Fanfic writer with a passion for exploring romantic relationships // Fandoms: Horizon Zero Dawn, Mass Effect, and Dragon Age // Fandom: Dragon Age, Horizon Zero Dawn, Mass Effect
Thanks to @ysuhbella for this adorably nosy tag! Yes, I custom-make a lot of playlists on Spotify XD
The lock screen art is by @me-za-me-ro, original post here. SO BEAUTIFUL I LOVE IT. Niloy art made for me by the talented NSFWFrosch!
Tagging forward, without any obligation whatsoever, to @makocartwheels @littlesnowarrow @jadefyre @hellarcanine @cylonalyna @sun-and-shadow-aloy and anyone else bold enough to play!
Lovely @alyssalenko,
Hot n’ Steam July Forever!! Thanks for the prompt – I hope you enjoy! A healthy dose of #209 (knife to the throat) features here too… #sorrynotsorry
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“Are you ready?” Blackwall asks.
Arya settles into a defensive stance. The candlelight on her desk throws flickering shadows across her cheeky grin. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she chirps.
He nods seriously, then lunges at her with the dagger in his right hand.
She grabs his wrist and shoves his hand back towards his hip. But as soon as he grasps the back of her neck with his left hand to drag her close, she lessens her grip on his wrist.
He strikes in toward her belly with the practice dagger, stopping just short of her navel. “You have to hold on, my lady,” he says gruffly. “You can’t let go of this hand.” He gestures with the blunted weapon in his right hand.
“I know, I know,” she pants. “It’s startling when you grab my neck, that’s all.”
“I know it is. That’s why you have to practice,” he insists. “Go again. Don’t loosen your grip.”
She steps back and bends her knees slightly in preparation, but her smile is mischievous. “You’re very bossy when you’re training,” she purrs.
He frowns chidingly at her, and she rolls her eyes and laughs. “All right, Ser Blackwall, I’m being serious. Come at me.”
He lunges at her again, and this time she keeps her grip on his right wrist when he pulls her head down. But when he twists his right wrist and jabs at her again, her grip loosens.
“Argh!” She groans as she steps away and stomps one foot in annoyance. “I can’t…”
“You can,” he says firmly. “You know what you need to do. You’ll get better. You just need to keep trying.”
She sighs, and Blackwall gently runs his thumb along her tattooed cheekbone. “I need you to be safe,” he says softly. “If I can’t be by your side, or if something happens to me-”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” she interrupts. “You’re the strongest man I know.”
He gazes at her seriously until she drops her eyes. “Physical strength isn’t everything, my lady,” he says softly. “I need to make sure you can defend yourself.”
She sighs again, but nods her head and steps back. “All right. I’m ready,” she says, and her face is serious this time.
Blackwall nods, then darts the dagger toward her again.
She grabs his right wrist with both hands, her grip firm as she locks his wrist against his hip. When he pulls back on his arm, she shoves forward in an attempt to throw him off-balance.
He uses her momentum against her and pulls hard with his right arm. Her locked grip follows his yank, and he hauls her arms over her head and spins her around. He drags her back against his bare chest and bands his left arm tightly around her waist.
She bursts into giddy laughter as he brings the knife up to her neck, her body going limp in surrender, and he can’t help but smile as he lets her go. “That was better,” he says.
“It was awful,” she expostulates. “Here, show me again what you would do. I’ll pretend to attack you.”
He hands her the practice dagger, then stands and waits. As soon as she jabs in toward him, he grabs her forearm and forces it down.
She drives into him relentlessly, hunching low to shove her shoulder against his chest and fisting her hand in the fabric of his trousers to try and unbalance him. He slides his foot behind her legs, then twists toward her and trips her on his foot.
Arya squeals and releases the dagger as he lowers her to the carpet in a controlled fall. By the time she’s flat on her back and pinned beneath him, the dagger is in his hand again and pressed to her throat.
She gasps for breath, her eyes locked on his face, and he exhales roughly as he stares back at her. Her cheeks are flushed with exertion, her collarbones rising and falling with the weight of her breathing, and without quite meaning to, his eyes fall on the budding of her nipples through her loose linen shirt.
Her petite breasts lift temptingly as she catches her breath, and he jolts guiltily when she breaks the tense silence. “Show me that maneuver one more time?” she says.
He forces his gaze back to her glowing violet eyes and nods. “Of course, Your Worship.” He stands and helps her to her feet again, then steps back to await her attack.
She bites her lower lip as she adjusts her grip on the dagger. Her eyes are bright and hot, drawing his attention more surely than the Breach itself, and he almost misses her lunge.
The tip of the dagger almost reaches his belly in his distraction, and he grabs her wrist at the last second. She shoves her shoulder hard against his abdomen as she tries to wrest her hand from his grip. She’s all chaos and wildness, a wriggling little beast slamming into his chest and kicking at his shins, and her every strike is like a spark setting a shivering warmth to life in his belly.
He dips his shoulders down and grabs her around the legs. She shrieks as he pulls her feet out from under her, and she spills onto her back on the floor with his palm cradling the back of her head.
She lets out an oomph as he straddles her hips and pins her wrists to the floor, then bursts into breathless laughter again as the practice dagger drops from her fingers with a useless clatter. “Fenedhis lasa,” she curses, then drops her head back and laughs some more.
Blackwall has no idea what she just said, but her tone makes her meaning clear. His unruly gaze travels across her body as she chuckles beneath him. Her linen shirt is askew, revealing the flat planes of her stomach, and he’s visited by an inconvenient wish to bite the exposed column of her neck.
He lifts his hips slightly so she won’t notice the straightening of his erection. He really should release her captive wrists, but he can’t quite make himself let her go. He takes a deep breath in an effort to calm the stirring in his gut. “Again, my lady?” he offers.
She smiles at him wordlessly, her eyes dancing with amusement as they scan the bare expanse of his chest. By the time her gaze lands on his swollen crotch, his face is prickling with a heated combination of lust and guilt.
“Do it,” she says.
His eyes snap back to her face with a pang of shame. He’s supposed to be training the Inquisitor, not ogling her supine body like a slavering adolescent. “Do what?” he says weakly.
She arches her back slightly and lifts her hips beneath him. “Take me,” she breathes. “I know you want to.”
He finally eases his grip on her wrists, more out of guilt than because he wants to. “But you need to practice-”
She suddenly bucks her right hip, and Blackwall tumbles to the side more out of surprise than any true technique on her part. Before he can do more than catch his balance on one unsteady hand, she’s straddling him and wrapping her arms around his neck.
“No more practicing,” she declares. “Take me, Blackwall. I want you to.”
She presses those lovely breasts against his chest. Her tongue flicks teasingly across her lower lip, and the sheer temptation of her is more than he can take: he clasps the back of her neck in one hand and kisses her crimson lips. She returns his kiss with a voracious appetite, her tongue delving sweetly to taste his mouth, and Blackwall basks in her hunger for a long, blissful moment.
Then he feels a cold, fine line of pressure against his neck.
He opens his eyes to find Arya grinning at him with the practice dagger pressed to his neck. “Gotcha,” she whispers.
Blackwall chuckles darkly. “Dirty tactics now, is it?” he asks.
She shrugs irreverently, her shit-eating grin growing by the second. “How else is a little elf like me supposed to take down a big strong human like you?”
Her tone is innocent and completely sarcastic, and he huffs in amusement before grabbing her knife-bearing wrist and rolling her onto her back again. She cackles raucously as he yanks the dagger from her hand, then breaks off with a playful snarl as he forces her thighs apart with his knees.
He twines his fingers with hers and stretches her arms above her head, then grinds his rock-hard cock against the juncture of her thighs. Her fierce little smile melts instantly into an expression of sheer lust, and she cranes her neck back and undulates gracefully against his crotch.
Blackwall breathes hard as he presses into the cradle of her hips. She arches eagerly beneath him, and yet she’s struggling with her arms, her wrists twisting and her fingers clenching to free themselves from his own. Something dark and bittersweet is waking at the back of his mind, something that he’s always hidden away like a bottle of contraband Tevinter port, but the writhing of her lithe and captive form is ruthlessly drawing it to the surface.
He lifts his hips away from hers, and she gasps with dismay and opens her eyes. Her lips curl in a bestial little sneer as she glares at him. “Take me!” she snaps.
Her words are a clear challenge, a perfect maelstrom of fight-and-fuck, and Blackwall finally gives in. He shakes her hands roughly. “Don’t talk,” he orders. “You want a bossy trainer? That’s what you’ll get.”
Her eyes snap up to his face, and her face is so wildly joyful that he almost grins back at her. Instead he scowls and taps her right hand. “Hold this wrist with your other hand. Do it now.”
She follows his instruction instantly, and he presses her captive hands to the floor with his left hand. With his free right hand, he ruthlessly shoves her linen shirt up to bare her breasts.
She gasps at the roughness of his touch, then cries out as he rubs the coarseness of his bearded face across one nipple. He takes her tender nipple between his teeth and she mewls with pleasure, her thighs tensing against his knees.
His right hand slides firmly down across the taut and jumping muscles of her belly. She pants wildly as his fingers slide unerringly into her smalls. When he plunges one finger into her slick and willing pussy, she releases a wild scream that he smothers with his tongue.
Her wrists jump with tension beneath his hand, but he tightens his grip to hold her still. He swirls his fingers inside of her, the tips of his fingers caressing every tight centimetre of her slick inner walls, and she moans shamelessly into his mouth.
He pulls his fingers from her heat and slides the length of his finger against her clit, and she jolts and holds her breath. “Oh fuck yes,” she whimpers, then gasps again.
He bites her neck in punishment, and she moans loudly at the sting of his teeth. “I told you not to talk,” he growls.
She breaks into near-hysterical giggles, then cries out in despair when he removes his hand from her smalls. “Please,” she wails, then instantly clamps her lips shut. She stares up at him with pleading eyes, and he returns her gaze unflinchingly until she starts to writhe and jerk her hips. A thin keen of want trembles from her throat, but she doesn’t speak.
Finally Blackwall relents and drags off her smalls, and she releases a wordless cry of pleasure as he strokes her budded clit. “Good,” he growls. “Remember your training, now.”
He’s making very little sense in this game they’re playing, and Arya’s sudden grin tells him that she knows it too, but neither of them cares; all he cares about now is the slippery little pearl of her pleasure that he plays with his finger, and the increasingly desperate panting that’s pouring from her throat.
She takes a sudden strident gasp of air, then her entire body convulses as she screams in climax. Her cries echo through her chambers, and Blackwall is sure they’re ringing down to the lower levels too, but he can’t be bothered to stifle her. Let the castle know, he thinks with uncharacteristic smugness. The Inquisitor is undone beneath him, her supple body bowed with pleasure from the work of his hands, and he’s more proud of himself than he cares to admit.
He watches the ecstatic shuddering of her limbs as he roughly unbuttons his trousers and shucks them off. He releases her hands and drags her close until she’s astride his hips, then pulls her arms behind her back.
Her desperate breaths are short and sharp like throwing knives, and they pierce the darkness of his desire and render him even rougher. He tugs her arms slightly and tips his chin up to stare at her flushed face. “You like this, do you?”
She nods wildly, her face blazing with lust, and he kisses her hard as he rocks himself up against her slick folds. She whines and wiggles against his chest, and he leans back just long enough to look her in the eyes again. “Only speak if you want me to let you go. Understood?”
She nods even more wildly than before, and Blackwall sheathes his cock inside of her with a long, savage thrust.
Arya throws her head back and cries out with rapture, and he slicks his tongue across her breast as he fucks her fast and hard. He collects her gasps and groans like perfect gems in his mind, each sound coming together piece by piece to build his own growing climax.
She releases a long, breathless moan, then leans all the way back so her shoulders are touching the floor. Her arms are still restrained by his hands, forcing her back into a deep and tempting arch, and Blackwall gapes deliriously at the marvelous expanse of her body. Her nipples are triumphant little peaks, the arching of her ribs flowing into the tempting bowl of her belly, and Blackwall frees one of his hands from behind her so he can skim his palm along the length of her pristine skin.
She undulates her hips slowly against his cock and whimpers with frustration, and Blackwall understands her ire; the angle of their hips is awkward now, a difficult position for either of them to thrust, but he’s so captivated by the sight of her that he doesn’t give a fuck. His hand moves across her sternum, his thumb teasing her nipple and pulling a pleading whine from her throat. His mind is fuzzy with dominance and desire, and before he realizes what he’s doing, his hand slides up to her throat.
He gently grips her throat, and she releases a very sharp cry.
Suddenly uncertain, he starts to move his hand away, but Arya gives a sudden sob. She hauls one arm out from behind her back and scrabbles at his wrist, pulling his hand back up to her neck. “Please,” she sobs. “Please, Blackwall, I want…”
He obligingly curves his fingers around the column of her throat, and she arches her back and absolutely wails with pleasure. The sound resonates through his body, rendering him lightheaded with lust.
He shoves forward onto his knees and looms over her with his big brutish body. He roughly lifts her left leg over his shoulder to spread her wide. He tilts her chin back with the hand at her throat, plunges his tongue into her mouth, then slams his cock into her tight, slick heat.
Her one free hand grips his hair, pulling hard as she bucks beneath him, and the pain in his scalp only inflames him further. He turns her head to the side and bites the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and she releases his hair with a cry of surprise. She braces her right foot on the ground and lifts her hips forcefully against him, a clear and eager demand for more, and he swiftly obliges her with a hard and furious speed.
He’s gasping now, sweat dampening his temples as he pistons into her. Her own gasping breaths are sharpening, her whimpering exhales increasing in pitch, and all at once she throws her head back. “Blackwall, yes!” she screams exultantly.
The sound of his name in her ringing voice is like a mage’s spell, and the dark ward inside of him breaks, leaving him tender and desperate for her touch. His hand at her throat melts from a grip into a caress, sliding around to the back of her neck as he takes her lips in an adoring kiss. He pumps his hips thrice more, then his rapture takes him with all the dizzying height of a griffon’s wings.
“Arya,” he groans brokenly, and she pulls her other arm from behind her and wraps her arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace. He releases her leg and clasps her precious face in his hands, his sweaty forehead flush to hers as he strokes her tattooed cheekbones. His knees are starting to hurt as the rugburn makes itself known, and he’s sure Arya will soon be feeling it too, but he’s too blissfully happy to mind right now.
She breathes hard for a moment, her hands drifting across his shoulder blades in an idle caress, then suddenly breaks into breathless laughter. “Well, this was a productive training session,” she says. “We should train in private more often. I like your technique, my good ser.”
She tilts her head back and laughs some more, her mirth growing stronger until she’s shaking beneath him, and Blackwall smiles helplessly down at her. This evening’s activities might have proven him a shoddy trainer, but tomorrow is a fresh new day.
And Blackwall will happily spend every day training his Dalish lover in every way he knows how.
HZD | Teb
Teb looks like the kind of person who spends his time daydreaming of Aloy and writing down what he wants to say to Aloy but gets real anxious and crumples the note and throws it away.
Aloy. I know you may not think of me as a warrior but I am strong and if you give me a chance to show you…*crumple* *toss*
I love you Aloy. I had to say it. The thought of you going off before I could tell you is worse than knowing you couldn’t love me back. *crumple* *toss*
Hey Aloy, do you think you could teach me to ride a strider? *crumple* *toss*
Dear Aloy…who says dear? *crumple* *toss*
Are you and Nil a thing? *crumple* *toss*
Are you and Vanasha a thing? *crumple* *toss*
You know…Varl is sort of a mama’s boy, just sayin’….nah…that’s mean. He’s cool, I’m just a bit jealous. *crumple* *toss*
Erend. Really? *crumple* *toss*
I see you kept the outfit I made for you. That means alot. I know its not much in the way of protection but I’d like to think it’s like you took me along on your adventures. The other hunters like to make fun of me because I stitch rather than hunt but since I invented that pants flap they sure are thankful when they have to shit in the wild. *crumple* *toss*
THIS IS CANON NOW IN MY MIND OK
THAT’S IT
Dear @vgtravlr,
You asked for “broken air conditioning”, but LET’S BE REAL WE BOTH KNOW WHAT YOU REALLY ASKED FOR LMAO. I couldn’t hit every note of your hilariously in-depth request, but I hit a good few of them and made homage to others, and threw in a little bit – okay, a LOT – of #54 (hair) for good measure.
I hope you enjoy, and thank you for your LOL-inducing enthusiasm. xoxo 😂
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Suntress stomped irritably through the jungle. Her footsteps were far heavier than their usual near-silent tread, and Nil reached out and flicked one of her braids over her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s so damn hot,” she snapped. She shoved her hair back and swiped her arm across her forehead. “When is this heat going to break? I thought those scholars said it would get cooler last night. This is not what I would call cool.”
Nil studied her flushed face curiously. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her this irate over the weather; she was more of a grit-her-teeth-and-bear-it kind of woman. In all fairness, though, it had been years since the Sundom had seen such an intense week of heat and humidity.
Extreme heat was no bother to Nil, however. After the stifling cells at Sunstone Rock, the humid breeze of the jungle was a balm against his skin. “Perhaps the Sun Priests didn’t pray hard enough for rain,” he suggested cheekily. “We should go back to Meridian and taunt them. You can wave your Stormslinger and strike some fear in their craven hearts.” He reached out and pinched her waist playfully.
Suntress swatted his hand away. “Ugh, don’t touch me!” she complained. “Your hands are always so warm. I can’t take it. I can barely take these clothes. I should have stolen some of those stupid silky things from Vanasha.” She plucked irritably at her Carja vest.
Nil raised one eyebrow. “If your clothes are so vexing, you should take them off.” He scanned her body with a suggestive smile.
Suntress scowled at him more deeply. “How can you even think about that in this heat? I feel like I’m drowning in my own sweat already.” She roughly gathered her hair in one hand, then ineffectually fanned her neck with her other. “Why do I have so much hair?” she burst out suddenly. “It’s stupid. It’s so hot. I hate this!”
Nil watched her with a hint of alarm. If she got any more irritated, he was worried she’d cut her hair off out of sheer pique. He took her arm and pulled her to a stop, then stepped in front of her and slid his fingers soothingly along her scalp.
Her hair was damp with sweat at the roots, but Nil didn’t mind. He carefully smoothed the tips of his fingers along the braids crowning her hairline, then through the loose river of her hair to the base of her skull. “Easy, Suntress,” he murmured. He took her hair from her hand and held it loosely in his own fist. “We’ll rein these flames in so they won’t scorch you anymore.”
She growled low in her throat, but her eyes were closed and her chin tilted back peacefully as he carefully gathered the strands of hair sticking to her neck. A drop of sweat ran down the side of her face, and Nil watched its path as it trailed down her neck.
Without opening her eyes, she reached up and wiped the offending sweat away. “I hate this,” she repeated.
“Don’t think about it,” he said.
She opened her eyes and glared at him. “How can I not think about the heat? I can’t escape it!”
“Put your mind to something else,” he suggested. He ran his hand lightly through her hair again, his fingers dancing delicately against her scalp. “Think about this instead. These callused fingers caressing the curves of your skull.”
“That’s kind of creepy, Nil,” she murmured, but her voice was dreamy and her eyes still closed. Another bead of sweat rolled down the other side of her face, but she didn’t wipe it away this time.
“Cooler and calmer already,” he teased. He drew his fingers through her hair again and gathered the smoothed strands into the ponytail in his fist. “A stroke of claws against the scalp, and the Stormbird is tamed.”
She scrunched her face up at his taunt but didn’t reply, and Nil admired the enticing pout of her lower lip. He gently pulled her hair to tilt her head back, then kissed her lightly.
She returned his kiss with a soft press of her lips, and Nil smiled smugly as he pulled away. “Hmm, very tamed indeed,” he purred.
Suntress growled again. “You’re ruining it with your talking.”
Nil ran his nails lightly along her scalp once more and enjoyed her soft sigh of satisfaction. He continued to card his fingers through her hair, keeping the russet mass gathered in his fist with every stroke. The angry tension gradually leached from her body, not unlike the heat that was carried away with her sweat.
He admired the calm of her face as he smoothed his fingertips through her hair. She swayed very slightly toward him as he stroked her hair, looking almost as though she was asleep on her feet, and Nil eyed the line of her upturned chin as it melted into the column of her neck.
Without releasing her hair, he reached down and began unfastening the straps of her Carja vest with his other hand.
She frowned and took hold of his hand to stall him. “What are you doing?”
“Undressing you,” he replied easily. “Shed your warrior’s shell for a while. Catch the breeze across your skin instead.”
She opened her eyes to frown at him. “It’s full daylight and we’re standing in the middle of the jungle,” she scolded. “Anyone could see us.”
“Suntress, we haven’t seen another person in the past two hours,” Nil drawled. “We’re so far south that we might as well have travelled up a Fireclaw’s asshole. No one else will come here in this heat.”
“So remind me again why we’re here?” she groused, but she released his hand and allowed him to undo the straps on her vest.
“Something about searching for datapoints,” he murmured vaguely. He pulled her vest off and dropped it carelessly on the ground, then began undoing her pouch belt with his free hand.
“Stupid reason,” she muttered, then closed her eyes again and fell silent as he pulled off her belt and tassets, then began loosening her armoured leggings.
Nil was silent too as he peeled her leggings away from her hips. The red-gold curls between her legs revealed themselves as he rolled her leggings down her thighs, and his gaze dropped to her feet; he’d have to get her sandals off before she could shed the leggings.
A slow, steady pulse was beating between his legs, lifting his cock to attention. Nil lazily admired the plump lips of her pussy before lifting his eyes to her face again. “Here, take your hair. Hold it up,” he instructed.
She obeyed silently, reaching both her hands up to take the wavy mass from his fist, and Nil knelt at her feet to pull off her sandals and leggings. His fingers were itching to slide over her bare thighs, to feel that smooth and incongruously cool skin beneath his palms, but he held back; she’d said his hands were too warm, so he’d keep them to himself.
For now.
His hunter’s eyes stuck on the juncture of her thighs again, and he noted the shine of her arousal with satisfaction. He unabashedly smoothed his palm over the bulge at his groin. “Only one piece remains, Suntress,” he said. “Take off your top.”
He smirked as she obeyed without the usual smart-mouthed remark that followed his demands. She must really be worn down from the heat, he thought as her silk blouse dropped from her fingers to the ground beside him.
She’d released her hair to take off her blouse, and that wouldn’t do. “Lift your hair again. Hold it high,” Nil said, and again she did as she was told without a huff of complaint.
Nil admired the column of her body for a moment. His Suntress was a river of flows and curves, the lines of her body pulled taut from her arms in the air, and his mouth was already watering at the sight of her.
He leaned forward and kissed the moisture of her cleft, his tongue dipping between her folds to stroke her taut nub, and she gasped shakily. She dropped one hand down to grasp his ear. “Wait,” she said breathlessly. “It’s… you don’t really want to do that, it’s so… the heat and stuff, I’m all sweaty…”
“I don’t care,” Nil said, then kissed her pussy more firmly, his tongue sliding greedily along the length of her cleft to massage her swollen clit with gentle precision. He wasn’t sure what Suntress was worried about; if anything, the scent of her was more primal and earthy than usual, her feminine flavour bright with salt, and Nil’s desire was flaring higher at the raw wildness of it.
Her hips pressed against his face with eager little jerks, and Nil clenched his fists to stop himself from grabbing her hips. He knew his hands were hot, and he couldn’t break his Stormbird’s focus as she rocked against his mouth. He wanted to grab her ass while he licked her clit, to pull her closer to his face while he dropped kisses along the plump folds of her flesh, but she’d told him not to touch her.
But the act of holding back was perversely sharpening his lust. With every stroke of his tongue and every caress of his lips, the thought of his hands on her exquisite body became more and more preoccupying. By the time she thrust against his face and cried out in rapture, Nil’s cock was pounding with need, and he was feeling every inch as raw as the taste of her flesh.
He surged to his feet, then roughly walked her backwards until she backed into large and gnarled tree. Suntress grunted at the impact, then gasped as Nil’s palm hit the bark beside her head. He tipped her chin up with one finger and looked her in the eyes. “You still want me not to touch you?” he growled.
She stared at him without replying, but her heavy panting and her hands on his waistband were answer enough. He allowed her to pull his belt off, then captured her hands in his own. “Hands in your hair,” he growled. “Hold it up. Keep that pretty neck cool.”
She narrowed her eyes at his teasing tone but followed his command again, her fingers twining into her hair to pull it away from her neck. Nil shamelessly drank in the sight of her naked body as he stripped off his clothes. With her body stretched long and her hands tucked behind her head like this, it was too easy to picture her wrists bound and tied to their bed in Meridian.
His cock jerked viciously at the memory, and for one wild moment Nil wondered if he could tie her to the tree, but no; his body was clamouring to be inside of her, and he didn’t have the patience to hold back any longer.
He kicked his pants aside and stepped aggressively into her space. He braced one hand on the tree beside her head and lifted her leg with the other hand to spread her wide, then angled himself low and thrust into her in one hard stroke.
She arched her neck and cried out, her hips rolling against him without a second’s hesitation, and Nil dropped his mouth to her throat. Her skin was cool and moist and slick with sweat, and Nil dragged his tongue across her neck with vicious abandon as he fucked her. There was something intangible about her sweat today that was absolutely intoxicating. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the heated scent of her, the flushed look of her skin, the slick and sultry feel of her: everything about her was roiling and mixing together in a way that felt like it was pulling him apart at the seams.
A hollow tearing noise reached his ears. Through the haze of his lust-driven mind, he vaguely realized that the bark of the tree was peeling away in his fingers, but he couldn’t stop. He adjusted his grip on Suntress’s sweat-slick thigh, then drove into her with an even more urgent ardency that soon had them both gasping.
He dipped his head again and roughly ran his tongue across the peak of her nipple, then savoured the sound of her ecstatic mewl as it shivered into his ear. Then she pushed against his chest with one hand. “Nil,” she gasped. “Stop for a second. It’s too hot for this, I can’t…”
A sudden jolt of despair hollowed his belly. He released her leg and reluctantly pulled out of her silken heat, then crowded her back against the tree and cradled her neck in his hands. “Suntress, I would fuck you in the midst of a raging blazefire and it wouldn’t be too hot for me,” he growled. “I don’t-”
“No, you chuff,” she snapped, and shoved impatiently at his shoulders. “I don’t mean stop stop, I just mean-” She broke off and pushed his chest until he stepped away, then turned around to face the tree. She bent at the waist with her forearms braced against the broad trunk, then shot him a glare over her shoulder. “Come on,” she snapped. “Less skin contact, less sweat.”
Nil stared at her enticing pose for a moment, torn between a faint sense of insult and a strong desire to laugh at her pragmatism. But if his Suntress was offering her body, he wasn’t going to turn her down.
He stepped close until his thighs were skimming the silken skin of her bottom. She jerked eagerly toward him, and his cock twitched zealously in response, but Nil carefully reached up and gathered her hair in his hands.
“Even less sweat this way,” he drawled, then slowly pulled her hair while sheathing his cock deep inside of her.
Her nails clenched against the bark of the tree, and a sweet mewl of pleasure purred from her throat. Nil grinned as he slowly withdrew, then gave her his cock again. He pulled her hair a little bit more with every thrust, his lust flaring higher as her back arched more deeply with every gentle tug.
One of her hands slid away from the tree and between her legs, and Nil ground his cock slowly into her while she stroked herself. He listened avidly to the sound of her breath, his every sense attuned to the rapid cadence of her panting.
She gasped with her impending climax, and as soon as she cried out in ecstasy, he slammed his cock into her and pulled her hair hard. Her cry became even sharper, a ringing harmony with the slapping of skin-against-skin as he fucked her hard, and Nil watched with bestial satisfaction as she pounded her fists against the tree.
“More!” she wailed, and Nil chuckled darkly. He slowed to a stop, then released her hair to spill across her shoulders and watched smugly as she slid one hand into her flaming red strands.
She whined with frustration and fisted her fingers in her own hair, and Nil smirked devilishly. “More what?” he asked.
She tugged her hair. “More of this!” she whimpered.
Nil rested one palm at the small of her back and set up a slow and rhythmic grind into her tight heat. When Suntress was rolling her luscious ass back against him, he reached up with both hands and gently scraped his nails along her scalp.
She sobbed with pleasure as Nil gathered her hair in one fist, then tugged her head slightly to the side. He pulled her hair with a slow and steady hand as he fucked her with increasing speed until she was keening like a wild animal.
Nil gritted his teeth as he drove into her. Sweat was pouring down his face, but he didn’t care; his Suntress was arched like a Lodge bow, the sound of her pleasure throbbing in his ears like a war drum and driving his growing climax to a chaotic peak. At the moment that his rapture took him, he leaned low over her body and bit her neck.
She cried out with pain and pleasure, a perfect complement for the groan that tore itself from his throat, and he shuddered with completion and rested his forehead on her back as he gasped for breath.
As soon as the pounding of his heart receded from his ears, he pulled out of her and wandered over to her discarded pile of clothing. “I just thought of one more way to bring your temperature down,” he said.
She huffed with amusement as she straightened up, then leaned face-first against the tree in exhaustion. “Yeah? What’s that?” she panted.
He pulled the Oseram water flask from her pouch belt, then took a small sip of water as he wandered back to her side. “This,” he said, then dumped the contents of the flask over her body.
She squealed and jolted upright as though she’d been shocked, and Nil laughed as she spun on him and shoved him in the chest. “You – you barbaric-!” she spluttered, then pounded her fists on his chest. “You’re such a juvenile lunkhead!”
He grabbed her hands to pull her close, then lifted her up and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Oh, Suntress, save your breath. You know you love it.”
She smacked his shoulder, then suddenly grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck. “All-Mother’s mercy, you’re so annoying,” she said. Then she kissed him hard.
Nil tightened his embrace as he kissed her back. Jungle heat didn’t bother him one way or another, but he would never get enough of his Suntress’s scorching passion.
Limericks for St. Paddy’s
Oh my GOD.
OH MY GOD 😂😭😭😭
Dearest vhenan @hellarcanine,
I did a bad thing. I wrote a LONG thing. It’s definitely more than the 1000 word limit. I AM SO SORRY. Solas is a Fade nerd and Lavellan is hot for teacher and oh fuck my life.
Read here on AO3 instead. (It’s a longer one.)
****************
Solas slips his bookmark in place and yawns.
Elia looks up from the pile of letters that she promised Josephine she would sign by tomorrow morning. “Are you going to sleep?” she asks.
He stretches his arms languorously before idly scratching his bare chest. “No, not yet,” he replies. “I’m simply going to rest my eyes for a moment.” He slides his book from his lap onto the bed, then settles down and closes his eyes.
The peaceful silence of their nighttime activities resumes, and Elia’s thoughts drift as she mindlessly scribbles signature after signature. I should get a stamp, she thinks vaguely. She’s surprised Josie hasn’t already thought of it; maybe the Orlesian nobles would think her rude if she didn’t hand-sign every single note.
Less than five minutes later, Solas inhales deeply through his nose and opens his eyes. He picks up his book again, and Elia studies the slightly preoccupied look on his face. “Did you visit the Fade?”
He smiles. “I do not slip into the Fade every time I close my eyes, you know.”
She shoots him a chiding look. “I know that,” she says in exasperation, and he smiles more broadly. “But you did, didn’t you?”
He chuckles softly and puts his book aside. “I did, yes.”
“What did you see?”
He beckons her close with an outstretched hand, and Elia happily abandons her paperwork to join him in bed. She slides into his embrace and snuggles up to his chest as he begins to speak. “I went to the place where my spirit friend used to be. Gentle wisps were floating there, fragile and formless still. They do not yet know what shape they will take.”
He leans his head back against the headboard and closes his eyes before speaking again. “I bade them retreat deeper into the Fade. To shelter in places that most mages cannot go. I do not wish to see more spirits harmed in the wake of the Breach.”
His voice is soft and melancholy, and Elia knows he’s thinking of Wisdom’s end in the Exalted Plains. She nuzzles his neck gently in comfort. “It was kind of you to warn them,” she murmurs.
She admires the curl of his lips as he smiles, then idly strokes the dimple in his chin. “How did you manage to do so much in such a short time in the Fade?” she asks. “You were only gone for a few minutes. When I dream, it feels like I wander for hours without getting to a destination, if ever I had a true destination in mind. And if I do have a goal in my dream, I’m just… not able to reach it. I shift from scene to scene, or person to person, and I never quite meet the goal. Or… or maybe I do, but by then I’ve… forgotten what the goal was, so I can’t know for sure.”
Her musing is as vague and unfocused as her dreams tend to be, but she knows Solas won’t mind; indeed, he’s listening attentively, and there’s a certain tenderness in his clear grey eyes that makes her feel very young.
He brushes an errant strand of hair from her forehead, and his affectionate gesture prompts her to ask a bolder question. “How did you take me to Haven in that first dream when we… when…”
She falters shyly, and he smiles at her. “When you kissed me?” he prompts.
His tone is soft and playful, and Elia ignores the heat spreading across her cheeks as she lifts her chin to face him. “And you kissed me back,” she retorts.
He laughs again. “So I did.” He smiles fondly at her, his eyebrows lifted expectantly, and Elia returns to her question.
“That time when you took us to Haven. It was… it was so real, Solas. How did you do that? I didn’t even realize I was asleep. I don’t even remember coming up to bed. How did you control that dream so seamlessly?”
He shifts slightly, then sits up straighter against the headboard. “It is a rare skill,” he says. “Few mages can master the art of dreamwalking. You must be conscious of your unconsciousness. You must mold the environment without exerting control.” He hesitates for a moment. “It can be deceptive,” he finally says. “The unfamiliar can be fooled into thinking it is real, as you did with Haven. It… can be dangerous, vhenan.”
Elia studies him curiously. He looks as composed as usual, at least to the untrained eye, but Elia’s infatuated gaze is well-versed in the ways of her mysterious lover. She watches as he idly runs his thumb along the edges of his book, and she notices how he doesn’t quite meet her eye.
“I would like to learn,” she says, quietly but firmly.
His thumb pauses at the corner of his book, and he lifts his eyes to hers. “Why?” he asks.
He sounds genuinely curious, but Elia is more interested in the caution that’s entered his eyes. She pushes herself to her knees, then slowly straddles his hips. “What’s wrong, you don’t want me to control your dreams? Afraid of where I might take you?” she teases, hoping to soften his fears with a touch of humour.
He circles her waist with his hands and smiles, but the worried creases on his forehead remain, and there’s nothing for it but to ask again. “Please, Solas. I’m simply interested,” she says. “I’ve never met a Dreamer before. You’ve shown the value of extracting experiences from the Fade. I’d love to be able to do the same.”
He drops his gaze pensively, and Elia waits patiently for his response. His expression is very serious when he finally meets her eye. “I will teach you a safer method of dreamwalking,” he says. “Not unlike a lucid dream. You will not have as much control over the environment, but you will be able to control yourself. You will be less likely to mistake this reality for the dream.”
She frowns and strokes his jawline. “I’ve felt the difference now,” she says. “I won’t mistake the two again. You don’t need to shield me.”
His expression softens, his eyebrows lifting as he slides his palms along her hips. “I know, vhenan,” he says gently. “I know your strength. I admit that it is my own fear standing in your way. Will you indulge me in this? For now?”
She studies his pleading expression for a moment. She’s still not sure what he’s so afraid of, but it seems a compromise is the order of the day. “All right,” she says. “Teach me the the basic version. Advanced studies will come later.” She shoots him a slightly challenging look, and he graces her with a half-smile in return.
She slides off of his lap to kneel attentively beside him, and he crosses his legs calmly as he begins the lesson. “As I said, the state you must adopt is akin to a lucid dream,” he says. “From there, it’s-”
“How do I that?” Elia interrupts.
Solas pauses, and Elia is surprised at how surprised he appears to be. “You… have you never had a lucid dream?” he says faintly.
She tilts her head. “Is that so unusual?”
He doesn’t speak for a moment, and Elia gets the sense that he’s chewing his tongue. Finally he takes a breath. “I am not sure how to explain this, then,” he says.
“Try,” she urges.
Solas slowly runs a hand over his scalp before speaking again. “It is the moment before you wake,” he explains. “That slow and quiet instant where your mind spans both realms at once. You know you are asleep, but you cannot acknowledge it fully. To look it in the face is to lose the dream entirely.” He closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the pillows, then inhales slowly before speaking again. “It is the act of holding a balance in your mind. Of floating on the surface of a dream without forcing yourself deeper. Trying to sink deeper into sleep will only pull you out.”
Elia stares at him, nonplussed. “That sounds complicated.”
He murmurs a distracted acknowledgement, then runs a hand over his scalp again. “If I could find an analogy…” He falls silent, his hand coming to rest on his forehead, then he slowly lifts his head from the pillows and meets her gaze.
She’s instantly diverted from her confusion by the look on his face. His eyes are piercing, steel-grey and sharper than Cole’s favourite dagger, and the sudden intensity of his gaze punches the air from her lungs.
He tilts his chin down slightly and slides his heated stare along the length of her kneeling form. “I have thought of a way to show you what I mean,” he informs her matter-of-factly. “One I am sure you’ll understand. Would you have me teach you?”
His scorching gaze is a plume writing heat across the length of her body, and a swelling of warmth takes root between her legs. She inhales shakily and tries to match his composure, but it’s growing near impossible as he continues to stare into her eyes. One look, a mere look from her lover, and she’s already wet.
She swallows hard before replying. Maybe she’s reading too much into this. His voice is as smooth and calm as ever, after all; perhaps he doesn’t have something erotic in mind. “Yes please,” she says, fighting hard to control her voice. “I want to understand.”
He smiles faintly and slides off the bed to his feet. “Then take off your clothes.”
A spike of delight jolts through her belly. It’s a simple command delivered in his mild-mannered voice, and she’s instantly compelled to follow.
She pulls her cotton shift over her head without a second’s hesitation. She shimmies off her smallclothes and tosses them aside, and Solas nods in satisfaction before holding out his hand. “Come,” he says.
Yes please, her cheeky mind chirps as she admires the glow of his hard and half-naked body in the candlelight. His chin is raised slightly and his posture more proud than usual. There’s something ever-so-slightly arrogant about the way he’s holding himself, and Mythal save her, but his unusually cocksure stance only makes her want him more.
She takes his hand as she slides to her feet, and he positions her in front of him. She waits in happy suspense as he studies her naked body from collarbones to calves, then lifts his eyes back to her face.
They’re silver pools of molten heat, and they rip a needy exhale from her lungs. He places one palm flat on her belly. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs.
She instinctively follows his command; her eyes wanted to fall shut anyway, to focus on the heated weight of his hand on her skin. The placement of his hand is careful and deliberate: his thumb rests just below her sternum, his little finger stretching below her navel, and it’s just close enough to her sweet spots to make her shift restlessly with uncomfortable want.
She feels the shifting of his weight as he steps closer, then the warmth of his words as he murmurs in her ear. “The balance you need for a lucid dream is like standing on the precipice of climax,” he tells her. “The pleasure rises inside of you, but you must hold it back if you wish to truly enjoy it. It is a heightened state of torturous ecstasy.”
Torturous ecstasy is right; his tone is so controlled, both musing and factual in one, and she would almost think he is speaking of the weather if not for the desperate thrumming of hunger pounding through her veins.
He continues to speak, apparently oblivious to her rising desperation. “The climax may feel near impossible to control. If you push too hard to reach it, it will escape you. If you ignore it, it will fade away. You must dance at the very edge of your own desire. That delicate balance is what a lucid dream is like.”
“So you want me to learn lucid dreaming by withholding orgasms?” she asks in a strained voice.
“Exactly,” he replies in satisfaction. “But it will not be I who withholds your orgasms. You will do that yourself.”
She opens her eyes to stare at him in dismay. “What?” she whimpers.
“Close your eyes,” he says firmly, and he waits for her to obey his command before continuing. “You will control how I touch you,” he explains. “When you feel you are about to come, you will tell me to stop. Then we will repeat. You will not come until I decide you are ready.”
“And when will that be?” Elia retorts. Her voice is sharp, she knows, but her arousal is such that she’s feeling irate already.
“When you have learned this lesson, vhenan,” he whispers. There’s a distinct thread of laughter in his voice now, and Elia growls faintly at his amusement.
He slides his hand lower, his fingers curving to press lightly against her cleft, and Elia mewls with distress, her ire forgotten in the wake of his teasing touch. She jerks her hips toward his fingers. “Please,” she whimpers.
A cascade of goosebumps spill down her spine when he presses his lips to her ear. “Slowly,” he murmurs. “Let the sensation come to you. Do not chase it. Breathe and focus. Feel my hand between your legs.”
Her fingernails bite into her palms as she clenches her fist, but she does her best to obey. His fingers are warm and firm, slightly curved to fit against her mound. He presses his fingers slowly against her flesh, and she inhales deeply as her feminine folds press against her eagerly swollen clit.
He lessens the pressure of his hand and she exhales, then breathes in again as his fingers push close against the apex of her thighs. Her impatience is thrumming beneath her skin, a shrill demand to thrust against his hand and take the pleasure that dances just within her reach. But Solas is so damned disciplined. If he can be this cool and composed, then so can she.
His fingers undulate against her in time with her breath, and she starts to rock her hips against his hand in a slow and soothing rhythm. The thrumming desperation eases with every inhale, replaced with a dark and dreamy desire that is both calmer and stronger at once.
His lips graze her cheekbone. “Good,” he whispers.
He slips one finger deeper to slide between her folds, and Elia arches languorously as he gently strokes her clit. The darkness of her pleasure is sparking, like flickers of lightning through a thundercloud, and Elia continues to breathe, collecting more strands of pleasure with every inhale.
The thundercloud builds, the lightning flickering more brightly in her core with every gentle stroke of his finger. Her breathing is heavier now, a slow gasping through her parted lips, and Elia knows she’s close; her eyelids are tight, her fists clenched, her rocking hips jerky as the climax rises and roils…
“Stop,” she gasps.
Solas immediately pulls his fingers away, and Elia moans in unabashed frustration as her orgasm collapses, sinking back into her limbs and leaving her absolutely agitated with arousal. She sits heavily on the edge of the bed and squeezes her thighs together, and a jolt of pleasure zips from the apex of her thighs up to her throat.
Solas firmly pushes her legs apart. “Do not cheat, vhenan. You are doing extremely well so far.”
His voice is perfectly bland and perfectly mischievous. She opens her eyes and stares at him with a combination of desperation and deep exasperation. He looks so damned sly, and Elia is of half a mind to curse him, but she somehow bites her tongue.
Finally she lets out a breathless laugh. “What’s next, ghi’lin?”
He huffs in amusement at her mocking formality, then jerks his chin at the bed. “Kneel on the bed and close your eyes.”
She obeys without a second thought. A moment later, the weight of the bed shifts as he crawls onto the mattress.
His parted thighs cradle her hips as he kneels behind her, and she leans languidly into the heat of his hard bare chest. Then her simmering desire bursts into boil when he slips his left hand around her throat.
A needy whimper escapes her lips before she can clamp them shut, and Solas chuckles against her skin. He caresses the tendon in her neck as he whispers against her ear. “We go again, vhenan. You will tell me when to stop.”
“Yes,” she breathes, and his right hand slides down to cup her pussy. Her pleasure is closer this time, gathered and coiled on the edge of her perception just as he described, and it’s harder for her to hold herself back this time.
The tip of his finger pets her clit with painstaking precision, and she digs her nails into his thigh as she savours his touch. Breathing in, then breathing out, she tries to control the pleasure, to keep it under wraps, but it reaches for her with insidious tendrils-
“Stop,” she cries, and it’s almost too late. Her hovering orgasm melts away but leaves a burning ache in its place, and she collapses back against Solas’s chest with a breathless sob.
He nips her neck with his teeth, and Elia sobs again with utter frustration. “Please,” she whines. “Please, please Solas, please…” She trails off with an inarticulate moan and clenches her nails against his leg again. Her begging might be a mistake, a sign that she’s not disciplined enough to earn an orgasm at his hands, but she’s so keyed up that she thinks she might scream.
He lightly strokes her throat with his fingers, then presses his lips to her ear. “Your focus is excellent,” he purrs. “Once more. Lie down and spread your legs.”
She whimpers with desire and dismay, but obeys his instruction and lies back against the pillows. He lowers himself to his hands and knees between her legs, and as he lowers his face to the juncture of her thighs, she deliriously admires how predatory he looks: the rippling of his lean muscled arms, the looming of his shoulders as he sinks low over her pussy looking for all the world like a wild animal about to feast…
His tongue slides between her slick folds, and Elia cries out in desperation. Her fists twist in the bedsheets, her fingers clenching tight until it’s painful. Solas lavishes her swollen bud with a plethora of thorough kisses, his lips and tongue working her into a frenzy of unbearable lust. She tries to focus on the tension in her hands instead of the inevitable rushing of her rapture, but the thwarted pleasure in her loins is too heavy a weight to ignore.
Her thoughts are thrashing chaos, like fish in a barrel. Oh please oh no oh fenedhis – she can’t give in, she can’t fall over the edge, if she falls over the edge he’ll never give himself to her-
“Stop!” she screams.
Solas doesn’t stop.
And with a surge of triumph, Elia realizes she’s succeeded at his lesson.
Solas grips her thighs and delves his tongue deeper, and Elia explodes with ecstasy as her long-awaited orgasm finally breaks. Light and heat and sheer sensation flood through her like dawn washing across the sky, and she arches shamelessly into his mouth.
He laps at her pussy until she flops bonelessly down against the mattress, then sits back on his heels and roughly wipes his mouth on his arm. He tugs roughly at the laces of his breeches as he stares imperiously down at her supine form.
“Are you ready for me?” he demands, and Elia lifts her hips eagerly from the bed. “Yes!” she cries.
Solas shoves his breeches off, then surges over her and grasps the back of her neck in one hand. He takes her mouth in a ravenous kiss as his cock slides home inside of her, and she releases her scream of pleasure to the heat of his mouth.
He was gentle with his fingers and careful with his tongue, the epitome of control and precision, and Elia forced herself to be just as controlled. But Solas is anything but disciplined now. His hips slam against her own in a rough and steady rhythm, his fingers tight in her hair and his breath hot and desperate against her neck. He trails his lips over her collarbone and bites her nipple, and Elia cries out and drags her nails along his back, drawing a gasp of pain from his throat.
His dominance is driving this joining, pulling her desperation ever higher, and she bucks wildly beneath him, uncaring about the sweat trickling along her forehead and along the tip of his nose. He bares his teeth, bestial and focused as he fucks her hard. A few blissful minutes later, he groans and bites her breast once more as he comes, and Elia scrapes her nails across his shoulders and enjoys the resultant rippling shudder across his skin.
He breathes hard against her neck as he recovers from his release. “You,” he gasps, “are exquisite.”
“So are you,” she breathes. She’s panting herself as she languishes beneath his hard lean body. Her eyes are closed, the shadows of lights still popping behind her eyelids from the ferocity of their fucking. As her breathing gradually slows, she muses on the nature of these popping lights, and how they almost look like rain against a stained glass window. Or perhaps like flakes of snow floating through the air. Like the snow that drifted over the battlements when they first arrived at Skyhold.
She blinks slowly, then admires the battlements with lazy appreciation. “I do love this castle, you know,” she says. “But there’s still so much work to do.”
She looks over her shoulder and smiles at Solas, who approaches with his hands clasped behind his back. “There is,” he agrees. “Where would you start?”
“Here,” Elia says, and she spreads her arms to encompass the garden. She looks happily at the cracking pagoda and the overgrown well, then narrows her eyes suspiciously.
As soon as she realizes where they are, it starts to fade. Just before she wakes, Solas’s voice is in her ear, both close and far away at once. “You did it, vhenan,” he whispers. “You are controlling this. This is the dream.”
She inhales slowly and opens her eyes to find him smiling down at her, his granite eyes glowing with pride. He takes her lips in a slow and tender kiss, and Elia happily wraps her arms around his neck. Solas is an excellent teacher, but for the first time since she’s known him, he’s wrong.
This is the dream. Here in this bed with her lover stretched above her, wrapped in the safety of his adoring arms: this is the dream.
************
(Elvhen terms, thanks to @fenxshiral: ghi’lin = teacher)
All the enemies from Inquisition: Fuck the Inquisitor.
Nearly all of the Inner Circle: Fuck, dude, we’re trying.
The Sharper Edge of Love: Romance, Sex, and Fanfic 