The always lovely and super talented @kawereen requested Cullen and Demetra fighting over a slice of cake. My hand slipped, I wrote this thing (beware: fluff everywhere!), but I hope you like it anyway!
Plus, let me wish you all my dear followers and friends, a great HAPPY EASTER!
Cullen Rutherford X Demetra Trevelyan
“Hands off!” She
jolted, hearing his strong command, her fork falling on the floor. His
chuckle made her blush and infuriate “You’re not nice scaring me in
that way!” “Oh,” he grinned, leaning against their kitchen’s
wall “instead you are so nice trying to steal that last piece of
cake.” “I wasn’t stealing.” she replied, a bit offended,
ready to knee and pick the fork up. “Wait,” he said doing that
for her “let me help you.” She smiled, grabbing his shirt and
pulling him closer “You’re so kind. The kindest husband. And you
need a bath!” she said, wincing, after her quick peck on his sweat
cheek. He laughed again “Well, the new horses arrived this morning
and Branson was more than happy to have me there to help.” “And
returning home you stopped to help the workers at the Shelter.” she
smiled, noting a slight track of calcimine between his hair. Cullen
nodded “The works are proceeding quicker than expected. I think
that in four – five months we’ll be ready to open the Templars Shelter. Cassandra’ll be relieved, I think.” “Yes,”
Demetra agreed, remembering her friend’s words in her last missive
“now that the word got around and that Leliana is promoting the
permanent abolition of lyrium in their ranks, I’m not surprised that so many Templars want to
try and change their life.” “I think Cassandra and her
new Seekers are doing well, travelling around and spreading the
news.” Their thoughts flew to the Seeker, busy in offering
Templars a new way to live, a new method to cover their role without the lyrium, and training the one who were willing to give it a try in
techniques very similar to the Seekers’ ones. With the approval of
Leliana – the Divine Victoria, Demetra reminded to herself –
Cassandra was ready to help Cullen in giving the Templar Order a
chance in the new world. “Anyway,” her husband voice
interrupted her reflections “we still have a couple of things to
settle down before opening it, right?” She followed his tender
glare, nodding again. “Where’s Grace?”he asked, looking
around. She couldn’t hold back her smirk. She was actually surprised
he didn’t ask earlier. Since their first daughter was born, the former
Inquisitor loved joking that now she was at the third place in his
husband’s list of most loved ones, after Grace and his Mabari. Maybe the fourth, after his chessboard. Of
course, Cullen protested everytime, usually sat in his favorite
armchair, with Grace on his lap and Inquisitor barking happily at his
feet. It suited him, that serene, domestic atmosphere, as she had
always suspected when her dream to share a life together had to be
put aside for facing all the battles they did. “Grace is in the
garden, with Inquisitor of course.” Demetra answered, her voice
playful “I fear you’re not his favorite member of this family
anymore.” He looked beyond her shoulder, probably catching a
glimpes of dark red curls bouncing between the flowers. “Yes,
well,” he chuckled, shaking his head “I can’t blame him. She’s
lovely. As her mother.” “Oh, stop it, you sweet talker.” she
tutted at him. Noting he had taken the plate with the last piece of
cake which Mia sent them, she quickly moved to grab it back. With a
half smile, half huff, Cullen kept the plate out of her reach. She
looked at him in disbelief. Cullen’s love for cakes and butter
cookies was well known everywhere, but this didn’t give him the right
to not share with her! “Cullen, that’s my slice!”
Sorry for the delay @dartheames in fulfilling this prompt (I know its ancient but I hope you like it anyway!). For @dadrunkwriting - have some post trespasser writing (clearly spoilers) which is basically just tooth rotting fluff!
(This is my first little fic set post trespasser so was lots of fun to imagine and write!)
Cullen x Annabel Trevelyan- SFW - fluff, romance, happily ever after
Cuddling in a blanket fort
Mia had insisted she was inside somewhere, yet
standing in the open country kitchen and scanning the humble living quarters Cullen finds them empty. A frown creases his forehead. Where in the name of the Maker had she gone now? It shouldn’t be so
hard to find your wife, should it?
The frown turns into a light smile. His wife. Filling with
warmth he continues the search and soon hears giggling from his nephew’s
bedroom. It’s not the giggle of a child though. Ah. Approaching stealthy, he hovers in the door way to admire the scene before him.
Between two beds, blankets, cushions
and bed linen from all over the house has been piled to create a make shift fort. Mia won’t be pleased but still he can’t
help but give a chuckle as Annabel mildly tells Branson Jr. off for calling her
Suddenly two heads poke out, lifting up the fabric roof to
peer at him, before quickly darting back down with harsh whispers.
Prince, his faithful mabari, also finally notices his presence, and
promptly jumps off a stripped bed to pad over with a lazily tail wag.
Kneeling to pet him Cullen strains to listen to the murmurs inside the fort, but despite his best efforts he can’t make out what’s being said. From nowhere both
Annabel and Branson pop back up, throwing the blanket away to stand defiantly, brandishing wooden swords. He notes how the small boy mimic’s Annabel’s stance
and puffs his chest out a little wider and the warmth already sitting in his
chest blooms. She’s going to make a brilliant mother …
The thought however sends a jolt through him. Him. A father. Stubbornly
he pushes the worry aside and stands as Annabel gives him an elaborate wink,
one which he knows means he’s meant to ‘play along’.
“So, the Avvar have come to take the keep and you bring your
furious war hound to do your dirty work?!” Her voice booms, taking on a hint
of its leadership role, easily filling the room and demanding attention,
despite the ridiculous nature of it all. His nephew’s rich brown eyes glimmer with
excitement and Cullen can’t bear to crush their game so lets a smirk twitch his
“Ay,” he nods, standing tall as if on full inspection. “The
Avvar have as much right to these lands as you ma’ lady and we’ll claim them by
force if we must.”
“You filthy Avvar scum!” The boy’s voice growls and Cullen is
slightly taken back by the ferocity of it, he’s not sure his brother would be
pleased to hear that tone.
“Sir Branson,” snaps Annabel. “Deploy the anti-war dog
Cullen blinks and stares at her. The what? Before he knows it
a rubber ball smacks him square in the chest, he gasps, one hand instinctively reaching for a sword which isn’t there. Prince begins to bark like mad, grabbing the ball on the bounce and running off
with it, sliding into the wall on the wooden floor in his haste.
“He’s trained the mutt to steal our weaponry!” Annabel’s pitch
is high in fake shock. “Sir Branson, retrieve our device at once or it may fall
into the wrong hands!”
“Yes, Inquisitor!” The youth nods then swings his leg over the wall to climb, ungracefully, down the tower and rush after the hound. As
he passes Cullen however he stops to give him a sharp whack with the flat of his sword before
laughing and speeding away.
“You’re teaching him bad habitats, again,” remarks Cullen, rubbing
at the spot on his thigh which stings lightly.
She shrugs then smirks at him. “So, what if I am? The brave Avvar warlord going
to break into my keep and teach me a lesson?” She arches an eyebrow and cocks her iron replacement hand on her hip.
Words abandon him and everything just stops. All he can think, as he stands opposite his wife is - Maker she’s bloody gorgeous. Hair wild without care, no
makeup, bright eyes glittering at him and a snug top which reveals just the hint
of a growing bump. Their bump.
She glows, radiating light, the same way she always did. It was something that he’d
always felt was missing from his life. From him. Until he met her. She illuminated
even his darkest, bleakest, corners, forcing the shadows away. Whats more, she accepted and embraced what she found lurking in those dark places. Accepting him, completely, for who he was.
How did he deserve this? To have such a naturally beautiful woman,
carrying his child, stood in his sisters loving home, on a warm spring afternoon, smirking at him in a dirty way. He feels himself stir in reply.
“That I am, lass,” he drops his voice, trying to mimic the
rough Avvar accent as his smirk turns wicked and his golden eyes darken. Lurching
forward he clears the walls with a swift bound and captures her. Wrapping his
arms around her, he drags her lips towards his and devours her with a kiss. Its
deep and pure, conveying all the feelings his words cannot, his mouth
slowly savouring hers, his tongue-
The child’s cry breaks their passionate moment. He pulls away, feeling a rush of heat spread up his neck as he looks to his nephew whose
nose is wrinkled in disgust. The ball, is held loosely in the boy’s grip by his
side, as he stares in gross disbelief at them, that is until Prince snatches the weapon.
With a mouthful bark the hound play
bows at the boy then bounds off, presumably to run outside where there is space
for the great lummox to play without crashing into furnishings. “Hey!” Branson is quickly out the door to chase down the thief.
“You know, they’ll be no peace once this little one comes
along, especially since its half Trevelyan,” chuckles Annabel stepping back
slightly to nod down at her belly, her hand idly rubbing over it.
“I have peace now?” Cullen asks, then winches as she
smacks his thigh where the sword strike had been. “Ow!” Chuckling he holds his hands out to her.
“Come here,” he smiles softly and coaxes her back to cuddle snugly against his chest. He kisses the top of her head and rests his
chin in her hair, letting his contentment flow out in his smooth calm tone. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, my lady.”
Thank you for reading, likes, comments and reblogs are all gratefully received <3
Olwyn’s brow furrows as she moves her arm along the sheets, fingers brushing out from a pile of furs to touch open air, cool and crisp. It’s tempting, to just curl back up in bed and fall back asleep, especially when her other arm aches with phantom pains that never quite go away.
But the empty spot where her husband sleeps is empty, which means Cullen’s already gotten up to feed the horses and check on the rest of the farm, and sleeping in won’t help anyone–and definitely won’t put breakfast on the table.
It almost makes her miss Skyhold, and a warm kitchen and apple tarts always at hand.
It’s still dark when she pulls the furs away and fumbles around at the foot of the bed for her dress, where she’d placed it on the baseboard to dry the day before. It’s easy to slip into, as she blearily rolls up the sleeve on her left side so it doesn’t hang too low.
If she were more awake, she supposes, she would have noticed that the dress hangs a bit oddly, and ends just below her knees rather than her ankles, but all she can think about is getting to the elfroot salve in the cupboard to ease the soreness, and putting some water on to boil for tea.
She forgets, sometimes, that her left arm is gone. When she reaches to grab something with both hands, or tries to lace fingers with Cullen’s own and can almost feel it, tiny ghost-like imprints of memory that fool her into thinking one morning she’ll wake up and it will be there again.
Some mornings are better than others, when she awakens and finds that it’s still gone, and the only thing that remains is a stump and the look in Solas’ face when he’d apologized and taken it from her burned into the back of her mind like a brand.
As she bumps the edge of the table, and reaches to grab a pitcher with a hand that no longer exists, and watches the pieces shatter along the wooden floor, she thinks it might be one of the bad days.
She bites back a curse and blinks back frustrated tears as she bends down to clean up the mess.
She hates the bad days.
“Olwyn? I heard a crash and–are you alright?”
And she doesn’t want him to see her like this. Doesn’t want anyone to. A little too proud? Or just because it’s been ingrained in her for so long not to show weakness of any kind? To be a symbol, never-changing, unaffected by things like pain and sadness.
But it’s him, at least, kneeling beside her on the floor, looking over the tiny cuts along her fingertips and frowning. It’s Cullen, who knows that some days you just feel weak, no mater how strong you really are. Cullen, who never saw her as Inquisitor first and Olwyn second; who never made her feel like she had to be the former more than the latter at all times.
“I’ll get this,” Cullen assures her, grabbing up the last few pieces. “Stay still, I don’t want you stepping on anything I missed.”
Olwyn sighs, “That’s the second pitcher in three months.”
“Maybe we should stop leaving them on the edge of tables,” Cullen agrees, and he gives a small smile, “When I’m done, how about we find your dress?”
Olwyn blinks, and furrows her brow. “What do you mean…?” But Cullen is blushing now, avoiding eye contact as a flush spreads across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears and he clears his throat.
The dress she’s currently wearing is decidedly not her dress, it seems, but one of Cullen’s shirts instead.
It’s still endearing, each time she sees him get flustered like this. Like he’s seeing her for the first time, and is both enchanted and unsure if he’s quite earned the right to a happy ending.
It makes it easier, that look. Makes it easy to smile back, and decide that she’ll try her hardest to make it a good day instead, despite the odds.
“Well,” She grins, “That certainly does explain the draft.”
Wow I haven’t written Olwyn x Cullen in forever, especially not them after Trespasser. This was lots of fun! Thanks for the ask, anon! :)