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Day 3: Cullen and Sidni Have to Share a Bed Where the Blanket Isn’t Big Enough – prompt by @kagetsukai
This is late because I’ve spent the day helping with home improvement projects. (Why are paint colors so hard to pick? Whyyyyy??) Anyway, enjoy!
The nights get progressively colder the further into the Western Approach they go. It’s only made worse by the contrast of extreme heat they endure by day. She tells herself that’s why she keeps dragging her bedroll into Cullen’s tent night after night and huddling down next to him. Body heat.
Tonight, she listens to his teeth chatter, senses how he trembles in the frigid air. Her heart aches at the same time an irrational anger flares at whoever keeps insisting on separating their things and continually setting up a separate tent for her each time they stop. If they would just leave it be, her missing blanket would be here and not – most likely – wrapped around a certain thieving Tevinter mage.
When she’d discovered it missing after the camp settled, she’d insisted she’d be fine. They’d argued quietly in the dark until she’d dragged the small brazier closer to where they were laying. It does very little to help ward off the chill inside the lambswool walls and, at the first sign of a shiver from her, Cullen was wrapping his own blanket around her. And completely ignoring her protests.
She stares across the space between them. Cullen is always careful. An old voice in the back of her head tells her he’s scared of her, but she knows that’s not true. He’s been … better than she could ask for. He’s respectful of her and her own problems. Letting her come to him. Recognizing her fear, but never giving it a name.
By the Stone, she wants to close that distance. She’s wanted a reason to share covers even before the cold necessitated it. Would he refuse her? She doesn’t think so, but can she hide the sting if he rejects her?
Trembling of a different kind suddenly rushes through her body.
She imagines the way she’ll move. Her mind supplies the exact spots she can place her hands and knees on her way to him. A plan of attack, as it were. She knows exactly how quickly she can invade his bedroll, and in as few movements as possible. She’ll be there before he can realize it. Then she can wait for him to push her away.
Her heart pounds against her ribs as if to say, He won’t. He won’t. He won’t.
A deep breath, a quick check to make sure her sleeping clothes are covering her, and then she’s gathering the blanket close. She shuffles sideways on her knees and lowers herself onto Cullen’s chest, arms coming around his sides with said blanket.
He stiffens when he feels her weight. She tucks her legs against her stomach, curled into the smallest shape possible as she waits.
The moment his arms move, she braces for him to shove her off, eyes squeezing shut. Instead, he’s holding her close, under the blanket, using his legs to make sure it covers all the way down. She peeks an eye open, sneaking a glance up at him.
He smiles when he sees her looking. The dim glow of the brazier makes his features seem ethereal, and she’s suddenly not convinced she’s awake. His fingers brush her hair behind her ear in a familiar gesture.
“Thank you,” he breathes.
She nearly snorts. Definitely not dreaming then. Only Cullen would do something as ridiculous as thanking her for crawling on top of him like an overgrown stable cat.
Still, she relaxes against him, feeling the beat of his heart under her cheek. Her nose is filled with the woodsy scent she associates as his, though it’s slightly dulled under the less pleasant smell of sweat and sun. But he’s not pushing her away.
His hands begin to trace paths down her back. She tenses, breath stuttering, before melting into the touch. He pauses, her reaction not unnoticed by him.
“Is … is this okay?”
She nods against him, her fingers pressing against his sides and keeping the blanket tucked around them both.
Day 3: Cullen and Sidni Have to Share a Bed Where the Blanket Isn’t Big Enough – prompt by @kagetsukai
This is late because I’ve spent the day helping with home improvement projects. (Why are paint colors so hard to pick? Whyyyyy??) Anyway, enjoy!
The nights get progressively colder the further into the Western Approach they go. It’s only made worse by the contrast of extreme heat they endure by day. She tells herself that’s why she keeps dragging her bedroll into Cullen’s tent night after night and huddling down next to him. Body heat.
Tonight, she listens to his teeth chatter, senses how he trembles in the frigid air. Her heart aches at the same time an irrational anger flares at whoever keeps insisting on separating their things and continually setting up a separate tent for her each time they stop. If they would just leave it be, her missing blanket would be here and not – most likely – wrapped around a certain thieving Tevinter mage.
When she’d discovered it missing after the camp settled, she’d insisted she’d be fine. They’d argued quietly in the dark until she’d dragged the small brazier closer to where they were laying. It does very little to help ward off the chill inside the lambswool walls and, at the first sign of a shiver from her, Cullen was wrapping his own blanket around her. And completely ignoring her protests.
She stares across the space between them. Cullen is always careful. An old voice in the back of her head tells her he’s scared of her, but she knows that’s not true. He’s been … better than she could ask for. He’s respectful of her and her own problems. Letting her come to him. Recognizing her fear, but never giving it a name.
By the Stone, she wants to close that distance. She’s wanted a reason to share covers even before the cold necessitated it. Would he refuse her? She doesn’t think so, but can she hide the sting if he rejects her?
Trembling of a different kind suddenly rushes through her body.
She imagines the way she’ll move. Her mind supplies the exact spots she can place her hands and knees on her way to him. A plan of attack, as it were. She knows exactly how quickly she can invade his bedroll, and in as few movements as possible. She’ll be there before he can realize it. Then she can wait for him to push her away.
Her heart pounds against her ribs as if to say, He won’t. He won’t. He won’t.
A deep breath, a quick check to make sure her sleeping clothes are covering her, and then she’s gathering the blanket close. She shuffles sideways on her knees and lowers herself onto Cullen’s chest, arms coming around his sides with said blanket.
He stiffens when he feels her weight. She tucks her legs against her stomach, curled into the smallest shape possible as she waits.
The moment his arms move, she braces for him to shove her off, eyes squeezing shut. Instead, he’s holding her close, under the blanket, using his legs to make sure it covers all the way down. She peeks an eye open, sneaking a glance up at him.
He smiles when he sees her looking. The dim glow of the brazier makes his features seem ethereal, and she’s suddenly not convinced she’s awake. His fingers brush her hair behind her ear in a familiar gesture.
“Thank you,” he breathes.
She nearly snorts. Definitely not dreaming then. Only Cullen would do something as ridiculous as thanking her for crawling on top of him like an overgrown stable cat.
Still, she relaxes against him, feeling the beat of his heart under her cheek. Her nose is filled with the woodsy scent she associates as his, though it’s slightly dulled under the less pleasant smell of sweat and sun. But he’s not pushing her away.
His hands begin to trace paths down her back. She tenses, breath stuttering, before melting into the touch. He pauses, her reaction not unnoticed by him.
“Is … is this okay?”
She nods against him, her fingers pressing against his sides and keeping the blanket tucked around them both.
everyone in fantasy novels is horny on main for elves and it’s honestly a travesty like why the hell would you want to marry an elf you’ll just spend the rest of your days growing old in the woods with a bunch of immortal bastards whose heads are so far up their asses they think singing week-long ballads is prime entertainment and say shit like “thou” and “beseech” unironically y’all should be hooking up with dwarves who 1. actually know how to throw the fuck down and let loose at a party 2. will literally shower you in diamond dust and gold they mined and crafted with their bare hands and 3. can sling you over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes with their huge muscular arms developed from hours of said mining and crafting. there’s literally no contest.
So the absolutely AMAZING @nsfwfrosch did Ko-Fi commissions and I was an annoying, greedy person who had to snag one again.
LOOK!! Look at this perfection! It captures Sidni and Cullen so perfectly. They’re such snuggle bugs. I can’t handle it. You should all definitely go commission them. DO IT!!
Day 2: Ambush Hug/Non-Ambush Hug for Sidni and Any Companion – prompt by @out-of-the-embers
She blinks, glancing around. There’s a ringing in her ears and her breath is still gone from her chest. Spots block her vision. She forces herself to move, to use what she has. Check on the others.
As she staggers to her feet, her vision clears some. Varric is groaning where he lays on his back a few feet from her. Cassandra is the furthest away, sword and shield scattered around her, pushing herself up on her arms and shaking her head. The dragon’s corpse is twisted in all the wrong ways, smelling heavily of charred flesh. She holds back a gag, turning.
Panic spikes through her.
“Where’s Dorian?”
Her shout freezes the other two. Sidni spins, scanning the still smoking area. She can’t feel the tingle of his barrier across her skin. And he doesn’t answer her frantic shouts.
She glances at her companions. Cassandra is bleeding from a head wound that needs to be seen to and Varric is limping, struggling to swing Bianca into her holster on his back. But they’re here. Her mind runs in circles, denying that anything serious has happened to Dorian before reminding herself this worry is making her soft and then rounding the bend to hatred that she would even dare think such a thing.
Varric begins to apologize, but she waves him off. None of them could have predicted the dragon’s attack would react with his elemental mine. They’re lucky their fate is not the same as the dragon’s.
And they have Dorian to thank for it.
She runs to search on the other side of the dragon, ignoring Varric shouting that she’s bleeding. She screams for Dorian again, heart threatening to pound out of her chest. Stone, please, don’t let me lose him. He doesn’t know how much he means to her, how much she relies on him. Too much.
How he’s become her family.
There’s no sign of him. Her hands shake as she stands at the edge of the small dropoff. She reaches for control, trying to find that space in her soul where her feelings can’t interfere. It eludes her. She feels flayed open, the stillness in her bones missing, the familiar heavy cloak of stone gone.
Her voice echoes as she calls again, one last time, promising all manner of harmful things to his being if he doesn’t answer her right that moment.
“Fasta vass, Cadash. I’m injured enough without your threats. Please keep your murderous tendencies under control.”
She spins, finding him scrabbling up the incline toward her. His hair is in disarray, one side of his mustache singed, covered in dirt and bruises, but alive. He’s muttering about his robes and his hair, but she doesn’t care.
Her feet slip and slide through the rocks as she sprints toward him. The second before she reaches him, she sees him look up, grey eyes widening and mouth falling open. The collision hurts, but she wraps her arms around his waist, clinging to him. She feels her heart settle even as they sway precariously.
“Cadash … Sidni …”
Let go of him. You’re humiliating yourself. He’ll use it against you.
She forces the thoughts away, reassuring herself that he’s here.
“I had no idea you felt this way,” he starts in a flippant tone. “But I must inform you–”
“Dorian. Be quiet.”
He pauses, but then his arms are circling her shoulders, holding her close.
“Are the others … ?” He trails off, voice quiet and low.
“They’re alright.”
“Inquisitor!”
She steps away quickly, turning to look up at Cassandra and Varric as they reach the edge. Relief paints their faces when they see Dorian.
As they climb back toward the clearing, the mage sends her a smile. When she returns it, she ignores the feeling that she’s left a soft spot for him to exploit. Something whispers that he’ll keep it safe for her.
Day 2: Ambush Hug/Non-Ambush Hug for Sidni and Any Companion – prompt by @out-of-the-embers
She blinks, glancing around. There’s a ringing in her ears and her breath is still gone from her chest. Spots block her vision. She forces herself to move, to use what she has. Check on the others.
As she staggers to her feet, her vision clears some. Varric is groaning where he lays on his back a few feet from her. Cassandra is the furthest away, sword and shield scattered around her, pushing herself up on her arms and shaking her head. The dragon’s corpse is twisted in all the wrong ways, smelling heavily of charred flesh. She holds back a gag, turning.
Panic spikes through her.
“Where’s Dorian?”
Her shout freezes the other two. Sidni spins, scanning the still smoking area. She can’t feel the tingle of his barrier across her skin. And he doesn’t answer her frantic shouts.
She glances at her companions. Cassandra is bleeding from a head wound that needs to be seen to and Varric is limping, struggling to swing Bianca into her holster on his back. But they’re here. Her mind runs in circles, denying that anything serious has happened to Dorian before reminding herself this worry is making her soft and then rounding the bend to hatred that she would even dare think such a thing.
Varric begins to apologize, but she waves him off. None of them could have predicted the dragon’s attack would react with his elemental mine. They’re lucky their fate is not the same as the dragon’s.
And they have Dorian to thank for it.
She runs to search on the other side of the dragon, ignoring Varric shouting that she’s bleeding. She screams for Dorian again, heart threatening to pound out of her chest. Stone, please, don’t let me lose him. He doesn’t know how much he means to her, how much she relies on him. Too much.
How he’s become her family.
There’s no sign of him. Her hands shake as she stands at the edge of the small dropoff. She reaches for control, trying to find that space in her soul where her feelings can’t interfere. It eludes her. She feels flayed open, the stillness in her bones missing, the familiar heavy cloak of stone gone.
Her voice echoes as she calls again, one last time, promising all manner of harmful things to his being if he doesn’t answer her right that moment.
“Fasta vass, Cadash. I’m injured enough without your threats. Please keep your murderous tendencies under control.”
She spins, finding him scrabbling up the incline toward her. His hair is in disarray, one side of his mustache singed, covered in dirt and bruises, but alive. He’s muttering about his robes and his hair, but she doesn’t care.
Her feet slip and slide through the rocks as she sprints toward him. The second before she reaches him, she sees him look up, grey eyes widening and mouth falling open. The collision hurts, but she wraps her arms around his waist, clinging to him. She feels her heart settle even as they sway precariously.
“Cadash … Sidni …”
Let go of him. You’re humiliating yourself. He’ll use it against you.
She forces the thoughts away, reassuring herself that he’s here.
“I had no idea you felt this way,” he starts in a flippant tone. “But I must inform you–”
“Dorian. Be quiet.”
He pauses, but then his arms are circling her shoulders, holding her close.
“Are the others … ?” He trails off, voice quiet and low.
“They’re alright.”
“Inquisitor!”
She steps away quickly, turning to look up at Cassandra and Varric as they reach the edge. Relief paints their faces when they see Dorian.
As they climb back toward the clearing, the mage sends her a smile. When she returns it, she ignores the feeling that she’s left a soft spot for him to exploit. Something whispers that he’ll keep it safe for her.
Maker's Breath 