For the sleepy prompts: how about 2 for Cori and Y'shtola? 👀
thank you rolo!! 💗
2. “Go rest. I’ll take care of it.” || (420 words)
Corisande pushed open the doors of the Waking Sands storeroom, hoping to grab a quick snack before they made their way to an inn for the night. They expected it to be empty at this hour, everyone either gone home for the night or curled up somewhere much more comfortable. Instead they found Y’shtola, a host of books arrayed on the table before her, resting her chin in her hand.
It was hard to tell from this distance, but Corisande was certain she was asleep.
She approached the table quietly, trying not to disturb her. Only when she was at Y’shtola’s side did her eyes snap open, wide with alarm.
“Oh, Corisande! ‘Tis only you.” She straightened in her chair, blinking as she focused on Corisande. “I take it your mission fared well, seeing as you have returned in one piece, late though your arrival may be.”
“I hadn’t realized I was on a schedule,” Corisande teased. “What keeps you here at such an hour? This does not seem like the most comfortable way to sleep.”
“I wished to see your safe return myself. Though had you not awoken me, ‘tis likely I would have missed your arrival completely.” She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn behind her hand before smiling up at Corisande.
They smiled back, warming at Y’shtola’s care for them. Judging by how low her lamp had burned, she had waited a long time for them to return. “You did not have to wait up for me.”
She waved at Corisande, dismissing their words, then gestured at the book that lay open before her. “Pray do not think I have spent this time idle, however. I have been researching the primal entities, that we may be more prepared should they be summoned yet again.”
“I would not dream of suggesting you had ever been idle, Shtola.” She fought back a teasing grin. “Though I think you have done enough work for the night. You should get some sleep.”
Y’shtola’s eyes closed again, and she slumped slightly in her chair. “I just need to return these books to the shelves first.”
“Go rest,” they said, squeezing her shoulder. “I’ll take care of it.”
She nodded and pushed herself up from the table. She squeezed their elbow gently, listing toward them. “Thank you, Corisande. And as always, I am glad that you returned to us safely.”
Y’shtola left the lamp behind as she headed for the door. Corisande watched her go, heart full with affection for her friend.
I'm coming into your inbox to shout-yell at you about that friendship comic because it's so beautiful and so heartbreaking and how dare you make me feel this way I was not prepared and just... it's such pretty art, and so vibrant and can I just shove all my feelings at you cause I can't deal with them 😂😭
I think we could all use a little more of Solas losing his collective shit over a ridiculous joke. Here is smol sketch of some giggly boys to soothe your ails uwu/🍁
For DWC: Glistening, or shimmery mirage (or both?) :D
So ages ago @keturagh mentioned this pairing, and recently it popped into my head? I decided to give it a go with this prompt. @dadrunkwriting
Fandom: Dragon Age, Words: 486
Solas x Cassandra | Inquisition timeframe | pre-relationship
Rating: gen. Implied longing, sparring, background Dorian x Trevelyan
Poetry
They’ve barely made camp – the scouts are still pitching the tents, the requisitions officer have yet to even look in the Inquisitor’s direction, and yet Cassandra is already working through her training pattern. She’s shed her armor, a thin layer of sweat covering her arms and brow, glistening in the late afternoon sun.
Not that Solas has noticed.
“Training already, Seeker?”
“It is not useful to sit idle.” She puts down her sword. “Or at least, I have no purpose in that.”
Her eyes travel to Inquisitor Trevelyan, who is resting next to Dorian. The latter whispers something; Trevelyan laughs. Dorian’s magic hums, he is explaining and showing Trevelyan something. Their hands are joined. Solas averts his eyes. They have little enough time for each other as it is.
“No time for romance?”
“With whom, Solas?” She sighs, almost inaudible. “Today was mostly walking, save the bears. Training serves a purpose. I have seen you too, Solas, honing you magic.”
He nods. His magic is straining against the veil, no longer as natural as breathing.
“I commend your dedication, Cassandra.”
She acknowledges his comment with a tilt of her head.
“Do you wish to spar? I could use some practice on my staff work.” And neither of us would be so lonely.
“Are you sure?” Cassandra raises an eyebrow.
Solas nods and takes off his outer coat and his sweater. He raises his staff in greeting, and then he parries as Cassandra lunges. Back and forth they weave, and Solas manages to press her against a tree, but she goes low, grazing his leg. When she checks on him, he waves her off, and catches her hip with his staff. She grunts and doubles her effort. He suspects she might have held back before, and he stumbles backwards. Cassandra press him again. He steps back. She feints, and he dodges, and she reverses direction, and she keeps coming.
Solas ends up flat on his back, her blade a sliver from his throat. He swallows.
“I yield.”
Cassandra withdraws her sword and offers her hand. He takes it and she pulls him to his feet. He is not much taller than her.
“Well done, Solas.”
“I was the one flat on my back, while you are poetry in motion.”
“Flatterer.”
“Praise well earned. If I wanted to flatter you, I’d recite you poetry of warriors past with your head in my lap.”
“Do not mock me, Solas.”
“I am not.”
Cassandra is very close, and her eyes are dark and beautiful. Their hands are still joined, warm and sticky. His thumb caresses her knuckle, seemly of it’s own accord.
“Solas, Cassandra! There you are!” Trevelyan approaches, clasping both their shoulders. Solas lets go and snatches his hand back. Too close. Much too close.
“Dinner is ready,” Trevelyan continues. “I’m afraid the hare I got earlier doesn’t go far, but it’s better than root vegetable soup. Come eat.”
Can I know more about ghi'lal'da'laven, please? :D
Sentinels were once “The Sentinel” style sentinels, with partners called Ghi'lal'da'laven - Guiding Hands, or possibly Ghi'lal'falon – Guiding Friend or Falon'ra'ghi'lan – Friend that Guides, (a title). Such a bond may, but not necessarily, have had a romantic aspect. They are twin souls.
Sentinels who did not find their Ghi'lal'da'laven could choose to be bound to an Evanuris via vallaslin. This led to the practice of finding Ghi’lal’falon before they awakened and binding them to the Evanuris that found them. By hiding their Ghi'lal'da'laven in this way, the Evanuris forced Sentinels to submit to vallaslin to avoid going mad. (idea borrowed from An Elvhen Revolution: Freedom Will Sing by Spade_Storm).
My story is set post-Trespasser & also (as I am unlikely... never... gonna post it, so feel free to run off with any inspiration) borrows @salexectria's Solas & Anise, from Savior of the Damned, with a surviving ancient OC protagonist.
The Wayhaven Chronicles, Mason x f!OC (Harper Grey). 3,182 words, rated E. Set after everyone’s favorite line from the Book 3 Demo.
---
By far the best part of Unit Bravo’s warehouse base being so close to Wayhaven is its gym. Harper doesn’t have to worry about annoying her neighbors working out in her living room anymore, and she doesn’t have to worry about bumping into Douglas in the closet the police department has been trying to pass off as a gym for years.
With the warehouse so close, it’s way easier to just drive over there and exercise, get some tension out with the punching bag or the ridiculously high-tech treadmill, and… okay, yeah, maybe see if someone (Mason, it’s always Mason) is up for combat training.
She thought things might be weird (weirder) after the bakery, but neither of them seems keen on bringing it back up. Harper wants to just ignore the way his words stung when he said them, and he… well, no matter why he looked uncomfortable afterward, he’s acting like his normal self now that they’re using her training as an excuse to be in each other’s space again.
It almost feels like it did before, and Harper leans into it hard, fighting back and trying to gauge what he’s going to do so she can dodge his blows and roll out of the way of his tackles.
She’s not great at it yet, but she likes to think she’s getting better.
She’s pretty sure he’s not just taking it easy on her at least. She’s definitely going to have bruises on her thighs and back from falling down, even on the padded mat, and her knuckles ache from the few blows she’s actually managed to land on him, even through the wrappings she’s wearing.
The longer they fight -- well, the longer he dashes around her while she hopes to make contact with him before he makes contact with her -- the harder her breath comes and the slower her reactions, until finally Mason barrels into her, lifting her up and slamming her down on the mat.
“I think you’re getting worse,” he says, twisting her arm behind her back just enough so she’ll feel it, but not so far that it’ll hurt her. “You need to train more.”
Irritation flows through her, washing away the arousal she always feels in Mason’s presence. Even the solid weight of him against her back isn’t enough to overpower it, and she just tries to yank her arm out of his grip.
He releases her and gives her the space she needs to get up, but she just rolls over onto her back and presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Fuck me.” She forces her words out from between clenched teeth, frustration coiling tight in her chest. She’s never going to be strong enough to fight back against any of the supernaturals she’ll come into contact with, so she might as well give up and go read those old books with Nate.
Mason’s long fingers wrapping around her wrists snap her train of thought in half, quieting the spiral before it gets too out of control. She almost forgets what she said until he presses her hands into the mat and shifts to kneel between her thighs.
“That’s not what I meant by ‘training,’ but I’m happy to help you out.” He grins at her, slow and wide, and tightens his grip on her wrists when she tests it.
It’s not what she meant either, but having his body so close to hers while the adrenaline from training is still swirling through her… it makes her reaction stronger than usual, all the energy surging between her legs so that she arches her hips up toward his before her brain fully has time to decide.
He leans in like he’s going to kiss her, but he stops when she tilts her chin up to meet him. Instead, he rakes his eyes down her body as his grin grows, and she can’t help but arch her back to entice him to touch her.
He shifts so that both her wrists are in one of his hands and reaches down to push her too-large tee up to expose her stomach, then higher to cup her breast through her sports bra. He squeezes, just this side of too painful, and his grin shows his teeth when she sucks in a sharp breath.
“Sure would help you work out some of that tension, anyway,” he says, and he leans down even closer, pausing when their noses are just close enough to brush together to wait for her to nod at him.
He always waits for her to say wants him.
The kiss starts deep, with his tongue dipping into her mouth right away like he’s just been waiting to taste her. She moans into it and wraps her legs around his waist, pulling his hips against hers. He moves into her, grinding down until sparks of pleasure flow through her.
He always touches her exactly the way she wants to be touched, like he can hear what she’s thinking to respond to it. He holds her tighter when she squirms, rocks his hips against hers in a slow roll, moves his lips to her neck the moment she starts to lift her chin.
She moans again as his teeth scrape over her skin, not even hard enough to leave a mark, but just the promise of it is enough to make her body flood with need.
Above her, the bastard chuckles, the noise pressed against her throat. “Delicious,” he says, and she curses herself for the way the word makes her heart skip. He bites at her again, a little rougher, then soothes the spot with his tongue while she spreads her legs wider.
“Mason?” He makes a curious noise and sits up just enough to look at her. His pupils are wide, his lips wet, and she can’t help the way her breath hitches at the sight of him. “We both have beds here.”
He doesn’t move. “Where’s the fun in that?” His smile grows as he speaks and he leans in to punctuate his question with another kiss. She lets him in, parting her lips for him, and tries to ignore the way it makes goosebumps roll over her skin.
The next time he pulls back to let her breathe, she says, “The fun is in Adam not interrupting us this time.”
Mason makes another little noise of consideration before releasing her. He’s up on his feet so fast she barely sees him move, then he has her up over his shoulder so fast it makes her head spin. She bites back a squeal and balances with her hands on his lower back, then lets them slide lower to squeeze his ass as he starts to move.
He spanks her in retaliation, and she bites her lip to keep from making any noise now that they’re out in the hallway. Being interrupted in the gym would be embarrassing, but so would someone catching them between the gym and Mason’s room.
If anyone sees them, they don’t say anything, and she’s none the wiser as Mason pushes through a door and brings them back into privacy. The bed he drops her on is her own, and she has half a second to realize he probably doesn’t want her in his private space before he’s crawling back on top of her to press her into her mattress.
She ignores the way that stings, because it’s what they agreed to at the start of all of this. Nothing complicated, he’d said, and she’d been so wound up she’d thrown herself at him. And here they are again, not seeing each other, but seeing each other naked.
She tries to ignore another flicker of annoyance at that, but it reminds her she hasn’t actually seen him naked in days. And if that’s all he wants out of this, then…
He moves when she pushes his shoulder, rolling onto his back at her direction. He starts to pull her with him until she slips off the bed to stand up, and he sits up to watch her.
He looks amazing already, hair mussed and lips just the tiniest bit swollen from their kisses. He arches his eyebrows when she doesn’t say anything right away, distracted as she is by the way his shirt is riding up around his waist, and he preens under her attention to goad her into action.
“Take your clothes off.” She tries to sound commanding, like she’s actually the one in charge, but all it does is make Mason’s eyebrows lift even higher.
“You first, sweetheart.” There’s a challenge on his face, and she rises to meet it.
She squares her shoulders and crosses her arms. “You just beat the shit out of me in the name of training,” she says, and leaves out the bit about embarrassing her at the bakery even though that’s what stings the most. “Least you could do is let me see you naked now.”
He licks his lips and then gives her another of his long smiles before standing up. He’s close enough that his arms brush against hers when he pulls his shirt off over his head, and it’s more of a struggle for him to push his jeans down without bumping into her, but she doesn’t step back, doesn’t step away from the challenge she’s presented him.
When he’s naked, he stretches to his full height above her and looks down into her eyes, his grin showing a hint of teeth. She rakes her eyes over his body, drinking in his defined muscles, the freckles sprinkled over his skin, the way he’s half-hard with his cock growing between them.
“Listen, I know you’re enjoying the view, but…” He breaches the distance between them, finally, first to tug at the collar of her tee and then to press his fingers under her chin to tilt her gaze back up to meet his. “There’s a lot more you can enjoy.”
He grins when she reaches out with one hand, and she’s gratified to hear his breath catch in his throat as her fingers wrap around his cock. She pumps him slowly, watching the way his muscles tense, the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he closes his eyes.
He’s beautiful, and she wants to wipe the smug smile off his face.
“Sit down.” She stops stroking him and pushes with that hand instead, guiding him down to sit on the edge of her mattress. He goes where she directs him, eyes wide and dark. He reaches for her hips and she steps back, moving out of his reach, and revels in the thrill that rolls through her at teasing him this way.
She pushes her shorts and underwear down and steps out of them, but she leaves her shirt on just because it’s long enough to block what he really wants to see.
He reaches for her again when she steps closer, but she wraps her fingers around his throat and he falls still. She can feel his pulse against her fingers, feels it quicken as she squeezes just a bit.
“This is for me,” she tells him, voice rougher than she wanted it to be. “Like you said. I’m working out some tension.”
The corners of his lips twitch up as she pushes forward, straddling him with her knees pressed into the mattress without letting go of his throat. He keeps his chin up and his hands fisting the blankets, waiting as she settles herself over him.
She shivers as she feels him hard and hot against her, want so clearly written across his features. She grinds against him, their eyes locked, and she can see the control slipping as she teases him.
She’s not sure how far she can push him, what he’s willing to put up with as she plays this game. She’s always let him take control before, but watching him squirm under her is making her wet.
When she finally tilts her hips just right and slides down onto him, he growls from deep in his chest. The sound sends a thrill through her, makes her wetter, makes the slide even easier. He grins at her when he bottoms out, like he knows what he’s doing to her, but he still just leans back a little to give her room to move and room to watch him since he’s the one on full display.
It is deeply satisfying to see his muscles twitching in an effort to stay still, to see his fingers digging into her blankets until they’re at risk of tearing because he’s trying so hard to give her what she wants.
She uses her thighs to lift herself up and push herself back down, slow the first time, then hard and fast. She takes from him, uses him for the pleasure she needs and doesn’t slow down to see how he’s taking it because she knows he can take whatever she gives him and more.
Under her, Mason groans with each thrust, a steady chorus that lets her know he’s enjoying this as much as she is. His pulse hammers away under her fingers, spurring her on as much as the pure euphoria coursing over her.
If she knew fucking Mason would feel this good, she would’ve dragged him away from the group the first time she caught him staring at her ass in her office.
“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” Mason’s voice, thick with arousal, makes her eyes snap up to meet his. “Is that what you needed?”
“Do you think your dick’s just going to magically make me feel better?” She sounds breathless, fucked out, and she hates that it makes him sound right.
He grins, showing his teeth. “I should’ve fucked you the second I found you in the gym.”
She slows her thrusts, switches to longer, deeper ones that make him lean forward, closing the distance between them. She fights him, just for a second, tightening her grip on his throat before giving in. She slides her hand around to the back of his head, tangling in his hair to pull his face to hers for a kiss.
He goes with her, but he bites her lip instead of kissing her. He tugs and she squeals, fucking down hard one more time before he finally gets tired of letting her do what she wants.
The room spins around her as he flips them, and then stars burst across her vision as he pushes her thighs apart and fucks back into her exactly as hard as she can handle. She howls as he laughs, and then she struggles to meet his eyes as he goes absolutely still.
“There you go,” he says, voice fake sweet. She doesn’t have any warning before he rips her shirt in half, shredding it like it’s a piece of paper.
Cool air hits her sweaty skin, sending goosebumps rippling over her body that have as much to do with the temperature as with the sudden display of strength. She doesn’t even bother to fight when he reaches up and gives her sports bra the same treatment, ruining her only clothes and completely exposing her to his hungry gaze.
“Isn’t that better?” His eyes darken as he stares at her, and she lifts trembling thighs to rest her ankles up on his shoulders.
“What are you waiting for?” She stretches her arms over her head and arches her back, just a bit, already confident she’ll be sore in the morning. “Fuck me.”
He doesn’t move except to lean closer, folding her in half just so he can kiss her. His lips linger over hers, almost sweet, then his tongue presses into her mouth in a demand. She lets him take from her, like she took from him, and she can’t help but moan at the feeling.
Mason smiles against her mouth and starts to move his hips.
His first thrust is hard enough to shove her up the bed, and she stops herself from hitting her head against the wall by pressing her hands flat against it. Mason grabs her hips and hauls her back into his lap, holding her steady so he can fuck her without the threat of slamming her head into the wall as he does.
She can’t hold back her moans this time, not with the way he’s hitting her just right, not even knowing the rest of Unit Bravo has to be able to hear her. If he’s going to fuck her the way she needs to be fucked, she’s going to let him know how good it feels.
She keeps her eyes closed tight until Mason shifts over her, lowering her legs from his shoulders so that her thighs bracket his hips again and he can lean over her without hurting her. His thrusts stay the same, deep and perfect, but the way he grabs for her hand with his free one let her know that he’s getting close.
He kisses her, deep and intimate, and she can’t help the way she clenches around him at the contact. The way he twines their fingers makes her feel like his words from the bakery were a lie, and that makes her clench around him again even though she hates it.
He can tell though, he can always tell. He can read her better than she can read herself sometimes, and he moves his lips down to her neck. She tilts her head to the side so he can reach her better, and he chuckles against her as he scrapes his teeth across her skin. The promise of a bite pushes her closer, and the way he nips at the underside of her chin is her undoing.
She scratches his back with her free hand as she comes, squeezing her fingers with the other. Pleasure washes over her in waves, pushed on by his unfaltering rhythm.
He curls around her, holds her tight, presses in as deep as he can when he comes just after her. Just as her muscles relax, his tighten, and he fills her deep inside with a groan pressed against her throat.
He kisses her again as he relaxes, then again as he slips out of her. She presses her shaking thighs together and he laughs, squeezing them both with his hands as he sits next to her on the mattress.
“Better?”
Damn the man.
“Better.”
His next laugh sounds smug, and she ignores it, pressing her hands over her eyes instead. She flinches when fabric hits her bare stomach, and she looks down to see his shirt balled up on top of her as he pulls up his pants.
“Since I ruined yours,” he says, a long smirk on his face. He winks and then he’s gone, leaving her alone, despite the way she aches to have him curl up at her side for a while.
The shirt is soft when she pulls it on, and she buries her face in it to cover her blush.
Also for micro stories, if you want a challenge: "A fistfight" feat. Solas? ;) :D
Thanks, lady! Man, I tried to get at this prompt from a few different directions, but they all tried to balloon on me, so... I hope you like it!
-
Bull and Dorian were watching Solas do… well, whatever the fuck he called the thing he was doing at the moment. It looked like he was doing hand-to-hand combat, but in slow motion and with great focus on looking constipated.
“Is that helpful in casting magic?” Bull asked in a loud stage whisper.
Dorian shrugged.
“Mages in southern Thedas do a lot of incomprehensible things and I stopped trying to understand them a long time ago.”
Solas paused mid-pose and looked over, clearly annoyed.
“If you must know, this is an ancient elven practice that helps sharpen the body and mind into a congruent weapon of war,” he said in a clipped tone. “Just because you’re not familiar with it doesn’t make it any less valid.”
Bull raised an eyebrow.
“Since when mages do hand-to-hand battles?” he asked.
Solas shot him a challenging look.
“Not every mage is feeble of body, Iron Bull,” he quipped. “I’ve been in many fistfights in my days and I won them all.”
This was both amusing and fascinating, so Bull decided to prod further.
“I’m not sure if fighting in the geriatric league counts as real fistfighting.”
Solas straightened up and faced Bull properly. There was a dangerous aura around him that spoke of capacity for violence beyond what the man generally presented to the world and it thrilled Bull to finally see beyond the carefully constructed facade.
“I know what you’re doing, Bull, and it’s not going to work,” Solas said slowly, then relaxed his stance. “If my exercising bothers you so much, I shall do it someplace else. Goodday.”
And with that, he picked up his belongings and briskly walked away.
“I think you’ve offended our elven friend,” Dorian said quietly.
