dorian had once teased, and instead stood in something far more refined. A light green, high-collared robe, fastened with delicate clasps, draped elegantly over his frame. The fabric shimmered slightly, a kind of silk that caught the light, and a beige belt tied neatly at his waist. The robes parted just enough to reveal darker green breeches that clung to his calves, ending just above his bare feet. His hands were clasped behind his back, his eyes scanning the room—searching for her.

Ellana swallowed, her nerves tightening the muscles in her chest as she stepped out from the shadows of the stairwell. The light of the Great Hall bathed her, and for a moment, she hesitated, her fists clenching at her sides. She made a soft sound, barely more than a whisper of her presence, but it was enough.

Solas turned.

The change in his expression was immediate. The faint smile he had worn vanished, replaced by something far deeper—a stunned silence. His gaze swept over her, lingering on every detail of her gown, her bare feet adorned in delicate jewels, her flushed cheeks. His hands dropped to his sides, forgotten, as if the simple act of holding them together had slipped his mind.

For once, Solas—so eloquent, so measured—was speechless.

Ellana’s heart raced. She could feel his eyes on her, and for a fleeting moment, all her nervousness melted away. She had hoped for this reaction, but seeing it play out in front of her stirred something deeper. In his silence, in the way his breath seemed to catch, she knew.

She had left him breathless.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, until Ellana, feeling her heartbeat quicken, finally whispered, “Hi…” Her voice barely carried in the vastness of the Great Hall. She quickly broke eye contact, sure that her face was flushed as red as a freshly picked apple.

Solas continued to stare, as though caught in a dream. “Inquis—Lavel—” His words faltered, and he coughed softly, regaining his composure. “Ellana,” he finally whispered, her name falling from his lips like a secret meant only for her. His deep voice sent a shiver through her, ringing in her ears, grounding her and sending her pulse racing all at once. The prolonged silence made Ellana’s nerves spike, and panic rose in her chest. “If you don’t like—“

“Ma ir'ina'lan'ehn,” Solas interrupted, his voice soft but firm. “You are beautiful…” His words were laced with awe as he closed the distance between them, his hands gently reaching for hers.

Her breath caught, the world around them shrinking until only he remained. “Ma serannas,” she whispered, her fingers entwining with his, the warmth of his touch sending a calm through her that steadied her nerves. His hands, so careful and deliberate, lingered for a moment before he gently released them.

Solas's fingers found their way to her hair, running through the silky waves that fell over her shoulders, his touch light yet intimate. His gaze softened as he looked into her eyes, a tender smile curving his lips. For a moment, time itself seemed to pause, the connection between them palpable and unspoken.

With a graceful step back, Solas extended his arm to her, his confidence returning. “Shall we depart, ma vhenan?” he asked, his voice smooth and assured, though his eyes never left hers, as if entranced.

Ellana smiled, her heart fluttering again, and took his arm, feeling the strength and warmth beneath her fingertips. In that moment, everything else faded away—there was only them.

Unable to trust her voice, Ellana nodded softly, slipping her hand into the crook of Solas’s arm. His presence beside her was both comforting and overwhelming, and as they began walking together, she marveled at how effortless it seemed for him.

By the time they had taken their seats in the amphitheater, the quiet anticipation of the evening hung between them. Ellana's hand had slipped from his, not because she wanted to let go, but because of the persistent worry gnawing at her—her hands were clammy, slick with the nervousness she couldn’t shake. The last thing she wanted was for Solas to feel her unease and pull away. She stole a glance at him, hoping he hadn’t noticed her quiet withdrawal.

Solas, however, appeared entirely at ease. A small, content smile played on his lips as he observed the patrons filing in, the hum of conversation and rustling of seats filling the amphitheater. He seemed so natural in this setting, as though he belonged there, far removed from the weight of their shared burdens. Watching him, Ellana couldn’t help but wonder what it had been like for him in the world before—when attending musical performances and gatherings like this had been as ordinary as breathing.

While Ellana’s heart raced with each passing moment, Solas remained steady, as if the centuries between his past and present had collapsed into one comfortable memory. His calm only heightened her nerves, making her acutely aware of every tiny tremor in her hands, every beat of her heart.

Suddenly, Ellana squealed, her voice cutting through the quiet of the amphitheater as she threw herself into Solas’s side, clutching his arm tightly. A stranger had unceremoniously plopped down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders with far too much familiarity. Her heart raced, and she stiffened, pressing closer to Solas for comfort.

Solas immediately turned, his mouth opening to confront the intruder. His posture stiffened, protective instincts flaring—until he caught sight of the man's face. The realization hit, and he grimaced.

Of course. Dorian Pavus.

The Tevinter mage sat with a grin that practically stretched across all of Thedas, entirely too pleased with himself. "I must say!" Dorian announced with mock drama, leaning back into his seat with all the nonchalance of someone who had been invited. "Our dearest Inquisitor and the elven apostate! What a pair!"

Solas narrowed his eyes at him, his jaw tightening in irritation. Just as he was about to offer a sharp retort, Ellana beat him to it.

“Dorian! What are you doing here?” she sputtered, her voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief as she hurriedly shrugged off the mage’s unwelcome arm.

Dorian’s grin only widened, clearly enjoying every second of the disruption. “I could ask the same of you, my friend,” he said, his tone light and teasing. His gaze darted between her and Solas, his eyebrow arching with curiosity and mischief.

Ellana hesitated, her grip tightening around Solas’s arm. “I-I’m…” she faltered, her face flushing crimson as she searched for an explanation, but the words wouldn’t come. The heat from Solas’s body only seemed to make her nerves worse.

Dorian, clearly relishing the sight of the two caught in public, wasn’t about to let the moment pass without escalating their discomfort.

“Dorian—” Solas began, his voice edged with irritation, but Dorian cut him off with a dramatic flourish. “Our elusive woodsman-apostate hobo, all cleaned up for our darling Inquisitor! I never thought I'd live to see this day!” he drawled, leaning in as if inspecting them more closely.

Ellana’s face flushed a deep crimson, her voice squeaking in protest. “Dorian, please!” she managed, mortified by the attention and unable to meet Solas’s eyes. She squeezed his arm even tighter, hoping Dorian would let them off the hook.

But the Tevinter mage was having too much fun. “Oh, alright,” Dorian sighed theatrically, throwing his hands in the air. “I suppose I’ll leave the lovebirds in peace!” He sprang from his seat with exaggerated flair, drawing far too much attention for Ellana��s liking. “I do have my own date to attend to, after all!” he added with a wink, flashing them a mischievous grin before sauntering away.

Both Ellana and Solas watched as Dorian strutted back up the aisle, taking his seat beside Iron Bull. The Qunari grinned widely and, with his usual exuberance, bellowed, “Hey, boss!” His enormous hand waved toward them, drawing more attention than Ellana would have liked, before he draped his arm casually over Dorian’s shoulder.

Ellana’s face flushed once more as the lights in the amphitheater began to dim, the gentle hum of the audience settling into their seats filling the air. She instinctively moved closer to Solas, leaning in until her lips were just inches from his ear. “Ir abelas,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin, sending a gentle shiver down his spine. “I didn’t know they were going to be here.”

Her voice, soft and laced with embarrassment, tickled his ear, causing a prickling sensation to spread along his skin. He turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting hers, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade into the background.

“It is quite alright, ma vhenan,” Solas murmured, his deep voice barely above a whisper as his eyes locked onto hers. Her honey-colored eyes shimmered in the dim light, and their proximity made his pulse quicken. She was so close—closer than she had ever been before. If he leaned in just a fraction more, their lips would meet

They remained locked in each other’s gaze, the world around them blurring and fading away. Time seemed to suspend itself, stretching the moment into something timeless and delicate. Neither of them moved, neither spoke—each breath felt shared, each heartbeat synchronized.

But the spell broke as the announcer’s voice rang out, addressing the audience. Ellana blinked, reality slipping back into focus. A shy smile tugged at her lips as she leaned closer, tentatively shifting until her shoulder brushed against his. Solas, responding almost instinctively, let his arm slip around her, his fingers gently settling on her shoulder.

Ellana’s breath hitched as his embrace drew her in. She relaxed, allowing her head to nestle into the curve of his neck, the warmth of his touch soothing her nerves. Solas’s hold was both protective and gentle, as if he were afraid that the moment might shatter if he moved too suddenly.

He let out a soft, contented sigh, and she felt it reverberate through his chest, the vibration soothing her like a lullaby. Slowly, Solas leaned his cheek against her hair, closing his eyes briefly as if savoring the simple closeness between them.

As the curtains rose and the first notes of the musical filled the amphitheater, the rest of the world faded once more. Whatever was happening on stage, neither of them noticed. Not fully. This—this quiet, unspoken intimacy—was the true performance of the evening.

#solas #solavellan #solas x lavellan #solas x female lavellan #solas x oc #solas dragon age #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #solas x inquisitor #solavellan hell #isera lavellan #vir writes #dragon age veilguard #datv #dragon age the veilguard #The Melody Between Us

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shinyasahalo · 4 months ago

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Top 100 AO3 Dua Ships (Sept. 21, 2024)

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(F/M) Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford (Dragon Age) 9,008 fics

(F/M) Hermione Granger/Harry Potter (Harry Potter) 8,839 fics

(F/M) Allison Argent/Scott McCall (Teen Wolf TV) 8,788 fics

(F/M) Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke (Naruto) 8,473 fics

(F/M) Jon Snow/Sansa Stark (Game of Thrones TV/Song of Ice and Fire) 8,295 fics

(F/M) Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda) 8,218 fics

(F/M) Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons (Agents of SHIELD TV/Marvel) 8,118 fics

(F/M) Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) 8,045 fics

(F/M) Michelle Jones/Peter Parker (Spider-Man/Marvel) 8,032 fics

(F/M) Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark (The Hunger Games) 7,999 fics

(F&M) Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington (Stranger Things TV) 7,963 fics

(F/M) Katara/Zuko (Avatar Last Airbender) 7,761 fics

(F/M) Alya Cesaire | Rena Rouge/Nino Lahiffe | Carapace (Miraculous Ladybug) 7,625 fics

(F&M) Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug (Miraculous Ladybug) 7,573 fics

(F&M) Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren (Sequel Trilogy/Star Wars) 7,530 fics

(F/M) Bakugou Katsuki/Uraraka Ochako (MHA) 7,524 fics

(F/M) Olivia Benson/Elliot Stabler (Law and Order SVU TV) 7,435 fics

(F/M) Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen (The Rookie TV) 7,293 fics

(F/M) Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age) 7,289 fics

(F/M) Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers (Agent Carter TV/Marvel) 7,241 fics

(F/M) Leia Organa/Han Solo (Original Trilogy/Star Wars) 6,957 fics

(F/M) Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy (Harry Potter) 6,868 fics

(F/M) Spike/Buffy Summers (Buffy the Vampire Slayers TV) 6,854 fics

(F/M) Sam Carter/Jack O'Neill (Stargate SG-1 TV) 6,725 fics

(F&M) Midoriya Inko & Midoriya Izuku (MHA) 6,702 fics

(F/M) Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester (Supernatural TV) 6,568 fics

(F/M) Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov (Avengers/Marvel) 6,490 fics

(F/M) Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones (Riverdale TV/Archie Comics) 6,438 fics

(F/M) Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway (Star Trek Voyager TV) 6,431 fics

(F&M) Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov (Avengers/Marvel) 6,403 fics

(F/M) Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age) 6,317 fics

(F/M) James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov (Avengers/Marvel) 6,313 fics

(F/M) Mary Morstan/John Watson (Sherlock TV) 6,279 fics

(F/M) Gendry/Arya Stark (Game of Thrones TV/Song of Ice and Fire) 6,185 fics

(F/M) Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler (Stranger Things TV) 6,165 fics

(F/M) Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian (Mass Effect) 6,115 fics

(F/M) The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov (Shadow and Bone TV/Grishaverse) 6,090 fics

(F/M) Jane Foster/Thor (Thor Movies/Marvel) 6,042 fics

(F/M) Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington (Bridgerton TV) 5,935 fics

(F/M) James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character (Marvel) 5,933 fics

(F/M) Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra Targaryen (House of the Dragon TV/Song of Ice and Fire) 5,918 fics

(F/M) Wanda Maximoff/Vision (WandaVision TV/Marvel) 5,865 fics

(F/M) Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen (Game of Thrones TV/Song of Ice and Fire) 5,806 fics

(F&M) Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader & Ahsoka Tano (The Clone Wars/Star Wars) 5,652 fics

(F/M) Loki/Original Female Character (Marvel) 5,456 fics

(F/M) Kaz Brekker/Inef Ghafa (Six of Crows/Grishaverse) 5,393 fics

(F&M) Aunt May Parker & Peter Parker (Spider-Man/Marvel) 5,370 fics

(F/M) Dean Winchester/Original Female Character (Supernatural TV) 5,301 fics

(F/M) Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang (Fullmetal Alchemist) 5,269 fics

(F/M) Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne (Batman/DCU) 5,246 fics

(F/M) Barry Allen/Iris West (The Flash TV/DCU) 5,213 fics

(F/M) Guinevere/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin TV/Arthurian Mythology) 5,166 fics

(F&M) Midoriya Izuku & Uraraka Ochako (MHA) 5,162 fics

(F/M) Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes (Teen Wolf TV) 5,128 fics

(F/M) Hyuuga Hinata/Uzumaki Naruto (Naruto) 5,047 fics

(F/M) Edward Cullen/Bella Swan (Twilight) 5,034 fics

(F/M) Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair (Stranger Things TV) 5,026 fics

(F/M) Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager (Attack on Titan) 5,019 fics

(F/M) Aang/Katara (Avatar Last Airbender) 4,999 fics

(F/M) Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso (Rogue One/Star Wars) 4,988 fics

(F/M) Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski (Teen Wolf TV) 4,970 fics

(F/M) Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age) 4,956 fics

(F/M) Natsu Dragneel/Lucy Heartfilia (Fairy Tail) 4,922 fics

(F/M) Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler (Stranger Things TV) 4,903 fics

(F/M) Caroline Forbes/Klaus Mikaelson (Vampire Diaries TV) 4,899 fics

(F/M) Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper (Stranger Things TV) 4,753 fics

(F/M) Higurashi Kagome/Inuyasha (Inuyasha) 4,711 fics

(F/M) Clark Kent/Lois Lane (Superman/DCU) 4,653 fics

(F/M) Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks (Marauders/Harry Potter) 4,590 fics

(F/M) Todoroki Shouto/Yaoyorozu Momo (MHA) 4,480 fics

(F/M) Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan (Dragon Age) 4,479 fics

(F/M) Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma (Bridgerton TV) 4,465 fics

(F/M) Lydia Martin/Jackson Whitteman (Teen Wolf TV) 4,435 fics

(F/M) Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark (Game of Thrones TV/Song of Ice and Fire) 4,429 fics

(F/M) Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester (Supernatural TV) 4,411 fics

(F/M) Tartaglia | Childe/Ying | Lumine (Genshin Impact) 4,360 fics

(F/M) Jirou Kyouka/Kaminari Denki (MHA) 4,349 fics

(F/M) Clary Fray/Jace Wayland (Shadowhunters TV) 4,340 fics

(F/M) Josh Lyman/Donna Moss (West Wing TV) 4,333 fics

(F/M) Astarion/Original Female Character (Baldur's Gate) 4,307 fics

Next list Dec. 21, 2024

#Duaric #Fandom Data Compilation #AO3 Statistics #Fanwork Research #Shipping Stats #Miraculous Ladybug #Harry Potter #Original Work #Sequel Trilogy #Marauders

8 notes · View notes