I was tagged ages ago by the delightful @guacamolleee & @tarasmom <3 so here it is, a very tardy and totally off-script roundup of my 2025 year in fics 💖
zero pressure tagging a few lovelies @scuttlingcrab @rauferes @mediocremillie99 if the spirit moves you 👀
Stats:
20 fics | 357,773 words (loll)
Shortest:
A Mesmeric Experience (2,808)
Longest:
Passage Through the Lichgate (213,107)
Hottest Smut:
tbh probably also A Mesmeric Experience, although I'm personally partial to Observations of the Spectral Court because I'm a little freak
Most Popular:
honestly idk! I use an AO3 site skin to hide stats and I *highly* recommend - it helps with author sanity, and lets me enjoy and evaluate stories on their own merits rather than being anchored by stats that I've personally found to be meaningless <3
That being said, I'm guessing it's a tie between the smutty, angsty Darkness at the Edge of Dawn and my Shakarian montage shortfic A Gravity Well is a Long Way to Fall , which is absolutely WILD to me bc Mass Effect is a thousand years old. But look Garrus Vakarian is king and the Garrus guys and girlies go hard, and if all goes according to plan I will be bringing more Shakarian food to the table in 2026 xx
Most Reread:
I don't usually reread my own fics, but ngl I have reread my Alistair x Cousland Ero Quod Spero at least twice at this point. It's got humor. It's got horses. It's got heraldry. It's got King Alistair doing naughty things in the kingly bath. Twice. look I cooked wayy harder than necessary for what was supposed to be a joke fic ok
Proudest Of:
this one's for sure a tie between Passage Through the Lichgate and Beneath This Cage of Bone 💙
both stories required me to stretch as a writer - Passage, because of its complex structure, the frequently unlikeable FMC, the development of Johanna as a real multidimensional character, and difficult subject matter. In Cage of Bone the challenge was more in identifying the specificity & universality in tragedies that have befallen myself and loved ones, and weaving those together into a newly meaningful story. I put my whole heart into both stories, and if you read either one in 2025 then I am sending you a fruit basket I am kissing you on the lips you cannot escape it we are best friends for life <3
Biggest Downer (affectionate):
A View of the Lake probably? People say it’s sad lol
The seed of this story came to me after reading two consecutive New Yorker stories about age gap flings (The Frenzy by Joyce Carol Oates and Travesty by Lillian Fishman, and I HIGHLY recommend both; Oates and Fishman are doing iconic work ✨) , which got me thinking about the dark undercurrent of modern AU EmmRook. While I love a happily-ever-after EmmRook to death, the potentially problematic nature of their dynamic is part of what drew me to the ship in the first place, and I love it when stories face that nature unflinchingly (and sometimes decide that it's best for the characters not to be together 🥲).
Ships:
Emmrich/Rook (Dragon Age: The Veilguard)
Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age: Origins)
Garrus Vakarian/Commander Shepard (Mass Effect)
Gale/Tav (Baldur's Gate 3)
The Emperor/Tav (Baldur's Gate 3, yeahh that's right your girl wrote an Emps fic)
Cal/Sol (I Was A Teenage Exocolonist)
Zine Pieces:
Maestro 🪄 for @thefadediscordserver 's Unexpected SplendAUr zine <3
It's been a minute since I've posted any writing! I haven't had the time to draw for any of the DA Kiss Week prompts, but I did just finish a replay of Origins so Alistair and my warden Lucy have been on my mind. Sorry this is a couple days late lol
Pairing: Alistair x f!Warden (Amell)
Rating: SFW
Word count: 1,092
CW: blood
The darkspawn were unrelenting. Each wave they fought back only gave way to more, an endless horde that multiplied like cockroaches. They smelled death of their kind, and they came running.
Lucy froze them, shattered them, burned them. Half a dozen at once if she was lucky. Alistair fought nearby, his shield and sword and armor stained with near-black blood. A nasty cut on the side of his head bled over the subtle peak of his ear. Morrigan fought alongside the mages from the Circle—something she would have much too much pride for just mere months ago. Leliana manned the ballista, shooting bolts that lodged into the thick, scaled skin of the archdemon. Each hit a cry, an unnatural bellow that stirred something in Lucy's blood. She wondered if it did the same for everyone or just her and Alistair. She fought on and made a mental note to ask him later. If there was a later.
They had done battle so many times. And they were so tired.
A break in the darkspawn rush allowed her a moment to breathe. She looked at the massive creature, thick, rotten blood trickling down from the bolts in its side, its chest, its eye. Another deep crack of the ballista sounded and another large arrow found its target in the archdemon's neck. The roar from its mouth was ferocious, but ended in a whimper. It stumbled. Blood sluiced from the wound, spraying in rhythmic pumps along with its corrupted heart. The wound wasn't fatal—not yet—but the dragon's frantic fight against its own body was an act of desperation.
Lucy could see the silhouettes of darkspawn approaching in the distance. Alistair was still locked in combat with a genlock, but he saw it, too. His eyes flickered quicky to the archdemon and back again, never enough to be caught off guard by his apponent.
"LUCY, DON'T—"
But his words were drowned out in the chaos as Lucy sprinted towards the injured creature and unsheathed the enchanted sword at her back. Its glow was blinding, almost as if it knew the honor it was about to have. The dragon reared its head as she approached, its jaws open, all teeth and decaying breath. She wasn't afraid.
It lunged at her, its face close enough to the ground for Lucy to thrust the sword down through the top of its head, tearing through flesh and muscle. The dragon screamed, and she used the hilt of the blade at leverage to pull herself up, holding on with all her strength as it thrashed about from the blow. A few moments passed before it calmed, only a fraction, but it was enough. Lucy pulled the sword from the skull, its Fade-touched blade searing through layers of tissue like butter, and plunged it into the gaping wound on the creature's neck, slicing and stabbing as the spray of blood blocked out her vision. She felt the creature's muscles go slack before it fell to the ground. The archdemon was dead.
The world became still. She could hear nothing but the drum of her own heart, still beating, muffled as if she were underwater. Through the red haze in front of her eyes, everything looked blurred. Movement slowed, almost coming to a halt. She thought this might be it, that the Maker was allowing her one last moment to savor her life before the archdemon soul consumed her. Then, in a moment, the universe continued at its rightful pace. Swords clanged, darkspawn fell, magic electrified the atoms in the air. Lucy pulled the sword from the archdemon's neck, the hilt sticky with blood in her hand, and took two slow, laborous steps before she dropped it.
Alistair was running towards her. He stopped just short of knocking her over, his eyes roaming over the massive dragon's body.
"Maker's breath, you did it," he panted. "You did it! You hard-headed—you—you—"
He stopped searching for the words to reprimand her, and pulled her face into his. The metal edges of his gauntlets were cold against her skin. His lips tasted of iron, of Blight, like a second Joining. She didn't care. With one hand on the nape of her neck, tangled with bloody hair, he tilted her head up and pulled her body close. The buckles on her armor clinked against the metal plate of his chest. She stood on tiptoes to reach him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. The kiss was desperate, proud—a hard meeting of soft skin, teeth like walls behind their lips. Passionate, not like the nights they shared together, but like lovers reunited after war.
They broke apart and Alistair brushed a fallen lock of hair from her face. He looked at her with a mix of fraught trepidation and immense relief, holding onto her as if she could vanish any second. In the adrenaline of battle, she had forgotten the possibility of dying, the whisper of doubt that the ritual was for nothing. His expression reminded her. He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat.
"Are you sure it worked?" he asked, taking her in as if he'd never see her again.
"I feel fine," Lucy answered, herself a bit unsure. She looked around the rooftop at their allies, some celebrating, some slumped against a wall catching their breath, some mourning their fallen friends. Leliana watched them from afar, smiling sweetly and waving when Lucy looked towards her. "Morrigan is gone."
He sighed and pulled her in for another kiss, slower and softer than the last.
"You could have died, you idiot!" he chided as they broke apart, still holding either side of her face. "You should have let me do it."
"Then you could have died." She met his smile. "You idiot."
"I was trying to be chivalrous."
Lucy laughed. "You don't have to try."
Reluctantly, they let go of each other and returned to their allies. Never one for attention, their cheering brought a flush to Lucy's face—not that anyone could tell underneath the archdemon blood. She smiled and kept her eyes down, letting Alistair bask in the limelight. Leliana pulled Lucy into a hug with so much momentum she almost knocked her to the ground. Irving beamed and told her he was proud, and that her mother would be proud, too. The rest was a blur, but she knew one thing: tomorrow, Ferelden would wake to a land without Blight, and she would wake next to Alistair, scarred but alive, soft, breathing in the morning sun.
Pairing: Alistair x Female Mahariel (Ellaria, a dual wielding rogue)
Words: 4.2K
NSFW
Summary:
Alistair Theirin did not expect many things that had happened to him since he became a Grey Warden. He didn't expect to be betrayed at Ostagar. He didn't expect to lose his mentor. He didn't expect to be one of the only two Wardens left in Ferelden that he knew of. He didn't expect to be traveling with such an...eclectic group.
Above all of this, he certainly didn't expect to fall in love with his fellow Grey Warden, a Dalish elf named Ellaria. Could she feel the same?
AN: In my playthrough, the scene for Alistair asking to spend the night with my warden triggered after the Urn of Sacred Ashes quest, which requires everyone to take off their clothes. I thought the timing was hilarious, and this one shot was born.
Read on AO3!
comments and reblogs are very appreciated!
Alistair didn’t know what made him start feeling this way about Ellaria. He paced around his tent - and really, pacing was being generous. It was more like turning in circles. Slowly. He was a tall man and it was a small tent, after all.
Was it her bravery? She had been tireless, fierce, stunningly brutal every day since he met her. Whether it was leaping onto an ogre to deal the killing strike or telling off his half-sister in Denerim, she was unwavering.
Could it have been her beauty? When she was cleansed by fire to retrieve a pinch from the urn of sacred ashes to help Arl Eamon, just hours before, he had never seen her so…exposed. He would have to be a blind and incredibly stupid man to not admit that seeing her in that state of undress sent a hot flush through him he was surprised Morrigan did not comment upon.
Maybe it was that she listened to him. He had mentioned his mother’s broken amulet as a regret he had, in passing, never expecting her to place it into his palm with an excited smile. Of course I remembered, you are special to me.
Or was it before that? At the Circle Tower, when they passed the tortured templar she remarked to him that she was glad he was not a templar anymore. Or even the first time they spoke at Ostagar, when she called him a strange human.
How it started didn’t matter, he supposed, just that it did. Perhaps he fell for her over time, a trickle of interest slowly turning into a waterfall of feelings that landed on him all at once. He fell in love. With a fellow Grey Warden. During a blight. And they were the only two left to end it. Perfect timing, really.
Which is why he couldn’t wait any longer.
He left his tent knowing she was on her shift for watch duty, and found her staring into the nearby campfire while absentmindedly petting Barkspawn. The fire cast a warm glow on her, turning her white hair and fair skin almost golden. Her brow was furrowed, a sure sign she was deep in thought. Tomorrow they would journey into Orzammar and with the way their luck was headed, into the Deep Roads. He closed his eyes, pushing the thought out of his mind. Still, the Deep Roads was where Grey Wardens went to die, and he would never forgive himself if something happened with words left unspoken or actions left undone.
He felt his heart start to race as he drew nearer to her before settling down on the ground beside her. A pit threatened to form in his stomach before she glanced over at him and gave him a soft smile that instantly reassured him. She took his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, like it was something easy, something instinctual she just did when they were near each other. He sighed.
“Is everything okay? Why are you not resting like all of the others? Tomorrow will be a long day of travel,” she said, her attention focused on him now instead of the images she must have been seeing play out in the flames. He thought he saw a glare from Barkspawn.
Now or never.
“I…I really don’t know how to ask you this,” he stammered as he looked at her from the corner of his eyes, her face turned to him. Those deep green eyes he adored were highlighted by the orange light of the fire. This was not helping. He dragged his hand down his face. “You’d think it would be easier by now, but every time I’m around you, I feel as if my head is about to explode - in a good way! I just can’t think straight!” He felt his cheeks starting to burn hot and his resolve starting to waver.
She laughed, the sound high and clear in the crisp night air. Oh, he loved all of her laughs, but this one in particular was his favorite - the one laugh she had when she was caught off guard by something he said or did. He loved it so much that he did everything he could to coax it out of her while they were at camp after long days of fighting darkspawn, bandits, and demons, no matter how silly it made him look.
“You know, I feel the same way when I’m around you,” she said. Barkspawn had flopped over on his side and she was scratching his belly now. Lucky dog. He would give anything to feel her fingers on his skin, to only feel each other instead of fumbling around clothes or armor when they kissed in his tent in the evenings, away from the prying eyes of their companions. Well, friends at this point, he supposed. You couldn’t walk away from the things they had seen without being friends at least. He scolded himself internally, not wanting his mind to wander to Sten or Wynne or, Maker forbid, Zevran while he was trying to drum up the confidence to ask what he was attempting to. He turned his body to face her, keeping her hand in his. His heart now felt like a war drum, one beat away from pounding through his chest. She did the same and earned a whine from Barkspawn once her hand stopped scratching.
“Here’s the thing, Ellaria: You are impulsive, you run headfirst into danger, you’re always putting yourself right in the middle of all the darkspawn or bandits or whoever else…being near you makes me crazy.” He saw her eyes drop and felt her starting to pull her hand away, quickly realizing he had only named negative things. He held on to her hand tighter, placing his other one on top. “You’re brave, you’re fierce, you’re protective, you’re beautiful…I can’t imagine being without you. Not ever.”
“Oh,” she said. He could see a faint flush on her cheek and the softest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth at his confession.
“I don’t know how to say this any better so here goes. I want to spend the night with you. Here. Tonight. In camp. Is this too fast? It might be too fast, I don’t know. I know what I feel, and what I feel is that I want to be with you. We stumbled into each other, and despite this not being the perfect time, the perfect place, I found myself falling for you in between the fighting and everything else. Honestly, even during the fighting - you’re quite breathtaking.” Visions of her sweaty and panting and covered in blood flashed through his mind. He wanted to recreate it - minus the blood.
“I guess you really liked what you saw in the temple today?” She laughed as he stammered and flushed a bright red, rubbing his neck with his hand. “Alistair, Alistair! I am teasing you. But…are you sure? Even though I am not…I am not human? I know what people say about elves. I have heard a lot of it on our travels,” she said, sounding uncharacteristically nervous around him. Every time someone called her knife-ear or rabbit, he saw red. He had never and would never consider her any different from any other person they had come across just because of the shape of her ears, her shorter stature, or the elegant swirling tattoo on her face.
“Honestly, at this point I think elves are better than humans,” he smiled softly at her, stroking her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “I really don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve never done this before and I want it to be with you, while we have the chance. In case…” he trailed off, fear of the Deep Roads seeping into his veins.
“I want it to be with you, too,” she smiled up at him. “My first time. I was hoping you would ask.”
This time, he was the one who laughed as pure relief flooded his system. He kissed her softly. “Come to my tent after your watch ends.”
The next few hours felt like an eternity. Alistair had tidied up his meager belongings, everything folded and placed into a neat stack in the farthest corner of his tent, which was actually not that far away at all. He lay on his bedroll, willing at least a little sleep to come but it was as elusive as it had been most nights since their journey began. So he lay there, staring up at the fabric of his tent and attempted unsuccessfully to calm his nerves while he waited for her.
“Alistair?” he heard her whisper quietly, checking to see if he was still awake. Finally. He bolted upright, glad for the darkness to camouflage his awkward movements.
“Over here, Ellaria,” he said softly, reaching out for her hand as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. He should have had a candle lit. Should he light one now? Or would fumbling in the dark be better than fumbling in the light? His nerves caught up to him again as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. Her smaller hand clasped in his, he felt her kneel beside him. This wouldn’t do - he wanted to see her and decided right then and there that lighting a candle was the course of action to take. He placed the candleholder down on a book he used more often than not as a table rather than reading material, the small flame throwing just enough flickering light in the tent to send the darkness fleeing to the edges and corners.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, smoothing her hair behind her delicately pointed ear. He brushed the tip of it with his finger, eliciting a small gasp from her lips. His eyes, instantly drawn to the source of the sound, took in their gentle curve, the full pout of her bottom lip, the slightly downturned corners that made her always look like she was deep in thought. He could no longer resist, closing the distance between them and pressing his own lips gently against hers as they had done for so many nights now since the night he gave her the rose outside Honnleath. This time, however, there was an undercurrent of something different, an anticipation of what was to come as their kisses grew more intense and their tongues danced, finding a rhythm that built and built. His hands fell to her waist, grateful more than ever for the Dalish dress style - the bare expanse of her stomach was one of the first things that drew his attention to her when she walked up to him at Ostagar, before he really knew her. Now it seemed like a bonus. In addition to the privilege of knowing her, he was also able to see those muscles flex and relax as she fought, or walked, or even laughed.
He felt her fingers, fine and light, reach for the bottom of his shirt, crumpled from tossing and turning with unsuccessful sleep. She lifted it up, smiling against his kiss as she struggled. Impatient, he broke the kiss, pulling the shirt quickly over his head, leaving him bare chested in front of her. Obviously, she had seen him without a shirt on as he washed in rivers and streams, but this was different. Everything would be different after this. She reached out, running her hands through the fine hair that dusted his chest and left goosebumps in her path before turning around and allowing him to loosen the laces on the top she wore for sleeping. She pulled it off over her head, and he traced the faint red marks on her skin from where it had slightly dug in. She let out the softest sigh as he kissed the joining of her neck and shoulder, tilting her head to allow him more access which he gladly accepted.
She laughed softly. “I do not know why I am so nervous to turn around.”
“I promise you will get nothing but rave reviews here,” he said, placing a kiss on her shoulder, her skin smooth and cool beneath his lips.
She turned around and his heart skipped a beat. She was gorgeous when fully clothed, but she was without a doubt earth-shatteringly beautiful half undressed. He felt himself stir as he took her in, his eyes sweeping down to her breasts, small but perfect, nipples perked once exposed to the cool night air in his tent, before meeting her eyes again.
“Beautiful,” was all he could whisper.
She reached one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him to her to kiss her again while the other threaded through his hair, her nails sending delightful tingles through him. He would have to remember this, he wanted her to scratch his head for hours. Now he understood why Barkspawn was so upset when he interrupted earlier. Stop thinking about the dog, Alistair. Half naked Ellaria, right in front of you . His hand moved from her waist to her breast, fully covering it and squeezing lightly. It was softer than he thought it would be, given how lean and muscular she was. His thumb traced lightly over her nipple, feeling it grow even harder under his touch. The way her body reacted to him sent a crackling warmth through him. He crashed his lips against hers, kissing her deeply and pulling her onto his lap though he knew she could feel him growing harder for her with each second that passed. She pressed her hips against his, the pressure causing him to groan softly into her mouth. The sound made her press against him again and again, her hips slowly rocking against him. He rocked his own hips back into hers, a preview of how the night would end, if all went well. He needed her. He had never been with anyone before and yet he knew he needed her more than he had ever needed anything in his life. His fingers went to the drawstring of her loose sleeping pants, untying it, ready to cross the line from innocent flirting and kissing to something else.
She smiled and climbed off his lap to stand before him. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her pants, pushing them off her hips slowly, exposing more of her fair skin than he had ever seen. He discovered lines of scars, both old and new. He discovered the patch of soft white curls between her legs. He discovered just how muscular her thighs were as he smoothed his hands over them, her pants and undergarments in a puddle at her feet. He thought he had a good idea of what she would look like from the temple, but seeing her up close, fully undressed? His imaginings didn’t come close to doing her justice. He stood up, his fingertips slowly tracing the outlines of her body - her hips, the underside of her breasts, her nipples, her collarbone, the sides of her neck. He wanted to commit every curve of hers to memory. He wanted to remember this for the rest of his life, no matter how long that life would be - days or weeks or months or, if they were lucky, years.
“Ellaria, you…I don’t have words,” he said softly, reverently. He quickly undid the laces of his own pants, pushing them and his smallclothes down without the finesse he used on hers. He watched as her eyes moved over his body, taking him in. He could feel himself flushing under the weight of her stare and felt the slightest tinge of shyness as he was fully bared in front of her for the first time. He had no worries about his size, having been told during his short time with the other Wardens that he should be proud of the sword he wielded - typical brotherly ribbing, but it did wonders for his confidence in this matter at least. She said earlier this would be her first time too, but he knew she was betrothed before all of…this, and he didn’t know what she had to compare against. He supposed it didn’t matter, at the end of things. He just hoped the rest of him was enough. That he was enough. That he deserved her.
“Creators,” she whispered. “I am lucky,” she teased.
She stood on her toes to kiss him, and he bent down as they did night after night to negate the vast differences in their heights. He stood a good foot taller than her, and he would be the first to admit it was easier to kiss her sitting down. He imagined it would be even easier to kiss her laying down. The thought sent a hum through him, settling into his abdomen. He felt himself pressed against her hip, impossibly hard for her. She reached between them, her fingers brushing against him with featherlight touches that caused him to gasp and press his hips harder into her. She wrapped her fingers around him and began to stroke him slowly, her hand moving from the base to the sensitive tip. He tipped his head back and saw stars. Never would he have imagined that someone else touching him would feel so…different. In a good way. In the best way. Better than his own hand felt when he pictured a night like tonight, with her.
He wanted to make her feel this good.
“Alistair, maybe we should…lay down?”
“Good -” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat while she giggled. “Good idea.”
They lay on the bedroll, facing each other, kissing each other. Her mouth moved from his lips to the corner of his jaw, then to his earlobe, lightly nipping at it because she knew it drove him crazy. The soft moan that escaped his lips was proof enough. His hand moved down her body - ribs, waist, hip, thigh, inner thigh.
“Can I touch you?” He whispered.
“If you did not I would be very upset,” she replied softly before going back to work on his earlobe, then down his neck. She kissed him again as his fingers parted her, feeling this part of her, of any woman, for the first time. It was soft, warm, wet. And utterly foreign.
“Show me where,” he said. He felt her hand on his, guiding him to where he assumed she touched herself at night. That was a thought to come back to later on a night spent alone, he mentally noted. He rubbed her in gentle circles, her hand guiding him before she pulled it away. Left to his own devices, he kept the same rhythm, her soft breaths acting as her approval of his technique. He sped up slightly, her hips starting to move against his hand.
Her fingers wrapped around him again in a tighter grip than before, a groan escaping his lips when her thumb used the bead of moisture that had collected at the tip to help her stroke him. He couldn’t help but thrust slightly into her hand while moving his hand down to her entrance, a finger slowly slipping in and instantly wrapped in tight warmth. He moved in the same rhythm she did, easily able to glide his finger in and out, in and out, in and -
Maker , the sounds she was making. If she felt this good around his finger, how would he be able to survive entering her? He couldn’t take it anymore.
“Ellaria, I want to be inside you,” he whispered into her ear.
“Please,” she moaned softly. “I am ready. I want you.”
She rolled to her back, looking up at him as he moved between her now spread legs, using his thighs to spread them farther. His breathing picked up, his heart racing once more. No turning back now, not that he would have wanted to. This, with her, was everything he dreamed about these last few weeks. He wrapped a hand around himself and lined himself up at her entrance. It was at this moment he had a dreadful thought that he might be uncomfortable for her. He looked into her eyes, and she nodded.
“Please,” she whispered.
“You’ll let me know if I need to slow down, or anything?” he asked, getting another nod in return. He pressed forward slowly, so slowly , the tip entering her at last. He breathed deeply. Keeping eye contact, he looked for any sign of her discomfort as he kept pressing little by little. Finding none, he sank into her inch by inch, feeling her give and stretch around him as he entered her. Her moans filled the tent, and he was positive whoever had the next watch could hear them. A thrill went through him as he found himself almost fully sheathed inside her, the sheer realization that he was inside her sending a jolt of lightning through his veins. He stayed there for a moment, letting her get used to the feeling. And if he was being honest, letting himself get used to the feeling as well. He was not prepared for how warm she would be, how tight she would be, how wet she would be as he found himself enveloped by her. For him, all for him, because of him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, breathless.
“Better than okay,” she smiled. He took her in. She was…everything. Her white hair was splayed out on his thin pillow, the flickering candlelight throwing dancing waves of light over her body. She was divine, she was his religion, she was his life now. He would swear any oath to her that she wished for, any desire she had was his to fulfill. And he would, gladly.
He leaned over her, his arms on either side of her head, and pulled back his hips, then pressed them forward. Pulled back and pressed forward again. And again. And again. He kissed her neck, the soft skin muffling the sound of his own moans, her soft gasps landing on his ears like the gentlest of butterflies. He lowered himself on top of her, needing to feel her body pressed against his, wanting her skin against his. He wrapped an arm around her back, holding her tightly as he thrust slowly, deeply inside her, each slow roll of his hips feeling better than the last, somehow.
“Alistair…” she whispered, “more, I want more.”
A fire pooled in his abdomen, desire taking the lead. He moved back to his knees, his hands grasping her hips. He picked up his pace, moving faster, thrusting a little harder. Together, they lost themselves to the moment. There was no Blight, no darkspawn, no archdemon. There was only this tent, this candle, this feeling. She held onto his arms, arching her back against the bedroll. He watched her breasts move each time their hips met. He watched the muscles of her stomach flex when she rocked her hips to meet him each time he thrust into her. He watched where their bodies met, her slick arousal coating him - the image alone making him veer dangerously close to the edge. He could feel it, just on the margins of his awareness.
“Ellaria…I…” he panted. “I don’t know if I can last much longer.”
“Just a little longer, please, I am almost...there,” she moaned.
“As you wish,” he joked, hoping that just a little longer was not that long at all. He focused on keeping the same rhythm, keeping the same pace, and listening to the sounds she was making. He felt her start to tighten around him - a little at first, then tighter and tighter. Her body tensed up and she grew quiet. He took one of her hands in his, squeezing, and she threw her head back and cried out, his name on her lips as she found her release, her orgasm rocking through her, making her tremble and shake beneath him. The feeling of her pulsing and fluttering around him made him lose what little control he had remaining. He dug his fingertips into the one hip he was still holding and thrust into her with reckless abandon. The fire in his abdomen turned into tension, building and building, moving lower and lower. He kept eye contact with her as he drove into her one last time, calling her name as he felt his release fill her. He could have sworn for that moment that the world stopped turning.
He looked at her - she was sweaty and panting, his mental images from earlier come to life. He fell down onto the bedroll beside her, laughing as their shoulders touched.
“Why are you laughing?”
“According to the Chantry sisters, I should have been struck by lightning by now, and here I am...suspiciously lightning free.”
“Maybe I should be thankful for their error - I do not want to be struck by lightning. You should have mentioned that was a possibility before we spent the night together, I may have changed my mind,” she teased before rolling onto her side to face him. Maker, she was so beautiful - even more beautiful now than she was when the night began. Something swelled within him he had no hope of ever containing. Not now. Especially not now. He didn’t want to contain it. It was bad timing, a bad situation, and probably doomed, but he had to get it out.
“I love you,” he said.
Her eyes widened slightly before she broke out into a smile.
Just me who headcanons Alistair is basically just a hyper puppy around the warden once romanced? Super happy. Sleeps with his head on her stomach. Curls up against her for cuddles. Smiles widely when receiving pets on the head... etc...
anyway, for a taste of that go read this little fic I wrote for a 28 day fluff february challenge which you can read here :3
💜 here's a taster:
It wasn’t enough to bring comfort to his heart that she was still there, and so he sighed and placed his forehead against hers, the tip of his nose touching hers.
She didn’t stir.
Not at first.
It wasn’t until Alistair let out another sigh and decided he needed some sleep, curling up beside her and resting his head on her stomach, that she shifted slightly. He missed it as he closed his eyes to rest, letting out a huff of a breath and snuggled closer to her.
Only when shaky fingers suddenly touched his hair did he bolt upright again and stare at her in shock. Her weak eyes watched him – her weak open eyes.
“Oh Maker…” he breathed. “You’re awake!” He grabbed her face happily and laughed, tears filling his eyes out of pure relief.
She clearly looked confused at that, and Alistair went into hyper-mode. She needed to regain her strength. She needed to keep fighting this illness.
Forgetting all that he had promised Wynne, he scrambled around the tent and found what he was searching for. His food rations. Taking out a block of cheese, he offered it, whole, to her.
The Cadence of a Heart || A Dragon Age: Origins Story
Hello friends! I've started a fic for my DA:O Warden, Lucy Amell. This is going to largely focus on her relationship with Alistair through the events of the game. Two chapters are up!
Lucy was raised in the Circle of Magi. In fact, she's never been anywhere else in her life. It was safe there, and she was content... for a while. Eventually, she realized the cruelty in the Circle's forced Tranquility of her mother and began to question everything. Now, at 19, she longs to escape, to make a new life that she would choose for herself. The Grey Wardens wouldn't have been her first choice, but it became her reality. This story is told throughout the events of Dragon Age: Origins. Human mage, Alistair romance, fluff, some action scenes, some angst, eventually a teeny tiny bit smutty.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Don't worry - I still love BG3 and don't see that changing, but I'm deep in the Dragon Age brainrot right now and obsessed with my Warden from DA:O and Alistair. Here's a little fic of their first time <3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Cousland lowered her gaze to the fire. This was beginning to become a nightly routine for the two. Glancing back at the Warden she had been, for the lack of a better description, stranded with after the battle at Ostagar. Stranded, perhaps, but it wasn’t bad. Not a bad... stranding...
“From the bags under your eyes, I have a feeling I’m not alone.”
Alistair shrugged, sitting down on a log with a frown on his face, teeth clenching in pain.
“Is it not healing?”
He shook his head, raising his hand with a lighthearted look on his face. “Oh, no, I’m okay. Just twinges a bit from time to time.”
“Where?” Cousland moved over and crouched down next to Alistair, looking up at him with those big eyes he had originally thought would never belong to someone so good at killing.
“Hm?”
“Where does it still hurt?” she asked with a smile.
There was something behind her smile that Alistair couldn’t quite decipher, and he found himself narrowing his eyes at her to try and figure it out. In response, Cousland only chuckled. She figured that if she was going to have this becoming their nightly routine, she might as well make it a little more fun for the two rather than depressing exchanges of nightmares.
“Uh... My leg.”
He flinched as she reached out and touched his leg. Not from pain, but out of shock. The truth of the matter was that Alistair actually wasn’t in that much pain anymore. Doing certain movements was difficult after the fall he had taken, but everything else was still okay.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, even if she continued to gently let her fingers massage his leg.
Alistair found himself praising himself for having taken his armour off. Of course he would normally before going to bed, but if this had happened at any other time, there would be certain parts of his body that would make his armour too small for him.
“Any other parts?”
Humming, he racked his brain for any other body parts. Though the touch of her fingers through the fabric of his trousers made it difficult to think clearly. “My wrist.”
“Your wrist?” There was clear amusement in her voice, yet she kept up the pretense of naivety, one that Alistair could see through but didn’t quite understand why she was putting up.
“I see. Blocking all those spells from mages you never hunted, hm?” She shifted from his leg, but didn’t shift to his other side. It would have made sense, that was the wrist he had pointed to, but instead she leaned over him and let her breasts gently rest in his lap. Fingers reached out to touch his wrist, massaging awkwardly with her two thumbs.
His mouth was open. But he wasn’t quite sure of why. He was extremely tense, slowly shifting away from her, but also not wanting to. He wasn’t too sure of whether he should be allowed to feel in his lap what he felt right then and there. But that thought only made things even more intoxicating. It was a forbidden thing, something he wasn’t supposed to lust for.
“Anything else?” she asked, those eyes looking up at him again.
Closing his mouth he swallowed thickly, too distracted to notice himself pointing at his lips.
“Your lips hurt?”
There was a pause before Alistair suddenly burst out laughing loudly, shaking his head. “No! No, no, I was - I meant, the back of my head. It’s like, you know... This area, but at the back of my head.”
“Oh, I see,” giggled Cousland, shifting away from his lap. Alistair found himself relax at that, even if he didn’t want to. He’d much prefer the tenseness within himself when he could feel her body flush against his lap.
“Yeah, you know, I was distracted by your bre- YOU MASSAGE, the thumbs, the feeling of your thumbs-” Cut off by Cousland’s lips gently kissing his, Alistair stared widely at her.
That was his first kiss.
“That wasn’t a massage...” He wanted to slap himself for uttering those words.
Cousland laughed at them though, shaking her head. “You’re right. I suppose I failed, didn’t I?”
“Wh-What? I...”
“Maybe I can try again tomorrow night?” She stood up and flashed him that naive look again.
And Alistair began to think that maybe he understood the naive look she was flashing him.
“I... Yeah. More massaging of the uh... the lips?”
Cousland only laughed again as she waltzed on back to her tent.
