Sub!Solas Appreciation Week

Finished weeks ago, but I hesitated posting as it contains some personally sensitive material given my own ace/sexual relationship. Features Solavellan sexual compromise with Ace & touch sensitive Lavellan. NSFW. Written for @submissivesolas week and @dragonageaspecweek.  

Tagging: @princessdreadwolf, @ellstersmash, @lunar-jam @adventuresinastrangeworld, @accidental-apostate​ , ​ @amayaredfern

She sits in his lap, straddling him in his chair in the rotunda. His hands rest on her waist, his discarded book lying open and face down on the floor. She leans into him, their lips and tongues meeting and tangling… and something else presses against her thigh.   

She pulls back and glances to where their hips meet before bringing her eyes back to his. “I’m making you uncomfortable.” 

He smiles. “It’s not a problem.” He slides an arm around her to pull her back to him, but stops. “Unless, it’s making you uncomfortable.” 

“No.” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t bother me. But I can stop if–” 

“Vhenan, sometimes just looking at you makes me ‘uncomfortable.'” He chuckles. “If you’re concerned for my sake, I would much rather you continue showing your affection. I will handle it later.” 

She lets him pull her to him this time, and they resume their tongue wrestling. She’s been continuously surprised by his support and understanding ever since she told him she had no desire for nor an interest in sex.  

“There can be intimacy in a relationship without sex,” he told her. “And I can handle any… physical urges in other ways.”  

He’d handle it. It’s what he’d said then and what he told her now. He’d probably been handling it for weeks, months if she included the time they were together before she admitted the truth about herself.  

What if she didn’t want him to have to handle it? Or at least, not all the time?

However! It is not the end of subby solas in our fandom. I had a few individuals reach out to me with interest in still sharing their works, even though they weren’t able to meet the deadline (your mod included) and we are more than happy to continue reblogging anything tagged for us to feature on this blog. 

As with the event, any fic tagged for us will still be pre-read to ensure it meets our blog’s theme and has no iffy consent issues. 

Mod Destiny has a bit of a busy day tomorrow, but expect a masterpost to highlight all the great stuff that was shared this week, plus the giveaway winner sometime within the next 24 hours. 

My original story is over 14 pages long and I’m still not done. >_>; That being said I’m including under the cut a small sample of what I’ve been writing for Sub Solas Week. @submissivesolas This is my entry for this week. ^.^

Title: Enchanter After Dark

Rating: E

Pairing: Solas/F!Trevelyan

Summary: The Iron Bull pays more attention to details more than what Solas is comfortable with. He approaches Solas with an offer. This was his second chance. How could he possibly refuse?

Control.

It was not an easy thing for him to relinquish to another.

Ever since his stumble, ever since his failure, he needed to make things right. He needed to right his wrongs. Every step in the Inquisition, every move that his agents made, was by his hand. He would entrust them to be in positions that they could flourish in, but still their directions were led by him. The Veil was in such a delicate state that he could not let one thing go wrong, well, one more thing.

That week had been unusually stressful for his heart. The world had placed its burdens upon her shoulders. Even though she vehemently denied it, it was taking a toll on her. Every day she would return to their bed further and further from herself. At that moment, he realized he wasn’t the one who needed control, it was her.

And she took it without apology.

That morning he been stripped of his reign, and his clothing.

His hands were bound behind the back of the armless chair within their currently shared quarters. Another set of ropes kept his ankles to the legs of the piece of furniture, and those knots were connected to the set behind his back. He had spent much of the morning fighting against the restraints and testing their strength.

He wasn’t sure where she had learned, but he was completely bound to the chair and was not going to escape any time soon.

There had only been one instruction for him before she left: You need to be ready for me when I return.

That statement held a thousand possibilities, but the way he was presented for her left him with only one. His morning was filled with thoughts of her. The curve of her body in his shirt as she left, the wicked smile playing upon her lips as she rolled the sleeves of his shirt up her arms, the show of her thigh from the slits in the side of the fabric, and the memory of her lips upon his brow before she left wearing only his tunic and a pair of high boots… all of these memories kept him ready for her.

The echo of her boots against the stone steps leading to their room brought his eyes open. He tried to wet his lips but realized that his mouth had gone dry. How long had she been gone? He had tried to pass the time by rolling his mind into the Fade but the anticipation of her return left him anxious and wanting. He focused his thoughts on the taste of her lips, how her ambrosia smelled like musk and honey, how he suddenly was desperate for a drink from that well of pleasure.

“Oh good. You’re still here.” She teased him, shutting the door with her foot and walking over to him with a deliberate weight in her step, the effect swaying her hips in front of him so that the fabric moved and exposed the skin of her upper thighs with her movements. There was a perfect window between the top of her boots and where the bottom of his tunic ended, and is were transfixed on that area of smooth skin.

His lips were parted, the thunder of his heartbeat roaring through his ears as she smoothly walked over with a clear wine glass and a bottle in one hand, and a sweet-smelling treat in the other. She put the treat in her mouth and poured a glass for herself, the presumably sweet white wine nearly spilling over the edge. The slow, dripping fill of the crystal glass made him nearly groan in thirst. He was unable to control the soft whine that fell from his lips, and that immediately caught her attention.

“I’m sorry, would you like some? Here.” She grabbed the long stem of the glass with her filed, painted nails and slowly lifted it to her lips. He watched as a few drops of the wine fell down the curve of her chin, the hollows of her neck, and eventually into the shadows that were created by the curves of her breast.

“Vhenan.” He pled, voice strained as well as his length against the inside of her thigh as she straddled him. She purred low, kissing him briefly before tilting her head in a move to deepen the kiss. Her lips tasted of sweet wine so he did so gladly, a full moan breaking from his throat when wine flooded into his mouth from hers. He drank it down greedily, his tongue sliding against hers, searching for more of the taste that mimicked how she tasted between the crux of her thighs. She ground her hips against the base of his arousal, her lips curving into a satisfied smile.

Solas - friendship | gen Touch starved, background Trevelyan x Dorian, angst 

Alone

Josephine is the first who discovers it. After a meeting, she thanks him for his insight on the Breach, touching his arm lightly. He can feel the heat of her hand through his sweater, and he leans slightly towards her. He jerks back when he realizes, but the Ambassador just smiles.

A few days later, she hands him a report on rift locations.

“You should join us for dinner some time, Solas.” She says it casually, with a smile. He knows her and Leliana tries to get the Herald, the advisors and the closest circle to all come. He thinks of the press of people, of the warmth of them. He thinks of things he can’t have. He shakes his head.

She hovers closer, into his space, but not close enough to touch. “Your stories are so fascinating. It would be a delight to have you join, should you change your mind.”

Sera, of all people, is the next one who notices. They are in the tavern in Haven, returned from a successful outing. He is not entirely sure why he is here, on the same bench as the Herald, drinking thin beer. Sera appears, carrying more.

“Scoot over, Solas!”

She doesn’t wait, she sits next to him, and he suddenly trapped between the large human and the small elf. It feels hot, their thighs pressed against him. Real. He focuses on his drink.

Soon, Sera leans across him, raising her fist to meet Trevelyan’s. It puts her head below his chin, and he can’t remember the last time he had someone else’s hair tickle his face. Her hair smells like lavender soap, and he cannot remember. When she gone, he is frozen. Everyone is so alive. He quickly retreats, bidding all of them goodnight. He can feel Sera’s eyes at his back.

Now, whenever they fight together, Sera claps his shoulder after, a friendly gesture for all her biting words.

“Arrows, eh? Not a bad thing.”

It is not a bad thing at all.

The Inquisitor relies on touch. He kisses Cassandra’s hand and laughs when she blushes. He offers a friendly hug to any soldier after a sparring match. He squeezes Leliana’s shoulder when he accepts a report.

Solas finds he enjoys the other man’s friendship, odd as it seems. He is remarkably open minded for what Solas has come to expect in this age. Despite his preference of turning almost anything into a lighthearted joke, he shows both compassion and subtlety in leading the Inquisition. He continues to surprise.  

When he stops by with a question for Solas, he leans into his space. He offers a big smile, or a frown when he disagrees. He brushes his hand against Solas’, he clasps his shoulder. Solas finds he doesn’t mind.

It becomes a new normal, no matter who is in his company. Touches. Smiles. Friendship.

He gives in at some point, seeking it out.

They are at a camp, and the Iron Bull has convinced Cassandra to read aloud from Sword and Shields. She is furiously blushing, but Max Trevelyan is disarming and encouraging, his head resting in Dorian’s lap. Soon, however, Cassandra declares it too dark to read.

“I can provide some light,” Solas offers, and uses it as an excuse to move closer to her, a mage light appearing by his face. When he feels tired, it feels utterly normal to rest his head on Cassandras shoulder.

“They’re real, you know.” Cole is perched at the top of the scaffolding, knees tucked under his chin.

“I am not sure that is something you can understand, Cole.”

“You like it though. Their realness.”

He doesn’t answer. He knows Cole is just trying to help, but he doesn’t need the reminder. He has gotten used to it, being among people. Friends.

“It doesn’t have to end. Why will it?”

“I appreciate your help, but it might be better if you stopped trying. I am truly sorry.”

“You are.” When Solas next looks up, the boy is gone.

There is no one else here either, no smiles, no touch on his skin. Soon, every moment will be like that.

So… dear anon, fellow followers, here is my writing contribution to @submissivesolas week!

first, I want to give a huuuuuuge thank to my übereditor @cordkitty-ish with who I had a lot of fun even if I craved for my bed. Thanks to you we’re in time and you made an awesome job. I can’t wait to laugh work with you again! <3 <3 <3

An other wink to @ironsave because without them this text wouldn’t have even pop in my head. Thanks dear to help me break my limits!

I hope you’ll all enjoy, especially @mindtrove and @tel-abelas-mofo ;)

WARNING THO in the tags!

Vhenan! Breakfas- dang it Cookie!

Boof!

For @submissivesolas week

Nonbinary Adaar/Solas/Female Lavellan

Warnings for: Butt Stuff. All the butt stuff. So, so, so NSFW.

Read below or on A03

Few would call Kaaras a quick study.

After some consideration, Solas has found that he is not one of them.

He has found a surprising intelligence to their thoughts, more than even they give themselves credit for, but it has to be coaxed out of them. Invited. They are, in most situations, hesitant, and the uncertainty that precedes nearly every word, every movement they make, gives the impression that they are slow of mind. But Solas now knows the truth to be a lack of confidence, perhaps due to growing up singing the Chant as a child with stubby horns, and no place being made for them within its verses.

Given a little positive reinforcement, Kaaras is shown to be kind, patient, gentle, and far more intelligent than they appear at first glance. Cullen has had excellent results teaching the Inquisitor to play chess, and Solas suspects they would lose less coin at Wicked Grace if they actually put an effort into determining when their friends are bluffing. Just last week he found Kaaras in the garden, passionately debating some nuance of the Chant with a flabbergasted Mother Giselle.

It is becoming clear that all Kaaras Adaar needed to become a leader was a little experience. A little coaching, a gentle guiding hand.

In love, they are much the same. But Solas finds their progress in that area to be… significantly faster, than how well they suit the role of Inquisitor.

Glimpses: A Kitten Tames a Wolf

Rating: E

Genre: Romance

Verse: Confessions of a Teacher’s Pet

Pairing: Solas x Surana

Warnings: Teacher x student, age gap, heavy use of ‘c slur’ (not used as a slur though), long

@submissivesolas :D my contribution for sub!Solas week. Enjoy!

She stood at the threshold to the living room, eyes wide, fingers grasping the doorway and legs shaking slightly. He must have done this before she woke up most days, early in the morning while she was still sleeping off whatever state he’d put her in the previous night.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip and her eyes raked over his half-naked body, his tight muscles gleaming in the early morning sunlight. She leaned into the doorway, watching as he lifted himself from the floor over and over, his toned back flexing with every movement. Her heart raced and she swallowed hard, reaching down to hold the hem of her shirt -his shirt, really- between her fingers.

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Adaar/Fen'Harel, Adaar/Solas (mentioned)

Characters: Fen'Harel (Dragon Age), Female Mage Adaar

Additional Tags: Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Time Shenanigans, Rough Sex, Frottage, Dom/sub Play

Series: Part 2 of Young Fen'Harel AU

Summary:

“Ancestors,” Saar mutters, though she’s chuckling. “How am I supposed to ever get my pants off when you never stop climbing all over me?”

Fen’Harel laughs and every light in the room flickers with it, sends the shadows dancing over the walls.

“Make me,” he says. “Make me, dragonborn. Show me how strong you are.”

Things get heated – NSFW Below cut. @submissivesolas

Fen’Harel looks to his Mistress to help him in the way only she can. He relinquishes everything to her. As the world burns under the fires of his revolution, she is the only one left who can bring him to heel.

Content: D/s dynamic, body horror, petplay (mention), edgeplay with fire, waxplay, ropeplay, cock and ball torture, ballbusting, self-inflicted pain, rough body play, shocking, temperature play, verbal humiliation and degradation, begging, praise kink, pain for pleasure. For Sub Solas Week @submissivesolas.

Pride and Desire

*My contribution for sub!solas week. An old piece that I edited and rewrote. NSFW*

I would not consider myself a pious man, no. A man of control, however, I could carry that title like a crown upon my head.

Or so I had convinced myself.

For many years I have kept my bestial needs to a minimum, only needing to let out a release on rare occasions, just as one would oil their door hinges to keep it from squeaking. But tonight, the inner workings of my mind debased me, calling me to succumb to the wanton desires that had begun to wear on me.

If it weren’t for the wine, the delicacies, the frilly little cakes, the juicy politics, the intrigue–and the heady scent of sex permeating my senses in that damned palace, I would want for nothing.

But of course I betrayed myself. What was once contentment was swept away by the bristling of my arousal.

She had come to me, to ask if I had noticed anything unusual. I had not paid much attention to anything, except for her neckline and the three loosened buttons that were undone, exposing the curved top of her freckled breasts. I tried to avert my gaze but it seemed that there was no argument to be had with my eyes.

“Solas? Are you staring at my chest?” She asked.

If I had not lived for ages and been caught up in youthful arrogance, I might have blushed. Instead I eased into it her question, astute in masking my original intentions and remarked, “It appears a few of your buttons have come undone.”

"Oh.” She bent her head and began fumbling with the buttons. Her cheeks were flushed in embarrassment as she struggled to close that gap.

I set my glass aside.

“Here, allow me.” My fingers grazed across her skin and I could feel the heat rise in my veins as I thought of ripping the buttons free rather than covering up what lie beneath them. Thankfully, my hands were cooperative unlike my eyes.

“Thank you, Solas. Perhaps you’d like to share a dance with me after all this is over?” Once recovered from her mishap, her confidence was regained with a beaming smile.

Sarya looked so lovely with her hair loose and splayed across her shoulders. I would have liked nothing more than to dance with her. Well nothing more than to see her splayed across…

I blinked away the nagging thoughts and placated a demure smile.

“Why, of course.” She bowed and I watched as she moved on, busying herself with playing detective. Her hips swayed back and forth and suddenly my own need had grown so great that I excused myself to the library, the only place that could possibly distract my mind. what madness was I subjecting myself to? I needed solace from my own depravity.

Entering the library, I plucked the first volume that my fingertips could touch. Settling into a chair, buried amidst shelves of books, I breathed a sigh of relief and flipped open its pages and began to read:

“And what is this? A Divine treat, To taste of your tongue, To lick at your teat.

To bear you before me Legs spread apart. To lap at your heat While I tear you apart.”

“Fenedhis,” I hissed under my breath, while grasping at the table with paled knuckles. Was there really to be no reprieve?

I had never shut anything quicker in all my life. All the base desires that I was longing to deny, came raging full force back into my mind. A whirling vortex of debauchery. I adjusted myself accordingly, pulling at my waistband to make myself more comfortable as my length pulsed against the tight cloth.

Curse the damned palace! Cursed the damned Orlesians and their books of filth!

But all the while I sat there cursing everything but myself, images of her flashed into my mind.

That unbuttoned coat with a hint of skin. Soft lips pulled into a sultry smile. Ass flouncing just out of grasp.

I sucked in a deep breath between my teeth. I would not give in. No! I would not defile her with my carnal needs.

She deserved better.

But.. if I had the chance to spread her legs and taste her sweetness with my tongue…

Vile. I was vile indeed. I imagined her seeing me in my state. Brow doused in cold sweat, cheeks flushed and hand…

My hand took a mind of its own, outing itself as the mutinous member it had always been, and slipped beneath my waistband, freeing my constrained cock from inside. Perhaps a few strokes would ease my aching mind and I could move on with my life.

But then I saw her there, in my mind, lips pulled into a smirk as tongue darted out in a disapproving tsk, seeing me for what I was. Perhaps she would scold me, remind me that I am insufferable and perverted. It’s what I deserved.

I closed my eyes, head lulling back against the chair, fingers languidly stroking away my need. Torn between self-reviling and primal pleasure, I parted my lips with a sigh of pleasure as my hand began to undo me.

“Solas?”

Hand stilled. Eyelids flashed open. Brilliant red hair flooded my vision and that sultry smirk was staring right at me. Apparently if summoned her with my carnality.

I tried to hide what I’d been doing but only a fool could be…fooled. Her left brow twitched up and she moved toward me, a beacon of praise or punishment sent to deliver my sentence. Sitting herself on the edge of the table, shielding me from an outsider’s view, she licked her bottom lip and said, “please do continue.”

Surely I was staring at her with mouth agape in utter shock. For she took my other hand and drew the forefinger in her mouth. I shuddered as she withdrew it and planted a kiss on the tip. She nodded her head at my cock and promptly said again, “keep touching yourself. You were doing so well.”

Like a shattered wall of ice, my mind collapsed in on itself as I did her bidding, keeping my eyes locked on hers as I pumped my cock in my fist. Each lurid smile she gave, each nod of approval, each kiss on my fingers made me insane.

“Mmmm,” she murmured in a hushed tone which set my veins on fire. I bucked into my own hand until my mouth fell open wide. “That’s it, Solas,” she cooed, “let it all out. Let me see you undone. You are so beautiful like this.”

And as she said those words, a great groan escaped me as I spilled warmth onto my hand. My body quivered and shook under the sensitive touching until bated breaths released themselves. Again she kissed the top of my hand as my eyes reopened and she was smiling down on me.

“Better?”

I nodded like an incoherent imbecile.

“Good. We shall continue this later. Only you will show me what those hands can do to me.”

Slowly, composure reclaimed me. “Gladly.” I bowed my head as she pulled out a kerchief and bent down to wipe me clean. She even cleaned each of my soiled fingers and kissed me before making her retreat.

With one last glance back, she winked and said, “I’ll be looking forward to it,” then slipped away behind closed doors.

Leaning back and sighing, I tucked myself away until I was presentable. I stood, replaced the book on the shelf, and straightened my tunic, preparing myself to re enter the ballroom.

Sene and Solas. NSFW, emotional hurt/comfort, praise kink. 

Solas always gets a little down on his birthday. This year, Sene gives him the gift of letting go. One more for @submissivesolas. <3

Good to Me

It was Solas’s birthday. He never asked for much. He did not want fanfares or cake. He did not want balloons. He did not like ribbon or all that it entailed, and he was easily satisfied and thought nothing of it. He wanted pastoral dreaming and the fence that he’d built around the yard. He wanted Sene planting the daisies. Birthdays reminded him of the parts of his past that he still could not unravel. These tiny spools deep in his memory. Dark thread. He would have rather just let them pass him by.

Solas’s age was a moving target. This gave him his melancholy. Between Dorian and Morrigan—the two mage friends who knew him best—Solas was turning anywhere between 30 and 33 this year. Even they said the years felt soft, like clay. Like his connection to the Veil—it made him ageless. It made him seem ageless, on a metaphysical scale. But he was not ageless. He was a mortal man just like any other, and this is what he desired, so his head got messed. He did not know what to do.

The morning of his birthday, about six months after he’d married Sene, he wandered their property in Crestwood for two hours, testing the integrity of the fence compulsively, looking up at the sky, waiting for it to open up and eat him whole. He avoided the Fade for fear of dark memories. Sene stayed inside. She was his dutiful wife. She baked a winter peach pie and made her own candles out of beeswax. She had made a whole box of them, many colors, something she had learned from one of the Dalish women out in the cuts, and she was very excited. She reveled in the newness of her creation. Making her own candles. What a beautiful joy to behold.

Around seven, they went to dinner in the village and shared a big steak and a plate of vegetables. Sene talked of Morrigan and Kieran, their coming visit and how to prepare the guest room. Kieran was magical now. It was new, and it was strange, and Morrigan thought he might benefit from some of Solas’s more nuanced expertise. Solas liked Sene’s liveliness that day, despite his sadness, and how she could make every single moment into a complex mosaic of colors and feelings. She coaxed him into a state of contentment as they drank big glasses of wine at the restaurant and looked out the window to the street below. The merchants and the soldiers and the buskers holding their mandolins. The village was alive here. New Crestwood. A family of elves had moved in a month before, implants from the alienage at Kirkwall. They had opened up a successful blacksmith’s shop on the outskirts, and more came still. It was a good feeling, knowing they had brought some good to this place, especially for the elves.

Solas looked at Sene, and he saw a simple creature who hated the madness of small deprivations. The world was a place filled with love and prosperity and a bounty of crops and blacksmiths. Let there be elves, she’d said once while they were doing the dishes on a Tuesday. She was funny, but everything she said was somehow true. She liked to dry the dishes with a soft, white towel, one from a set of twelve spun by her aunt and given to them as a house-warming gift. She found use for every gift they’d ever received. She liked being productive, had a certain skill for it. The huntress in her. How she knew to use every last part of the bear. That was her whole life. Everything in it–she gave it all purpose.

Their bedsheets were blue that night. When they got home from dinner, their plans were very simple. They were birthday plans. That’s what Sene had told him. You are a man of your control, she said as they walked home from the village, hand-in-hand. She was tall and she put her head on his shoulder. Sometimes, vhenan, you just need to let go.