#cullistair kisses

[raflesia65]

Prompt 3: Chant

@aurlyn and I together for the @14daysdalovers event.

Have fun 💖

[jellysharkbat]

hello hello delighted to find you i love kalluzeb and cullistair to a degree nobody else understands u have blessed my dash i send u a friendly kiss on the cheek ~j

FREEEEEEEEEENNNN-

[aurlyn]

14 Days of Dragon Age Lovers Prompts #13

@14daysdalovers​ Prompt #13: Ask Me To Stay

~With accompanying artwork by @raflesia65​~

Pairing: Alistair / Cullen

Rating: Teen+

Word count: 100

Ask Me To Stay

Alistair paced.

“My King?” Cullen interrupted. “What’s wrong?”

There were mumbles of “never enough time,” and, “I can’t do this alone anymore.”

On his next pass, Cullen grabbed Alistair’s wrist, pulling him close. “You don’t have to. Just ask, and I will stay by your side.”

“But you have responsibilities… The Inquisition--”

“...is dissolving. My obligations --my heart-- belongs to my King and country. Ask me to stay.”

“I couldn’t. It’s selfish.���

Cullen kissed him softly, then rested their foreheads together. “Be selfish. Ask me to stay.”

“Please stay?” Alistair whispered.

“Always,” was all Cullen said before kissing him again.

(100)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29149884/chapters/72246090

[ginnyq]

Lost

Alistair is missing, and Cullen is lost.

Cullen hunched over, palms flat on his desk, head bowed, in an attempt to stave off the utter despair threatening to overwhelm him.

Two weeks ago today, Alistair’s Warden contingent had returned from a routine mission without their commander. Alistair had apparently chased after a horde of darkspawn dragging away a female Warden, who eventually rejoined the group injured but alive, and without their leader. She’d awoken surrounded only by over a dozen dead darkspawn and Alistair’s shield, which was covered in blood.

Her name was Monette, and it was she who had brought Alistair’s shield to the war room. Cullen had taken it to his office where it lay now, cleaned and polished, in the center of his desk.

It had belonged to Duncan and was among Alistair’s most prized possessions. He would not have left it willingly. Leliana disagreed, insisting that Alistair must have intended it as a message of some sort, which Cullen found to be wishful thinking at best and denial at worst. His only comfort — and it was a small one, as there were far darker explanations — had been that Alistair’s sword, made of starmetal and gifted to him by the Hero of Ferelden, had not been recovered.

His horse, Griffon, had arrived at Skyhold filthy and riderless on the third day after the Wardens returned. For two weeks, Leliana’s people had scoured the area between Skyhold and where Monette awoke — the latter of which had been thoroughly searched by the Wardens, as well — but found no evidence of Alistair or the darkspawn.

And still, Leliana stubbornly refused to accept what Cullen had begun to fear was the inevitable, to the point that this morning they had fought, complete with raised voices, at the war table. He had insisted she “recognize reality,” and she had accused him of not trusting Alistair. He’d questioned why Alistair wouldn’t send a message with an explanation in the past two weeks, and she rattled off several reasons that merely sounded like excuses. Because he did trust Alistair, who wrote daily letters to him every day they were apart. He would never allow Cullen to wonder at his safety, even if he had to flag down a merchant who had never heard of Skyhold to find one of Leliana’s spies twenty miles west to send a letter telling Cullen he’d be one day late. (Even Leliana had been impressed upon receiving that message.)

This time, Alistair had been missing for two weeks, without his horse and having left his shield behind, and Cullen had not received a word.

In stark contrast to Leliana’s stubborn confidence, with every hour that passed a little bit more of Cullen’s heart shriveled and died as he worried that this time, Alistair would not be returning to him.

With a strangled shout, Cullen pounded a fist on the desk. He had never felt so helpless. Alistair had assured him that the mission was so routine that “the biggest danger will be that I fall asleep from boredom and topple off Griff because the recruits take care of everything.”

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut to keep his tears in. Why did Alistair have to be so noble? Why couldn’t he, just once, look out for his own wellbeing? He knew why, of course, and it was part of why he loved Alistair so, but that didn’t keep his heart from slowly breaking.

What grieved him nearly as much as the thought of losing Alistair was that with no body, Cullen could not properly lay him to rest. He would never be able to give Alistair the hero’s pyre he so richly deserved. Would anyone truly understand everything he had done for Ferelden and for Thedas, for the Wardens and the Inquisition, for countless people across half a dozen countries? It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t fair.

How could the Maker be so cruel? To have allowed them to finally find happiness in each other, only to rip it away via circumstance and uncertainty.

Cullen collapsed into his chair. Caressing the shield, the only significant possession of Alistair’s he had left, he allowed his tears to flow freely. If Leliana refused to cry, if Thedas would never understand, he would grieve Alistair enough for them all.

He didn’t know how long he sat, crying, weeping, sobbing for the only person he ever truly loved, when a loud knock sounded on one of his doors.

“Leave me!” he yelled. “I’ll not be disturbed!”

After a moment of quiet, in which he believed himself to be alone once again, a second pound on the door preceded the squeak of its hinges as it swung open.

Infuriated, Cullen jumped to his feet. “I said —”

“I heard you,” said a voice, thready but oh, so familiar. “I think I got a better welcome at Adamant.”

Miracle of miracles, Alistair stood in the doorway, covered in blood and grime, noticeably thinner, and leaning on his starmetal sword like a cane, but very much alive.

“Alistair!”

Cullen nearly vaulted the desk in his rush to get to the door, and thank the Maker he did, because Alistair swayed on his feet and collapsed just as Cullen reached him. Cullen caught him and sank to his knees, from both Alistair and the weight of his relief.

As he cradled Alistair to his chest, he shouted, “Fetch Sister Leliana and a healer!” He heard boots running across stone and knew his orders were being followed.

“Not injured,” Alistair said, head lolling. “Mostly. Just tired. Why does this place have so many stairs?”

“You should have told someone to fetch me,” Cullen scolded gently, checking for major wounds and finding none. He still couldn’t quite believe this wasn’t a dream.

“And ruin my entrance?”

Cullen laughed through his tears and clutched Alistair close. “Maker, I thought I’d lost you.”

“Couldn’t leave you alone.” Alistair smiled. “Someone has to make you eat and sleep.” He let his head fall to Cullen’s chest and looked up through watery eyes. “I’ll always come back to you.”

Sending a prayer of gratitude to Andraste, Cullen cupped Alistair’s cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Rest now, my love. I’ll keep you safe, and be here when you wake.”

Alistair’s eyes drooped closed, mouth quirking upward in a slight smile while Cullen cradled him and whispered sweet comforts and promises and declarations of his love until help arrived.

[andrastini]

Narrator: The male templar will make his armour sparkle to attract a mate.

@elfrooted @cullenstairshenanigans @gowombat83 @goldfishfiasco @elfleed

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

What are you working on? 

The lovely @juliafied​, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold​, @ser-thirst-a-lot​, and others tagged me, so here’s some peeks at what I’m working on! Feel free to tag me if you want to play along!

“What Dreams May Come” (FE3H, Dimaleth)

Against him, Dimitri trembled in kind. Something stricken warred with open confusion across his face. His pinched brow gentled. “What are you doing to me?” he asked slowly, whisper-soft. 

Byleth’s stomach did a complicated flip. Dimitri had never looked at him like this, so intently, like he could pry his way into Byleth’s soul by just looking at him. 

No, he had, once—just before the Empire’s army reached Garreg Mach. 

Dimitri had taken Byleth’s hand then, too, the move uncharacteristic for the young prince. His grip was sure, solid; he hadn’t interlaced their fingers, but it was still close, still intimate, and he had pulled Byleth aside for a solemn moment. 

“Please,” he had said, “please, promise me… Don’t—I don’t know what I would do if you were to—” Dimitri had searched his face for something Byleth couldn’t even start guessing after, only to shake his head. “Promise me we’ll have tea after this,” he had murmured. “We’ll repel these vermin and save the monastery. We’ll have tea.” 

Dimitri had squeezed his fingers around Byleth’s own; it would have been excruciating had Byleth been anyone else, had Sothis’ power not been grafted to his blood and bones. “You’ve spent so much time figuring out what everyone else likes, what they want. I want to know your favorite.” He smiled, something bordering shy and wondrous. “I want to know everything about you,” Dimitri had murmured, and the Imperial army had begun their assault before Byleth could answer. 

"still dreaming of your face” (Critical Role, Widomauk)

“But—how... “ Caleb’s mind whirled. Disparate memories flooded through him--Molly’s chuckles when he dragged his bedding to the fire, the way the starlight fell upon his sharp cheekbones, the deep-set longing that burrowed into Caleb’s bones. He remembered, remembered watching Molly’s sleeping face, wanting to bury his hand into those rambunctious curls and pull him close. Wanting so badly to put words to the heat and fluster that Mollymauk inspired in him. 

“I remember,” he breathed, dragging his gaze back to Molly’s face, “but this is not how it went.” 

“I remember, too.” Molly leaned back against the log and took his own inspection, his eyes lingering on the wagon for a moment before roaming once more. “I remember being unable to sleep. I came to the fire after nipping Nott’s flask and we shared a drink or three.” He tapped his thigh contemplatively. “I remember falling asleep at your feet—how ridiculous was that?” Molly snorted, but it was not quite mirthful. He shifted to look at Caleb full-on, and with a subdued smile, said, “I remember wanting you to kiss me.” 

“Mollymauk...” 

“We could do this night over, make it better this go around.” Molly’s gaze darts around the campsite once more. “Don’t—don’t you want to? This is your mind, after all, your dream. You brought us here.”

[Untitled] (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Cullistair)

He let himself wallow in the sinking pit that built in his stomach, head buried against the ruff of Barkspawn’s neck. “No. Everyone knows I’m a Warden. I’ve been clear that we can’t have children, even from the beginning.” 

It had even been one of his arguments for Anora’s keeping of the throne. Even though she and Cailan hadn’t had children before the Blight, she could still at least feasibly have them. It was the announcement the people had been waiting for, some fairytale hope that had passed through the bannorn while the army gathered for Ostagar. The king would defeat the darkspawn, return to Denerim, and then soon enough he and Anora would joyously announce the upcoming arrival of the Theirin heir. 

Alistair’s stomach clenched at the thought of Anora. He could still see the outrage that bled into numb despair when the Landsmeet voiced their decision to put him on the throne. The sister he was never meant to have had lost everything before his eyes: first her husband, then her father, then finally her home and very purpose in life. She hadn’t even looked at him when he quietly ordered her to be sent to a cloistered chantry in Antiva to serve Andraste, unwilling to carry out another Mac Tir death sentence to preserve the Theirin line, unable to let her retire into obscurity in her own homeland. 

A decade had passed since then. Alistair had checked on her, sending supplies and what comforts he could to the Revered Mother who oversaw the cloister, until Anora’s death four years into his dubious reign. Heartbreak, the Mother informed him, written in prim, proper penmanship. 

Despite his efforts, Anora Mac Tir Theirin—the exiled and rightful Queen of Ferelden, one of the smartest women he’d had the scant opportunity to know—passed to the Maker’s side with no one left to mourn her. 

Happy writing!

[ramonadecember]

One more from me: 40. "I want a baby" from soft list, cullistair, please~ XD

Angst Prompts or OTP Prompts

alright, we had to know this was the direction this would go. xD alistair at the winter palace for trespasser stuff, because why not.

40. “I want a baby.”

--

There was an ongoing list of things that, due to his time as a Warden, Alistair never wanted to hear. This included items like ‘Darkspawn ahead!,’ mentions of any blight, and—

“I want a baby.”

They had agreed discretion was best until the fate of the Inquisition was decided, not wanting to stir up more drama with claims of collusion or conspiracy if their organization was seen to have certain... strong ties to Ferelden, yet there Cullen was, not-so-subtly pressed against Alistair’s side as they stood in the gardens at the Winter Palace, enjoying each other’s company while they could. He snagged his fingers on Alistair’s, giving a quick squeeze as he leaned in to murmur in Alistair’s ear the words that made the king choke on air.

A baby.

Alistair’s stomach dropped and he swallowed hard around the tightness in his throat as his eye was drawn back to the scene Cullen must have been witnessing, even as Alistair had tried to avoid looking himself. A small huddle of women crowded around one who sat on a bench, a child no older than a year or so perched on her knees, outfitted in the same level of frippery as the mother. It was... sweet, even if, by the way the other women cooed and gushed over the poor thing, they seemed to think the mother was in possession of the best and latest accessory, and not a human life.

“We’ve... talked about this before, love.” Siring a child with a swamp witch in the name of helping save the world had really put him off creating or raising another. Alistair tried to be gentle with his words, not wishing to see a look of disappointment on Cullen’s face even if he did think they’d settled the topic and put it behind them long ago.

“Perhaps we could at least say hello?”

Alistair made the mistake of glancing over at Cullen, who’s golden eyes were big and round and fixed on him in a way that always did Alistair in, in the end, and if the smile tugging at the scarred corner of Cullen’s mouth was any indicator, he knew it as well. Curse that man. Alistair sighed, thinking ‘saying hello’ was more trouble than it was worth, but unable to deny Cullen what he wanted. He couldn’t wait til they had a moment alone and he could kiss that smug look off of Cullen’s face.

However, as he took a step toward the gaggle of ladies, Cullen started to pace off in the opposite direction, a spring in his step. They both paused, mirrored looks of confusion on their faces, and Cullen thought that maybe he’d misinterpreted, that Alistair’s sigh hadn’t been the rest of his resolve crumbling.

“Just a quick hello, really,” Cullen assured with a nod of his head back over his shoulder.

It dawned on Alistair then what mother Cullen was actually interested in entertaining, and that was the mabari lying in the grass with her pups around her, chasing each other and stumbling over one another in their play. Alistair’s heart melted as fast as Cullen’s must have, and with all thoughts of human children put from his mind, he was on Cullen’s heels in an instant.

True to his word, Cullen kept the visit short, and Alistair was sure they could have stayed there all day if it wasn’t for Cullen’s notorious level of self-control. The moony look stayed plastered on Cullen’s face even as they walked away, though, and it had Alistair knocking their shoulders together and asking, “So you want a baby, eh?”

Cullen shrugged like it was no big thing, but his cheeks turned crimson and he mumbled something about being forgiven for his outburst.

“What about two?” The pups’ big sad mabari eyes has worked on Alistair just as well as Cullen’s had.

There was nothing discreet about the way Cullen drew Alistair to a stop with an arm around his waist or the kiss that was pressed to his cheek, and while now Cullen was flushed to the tips of his ears over another ‘outburst,’ it didn’t keep the grin from his face. “I already have thoughts on names.”

[lostinfantasies38]

For when you do lyric prompts: “but lately colors seem so bright. and the stars light up the night. my feet, they feel so light. i’m ignoring all the signs.” (i think i’m in love - kat dahlia)

Sunlight

It promised to be a beautiful day and he couldn’t help admiring the scenery on his morning run through the park. Nodding politely to the other regulars on the trail, Alistair crested the hill and paused. Normally, he wouldn’t spare the view a second glance, but everything was different today. 

A gentle thrum of electricity raced under his skin creating a sense of weightlessness. Colors seemed sharper, vivid, and he marveled how he’d never noticed the bluebells carpeting the grass were actually a light shade of purple. 

Cherished moments, gilded in affection, danced through his mind. Hands raking through luscious golden curls, warm amber eyes, laughter smoother than after dinner brandy. Strong fingers laced tenderly through his, a shy smile across a room, his name falling from scarred lips like a prayer while the world slept. The secret pride when he made his coffee the way he preferred, a thumb caressing his jaw as he said goodnight.

Cullen.

Alistair’s heart raced and he bit back a ridiculous giggle as he reminisced about the blonde man. Watching the sun climb higher, bathing the earth in light and heat, he realized nothing compared to the warmth that bloomed in his chest whenever he was with him. It lit him up from the inside, immersing him in a pool of liquid joy. Every moment, every second, in his presence brimmed with unbridled devotion. 

Closing his eyes with a peaceful smile as the sunlight kissed his skin, a fanciful thought crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. There was no way...was there? Surely not. And even if he did, Cullen wouldn’t feel the same. He’d never be that lucky. 

What they had was...amazing. Astounding. But it was temporary. All of his relationships were. Cullen was so far out of his league that eight months later Alistair was still trying to wrap his head around how it happened. 

A vibration against his thigh brought him out of his reverie. A delicious trill of excitement jolted up his spine, but he reined in his emotions. Probably a coworker or a friend - nothing to get worked up about. Pulling his phone from his pocket, his smile rivaled the noonday sun to see his name. 

Cullen: Brunch? I know you’re done with your run by now. 

Alistair: I’d love to. I’m free all day.

Cullen: Curious...I thought you had to work later. 

Not now, Alistair decided. He hadn’t taken a sick day in three years. They could spare him.

Alistair: Nope. Last minute schedule change. 

Cullen: Huh...what are the odds the same thing happened to me?

He didn’t restrain the giggle that prompted as his heart leapt in his chest.

Alistair: Curious, indeed. Shoot me the details. I’ll be there. I love you.

Oh...oh, shit. 

Vertigo sent him careening into a nearby tree, barely maintaining his grip on the device as he slammed against the trunk. Maker, he hadn’t actually sent that last bit, had he? Double checking, Alistair sighed with relief while he watched the bubbles indicating Cullen was typing with breathless anticipation. 

Cullen: I can’t wait to see you...I miss you.

Alistair’s breath hitched at the obvious emphasis on that word. Could...could it mean something else? Could it mean he wasn’t alone in this feeling, after all?

Huh, that’d be a first, but Maker, he’d take it. Grinning like the love-struck fool he was, he shot his boss a text explaining he wouldn’t be in today. 

“Sorry, Lels,” he murmured as he crossed the park to his flat, his steps lighter than air. “I have to tell Cullen I love him. I promise to give you all the details later.”

For @jellysharkbat​ Thanks for the prompt! Tagging my other Cullistair fans - @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold​ @kittimau​ @ginnyq​ @cullenlovesmen​ @fandomn00blr​

[jchb32273]

A little late in posting... but they are ALL finished!

Here are all the shorts I have for the 14 Days of Dragon Age Lover’s Prompts!

Included here is some (very rough) art by me, a story dedicated to my awesome friend @andrastini​ (featuring art by the super-talented @ambellinaleander​!), a story for my super sweet (on Sebastian) friend, @cullenlovesmen​, and last (but certainly not least), a Cullistair kiss short for the amazing @aurlyn​!

[irlaimsaaralath]

DA DWC poem prompt "and I, took the road less travelled by, and that made all the difference" for Cullistair - unconventional relationship/openly bi King.

So, like…this is only from about a year ago or so for @dadrunkwriting…

**

Though the North Road through Ferelden offered the most direct and unfettered route to Denerim, Cullen had chosen to go south after departing Skyhold.  It was longer, adding weeks onto his travel time, but that road would take him through South Reach and to his sister, Mia.  After all the years he’d spent avoiding (or more to the point, neglecting) his family, he felt he owed it to her.  Not only that, but it would be a comfort to see her.  He tried not to admit to himself that this route also took him as far from the Circle tower in Redcliffe as he could possibly get, though there was comfort in that fact, as well.  

After spending several days with his family, he continued on his journey, stopping barely a day out of Denerim at a small inn and tavern overlooking the River Drakon.  Before leaving South Reach, he’d sent a raven ahead to notify the King of his impending arrival, hoping that he would not be too cross at the delay.  – When Cullen pushed the door to his lodgings closed behind him, there was already a fire burning steadily in the hearth and an empty tub placed before it.  The inn room was warm, but dim, lit only by the flames and a single candle on the bedside table.  He abandoned his pack on the modest square table beneath the window, then gripped his lapels and shook the rain from the shoulders of his jacket. 

After a moment, he fished into his pack and pulled out a worn square of parchment.  It had been unfolded and folded so many times that the ink was fading along the crease, and yet, he again found himself unfolding the letter that had found its way into his hand.  Even before the Inquisition, Alistair had sought his counsel and his company.  Before the Grey Warden became king, they had met, become close, become more.  But that relationship, like so many things in his life, had been left behind.  He’d left his innocence and his sanity in Redcliffe, his Templar armor and hatred in Kirkwall, and his mantle and lyrium in Skyhold.  There were pieces of him discarded all over Ferelden, so many that he wondered what could be left in him that was valuable enough for the King of Ferelden to desire his presence.

With a chiding shake of his head, he tucked the letter away, and peeled his jacket off, and even the heated air of the room felt cool against the rain-damp streak on the back of his shirt.  He couldn’t suppress the shiver that raked his skin as he draped his jacket from the back of a chair near the fire to dry and sat to remove his boots.  Placed side by side next to the hearth, he left the boots and began to work the buttons of his shirt when a knock at the door summoned his attention.  Amber eyes rose over his shoulder as he called a firm, “Enter,” and the door swung inward.  It was followed by a chambermaid with long, sandy blonde hair coiled at the nape, who bore a bucket of steaming water.  

“Your bath, ser,” she chimed, smiling sheepishly as he sprang to his feet to take the bucket from her hands.  

“Let me help,” he offered, and she nodded, only to retreat to the door to retrieve another bucket.  Together, they traipsed back and forth until the tub was filled and the last bucket hung empty from her hand.  As he turned a grateful smile down to her, he found himself fixed by pale blue eyes.  Her cheeks were pink, lips parted with quick breaths, and wisps of hair had fallen over her brow.  The intensity of her stare alone made his hand rise to the back of his neck, but when her fingers slipped past his shirt, partially unbuttoned to his navel, he felt the burn of his blush in his ears.

“Is there anything else you need, ser?” she asked as her blunt nails slid through the hair on his chest, where they lingered as she took a step closer.  

“I, ah, I’m-,” he began to stammer before he forced himself to take a deep breath and gently plucked her hand up in his.  

“I am well taken care of, madam,” he managed to say before he pressed his lips against the back of her knuckles in a chaste kiss.  “Thank you for your kindness,” he finished as he returned her hand, heavier now with a pair of gold coins, and she smiled as she dipped into a shallow curtsy.  There was a hint of disappointment about her when he accompanied her to the door, but she said nothing further as she scooped up several more buckets and made her way downstairs.  Cullen stared dumbly after her for a few moments before he closed the door with a shake of his head.  Though she was gone, he found his hand again at the back of his neck, kneading the muscles.  She had been quite young, too young, and though he was certainly not celibate, such directness often caught him off-guard.  The noise he made was somewhere between a sigh and a grumble, and his hand slapped loudly against his thigh as he forced it away from his neck.

He made quick work of the last few buttons on his shirt before he shed the garment, tossing it to the foot of the bed as his hands went to his belt.  Buckle open, he had begun to tug on the leather when there was a sure but soft knock on his door.  Maker’s breath, he thought sourly as he padded to the door on bare feet.  She was persistent, he’d give her that much.  

“I’m flattered, really,” he said as he opened the door, but his words died on his lips as he was greeted by a hooded figure in the doorway.  Not much shorter than he himself, the man was broad-shouldered and trim, and the shadows that deepened his hood left nothing to be seen but a chin edged in dark blond stubble.  A brow quirked above an amber eye as he became acutely aware that he’d left his sword by his pack, now well out of reach, as the figure continued to stand silently.  

“I believe you have the wrong room, friend,” he said, the edge in his voice softened by the hint of a smile he forced as he took a small step back and made to close the door.  

It happened all at once; the figure caught the closing door with his forearm as he wedged his body into the opening.   Cullen made a grab at the stranger’s shoulder to pull him off balance, but caught the back of his neck instead.  Using the momentum of Cullen’s pull against him, the figure hunkered under his arm and drove him back with a shoulder to his gut.   Staggered, the former Templar pedaled back and bowed over the man to grip his torso in a bear hug from behind.   With a grunt of effort, Cullen twisted his body and rocked the other man off his feet.  Their fall was an open-handed scrap for dominance that saw the figure slammed onto his back as Cullen straddled his waist.   Out of breath and with fear and anger in equal measure burning in his chest, Cullen braced his forearm down on the stranger’s throat as the other arm pinned the man’s wrist to the floor.  

“What in the Maker’s name!?” Cullen growled down at the man, who struggled to rise against his hold.  Bearing in with his weight, Cullen forced him down again and was met with a breathless but amused voice that he recognized.  

“But what is the Maker’s name?   I doubt his friends call him Maker.  It’s probably something boring or absurd like Reginald or Lysander.”  Cullen’s grip immediately went slack as he fumbled his hold, and the man’s hood was jarred back to reveal an impishly smiling face.   

“Alistair!?” he managed to exclaim in something like both horror and shock as he sat back on his heels, having only a fraction of a second to process before he was thrown and wrangled to the ground.  Positions reversed in his momentary confusion, his head thumped back against the floor as Alistair pinned him, hips and shoulders.   His smile was triumphant and his eyes gleamed as he sat in appraisal of his prey, who cradled the back of his head as a tight stitch knitted between his brows.

“Maker’s breath.  My King, I apologize.   I didn’t realize-,” Cullen stumbled as he stared up at Alistair, a mix of confusion, embarrassment, and discomfort plain in his expression.  He wasn’t sure at all what to do with his hands, one still tangled in the King’s cloak, the other still rubbing at the crown of his head, or why Alistair still had him pinned to the floor.  He licked his panic-dried lips as the man above him sushed and tsked. 

“You may recall that I lunged first,” Alistair said, dragging his hands from Cullen’s shoulders to rest his palms across his collar bones as his fingertips brushed Cullen’s neck.  The man beneath him went perfectly still and audibly swallowed before he spoke just a bit too slowly.

“Well, yes, but that’s no ex-,” the Commander pleaded, but Alistair only rolled his eyes as his fingers moved to cradle his captive’s jaw.  

“Must I keep reminding you to call me Alistair?”  The knot in Cullen’s throat bobbed as everything between his chest and his knees grew tight, and he realized his idle hands had settled on Alistair’s thighs.  How long had it been?  One year?  Five?  Countless?  Muscle memory was a curious thing because it had surely been ages since his hands had pressed the embrace of these thighs into his flanks, but his palms tickled with a recollection so vivid that his fingers twitched.

“Apparently,” Cullen demurred, lips half-cocked in a smirk that broke on a clipped breath as Alistair tilted his chin up and slatted their lips together.  

The heat of the kiss went deeper than the lips that met and the tongues that teased.  It all but set him aflame as fire licked at the back of his neck and shot down his spine, rekindling something in his chest that made the pit of his stomach ache.  He could only groan against Alistair’s mouth, whose fingers threaded into his hair to forcibly turn his head to allow his tongue to lick deeper past Cullen’s lips.  It was dizzying – the buzz behind his eyes that reminded him of one sip too many of Antivan brandy, the taste of the man above him, the heat of the skin he discovered as his hands groped under a heavy leather cloak and untucked the shirt he found to dive beneath.  

Blunt nails at the small of Alistair’s back drew something like a whine from deep in his throat as he reflexively rolled his hips into Cullen.  The pair of them gasped at the sensation as it broke them apart, and they stared breathless and flushed at one another for a desperately long and silent moment.  Alistair was the first to break the stillness with a huff of a chuckle as he leaned down to rest his forehead against Cullen’s.

“It’s good to see you,” Alistair murmured against Cullen’s lips, the brush of contact as good as another kiss.

Cullen could only wonder at the turns his life continually took and, for once, he decided to let this new, but familiar current carry him where it may and forgo the effort of fighting against it.  With only a hint of regret, he withdrew his hands from Alistair’s back and brought them to cradle his face instead, the prickle of a couple days’ growth of beard scraping his palms.  He rumbled a small laugh, amber eyes crinkling as he ran his thumbs over Alistair’s cheeks.

“It is good to be seen, your Maje-…Alistair.  It is good to be seen.”

[raflesia65]

Prompt 13: Ravish

@aurlyn and I together for the @14daysdalovers event.

Have fun 💖

[jellysharkbat]

Have you thought about Cullen kissing the inside of his lover's wrist?

You should. 😏😉

[aurlyn]

14 Days of Dragon Age Lovers Prompts #11

@14daysdalovers​ Prompt #11: Promises

~With accompanying artwork by @raflesia65​~

Pairing: Alistair / Cullen

Rating: Teen+

Word count: 100

Promises

Cullen gasps awake as shuddering sobs wrack his body.

Fear and despair battle for dominance to overtake him, subsume him.

Strong, comforting arms surround him, combing through his hair, caressing his back.

“I’ve got you. It was only a dream,” Alistair whispers.

The anguish is visceral.

“Please,” Cullen manages.

“Please, what, my love?” Alistair asks.

“Promise me.”

“Anything.” Alistair kisses Cullen's face and hair.

“Don’t leave. I can’t do this alone.”

“Oh, Sweetheart.” Alistair pulls him tighter. Holds him close. “I will never leave you. I will take care of you just as you take care of me. I promise.”

(100)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29149884/chapters/72141000#workskin

[ginnyq]

The Song

Cullen let out a tired sigh as he wiped the blood from his sword. He watched the soldiers lead Samson away, hands bound, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit the sight pleased him.

“Are you all right?” the Inquisitor asked him, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“Yes.” He sheathed his sword with a satisfying shink. “It’s done.”

“You should get cleaned up. You’ve got blood …” She waved her hand in a large circle and scrunched up her face. “You’ve got blood,” she repeated, but this time as a finished statement. “Go jump in a river or something to rinse off.”

“The essence of tact, as always, Inquisitor.”

She grinned, and he returned it.

Corypheus had lost his lieutenant; no longer would red templars wreak havoc upon Thedas.

“Nice job, Commander. Once you’ve cleaned up, get some rest.”

He promised he would and then began the arduous journey back to the main camp.

While the trip to the temple had been quick, with adrenaline and action distracting him from the journey, now he made poor time, picking his way across the field of battle amidst corpses and, of course, red lyrium. He stopped frequently to check in on his troops or count casualties, and once he even assisted with a small holdout cell of red templars.

The continual action only served to exhaust him further, while the ubiquitous presence of the red lyrium that remained upon the templars’ defeat increased the feeling that the crystals themselves were slowly drilling into his skull. His inability to sit down or get cleaned up did not help.

The song of the red lyrium grew more insistent, and he focused his narrowing vision on the path in front of him. He stumbled several times; he might have fallen. He only knew that the red was beckoning to him, and his feet followed it, unthinking.

Read more on AO3.

[redxluna]

Cullistair, 24?

kiss meme

Cullen would have thought that he had grown used to swallowing back his qualms by now. It had been the only way to survive within the templars, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it then. And, while it might not have played out well then, things were different now. He trusted the Inquisitor, along with the work that each of them was pushing so determinedly towards.

He just hadn’t expected Alistair, of all people, to be a part of that work.

He hadn’t seen the other man since they were both still little more than boys. Back when he had still believed in the templars enough to blacken Alistair’s eye for what he saw as desertion. What had already been attractive then was only more forceful now that Alistair had had the chance to grow into those gangly limbs.

Not that any of it mattered when the man couldn’t even look him in the eye.

Leliana had been full of sighs whenever he turned down another transparent attempt to bring them together. He only wished that she hadn’t roped Lavellan into it as, while she was easier to usher off with excuses, her reactions were far more wounded.

Which only made the uncharitable thoughts he was having towards her all the worse.

It wasn’t her fault that Alistair was dragged into this. Maker knew that the man would have come regardless; seemingly addicted to dangerous situations. But to lose both the only leader he could believe in without fear and the... Had he even said the words to Alistair? Ever?

It was the rapid movement around him rather than the fizzle of static that alerted him to a rift opening. He almost slid off the rubble in his haste to climb up it, but at least Lavellan had finished her speech by the time his hands found Alistair’s face.

“You’re not going to hit me, are you?” Alistair asked, smile somewhat tremulous on his ashen face. “Because that would be really awkward in front of my own---”

Their teeth clanked together when Cullen dragged him in, but only for a moment before it softened with Alistair’s hands scrambling up for purchase on his arms.

“Oh, thank the Maker.” Alistair pressed his forehead against Cullen’s with a shaky breath of laughter. “I thought you had forgotten.”

Cullen couldn’t help but snort at that, even as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. “You do tend to make that rather impossible.”

[princess-stabbity]

been trying to do a warden-inquisitor AU run using character swap mods and almost pissed myself laughing bc cullistair kisses by jamming his whole nose in her mouth