#dorian pavus x male lavellan | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aymayzing · 23 days ago

Text

I Cannot Erase You, I Cannot Replace You

He tried to protest still. Get back on track with his plan, pull the reality towards what he imagined. I should go. So no one would see him leaving the room in the morning. So he didn't get too used to this. So he didn't get too hopeful. I thought you came in here ready to set the tongues wagging?, Lavellan laughed into his hair before placing a soft kiss at the back of his neck, pulling Dorian closer, tightening his embrace. Stay. Please. I want you to stay. But it'd end in the morning, right? It had to. Whatever bubble they were in for the night, it had to pop in the morning with Dorian leaving, pull them back into the harsh reality. It didn't.

Read on AO3 or below!

"Your taste is a little… austere."

It wasn't exactly the right word but the best one Dorian could come up with to describe what he was seeing. Lavellan's private quarters were simple. Nothing special really. Odd for a man with the titles Lord Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste. One would expect this man's quarters to reflect his titles' grandeur. To be dripping in gold, wrapped in finest silks, filled with marble.

This wasn't the case. The furniture in the room were the same ones Josephine had chosen and put in here right after their arrival in Skyhold. Their financial situation at the time was not ideal and so she didn't go for splendor and glamour. The furniture were well-made and sturdy but that's about it. No fine craftsmanship, no gold. They were also very few. A bed, a couch, a dresser. The desk and chair were so utterly covered in letters, reports and books that Dorian wasn't sure if it was right to count them at all.

Personal touches reflecting the inhabitant's character were scarce as well. Assortment of herbs drying in bundles under the ceiling. A box holding the neatly stacked equipment for brweing poisons. A small Dalish altar on top of the dresser. A few furs of differing sizes usually residing on the bed but due to their exertions, now kicked down onto the floor, mixed with pieces of their clothing.

"I'm not used to having this much space for just myself," Lavellan said. Dorian turned around to look at him from where he was standing a few steps away from the bed. He cut a marvelous figure, lounging around naked like that. Long legs, wide shoulders, muscled arms. The occasional scar cutting through the freckled expanse of his skin, inked lines of tattoos stretching out from his face onto his neck, from his back onto his sides. Warm light of the fire place catching on his long pale blonde hair. Dorian was sure he'd never get enough of this view.

"The aravel I used to share with my father was… Maybe a third of the size of this room? And it had to fit all of our equipment. I don't know a thing about room decorating. You, on the other hand." Lavellan jabbed a finger towards Dorian. "You probably do. Feel free to change away. Creators know this room should feel a bit more homely."

Dorian chuckled as he made his way back to the bed and sat down on the edge. "I'll speak with Josephine. I'm sure we can arrange for a new armchair or a chaise. Maybe something to hang on the walls as well."

There was a smile on Lavellan's face but he was watching Dorian closely. "You seem kind of… distracted."

"Sex will do that. It's distracting," Dorian fired back immediately, hoping it came off as certain and casual as he intended for it to.

It didn't.

Lavellan's smile vanished. The tattoos on his forehead rippled as he drew his brows.

"Dorian." It was a warning. He knew something was up and he wasn't letting it go so easily. Somehow, he always knew when Dorian was dodging a conversation and recognized when it wasn't a conversation that should be dodged. Or maybe Dorian was just always dodging the important ones.

Fingers gently brushing down Dorian's side, Lavellan leaned forward a bit, looking at him with worry.

"Is it about our fight?"

It wasn't a fight, not really. It was a petty squabble over a non-issue. It stemmed from the two of them being tired, already annoyed and overhearing a remark of an Orlesian noble who's name they didn't even know. It was utterly silly. Lavellan recognized that quickly enough. What are we doing? This is stupid, he said, shaking his head as he left to cool off. He focused on other things for the rest of the day and by the evening, he had largely forgotten this took place at all, looking forward to seeing Dorian so they could make up.

Dorian didn't recognize it for the foolishness that it was. For him, it was the start of a downward spiral.

What did Lavellan mean by that? What is stupid? The fight? Or them?

Was that it? It had to end at some point. Whatever was happening between them was, after all, a short-lived affair. It had to be. What else could it be? Lavellan had to shake out of it and end things with Dorian so he could focus on being the Inquisitor or pursue someone more suited for him, like Josephine, or maybe Cassandra.

Dorian, of course, tried very hard to convince himself he knew that too, accepted it and was fine with it. Except he wasn't. That lie he repeated to himself every time he left the Inquisitor's quarters, had run its course. Faced with the possibility that Lavellan had finally come to his senses, Dorian had to admit he didn't want things to end. He didn't want to let Lavellan go. He wanted things to stay as they were. No. He wanted more. More of what he already got and some things he has not yet gotten.

He just wanted Lavellan.

As foolish as that was.

But now he went and ruined it. If he just tried harder, maybe he could've kept him by his side just a little longer. Keep up the fantasy for the both of them – for Lavellan, that for now Dorian was a good enough affair partner; for Dorian that he succeeded, that he had Lavellan. He didn't and he wasn't and now, because he was also stubborn and spoiled, Lavellan realized what Dorian knew all this time. A rejection was coming and Dorian's heart twisted in pain at the thought. But what else did he expect?

By the evening, Dorian had already convinced himself Lavellan would not only put an end to their affair, he must also surely despise him now and would send him away from the Inquisition.

He didn't even remember what exactly he said when he entered Lavellan's quarters. Something along those lines but presented in his more casual, confident way. Like they had already come to an understanding and Dorian was just recapping that, wrapping it in a layer of jokes so it'd be digestible.

What he did remember was the way Lys' golden-green eyes changed as he heard it all. From the initial warmth at the sight of Dorian, through confusion, to something like panic. He flew through the room to Dorian, hands reaching out to him, grasping at Dorian's arms. He sat him down on the couch (which in his shaken state Dorian noticed had been moved to stand in front of the fireplace, when he could swear last night it was by the stairs; was Lavellan dragging it around the room? He could use an armchair. Maybe a chaise).

As Lavellan's hands were caressing Dorian's face, moving up and down his arms, the elf was apologizing. I'm sorry if I made it seem like it was such a big deal to me. It wasn't. Of course it wasn't. It was so silly! I'm so sorry. You don't have to leave, what are you talking about? Of course, if you do want to leave, I will not hold you here against your will. But you don't have to leave. I don't want you to leave. You know that, right? I want you to stay. This fight meant nothing to me. I care about you. Please, stay. I'm so sorry.

Dorian's brain was at first rejecting what he was hearing. Surely, he must've misheard. That could not truly be what Lavellan was saying. No, Dorian knew exactly what Lavellan would say when he came here and it wasn't this.

So why was he hearing this?

Finally, Lavellan somehow broke through whatever walls Dorian's brain threw up in the past few hours. No wonder – he always found a way to strip down Dorian's defenses, get past them without Dorian realizing until it was too late. His brain caught onto how the situation was unfolding. It wasn't the way Dorian had earlier imagined.

And that wasn't surprising. Well, no, that's not right. It was surprising. It was shocking. Except it shouldn't have been. Not really. Lavellan tended to surprise Dorian. Defy his expectations. So maybe he should've seen it coming.

Dorian has, of course, heard about the Herald of Andraste even before meeting him that first time in the Redcliffe Chantry. He didn't spare him much thought before then but even still, unwittingly, his brain came up with a picture of the man he was about to meet. Sketched out his vague idea, expectations of how he'd look, how he'd behave. He could not recall now what that image was but it certainly wasn't Lavellan.

He knew he was an elf. Aside from that, not one thing did he imagine about the man right. He didn't expect a dashing rogue. He didn't imagine the man would be this down to earth. He certainly did not foresee the two of them joking about getting Alexius a fruit basket a few minutes into their first conversation.

Whatever stencil his brain came up, it had to be discarded immediately.

And then it happened again, in that dark future. Lavellan was no religious fanatic, he was a random person dragged into a gigantic mess, trying to make the right decisions in the very middle of it. He wasn't a divine knight rushing into the thick of battle in righteous anger. He was an archer, hiding in the shadows, keeping back, away from enemies. He didn't stomp down the Southern mages' rebellion, he allied with them, therefore legitimizing the whole ordeal.

And again. Back during that final night in Haven, under attack, Dorian imagined Lavellan as a martyr, dying heroically under tons and tons of snow. Maybe he'd be named an Anointed by the Southern Chantry, depicted the way Dorian saw his last moments in his mind – head held high, blade raised as snow was rushing close. But that image was wrong. The whole scene Dorian imagined was wrong. Lavellan didn't die. He got back to them. Undignified, shivering, with blue lips and dried blood caked on his temple, gluing together strands of his hair, unlike all those clean, smooth depictions of holy women and men the Chantry so liked.

And then again. When Dorian strolled into the Inquisitor's quarters after weeks, months of flirting, of him helping Dorian, getting wrapped up in his personal business with his father and then watching over him as he drank himself into a stupor.

Dorian had realized whatever he was feeling for Lavellan had began to drift away from friendship to something else. Something that caused his heart to beat faster whenever he caught Lavellan's gaze from across the room. That filled his chest with pride whenever he made him laugh. That made him feel both comfortable and at the same time rigid with anticipation when they were spending time together.

Back then he still tried to convince himself that it was just unbreached sexual tension. Most natural thing in the world, yes? Two attractive men, working closely together in a stressful situation. This called for some licking lampposts in winter, as the ridiculous Fereldan saying went. It'd satisfy them. Satiate their curiosity about one another. Calm them down and allow Dorian to put some much needed distance between the two of them.

Dorian had a very clear idea of what he came in that room for that evening. Expectations on how this would go. A step by step plan. Specific goals. It all fell apart within the first two minutes when Lavellan broke the kiss. My, so eager, he laughed then. Are we in a hurry? Dorian went back to the kiss, all hungry lips, teeth and tongue. I want you, he whispered to Lavellan. He pulled back a bit, grasped Dorian's face with both hands. I'm here. With you. You've got me already. You've had me for a while now.

Where Dorian aimed for a quick tumble, two people simply chasing release, Lavellan went for something much different. He took his time. They kissed long enough for Dorian to be left breathless, hands just roaming over their clothed bodies, slowly discovering each other. Then Lavellan guided them to the bed and they undressed slowly while kissing and laughing and looking into each other's eyes. In the time it took them just to get naked, any of Dorian's usual trysts in dark corners would've been done twice over. But this was not a usual tryst. Fear and hope both accompanied this realization as Dorian breathlessly whispered Lys' name again and again and again and again.

They laughed and kissed and swapped stories about their scars before going for seconds and by the time Lavellan crawled back into bed after cleaning them up, Dorian was half asleep, comfortable and safe, his chest swelling with something bright and hopeful. He tried to protest still. Get back on track with his plan, pull the reality towards what he imagined. I should go. So no one would see him leaving the room in the morning. So he didn't get too used to this. So he didn't get too hopeful. I thought you came in here ready to set the tongues wagging?, Lavellan laughed into his hair before placing a soft kiss at the back of his neck, pulling Dorian closer, tightening his embrace. Stay. Please. I want you to stay.

But it'd end in the morning, right? It had to. Whatever bubble they were in for the night, it had to pop in the morning with Dorian leaving, pull them back into the harsh reality.

It didn't.

Where Dorian thought the morning after would be awkward and embarrassing, Lavellan put him at ease. Where Dorian expected a hurried exit, Lavellan prolonged their goodbye by pulling him in for a kiss and one more and one more and one more and one more. Where Dorian expected to be thrilled to leave after accomplishing all that he set out to accomplish that night, he ended up not wanting to leave at all, drawn to the man like a moth to a flame. Where he expected inner calm and capacity to focus entirely on his studies and the Inquisition's mission, he found himself utterly distracted, thinking back to his time with Lavellan, looking around for any sign of the man, craving any scrap of his attention, wishing for another moment alone with him.

And then he got another night and another and another and another and another. And Lavellan would stop by to talk with him in the library, ask him out for drinks at the tavern, seek Dorian out to spend with him whatever breaks he could take from his duties. Out in the field, they fought side by side during the day and fell asleep in each other's arms at night. Dorian hasn't complained about being out in nature in weeks. He was happy he was where Lavellan was.

Whatever bubble they found themselves in that first night together, was, shockingly, still there.

That was the most surprising thing Dorian has ever experienced. And it was, of course, at the hands of Lavellan. Always surprising. Always defying expectations.

So is it any wonder that this man who always surprised Dorian, surprised him again when he began to apologize for their silly fight?

That fog of fear and shame that wrapped itself around Dorian had dissipated, relief flooding his senses. The only thing Dorian found himself able to do was kiss Lavellan, again and again and again and again. They ended up in his bed and Dorian knew now with unshaken certainty that he was in trouble. He had completely lost the plot. Lost his head. Found himself in circumstances he didn't anticipate, didn't foresee, could not have imagined.

A completely new path with no clear end and no directions was opening up before him.

All this was still buzzing in his head as he lied by Lavellan's side, their breaths evening out. As he had stood up from the bed, turned away from Lavellan and began appraising his room, giving himself a moment to breathe and gather his thoughts. As he sat back down on the bed, deciding to use the chance to speak with Lavellan.

Is it about our fight?

"No," Dorian said. "Yes," he changed his answer. Took a deep breath. "In a way?"

Lavellan shifted on the bed, sat up, mirroring Dorian's posture, preparing for a more serious conversation. Gathered his long hair and threw it over the shoulder away from Dorian, so he could see his face unobscured by the frankly ridiculous amount of hair this man had. He kept it braided when out in field and tried to keep it braided, or at least pulled back, in bed too but Dorian usually got his way and let them down. He loved running his fingers trough it, wrapping it around his hand, pulling slightly, just enough for the pressure to incite small, delicious sounds of out his lover's lips.

A good thing he was pulling his hair away from Dorian, he got distracted quickly when Lavellan's hair was involved.

"I'm curious where this goes, you and I."

“Where do you want it to go?” Lys asked softly. Dorian bit his cheek, considering the question.

“All on me, then?”

It was fair, he supposed. He brought it up. Maybe Lavellan would've even conceded to saying his bit first but Dorian worked up the courage to talk. A completely new path with no clear end and no directions was opening up before him. Uncertain. Leading into new and unknown territory. High risk, high reward. Terrifying. Yet hopeful and exciting. Promising so much of what Dorian craved so desperately. And he was willing to risk venturing down this path but he had to know if Lavellan saw it the same way.

Deep breath. Bracing himself for speaking aloud the truth he tried to keep from happening and then from acknowledging. He failed in that, of course. Clearly.

“I like you. More than I should. More than might be wise,” Dorian whispered, making sure to look anywhere but Lavellan's eyes. He shook his head. "We end it here, I walk away. I won't be pleased, but I'd rather now than later. Later…" Later I will be fully, completely, utterly in love with you. Later, you'll break my heart. And I don't know if I'll be able to pick up the pieces left by you later. "It might be harder to walk away later."

Dorian was sick to his stomach. Such vulnerability. Back in Tevinter, a conversation like this was unimaginable. Unattainable. It would leave him and his family exposed to an attack. Even here, even now, even with Lavellan, something in Dorian's brain was shrieking in alarm, warning him he was about to pay a high price for those words.

Fists clenching, nails digging into his palms, he took a deep breath. Just a few moments longer. He had to pull through just a bit longer and he'd knew.

Lavellan noticed this and put his own hand over Dorian's, thumb brushing the skin slowly, soothingly.

"I don't want you to walk away," Lys said softly.

Dorian whipped his head around, looking at Lavellan surprised. Yet again.

Of course the bloody bastard surprised him again.

Lavellan let go of Dorian's hand to shift on the bed, his body now turned fully towards Dorian, legs tucked under him. He grasped Dorian's face in both hands, their eyes meeting, fingers brushing Dorian's skin.

"I don't you to walk away," he repeated, softly but with a decisiveness to it. "Not now, not later." He raised himself up a bit which left him kneeling on the bed. "I want you. I want you to stay. Please, Dorian. Stay. Stay with me."

They looked into each other's eyes for a while, Dorian searching Lavellan's face, as if for confirmation. He seemed serious. Honest. How odd. How surprising.

How was Dorian once again surprised that Lavellan surprised him? He truly needed to get used to this.

The words were sinking in and the only thing Dorian found himself able to do was kiss Lavellan, again and again and again and again.

A completely new path with no clear end and no directions was opening up before them. Uncertain. Leading into new and unknown territory. High risk, high reward. Terrifying. Yet hopeful and exciting. Promising so much of what Dorian craved so desperately. And he was willing to risk venturing down this path now that he knew Lavellan saw it the same way. They'd risk this new path together.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dorian pavus #male inquisitor #male lavellan #dorian x inquisitor #dorian x lavellan #pavellan #inquisitor lavellan #dragon age fanfiction #oc: lys lavellan #may writes #inquisitor x dorian #lavellan x dorian #lys x dorian

18 notes · View notes

dolainiedola · 4 months ago

Text

DAI was my first Dragon Age game, so those two are my first pairing and Dorian became my favourite character immediately and his romance too of course :)

Dorian and Or'ielen by Me

Thanks @satterlly @storybookhawke for cc

#my oc's #oc sims #sims 4 #the sims #ts4 #sims 4 screenshots #the sims4 #my sims #Dorian Pavus #Or'ielen Lavellan #male Lavellan #dragon age inquisition #dai #lavellan #dorian x inquisitor #inquisitor lavellan #pavellan #mage Lavellan

24 notes · View notes

redlyriumidol · 11 months ago

Text

he likes to sit on tables and distract his boyfriend from important research

#pavellan #lavellan x dorian #dorian pavus #dorian x lavellan #u can tell I got lazy with the books #dragon age fanart #male lavellan #finian lavellan #My art #I hate dorians skyhold clothes I started trying to do them and gave up lol #dragon age

72 notes · View notes

aldruiel-scribbles · 2 years ago

Text

Romancing Dorian, after a Solavellan playthrough is a shock.

The bar was so low, limbo dancing in elvhen hell with Andruil, that I wasn't expecting to actually experience emotional communication skills. I'm like: ???? The fuck is this ???? Someone being open about what they want ???? About our future ???? About themselves ???? SORCERY!!!

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dorian pavus #dorian x inquisitor #male adaar #male adaar x dorian #solavellan #solavellan hell #solas x lavellan #solas x inquisitor

307 notes · View notes

whatsgnat · 1 month ago

Text

I almost put the Corypheus' orb scene for "you know how to ball" 💀

Veilguard really had me missing them so here's my magnum opus Pavellan edit.

16 notes · View notes

aspiscean · 21 days ago

Text

still here mentally

also, let us pretend we can have buff elves in DA

#dorian pavus #male lavellan #male inquisitor #dorian x inquisitor #dorian x lavellan #dragon age inquisition

13 notes · View notes

catofadifferentcolor · 2 months ago

Text

Terrible Fic Idea #94: Raven's Plan, but make it Dragon Age

Having finished DA:V just yesterday, I've been beset by terrible fic ideas for the entire Dragon Age universe - especially this one, which I've been partially sitting on since I learned the DA:V release date and half-wrote on my phone at work today.

Or: What if half of Thedas time traveled from just after Dragon Age: The Veilguard to the very start of Dragon Age: Inquisition?

(DA:V spoilers below the cut)

aka the Fire in the Sunrise fic

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon through DA:V, with Solas agreeing to tie his life force to the Veil. Rook and her allies walk off into the sunset...

...and wake up eleven years in the past, in the year 9:41, the morning after the Breach was closed for the first time - as does approximately half of Thedas.

For those first few days chaos reigns: The people of Minrathous rise up against the Venaturi and the Magisterum in a violent, bloody convulsion that puts Maevaris Tilani back on the Archon's throne - and sees half of the worst slave owners and blood mages lynched in the streets. (Half of the rest are captured and face the courts; the rest flee into exile.) The Civil War in Orlais manages to somehow worsen, with Celene - who does remember - executing Grand Duchess Florianne for her future crimes. Gespard - who does not remember and thinks the Lost Future a hoax - believes it to be an escalation of the conflict, and retaliates in kind. Warden leadership convulses, as does what remains of the Templars. Overnight entirely new fractions appear across Thedas.

Into this Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan - here a warrior who romanced Dorian in that Lost Future - wakes in Haven after three days unconscious.

Those who remember flock to Haven by the dozen, though already plans are being made to preemptively move everyone to Skyhold.

Solas has been placed under arrest, as much for his own protection as anything else - which he submitted to quietly and willingly, much to the surprise of everyone who wasn't at the Archon's palace for the final battle. To everyone's greater surprise, the Inquisitor chooses to allow Solas parole - as the Dread Wolf has finally realized that destroying the present won't rebuild the past, it will just give him more to feel guilty about. This world is worth saving - indeed, it's been saved despite himself twice. Besides, he's still their best expert on the Veil.

Those present devise a plan: first, stop Corypheus, then find a way to deal with the remaining Evanuris without tearing down the Veil or allowing them to escape into the world.

It's an ambitious plan, not the least because they can't be sure how much their enemies know of the Lost Future. To say nothing of the constantly shifting political situation as others use their own knowledge to change things.

Vivianne is somehow the first DA:I companion not already at Haven to arrive, despite coming third-furthest.

Dorian shows up a week before they're set to move to Skyhold, an adorably tiny 13-year-old Rook in tow. ("I tracked her down the moment the fires stopped burning in Minrathous and told her father I was taking her to be my heir-apprentice. I'm afraid the story got twisted somewhere in the telling and now half of Tevinter believes she's the result of a youthful dalliance I didn't learn existed until the Lost Future. Completely ridiculous, of course, but it seems to have made my father happy.")

Lucanis just shows up one day a few weeks later - no one's quite sure when - and simply takes over the care and feeding of the inner circle. He's half babysitter, half bodyguard, and completely terrifying in a way that no 19-year-old should be. (At one point he takes down trio of assassins without dropping the cup of coffee he was holding.)

Others arrive as well - Grand Enchanter Fiona, Ser Barris, and the parts of their factions amenable to compromise; Emmrich, Manfred, and seven cartloads of books covering all aspects of the Veil; Inquisition forces from the Lost Future; &c - and others pledge their support - Empress Celene, King Alistair, Archon Maevaris, the Prince of Starkhaven, the Wardens, and newly (re)formed Lords of Fortune, &c.

(Hawke is in and out, and somehow finds himself Viscount of Kirkwall before the end, the people of the city deciding that the only way to spare themselves the deprivations of the future is to vote in a leader who can be guaranteed to have their best interests at heart.)

Despite the chaos, there's hope - and many heartfelt reunions.

In fact, the greater part of this fic in my mind is character moments - Dorian becoming a second father to young Rook, and the Inquisitor a third; Harding confronting Solas about everything he did to the Titans, but somehow the most compassionate towards his actions; Hawke practically weeping over Varric the first time he sees him in this timeline; Rook becoming the annoyingly sarcastic angel on Solas' shoulder; &c.

But there is plot.

Corypheus does not remember the future, but has plenty of high-placed followers who managed to live through the end of DA:V. Not quite abandoning his dreams of godhood, he uses the knowledge that The Old Gods are trapped behind the Veil to put together a ritual that will allow them freedom - for which they will certainly reward him with divinity.

The Inquisition gets wind of his plans and manages to bring an army to bear, but are not in time to stop the whole ritual. Elgar'nan is released into Thedas.

His first act is to kill Corypheus, who has the audacity to demand apotheosis for his actions.

Without Ghilan'nain, Elgar'nan is unable to unleash the Blight. He is still a Blighted mage of tremendous power, but cannot do as they did at D'Meta's Crossing.

War rages across Thedas - but a conventional war, with Elgar'nan taking over what remains of Corypheus' forces (and picking up more from the power-hungry, be they Antaam or human princes). Inquisition forces meet them in battle - sometimes winning, sometimes losing, sometimes fighting to a draw. All the while both sides search for the remaining Blighted dragons.

The Inquisition is in a good position - no one needs to be convinced to aide them this time - but still burdened by thousands of refugees and the need for the Inquisitor himself to seal the Fade rifts across the continent.

Eventually it all comes to a head, with Solas - aided by the mages of the Inquisition, Mourn Watch, and Veil Jumpers - coming up with a ritual that will allow Ghilan'nain to pass through the Veil, drawing off her life-force as she does. Should she survive the crossing, she'll be weak enough to kill in the minutes after, tying her life-force to it forever after.

Astoundingly, it all goes exactly according to plan. Ghilan'nain is drawn through the Veil and slain, strengthening the Veil.

Elgar'nan arrives in full force while the Inquisition is celebrating their victory - and many of their best fighters are exhausted from the ritual. It's a brutal, desperate fight - but in the end it's still-tiny, now 14-year-old Rook that strikes the final blow, having slipped away from the other children when things started looking bad.

Bonuses include:

All the character moments. I imagine an incredibly sassy baby Rook acquiring parents, aunts, and uncles left and right from throughout the Inquisition. (Weirdly enough, she ends up being the one to draw Solas out of his my redemption-equals-death got undone, what do I do now? funk, and the two can often be found in each other's company. Like a grouchy Spock and sarcastic Bones.) She starts calling Dorian dad as a joke, comes to mean it, and the story repeats for pretty much everyone. And for everyone else? Well, there's nothing like time travel to make people appreciate eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die.

For every high, there is a low. There should be genuine moments where it looks like the Inquisition is going to fail.

An exploration of the weird dynamics time travel makes. To those that don't remember, relationships seem to change, develop, or break apart overnight. There's a spate of weddings - and divorces - in the days immediately after. A least one member of the Inner Circle is glad that their partner is alive again, but cries at night for the children that have now not been born. (Rook and Lucanis were desperately in love in the Lost Future and are still in love in the new timeline, but it's weird now that she's just hitting puberty, and navigating that should be an ongoing B-plot.) And that's not including having to play nice with with person who killed you, or having PTSD from being killed, or one-sided relationships with people who don't remember.

It never being made clear what caused the time travel, but assumed that it was a failsafe the Evanuris had been working on in their prison once their archdemons started dying in the Blights.

And... yeah. I'm sure there's more I could flesh out here, but I just had this very strong desire for Inquisitor + Dorian + Rook found family, and here we are. As always, feel free to adopt, just link back if you ever do anything with it.

More DA Ideas | More Terrible Fic Ideas

17 notes · View notes

quizzievivicalavellan · 3 months ago

Text

A Surprising Proposal

I am so pumped for Veilguard and it has me right back in my Dragon Age obsession lol. I'm still not over Dorian leaving at the end of Trespasser, so here is he and my Inquisitor's cutesy and romantic reunion. Hope you enjoy!

****

“Fasta vaas! Where is he?” Dorian swore under his breath. He was clutching the sending crystal amulet so tight his knuckles were turning white, and his knee was bouncing up and down with impatience and anxiety.

“Busy, most likely. He is one of the most important people in Thedas, after all. Continuing to glare at that thing won’t make him call any sooner,” Neve replied with a good-natured roll of her eyes. As two Tevinter mages set on righting the wrongs of their homeland, the pair had quickly struck up an alliance upon Dorian’s return to Minrathous.

His other ally and old friend, Maevaris, entered the room carrying two glasses of a fine Tevinter red. “Come now, darling, have a drink, relax. If anything had happened, that spymaster friend of yours would have sent word.”

“Unless they were both assassinated,” Dorian retorted. “That is the sort of thing that would happen to them.” He sighed. “He was supposed to call four days ago; he’s never been that late before.”

The soft, familiar hum of a sending crystal startled Dorian so much he nearly jumped out of his chair.

Unfortunately, the amulet he still clutched tightly in his fist remained dull and silent. He resisted the impulse to throw it across the room in frustration.

Neve held up her own sending crystal close to her ear to hear the whispered message from the speaker on the other end. “Got a couple of slave wagons on the move down by the docks, near Ilario’s Imports. Figured you’d want to check it out. Free a few elves, crack a few slavers’ skulls.”

“I’ll be there soon. Thank you, Flavia,” Neve whispered back to the elven spy, one of many in Neve’s network of Shadow Dragons. Once the crystal went silent, Neve walked over to the door, grabbing her staff before turning back to face Dorian and Maevaris.

“Well, are you coming? Could be a fun distraction,” she said with a twirl of her staff.

“Sure, prowling around dark alleys at night sounds sooo much more fun than sitting back with a glass of wine,” Maevaris replied with a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head.

“Normally, I’d agree, but alas, a very handsome idiot who is four days late calling me somehow inspired me to be a revolutionary. And now here I am, giving up a quiet evening and a good vintage to stalk around in the rain and the dark and the cold,” Dorian complained in his exaggerated, theatrical fashion. “I could have been lounging in a castle being hand-fed grapes by Inquisition forces, you know, but I just had to come back and save my homeland.”

“Oh yes, how very noble and selfless of you,” Neve teased, “Truly, you have a heart of gold.”

Maevaris sighed dramatically. “Fine, have it your way, but you owe me a bottle of Agreggio.”

Staves in hand, the three mages snuck out into the dark, rainy streets of Minrathous.

**************************

The trio waited in an alley for the approaching slave wagons. Unfortunately, there was no overhang to block the onslaught of rain. A very wet Maevaris glared at Dorian from behind dripping blonde bangs.

“Why did I agree to this again?”

“A bottle of Agreggio.”

“Right,” Maevaris sighed, “better make that two.”

“Shh, they’re getting close,” Neve whispered, “Maevaris, distract the driver in the lead wagon. Dorian and I will sneak around and open the one in the back.”

Maevaris nodded before waltzing out of the alley with as much grace and bravado as one sopping wet magister could muster. “Excuse me, dear, could I ask you a question?”

Dorian and Neve could hear the muffled sound of Maevaris talking the driver’s ear off as they walked quickly but quietly toward the last wagon.

The doors of the wagon were locked shut and the sound of scared and confused murmuring came from within. Dorian pulled on a bit of magic to break through the lock, and he and Neve carefully swung open the double doors to avoid any creaking hinges.

What Dorian saw when he opened the door was the last possible thing he was expecting.

There, standing in the middle of the wagon with the chain of his manacles wrapped around the guard’s throat, was his Amatus. Ashavan. The Inquisitor.

Dorian just stood there, dumbfounded into silence, as a familiar, mischievous grin lit up Ashavan’s face.

“Ah, Dorian. Perfect timing!”

Neve looked back and forth between Dorian and the chestnut-haired elf in the slave wagon. “Wait, is that –?”

“Andraste’s flaming tits, what are you doing here?!” Dorian interrupted.

“Coming to see you.”

“I don’t mean in Tevinter, I mean what are you doing in the back of a slave wagon?!” Dorian yelled in exasperation.

“I should probably explain later; with this commotion I imagine we’ll be rather busy in a moment.” The guard Ashavan was choking went limp and the elf let him drop to the floor. “Would either of you happen to have a knife?”

Dorian let out an exasperated sigh as he removed the pointed end of his staff and handed it to Ashavan. The trio made quick work of the rest of the slavers; all of them had disposed of far worse foes than these pathetic, back-alley dregs. Ashavan somehow fought gracefully despite the manacles chaining his right wrist to what remained of his left arm.

Once the slavers’ corpses were decorating the rainy street, Dorian and Neve turned to face the Inquisitor. It was difficult to picture him as one of the most powerful people in the world, standing there dripping wet, dressed in what could graciously be described as rags.

“Do you want a hand with that?” Neve asked, gesturing to the manacles.

“I don’t need any hands to get out of this, but thank you anyway.” Ashavan ran his tongue along the side of his mouth, pulling forward a small metal lockpick and holding it between his teeth. He lifted his right wrist to his mouth and unlocked the metal shackle with surprising speed, quickly following with the left arm.

“It was amusing watching them try to figure out what to do with this,” Ashavan said with a smirk, lifting his arms, the left of which was missing below the elbow.

Solas, or Fen’Harel, or the Dread Wolf, whatever he called himself these days, had removed it to spare the Inquisitor from the pain of the anchor. The bald elf might be a crazed ancient god and a complete bastard, but Dorian had to admit he was grateful to Solas for that one kindness. He wasn’t sure what he would do without Ashavan, and he never wanted to find out.

Of course, Ashavan had the infuriating habit of making that desire seem increasingly unlikely, especially after this latest inconceivably idiotic misadventure. Dorian wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss him or strangle him. Possibly both. Possibly at the same time. Instead, he simply glared.

“I had a plan to get myself out, you know. Though I loved the daring rescue. Very romantic,” Ashavan said with a wink and a subtle bite of his lower lip. Maker, he was infuriating. And so very, very handsome.

“That look isn’t going to make me stop being angry with you. It will take more than bedroom eyes for me to forget that you didn’t call for four days only to show up in the back of a slave wagon,” Dorian snapped back, though he could already feel his joy and relief at seeing him again winning out over his anger.

“While I’m sure the two of you are eager to… catch up, perhaps we could take this somewhere else? Preferably someplace drier and with fewer corpses,” Neve interjected.

“Um, yes, please, let’s do that,” Ashavan replied, looking slightly embarrassed. “I am freezing out here.”

Neve gestured to the elves in the backs of the wagons, who had been very careful pretending to not be listening to the whole conversation, to follow her. She started leading the strange procession of three Tevinter mages, one Inquisitor, and a couple dozen elves through twisting alleyways to a Shadow Dragons safehouse.

Dorian took off his overcoat as they walked and draped it over Ashavan’s bare arms.

“Can’t have the Inquisitor dying of hypothermia. How utterly embarrassing would that be?”

“You could just give me your coat to be nice,” Ashavan replied with a chuckle, pulling the coat tightly around himself.

“I’m still mad at you, remember?”

Ashavan’s hand peeked out through the opening of the coat and Dorian felt it brush against his own. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, pretending to still be upset, but his fingers curled around Ashavan’s all the same.

**********

“So,” Dorian said, turning on Ashavan now that the group had settled into the safehouse, “Care to explain yourself?”

“Well… I –” Ashavan started slowly before Maevaris sauntered up to the pair and inserted herself into the conversation.

“You must be Ashavan! My, you really are as handsome as Dorian says,” Maevaris interrupted.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Maevaris, though I’ve heard so much about you it feels like we’re already acquainted,” Ashavan replied, taking Maevaris’ hand in his own and touching his lips to her knuckles.

“Goodness, Dorian, you caught yourself quite the charmer. Better be careful, or I may just have to steal him from you,” Maevaris teased.

“Yes, yes, he’s very charming,” Dorian snapped back, rolling his eyes, “and very good at avoiding the subject. Now, are you finally going to explain what you’re doing here?”

“I told you, I was coming to see you, and I wanted to be discreet. The best way for a rather famous – or infamous, depending on who you ask – elf to sneak into Tevinter is in a slave wagon,” Ashavan replied as if it were obvious, and not a dangerous, ill-conceived idea.

“I could have gotten you into the city discreetly and safely if whatever brought you is really so important.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“And did you tell anyone about this hare-brained scheme in case something went wrong?” Dorian questioned.

“Er, no…” Ashavan trailed off, looking away sheepishly.

“Festis bei umo canavarum,” Dorian murmured, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What was that?” Ashavan asked.

“It means ‘You’ll be the death of me,’” Maevaris translated with a smirk.

“Ah. I did think that sounded familiar.”

“So,” Dorian started, bringing the conversation back to the subject at hand, “what was so important that you had to come all the way to Tevinter just to tell me?”

“Well, it isn’t so much something to tell you, but something to ask you… I… I don’t know what you’ll say, but I decided I have to ask...” Ashavan rambled, seeming strangely nervous.

Ah. After scaling down the Inquisition following the Exalted Council, Ashavan must be determined to start his new crusade here in Tevinter. He had asked Dorian if he could come with him every time they had met over the past year, and every time Dorian had refused. It wasn’t safe for someone like him here, and selfishly Dorian wanted this to be his fight, not the Inquisitor’s. So now he had come on his own, trying to force the issue.

“I told you; I don’t need you to do this for me, and besides, you know well that Tevinter is one of the worst places for an elf. I’ve missed you, obviously, but this is something I need to do for myself,” Dorian said before Ashavan could finish asking the question.

Ashavan seemed momentarily confused by the response. Eventually, he replied, “I know, but I would like to help, as little or as much as you want me to. But more than that, what I want is to be with you.” Ashavan took a few steps closer to Dorian.

“Too much of my life has been beyond my control, and I am tired of it. I didn’t choose to be stolen from my clan as a child. I didn’t choose to be raised by Orlesian spies. And I didn’t choose to be the Inquisitor. But I chose you. And I will keep on choosing you every day, for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.”

Ashavan knelt down on one knee in front of Dorian, taking the mage’s hand in his own. “What I am trying to say is, will you marry me, Dorian?”

If finding Ashavan in that slave wagon had been a surprise, this was such a shock that it bordered on incomprehensible. To Dorian, marriage had always been a prison that his father had tried to force him into, and ever since he had left Tevinter, he had not given it a second thought.

But here was Ashavan, down on one knee, proposing marriage as if it weren’t the most absurd thing in the world. Magisters and elves didn’t get married. Men didn’t get married. It just wasn’t possible. And yet… the thought of Ashavan as his husbandsent Dorian’s heart racing and hundreds of butterflies loose in his stomach. His husband.

As his mind started to once again become capable of coherent thought, he heard Maevaris squealing gleefully beside him and Neve’s footsteps as she inched closer, pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Ahem,” Ashavan cleared his throat, turning pink in the face during the long silence, “would you mind giving some kind of answer? It’s starting to get uncomfortable down here.”

“You are aware that our getting married in Tevinter would be, shall I say, deeply frowned upon, for any number of reasons?” Dorian responded, half because it was the truth and half to avoid answering.

“Obviously, though I thought you might enjoy a good scandal. As few or as many people can know as you want, I don’t care. All I care about is being with you. I love you, Dorian” Ashavan said, standing up and cupping his hand against Dorian’s face. He was so open and sincere with his feelings in a way that Dorian found utterly unrelatable and almost sickeningly sweet, and yet that was one of the things he loved most about him. One of many, many things.

“As do I, Amatus,” Dorian answered, barely above a whisper, “and I look forward to spending my life with you, so long as you stop being so reckless with yours,” he finished with a smirk.

“I’ll try,” Ashavan replied with a chuckle before meeting Dorian’s smirking lips with his own.

Dorian put one hand behind Ashavan’s head, the other against the small of his back, pulling him closer, closer, never letting him go again. Maker, he had missed him so much it hurt. He kissed him with such an aching longing he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop. Their mouths danced together, messy, hot, and breathless, months of love unexpressed in their time apart pouring out in a single moment. Dorian’s mouth traced a familiar path along Ashavan’s neck, his hands drifting lower…

“Ahem, we are still here, you know,” Neve said, startling the two enraptured lovers out of their passionate embrace.

“Oh, don’t be such a prude, Neve,” Maevaris chided.

It had felt so good, so right, to have Ashavan back in his arms again that Dorian was half tempted to rip his clothes off right then and there, damn the audience, but he could be patient. He took Ashavan’s hand and smiled. After all, they had the rest of their lives to spend together.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #dragon age veilguard #dorian pavus #dorian dragon age #dorian x inquisitor #dorian x lavellan #inquisitor lavellan #lavellan #male lavellan #fluff #reunion #marriage proposal #post-trespasser #Veilguard has me back in my DA feels #why did Dorian leave me? 😭#I just want them to be happy #Please BioWare let them be happy in Veilguard pretty please

10 notes · View notes

pancakesprince · 5 months ago

Text

sulevin lavellan (he/they/any) tops them both btw

#dragon age #sulevin lavellan #solas #dorian pavus #sera #sopavellan #solas x male lavellan

157 notes · View notes

thatapostateboy · 3 months ago

Text

the blood on my hands scares me to death

Pairing: Moss Lavellan x Dorian Pavus

Word Count: 1663

Synopsis: Moss Lavellan's hands are soaked in blood

Prompt: Day Eleven: Crimson from the Veilbound challenge by @/nympthi and @/citadrells on Twitter

Warnings: lots of references to blood, mentions of miscarriage, non-Inquisitor M!Lavellan- he's F!Lavellan's brother,

Crossposted: Here on AO3

Since he was a boy, Moss Lavellan’s hands were never clean.

Whenever he would look at his skin, he would see nothing but blood-soaked palms and fingers, a heavy reminder; not of the lives he took, but the blood he did not have the courage to spill himself.

He had been seven the first time his sister, Brenna, pressed a knife into his hand, smearing blood from the handle onto his skin from the rabbit she had caught and bled.

“You need to skin it, just like I showed you,” she said.

He looked at her, wide eyed, “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” she insisted, “You didn’t have to kill it this time. Next time you will. All you have to do is remove the skin. Then we can show Papae and the Keeper.”

He brought the knife with shaky hands to the rabbit’s fur, barely putting pressure behind the cut before he dropped the blade, scrambling away from it, desperately trying to rub the blood from his hands.

He heard his sister sigh, even as his own breath hitched in panic. He hung his head, tears in his eyes as she skinned the rabbit herself. She knelt in front of him, pressing a kiss to the dark curls at the crown of his head.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” she whispered softly, then began heading back towards the clan’s camp.

He sat amongst the leaves for hours, still trying to clean the crimson from his skin.

She did try. Every day with him for two years, trying to teach him different methods of how to hunt and prepare animals, but he had no stomach for it, unable to comprehend taking a life, let alone feeling the warmth of that creature’s essence on his bare skin.

And at nine when his magic manifested, marking him as the next leader of Clan Lavellan, it only worsened. If he could not kill a simple rabbit to add to the night’s stew, how would he be able to stop someone from causing harm to his clan, his family?

It was his sister who calmed him, telling him that if he could stand at the head of the clan, she would always be at his side, to protect him. From harm or from the harsh realities of the world, he could not be sure.

His father, his Papae, dies when he is barely fourteen. It is a torturous death, infected with the Blight, and they are lucky that it only takes a handful of the clan members, but he remembers the rot, the corruption, sitting at his father’s bedside in their family aravel as his Mamae dabs choked blood from the corner of his mouth. Jerrad Lavellan speaks soft works of love to his wife, tells his daughter to protect their family, and as he looks at his son, Moss knows that he sees a boy that has not grown to his expectation, not a hunter like him, nor proving to be worthy of the magic blessed to him. He dies that night under his wife’s blade, ending his suffering.

At fifteen, when Templars came for him in the woods near their home, it had been her that had saved him, fighting and killing them with rocks, her bare hands, and finally arrows. And when it was done, she had cupped his face, hands drenched in their blood, checking that he was okay, that he was not hurt. He could barely look her in the eye for the shame of not being able to turn his magic on them, knowing he would have been taken away forever if she had not stopped them.

Even as they scrubbed all evidence of the incident away in cold river water, the bodies burning on a pyre behind them, he could not rid himself of the metallic scent in his nose, reminding him of what he did not have the strength to do.

At the age of seventeen, he could feel that same warmth of blood on his face, but this time it was his own, dripping from his forehead as the Keeper carved the markings of Mythal into his skin. He swore he could feel the hesitation in her movements, preparing herself to stop the ritual, to deem him unworthy of such a blessing. In many’s eyes, he was a child still, too weak to be their First. And yet, she persisted, perhaps too stubborn to admit that he was not ready for this.

It would have been better if it had been his sister who was born the mage; she who had received her own vallaslin with her eyes proudly open, not showing an ounce of pain, ready and eager to prove herself. He could have relished in gentler pursuits, learning to craft or tend the halla, perhaps he would not feel dripping of blood from his forehead, the reminder of the responsibility he now bore.

At eighteen, he kissed a boy for the first time.

Tucked behind an aravel at the Arlathvhen, he allows himself to have fun, drinking deep of the crimson fruit wine, laughing with those his own age, those who did not know him as the Clan Lavellan’s weak willed First, instead just Moss. He found himself pressed against the wood of another clan’s aravel, a boy whose name he did not know and would not remember leaning over him and stealing that first tender kiss, and Moss, wine soaked and heart struck, wonders if this is what love feels like.

It is but a few weeks later he found his best friend, Summer, crying near the halla pens, a hunter like his sister, but gentler in heart, dedicated to Sylaise, not Andruil. She wept in his arms, and admitted that she was with child, conceived during the Arlathvhen, the babe’s father an unknown hunter from another clan. Her greatest fear is being sent away, to raise her child alone, or perhaps worse; to raise it with a man she does not truly know.

“Marry me,” he says. They can pretend that the babe is his, and he knows that the Keeper will approve the match.

“You don’t want this,” she tells him, “You don’t want a wife.”

He meets her eyes, thinking of that sweet boy that had kissed him, “You and I both know that I can’t have what it is that I truly want. But I can protect you. I can keep you safe.”

They wed less than a month later, before her stomach could start to show.

And before the next moon cycle, he awoke in his marital bed to find the sheets soaked in blood, his wife clutching to him as she begged him to do something. But for all of his magic, there is nothing he can do to save the babe.

It is his own mother that holds Summer that night as she mourns, his sister tearing the blankets from his bed to be burned. He stands at her side and watches the flames reduce to ash the evidence of something else lost to his own weakness. Later, she will find him scrubbing his hands raw, sobbing and praying to Mythal for strength.

At twenty-four he watches Brenna leave for the Conclave. It should be him, he thinks, as the Clan’s First, he should be the one to take the risk, but she is the one that convinces the Keeper to send her instead. She kisses him atop his head as she did as children and promises him to be home soon.

When they hear of the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, he cannot sleep for fear of the crimson that haunts him, memories of blood smeared and soaked into his skin, duty seared into his face, constant reminders of the boy he has been and the man he must now become.

He hears word of a Herald of Andraste, the only survivor of the attack, and he knows that he must travel to Haven.

At thirty-nine he is a man changed. A man who has seen destruction and war and loss on a scale unfathomable, some memories his own, others playing in his head from the Well’s voices. His skin is now littered with scars earned in battle, fighting as part of the Inquisition against demons and dragons and would be gods. He has faced down the deities of his people, some as allies, others as enemies, and he has survived. His hands are drenched in the blood of those he has fought and slain, and yet, the weight, the reminders of his failures, are gone.

Instead, he is grateful for what remains. For Summer, still his best friend but now his ex wife, living a life filled with love with her husband and children. For Brenna, who had survived against the odds, rising up to become the Inquisitor, trusting him to stand at her side through everything, now finding her own happiness in retirement.

But most of all for Dorian, the man who had captured his heart from the first day they met. He never intended to fall for a human, let alone one from Tevinter, but he fell effortlessly in love with him, and received such love in return that he could scarcely believe it every day when he woke up in the arms of a man that truly wanted him, Dorian’s touch alone helping to battle the nightmares and doubts that plagued him. And after many years, they have built a life together, one that he would give anything to protect.

At thirty-nine, he crouches in front of his son, examining the cut on the boy’s knee.

“Papa, it hurts,” his son sniffles.

“I know Felix, but don’t worry, I’ll fix it,” he says, reaching his hand out to heal the wound with magic. He gives a soft sigh, wiping away the blood from his son’s skin with his hand, “It is just a little blood, da’vhenan, it cannot hurt you, I promise.”

#lavellan #pavellan #dorian pavus #male lavellan #dragon age #dai #veilbound #writing #dorian x lavellan

7 notes · View notes

elfyelation · 2 years ago

Text

𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭 | smutshot

pairing—dorian pavus x male!lavellan summary—if dorian's father could see him right now he'd probably combust where he stood warnings—pwp, top!dorian, bottom!lavellan, hair pulling, rough sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms word count—909 rating—18+, smut under the cut

If only his father could see him now, his disappointment of a son; Altus mage of the Tevinter Imperium, balls deep inside the famed Herald of Andraste — not to mention, an elf, and Dalish at that — well, he would likely have combusted where he stood.

Dorian was used to being a disappointment. He wasn’t what his father had wanted in a son. He was a great mage, certainly an asset to the Imperium, but he fell short when it came to his romantic and sexual relations.

He had no intention to ever take a wife, nor sire any children of his own. Not only due to his complete lack of interest in women but also because the idea of becoming a father terrified him. He hadn’t had the best role model, so to speak.

There was always some enjoyment to be had in knowing his actions only riled his father further. As much as he wanted nothing more than to be accepted by him and make him proud, a part of him had given up on that long ago. Just as his father had certainly already given up on him.

Especially now as he rolled his hips forward, pushing the Inquisitor further down into the messy array of sheets below them.

Lavellan groaned from where he lay, almost flat against the bed. With what little strength he had, he pushed down against the sheets, lifting the tender curve of his arse to meet with his lover’s thrusts. With the next, he found himself collapsing into the blankets again, face hitting the pillow with a soft thump.

The Inquisitor played a tough game when he was on top, testing every muscle in his lover’s body as he touched and teased him for what felt like hours. When he found himself on the receiving end, however, Dorian always knew exactly how to put him in his place.

Rough fingers laced themselves through Lavellan’s dishevelled hair and pulled harshly, forcing his back to arch as he was pulled upwards. Dorian’s hot breath fanned across his cheek as he groaned into his ear, “Amatus.”

Lavellan’s mouth hung agape as his moans echoed from wall to wall. At least half of Skyhold would hear them, that they knew for certain. Liliana had already had quite an uncomfortable conversation with their beloved Herald about their nightly antics, taking great care in ensuring the Inquisitor knew quite the extent of the rumours which had begun spreading into every corner of Thedas.

He had been bewitched, they had begun to speculate. Seduced by an evil Imperium Magister who wished to taint the holy Inquisition with blood magic and make the Herald of Andraste his slave.

Dorian had laughed at this, amused that the world believed he had been the seducer. If anyone had asked he would not have said anything otherwise but, in truth, he was the one who had been seduced. Seduced by the charm of the man who currently resided beneath him. Seduced by his kind heart and desire for change. Seduced by his delicate waist and devious smirk.

His thrusts grew stronger as he released the elf’s hair, watching him fall down onto his pretty little face once again as he was fucked so hard the headboard began to bang loudly against the wall.

Lavellan writhed beneath him, raising a hand to his mouth as he bit down on his own flesh, trying to stifle his cries. Tears had begun to spill onto his cheeks and, with one harsh thrust, Dorian knew he had come undone. Still, he rocked into him at an unforgiving pace, smearing the juices which had since spilt out onto the bedsheets across his lower body.

His dear Amatus may have been pushed to the edge already but he needed to hang on for just a little while longer. Cassandra would have words with him in the morning for certain. Although she was reluctant to bring it up, she was always concerned when the Inquisitor trod across Thedas with a slight limp.

“Please, Dorian…” his voice was hushed and broken as his knuckles whitened, gripping the edge of his soft pillow for dear life.

He was red-raw and sore all over but he could already feel his spent cock hardening again as it rubbed back and forth against the bed below him. Unconsciously, he found himself rutting slightly, craving more friction.

Dorian hushed him, his pace not once faltering, and reached around to grant his Amatus the touch he so craved.

The Inquisitor cried out again at the overstimulation. He was so, so sensitive. Too sensitive after how many times he had already came. It had been a long night. Such a long night. But it was almost over.

“I know, Amatus. I know. Just. A. Little. More.” He punctuated each word with a snap of his hips before finally spilling his load with a long, dark groan.

Lavellan was unmoving when his lover finally pulled out of him and Dorian couldn’t help but smile as he realised he had passed out from sheer exhaustion. He was sure to be repaid in full as soon as the Inquisitor regained his strength. In fact, he was already looking forward to it.

His fingers lightly moved the drapes of hair that had fallen over his lover’s face and leaned forward, gently kissing his temple. He wiped away the tears that still glistened against his cheeks and gently began to clean him up.

#—warrenwrites ✦#dorian pavus x male!reader #dorian pavus x lavellan #dorian pavus #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #inquisitor lavellan #lavellan x dorian #dorian x lavellan #dai dorian #dorian pavus smut #dragon age dorian #mature

114 notes · View notes