#Iron Bull x f!Inquisitor

[girlwiththepapatattoo]

Surprise self-rec time! Pick 3 of your favorite things you’ve written and share them here, then put this in the inbox (anonymously or not) of your fellow writers to spread the positivity and help celebrate already written fics 💞

Oh gosh, thank you so much, Nonny! I've been struggling with a heavy writer's block for more than half a year now, but I can feel it weakening (hopefully). I'm so eager to get back into my WIPs.

I'm not going to count the ones that I write with someone, so the Chiaroscuro series I wrote with the best writing partner a gal could ask for @ghuletteintraining won't be on the list.

So, under a cut and in no particular order:

Protocols of the Exceptionally Lonely. Bleach fandom, Zaraki Kenpachi x OC. This was the first time I wrote the main character of a multichapter fic with an OC instead of a reader character, and I really love her. Kenpachi is tons of fun to write, he's deeper than many people give him credit for, and the tragedy of Yachiru? Yeah, really great stuff to write about.

Melted. Dragon Age fandom, Iron Bull x F!Inquisitor. A short little one shot, set during the post-Corypheus party. I wanted to expand on the stuff that could be going through the characters heads there: Bull's struggles with his identity, the Inquisitor's fears of well, what happens now?, stuff like that. Tooth-rotting fluff, honestly, but I love it. I want to write more for Bull, he's a deeply interesting character (and I love him, so. There's that.)

The Unlikely Similarities Between Kittens and Vampires. Baldur's Gate 3, Astarion x Fem!Tav. I love this story, ngl. Everyone in a while I read through it and I'm like, "Did I make Astarion ooc or not?" and then I'm like, "you know what? with someone like Sable, no, I don't think I did." Astarion is an incredibly reactive character to whoever's around him, a sort of emotional chameleon, if you will. He needs to earn Tav's trust. But Sable throws him off his game enough that he's able to be genuine-for better or worse. This story has some of my best writing (on my own) so far, and I'm so proud of how well I wrote all the canon characters.

(Special shout out to one of my WIPs, an as-of-yet unnamed Witcher story that's Geralt x OC, set post-Blood and Wine. I love it, I'm so excited about it, and I literally can't wait for people to read it! Literally some of my best writing!)

[barbex]

WIP game

Rules: Make a 24hr poll listing the titles of every WIP you want to work on. (It’s fine if you only have one, still make a poll for the vote count). Whichever WIP title gets the most votes, write 1 sentence for every vote received.

Tagged by @vorchagirl, thank you! I'm tagging: @dismalzelenka, @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul, @contreparry, @potatowitch, @tobythewise, @tsuraiwrites, @glowing-blue-feathermage, @sulky-valkyrie, @only-slightly-terrified

Oh dear, let's see. I'm gonna add some @dadrunkwriting ficlets as options because that's coming up on Friday again.

Yeah, that should be enough, right?

[thebonerpit]

pinned post

Lou. 35+. She/her. Ao3 / Tumblr Writing

This is a multifandom blog. My main interest will likely always be Dragon Age but you will find anything and everything: other video games, MCU, old Hollywood, films, art, architecture, books, astrology, cats, fashion, etc. etc.

I always try to tag so if there are things you aren't interested in you can filter them out. I will tag "common" triggers but obviously I can't catch everything. If there's something I post frequently that you need a warning for just let me know! I also try to tag anything NFF as such but consider this blog NFF as a whole.

I like a lot of ships and tropes that some people may consider problematic. You can either accept that or unfollow me. If you message me on anon complaining or accusing me of being gross I will simply ignore you so don't waste your time.

That being said, my askbox is open and I would love to get (friendly) messages or prompts!

Current ships under the cut...

This is absolutely not an exhaustive list! These are pairings I have read and/or written and will continue to do so. I didn't include pairings I adore and support but wouldn't necessarily seek out fic for (eg. Elena/Nate from Uncharted).

Dragon Age - Cullen/Dorian, Cullen/Dorian/The Iron Bull, Dorian/M!Inquisitor, F!Lavellan/Solas, Alistair/F!Cousland, Fenris/M!Hawke, Anders/M!Hawke, Anders/Fenris, Fenris/Sebastian, Davrin/Lucanis, Emmrich/Rook

Mass Effect - Kaiden/M!Shepard, Garrus/F!Shepard, Harry/M!Ryder, M!Ryder/Reyes, Bain/Reyes

Other Video Games - Ceolbert/Ivarr (AC Valhalla), Erke/Stowe (AC Valhalla), Alexios/Thaletas (AC Odyssey), Gavin/RK900 (Detroit Become Human), Corvo/The Outsider (Dishonored), Colt/Frank (Deathloop), Andrew Ryan/Sander Cohen (Bioshock), Jacob/Staci (Far Cry 5), Jason/Tim (Gotham Knights/DCU), Bruce/Dick (Gotham Knights/DCU)

MCU - Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Harley Keener, Peter Parker/Harley Keener/Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange/Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes/Zemo, Loki/Thor

TV - Hannibal/Will (Hannibal), Amos/Prax (The Expanse), Frank/Karen (Daredevil/The Punisher), Alice/Luther (Luther), Mulder/Scully (The X-Files), Buck/Eddie (9-1-1), Buck/Tommy (9-1-1), Lestat/Louis (IWTV), Armand/Daniel (IWTV)

Film - Arthur/Eames (Inception), Eames/Fischer (Inception), Joe/Nicky (The Old Guard), Erik/Charles (X-Men series)

[burned-enigma]

another dragon age request. i’m 20, turning 21 next week, so i require that you’re 18+. i’ve been drained from summer class work, so i’m looking for something more along the lines of semi-lit to literate (between 200-400 words). a warning: i’m new to the fandom, so i’m not fully caught up on all of the lore and am working on playing the games all the way through. the closest i have to completion is da2.

in terms of pairings, i prefer m/m and very rarely m/f. the ships i’ve listed below (with the bold being the character i’d like to play) are what i’m looking for. my inquisitors are still being developed. if interested, message me here on tumblr or add me on discord (burnedfreedom).

pairings:

- anders x m!hawke (most wanted)

- dorian x cullen

- blackwall x f!inquisitor (lavellan)

- dorian x m!inquisitor (lavellan)

- the iron bull x m!inquisitor (adaar)

[scurvgirl]

For the writing prompts: soft AlisteirxWarden after the games conclusion and they finally get to sigh and the work isn't done but they have each other and the danger is gone. Alternatively, Iron BullxF! Inquisitor helping each other with stress relief

I want to do both, so keep an eye out for the AlistairxWarden fic at...some point.

Iron Bull x F!Trevelyan. Very naughty, featuring adult activities of the sexy sort.

__

Unlike her siblings that grew up in the cozy Trevelyan estate, Esme was not trained on diplomacy or catering to rich assholes to get what she needed. She was used to not having the chance to bargain, instead having to sneak around rules and prying Templar eyes to getting what she wanted. Now, all eyes were on her for different reasons - looking to her for guidance, for wisdom, and saving. It felt like a lie to say she could save them when she barely got out of Ostwick herself. But then again, she’d gotten pretty good at lying. What she had not gotten good at was having the patience to deal with these idiots and their coiffed hair, their shining lips, and perfectly pressed clothing. 

After a morning full of draining negotiations with an Orlesian noble house, Esme had to get out. She couldn’t take their calculating eyes for another hour, their disapproving shifts as they felt her magic crackle in the space. While she loved her magic, it had grown more…unstable since the Anchor. She felt like she had a direct tap into the Fade and its power, which made her magic bigger, brighter, and hit harder. It saved all of their lives in combat, but it made negotiations uneasy as it crackled about her. Those with magic in their bloodlines felt it more keenly and apparently, this noble house had a secret mage or two in the haystack because they couldn’t stand her. 

Esme’s long legs carried her out to the training ring she had installed a fortnight ago. She watched as two of Bull’s men sparred, their training swords striking hard and fast. Yes. Combat. Good. She had training to do herself. 

Esme climbed into an empty ring, shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the fence before taking out the hilt of her spirit blade. She took a deep breath and brought the blade to life. She began to step through the practice forms, striking forward, back, to the swide, turning, keeping the flow of magic constant. 

“Hey, Boss,” she was already sweating when Bull stepped up to the ring, “want a sparring partner?”

Her eyes darted to the side to see his grinning face on the other side of the fence. The blade wavered before she sent a new wave magic to it. 

“If you think you can handle it,” she snarled. It wasn’t to be mean but to tell him in no uncertain terms exactly where her head was at. Bull’s grin turned devious and excited. He hauled himself up into the ring, sparring sword already in hand.

“Oh, I can handle anything you throw at me.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” 

Bull readied himself but she was already moving forward. She had shit to work through and if Bull was offering this reprieve, she was going to take it. 

“If mine is Katoh…what is yours?” She’d asked, naked and spent.

“Katoh as well. Makes things simpler.”

They knew the boundaries, knew what to listen for.

Her blade swung towards him and he easily redirected it. She was tall for a human woman, but Bull was well, delightfully and frustratingly massive, redirecting a blow from her was nothing. Esme expected it, let him direct her then turned and flicked her hand to shroud herself with her fade cloak. Bull’s own sword passed through her while she darted around him. Her blade retracted with the spell as the flow of her magic was redirected. When she rematerialized, she kicked up with her knee towards Bull’s midsection, which was now in kicking distance as he corrected himself from swinging and hitting nothing. 

Of course, the kick didn’t really do anything. He grunted from the suddenness of the impact but turned quickly to swipe at her. She jumped back to miss the blow but stumbled, falling to the floor. She rolled into a fade step to avoid what she knew was either a kick or another sword hit. Esme used the last of the spell’s momentum to thrust her to her feet. She didn’t materialize the blade just yet as Bull was now on the other side of the ring. 

Bull’s fighting style was different from Templars or guards or anything else in southern Thedas. He was a former Ben-Hassrath agent and the style threw a lot of their opponents off. But after fighting beside him for almost a year now, Esme had a good idea of how he operated. 

Of course, he knew how she operated too.

When they collided, spirit blade met steel briefly before Esme turned, sheathing the blade and disapparating again. She maneuvered herself into his in-step, dropping the cloak to allow the force of her magic to thrust Bull backwards.

His grunt was from pain this time as he was sent careening into the fence. The wood cracked from impact. 

Esme grinned, heart racing with excitement. Ozone and static filled the air. Shit, no, not now. She turned her attention to keeping the lightning out of the ring. Flinging Bull around was one thing, but electrocuting him was another. She didn’t want to actually hurt him. Bruises and cuts were taken care of easily enough, but a lightning bolt? She exploded enemies that way. 

Bull was on her the second she was distracted. He barreled into her, sending her splayed to the ground. Fuck that hurt. 

He was much faster than their enemies expected. He moved to crash down on her, but she forced a barrier up and out. For a brief moment, they saw each other’s faces. Hers of focused glee and his smiling…proud?

Esme reached up with her now glittering blade and tapped the broad side of it against Bull’s belly to indicate a potential abdominal hit. Not waiting for him to recover, she rolled towards his bad leg. She punched his brace, not hard enough to actually hurt him, but to let him know she could. He grunted, let himself trip but she was already in her fade cloak, slipping away.

“Couple of love taps won’t take me down, Boss!” He shouted as he moved to get back up.

Something in Esme shifted as she watched him from the safe confines of her cloak. The restless frustration that had driven her down to the ring was moving into a simmering determination. And arousal at watching Bull get all sweaty throwing her around. 

She dropped the cloak, “Come and get it, big guy.” She blew a kiss then bared her teeth. Bull laughed as he charged, big strong legs taking him to her in two strides. 

Esme let him get as close as possible until fade stepping to the side and forward. Her blade shimmered to life as she lifted it high to catch his horn close to his skull. Her focus ensured the blade was blunt. The force of the two spells and her momentum slammed him to his back. 

She spun to rest the tip of the blade to Bull’s neck.

“Check,” she breathed, chest heaving from the exertion. Bull paused then laughed.

“Good one, Kadan! You’re getting better with that cloak!” 

Someone on the sidelines shouted about collecting bet money but Esme didn’t care. She was looking down into the face of the man she loved more than anything. He always knew what she needed. He was so damn good at anticipating, from fights to knowing when she needed to get some rage out of her system in a way that didn’t involve exploding something, to knowing exactly what to do in the bedroom. Speaking of which….

“Tiebreaker?” Her voice was much softer to keep it between the two of them.

“Oh fuck yes.” She leaned down to offer him a hand up, not that it would do much, but habits and all that. Bull took her hand then pulled her down on top of him. His mouth found hers in a hot, quick kiss.

“Alright, everyone, clear the courtyard.” Esme heard Krem call. She pulled back from Bull to say she wanted to move this somewhere more private, but he was already moving. He was up on his feet with her slung over his shoulder in a moment. 

Excitement flooded her body as Bull hauled her into Herald’s Rest and up to the room now reserved for when they couldn’t wait to get to their room in the main hall. 

He carried her all the way up to a chorus of hollars and whistles. She saluted the downstairs and he slapped her ass. 

Once they reached the room, Bull shifted her in his arms to toss her onto the bed. She stretched out languidly, hands already reaching up above her head and back arching.

“Come and get it, Kadan,” she purred. Bull may have only had one eye, but he could still make a girl wetter than the Fereldan south with his gaze. She returned his lustful eye-fucking, drinking in his glistening body that was hers and hers alone to explore and fuck. 

Esme was one lucky bitch.

Bull reached down and hauled her up to begin quickly disrobing her. Her formal tunic, now damp with sweat, went first, followed by her now dirtied formal breeches. He paused only to shuck her boots and stockings off. Soon she was just in her underwear, standard corset and camisole. 

Esme leaned up to kiss him, but he leaned back with a devious grin. “Not yet, kadan.” She pouted but did as she was told. He pulled her off the bed, turned her around, bent her over the bed’s end and kicked her legs apart. She gasped as arousal spiked in a sudden hot wet rush. Yes, use my body for something else, make me feel too much so I can’t think. I’m so tired of thinking.

He pressed up against her, lips pressing against her neck. She felt the evidence of his arousal, thick and needy, pressing against her backside. Unable to resist, Esme rocked back. Bull’s hand snaked into her hair and pulled her head to the side.

“What did I say? Not. Yet.” He pushed her forward. She felt then heard his hands tearing her underwear in two then tossing it to the side. His hand returned to give a slap on the ass, making her gasp in surprise. 

“Bull!” Her back arched, her ass thrusting back. 

He tsked his tongue, “Naughty girl.” He slapped her ass again, earning a similar response. Her skin stung and she wouldn’t have it any other way. It was always a balance for them - pain to make the pleasure feel keener, the pain itself becoming its own pleasure, its own release from the constant barrage of worries and stresses. There was no inquisition in this room, no Corypheus, or red templars. No mages and templars - just them and their bodies and these four walls. 

Suddenly Bull’s mouth was on her, tongue slipping against her folds from her clit to her opening. A startled gasp morphed quickly into a moan as he took to eating her out with skill and enjoyment. His tongue teased into her, rubbed against her, flicked and licked until she was shuddering and moaning from the pleasure. Bull was relentless, sending her higher and higher until she was just about to fall into her release. He let her hover there for an interminable amount of time before slipping his fingers into her soaking heat. One finger, then two, then three - working to prep her for his size. His mouth returned to her and finally he coaxed her into a blinding rush of release. She cried out, seizing around his fingers. His mouth and fingers didn’t leave her. Instead, Bull continued to lave at her, his fingers thrusting and fuck. No. Yes. It was too much. Everything was too sensitive. It was too much. It was perfect.

Esme writhed, sobbed as she fought to experience more and to get away. She wasn’t bound by anything more than the desire to keep this going, and the struggle filled her with wondrous arousal. Fuck. It was too much. Not enough. It wasn’t. But it was.

Suddenly, Bull was gone. Before she could react, however, he pulled her back against him and buried his cock inside of her in a quick, hard thrust. 

Esme cried out at the sudden stretch and orgasm that slammed into her. She spasmed, turned her face into the sheets, nails digging into her hands. Yes, yes, yes! 

Bull didn’t move, just let her ride out the waves while impaled on his cock. Fuck, why wouldn’t he just move? Drag it out? More? Even as her body protested the idea of more, she was greedy. 

Instead of thrusting, though, Bull pulled out, leaving her empty and aching. She whined in protest.

Bull chuckled, “You’re very demanding today, kadan.”

“A girl has needs, love.”

“She says after coming twice.”

“Mhm, don’t you want to make me do it again?” She wiggled her ass, “on your cock this time?”

“You know what? You’re a little chatty today.” She was being picked up, turned around, tossed onto the bed. Bull was naked and reaching for the rope  they still kept in the room. Her heart raced in excitement. This is where Bull got really into it. Where he shone so bright and fucked so hard. 

He set the rope down and pulled out a different thing made of fabric. Esme blushed as she realized what he was going to do.

“You wouldn’t -

He paused, eye looking over her and waiting for her to say it, to put up the boundary. She licked her lips, katoh hovering right there but no. She didn’t want to say it. Fear wanted her to, but she wasn’t afraid, not with Bull.

“You’d do that to my pretty mouth?” She pouted.

He grinned, “I’d do a lot of things to your pretty mouth.” He reached forward and gently, lovingly, gagged her. He paused again, waited to see if she tugged it down, but she didn’t. Instead, Esme whined and stretched out over the covers, flinging her hands above her head. 

Bull took the hint. He bound her - not as tightly as normal, and with the rope that wasn’t enchanted to be magically resistant. She could escape if she wanted. 

Esme never did.

Satisfied with his work, Bull reached down and tugged her camisole down, then reached into her corset and freed her breasts. He rolled his thumbs over her nipples and her eyes rolled in ecstacy. 

“You’ve got great tits, kadan.” His lips sealed over a nipple and her mind briefly left her before returning to make her arch into his mouth. 

Teeth grazed her nipple then gently bit. Fuck, that was good. Bull moved to the other breast, using his fingers continuing to worry the other nipple. He was coaxing her back to that precipice of pleasure, and she was all for it. 

Esme’s hips rolled up to Bull and he pushed her back down. He stopped what he was doing to look her eye to eye, her chin held between thumb and finger. 

“We’re going to have to talk about some more intense binding in the future, Kadan.” 

She nodded her agreement to the statement. Bull smiled and kissed her nose. These moments, more than any others, she felt his love for her. These little pauses where he told her all she ever wanted to hear with his actions. 

Bull pulled back to spread her legs as wide as they would go, baring her totally to him. She moaned at the exposure. 

“Perfect.” He palmed his cock, got to his knees and pushed into her slow and tortuous. Her head turned in frustration as he kept it slow, but oh fuck, it was good. He was good. Once fully seated within her, Bull paused and smiled. 

His hips canted back then he slammed back into her. Esme cried out at the sudden onslaught of pleasure. Bull set a brutal rhythm and she reveled in it, growing wetter and thrusting back against him as much as she could. His hand reached down to rub her sensitive clit, eliciting a cry from her.

Damn, it was going to happen again. He hadn’t even gotten close once and she was, it was. Fuck, yes, yes, oh -

The air started to fill with static and the smell of ozone began to penetrate the musk of sweat and sex.

Oh no, no, no not now! 

She tried to focus on it, but Bull was good. Too good. His cock slammed into her and he ground against her. Oh fuck. Her pleasure crashed over her as magic flooded her body. Several things happened at once - the rope binding her hands caught fire and snapped apart and she naturally reached down to grip Bull’s ass. The magic flooding her sent her body into vibration to which Bull -

“ESME!” He cried, his rhythm suddenly frantic and erratic, thrusting mindlessly into her as he reached his own pleasure, pumping into her. 

A wave of magic pulsed from Esme and she distantly thought out to dispel the flames starting to singe the sheets. Bull fell on her briefly before realizing his weight and rolling to the side, not before he removed the gag, though. Her lips were swollen and her mouth dry but she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

The room was filled with heavy breathing and the smell of sweat and sex. It was…perfect.

“What was that?” Bull asked after several long moments. 

“It was…so good I lost control of my magic.” Esme smiled, turning to him.

“Sex can do that?”

“Apparently.” Esme leaned down and finally gave him a long, languid kiss. She was all set to cuddle and maybe make out a little when several knocks at the door rang through the space.

“Inquisitor! There are still talks. I understand you…needed…a break…” Josephine sputtered beyond the wood of the door. Esme groaned. 

“Do I have to?” She whispered, more in defeat than actual protest.

“Hey, go get’em, show them exactly who the ass-kicking inquisitor is.” Bull slapped her still sore ass again and she yelped in surprise.

“Oh, alright, you win.” She gave him a quick kiss then hopped off the bed.

“I hope you have a change of clothes, Josie, because the ones I had are in quite the state.”

“I have them,” Cole’s voice sounded from the other side. Esme laughed but Bull shook his head.

“It’s still creepy.”

~

Thanks for the prompt! 

If you like it, reblog it - feed your content creators, it’s good for the fandom environment. :)

I am still accepting prompts! Send them my way!

[jawsandbones]

Anything with a fluffy iron bull and female trev! Love your work its amazing! Please and thank you!

He’s never been a fit for moreprecise work. With his mouth, his words, decisions… perhaps. With his hands?Never so. Give him a big fucking sword and he’s good to go. “Bull,” she says,reaching back, her smile reflected in the mirror. She puts her hand over his, stopshis movements. “It doesn’t need to be perfect.” He looks away from his work,into that mirror and yes, the frown is quite pronounced. He forces himself torelax, and gently swats her hand away.

“It’s gonna be.” She chucklesunder her breath, sits back in the chair. Her hand fidgets in her lap, playingwith the hem of her tunic.

“I should just cut it.”

“I can do this,” Bull says, “andbesides, I love your hair.” He pauses in crafting the braid to bring a strandto his lips, kiss her dark locks. He never thought a braid could be so hard.His fingers fumble, and it’s messy, loose. But he ties the end of it, drapes itover her shoulder to inspect. Her hand goes first to where the other should be –the tied sleeve, the cut above the elbow.

“Thank you,” she says as she wrapsher hand around the end of the long braid. She tilts her face upwards, puts herhead back against his belly. He puts his hands on her shoulders.

“I’ll get better at it anyway,” Bull says,looking down at her, “since I’ll be doing it every day.” She smiles, closes hereyes, rests her head against his arm.

[awhekate]

i started this in like 2019 and only just now finished it anyway i love bringing this party everywhere, we're having a good ol' gay time together

[queenbol-of-baldurs-gate]

White, Yellow and Gold

“She sees a white veil and a ring of gold, forgotten when she was still a bought sword, remembered in the times spent with you and when she clung to skirts taller than her.”

When The Iron Bull first dreamt of Ira, it was before he had even thought of taking her to bed, before their dragon tooth, before ‘kadan’. They were moving through the many hills in the Hinterlands, scorched and worn out by the clashes between Templar and mage. A single trio of bright yellow daffodils had sprouted by the roadside, a splash of light in the blackened grass. Back then, it was a passing observation.

Today it was a vivid memory.

Her head had tilted ever so slightly, magnificent horns arcing towards the cloudy sky. He could just see the edge of her cheekbone, a splash of red vitaar, and a loose curl of bone white hair. She was looking at the daffodils, he had realised. The pause in her step, her minute moment of hesitation- and then she continued on, leaving the flowers behind her, like so many other things.

“You let her dream of different versions of herself- people she wanted to be, places that she wanted to make. You are her dream now.”

That night, he dreamt of a never ending field of yellow daffodils. Ira was there, her familiar armoured back bare and her tight bun let loose, waves of white tumbling down her shoulders. He watched, enraptured, as her fingers caressed the flowers that seemed to glow against her slate grey skin, as if she was standing on the sun. They fit her beautifully. When The Iron Bull finally worked up the courage to call out to her, and she turned those deep, dark brown eyes to his, he woke up to a yell from outside of his tent- a call to battle.

He was back in his body, back in his life, and a pressure was building behind his heart.

The Iron Bull looked down at Cole from the small bar counter, the spirit-boy in question on the floor with his knees to his chest. He couldn’t see his face past the massive hat he still wore after all these years, but he knew he was trying to help. He was always trying to help. The Iron Bull grunted, leaning his chin onto his hand, looking back out to the court of Halamshiral, Ira still in the second meeting of the week, probably frustrated and tired. Though no one would be able to tell apart from him.

“I know, kid. I know.”

“You shouldn’t be scared- she won’t make you be her dream. She loves you as you are.”

“I know.”

Ira, in the three years they had been together, had never brought up the idea of marriage with him. She knew there was no marriage in the Qun, that it wasn’t necessary, knew that every day he chose her to be his kadan- loved her. When she had asked yesterday, it felt like his heart had dropped into his nut-suck. Not because she wanted to get married, but because she wanted to do it now, of all times. His instincts were raging at him that something was wrong, that something was coming at him from the horizon but he couldn’t see it. But when he told that beautiful woman that he would do whatever she wanted, ring, suit and all, she looked so openly and deeply happy that he couldn’t bear breaking that with his hungry questions.

“White, yellow and gold. If she could, she would be buried like that.”

Cole was gone before The Iron Bull could grab him and drag him up to see his face, nearly throwing himself over the bar, with the questions fit to burst from his lips. His heart thundered in his ears as he sat back, quietly but desperately rushing through his memory for her tells, anything that she did or said that would tell him that she needed help, that she was in trouble- that she needed him. When he was called to arm up, and they all stepped through the mirror, it suddenly clicked in his head as he stared at her strong, broad back. He hadn’t seen her body- or her hand- for well over a month now.

And she’s made no move to change that.

~

She was dying.

As she fell to the floor, clutching her left arm that seemed to have a will of its own, pain ravaging her, he knew she was dying. She knew it too. Stoic, accepting, unbreakable, she had stared it in the face all alone. Something that he both admired and despised in that moment.

He should’ve married her before all this shit. White dress, gold ring, daffodil bouquet. He should’ve made her the bride she’s always wanted to be.

Ira had cupped his cheek with her only working hand, her smile gentle, soothing and soul-breaking.

“Whatever happens, I wouldn’t trade the years we had together for anything. I love you.”

The Iron Bull felt like shattering into little pieces, so a piece of him could go with her when she goes.

“Love you too, kadan.” He hoped his voice was strong enough for her.

She would be breath-taking in white, he knew. White flowing dress and trail, trimmed with gold from her horns to her ankles, with yellow flowers in her hands and hair. She would walk down the aisle to him, barefoot and free, with a smile to hurt her cheeks and set alight those lovely dark eyes, and she would take someone like him as a husband and he would get to tell the world that she was his wife.

For the first time in a very, very long time, he wanted to cry- but the tears wouldn’t come, not when his kadan was being so brave, so insurmountable. 

He would stand by her as a protector, a weapon, a heart, till the end came for them both.

[halfblood-fiend]

“Oh, don’t mind me. Just enjoying the view.” or “Well, well. My night just got better.” Both?

Good news is: I used both. Bad news is: I didn’t even get to the smut yet when this was supposed to be a nsfw prompt.

EDIT: Now with a title and fully edited and tagged, lmao

Too Tired For This Shit

Some (maybe one or two) of you might notice that Breme Mac Tir is my Warden. Yes, you’re right. But in her worldstate she will also be my Inquisitor and when I was figuring out who she’d romance (Cullen, of course, crossing my mind because I’m nothing if not predictable) I decided that Iron Bull would be an absolutely glorious contrast because Breme has a lil secret: she’s my asexual OC. Since exploring myself, I’ve explored a lot with Breme and now she’s very near and dear to my heart. :3

Words: 2,683 words

Rating: Teen and up

Warning: there’s a naked lady, not much else yet

Breme wanted a bath. Desperately. She’d thought of little else over the course of the long day. Ever since she rode back into Skyhold. Ever since she had been sidetracked and yanked in every which direction from the moment she dismounted. She could feel the grime grating against her skin underneath the armor, felt the grime as she wiped her face. Breme was miserable but she never had the time.

As she trudged away from the War Room late in the evening, she hardly had the energy to be excited over the prospect of bathing anymore. She’d have to climb to her quarters in the tallest tower. She’d have to ring for the staff. They’d have to move her tub from her closet, boil enough water for her, bring it back up to her, then—Flames! Maybe at this point, she should just towel the worst of the dirt off her skin with the little washbasin on her dresser. It would be faster albeit less satisfying. Then, at least, she could fall into bed and get a full night’s rest before the hectic day started all over again tomorrow. After the weeks of travel, sleep in a real bed sounded better than anything. If it was worth the trouble, she could always call for a bath on the morrow.

Breme had all but decided she was going to be lazy tonight after all, forgo comfort for sleep. It took all her concentration to not fall over as she climbed the steps. She was making the right choice.

She smelled it before her head cleared the railing—the springy scent of rosemary lingering with mint and sweet honeysuckle—and then spied the blessed sight over the rails. Her large claw-footed tub stood in the center of the room, filled with steaming water. A stack of fluffy white towels sat on her bed, a neatly folded note atop them. Beside it was her bath salts and a sponge, waiting for her to finally use them after what felt like forever.

Breme half ran to it and snatched the parchment up—who had done this? Was it the Iron Bull? Upon the paper was a slim, elegant script that was definitely not her lover’s looping scrawl. After trading letters for ten years, she knew it all too well.

               You deserve this, my dear. Enjoy.

Laying the note aside, Breme chewed her lip, a wave of guilt washing over her. Her father was many despicable things, but he seemed to always be there when she needed him most. Loghain must have been listening to her griping all the way to Skyhold. He must have found some way to coordinate with her advisors so the water would still be hot when she returned from their meeting. He went out of his way to do a sweet thing for her…Maybe she was too hard on him. She made a sheepish mental note to thank Loghain later and try to be kinder to him while he stayed with her.

But, Maker’s breath, he was right. She did deserve this. She stripped without another thought and threw her soiled riding clothes in a frumpy pile on the floor.

Breme poured her salts and oils into the still steaming water and when she reached an arm in to stir it, she shivered, a small moan escaping her. This would feel Maker sent. She eased one leg in and then another, grinning as gooseflesh rose across her skin. It was blessedly hot and soothing and Breme wished to savor each delicious moment.

Until the blasted bedroom door opened and closed with a hard snap.

Breme froze, eyes darting to the towels she’d left five feet away on the fucking bed, much too far out of her reach. Why hadn’t she grabbed one to keep near her? Stupid!

And who the fuck was coming after her now?!

As the heavy footsteps made their way up the stairs, Breme made the snap decision to dash for the towels. Hopping awkwardly from the tub, skidding dangerously on the stone floor, she made it only two steps when a deep voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Well, well,” the Iron Bull croaked, voice low, humming and husky. “My night just got better.” Breme’s face snapped to the stairs and she beamed. He threw her a lazy grin, his chin propped in his arms folded over the banister. Light danced in his eye and made her blush but Breme didn’t look away as his greedy gaze roved over her body. She dropped her outstretched hand, forgetting the towel entirely.

“You should know better than to enter a lady’s quarters without knocking,” she told him with a coy smile. They both knew the shyness was only skin deep, Breme was bold, bolder when he was there.

“I’ll have to remember that next time I want to enter a lady’s room, but you, Kadan, are no lady,” he rumbled with laughter. “Why don’t you go ahead and carry on as if I wasn’t here? Don’t mind me. I’ll just be enjoying the view.”

Breme laughed and went back to stir her water. She made sure to bend over and give an extra little shake of her ass for him.

The Iron Bull sucked a long breath between his teeth and exhaled slow. Fighting for control, she hoped. Breme smirked. She could hear the hitch in his breathing, practically feel his desire in the air like she was one wrong move from being whisked to the bed and taken. That was the way she always liked it, even if The Iron Bull would never do anything to her without her explicit permission, without her doing something first.

That basal need for sex was never strong for Breme, always variable, usually unnecessary, but tonight…tonight she decided she did want that little extra. For Bull.

“Care to join me?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. Breme gave another shake of her hips that she hoped was alluring.

“Better not. I can’t be held responsible for what I might do to you. I’ve got a long list of fantasies and your daddy wouldn’t like a single thing on it. I’m not about to piss him off.”

Breme couldn’t stop the sulk that crossed her face. “Who would tell hiiii—” Her question broke off into a moan as she lowered herself into the tub. Maker, fuck, Andraste above, the water felt so damn good! Exhaustion melted off her in the dingy rivulets that tracked over her skin and dripped away the tension. She shivered and took a deep breath before sinking her whole head beneath the surface for a moment to slick her short black hair back.

“Feel good?” The Iron Bull asked, the echo of laughter warm on his lips as his boots clacked on the stones.

“Like nothing you’d ever imagine.”

A large hand captured her face and tilted it back. His lips seized hers in a hard kiss that stole Breme’s breath and sparked a fire that made her warmer than the water ever could.

The Iron Bull pulled away and smirked at her, the corner of his eye crinkling. “I think you underestimate my imagination.”

“I think you should show me,” Breme said with a wink and pointed at the soap and sponge on the bed.

He looked startled for a moment as he passed her what she wanted. The ever-uncertain part of her reared its ugly head and she wondered if she had she just made a mistake.

“When you say ‘show’ you…?”

Blushing a little, Breme busied herself with controlling the bottle of liquid that wanted nothing better than empty all its contents and go for a swim.

Why did she say that? How could she explain? This was why she had always preferred being alone. Keeping to herself was easier than having to explain again and again how she, someone who didn’t care for sex, would suddenly and inexplicably want it. Just because. As if not wanting sex all the time was inconceivable.

They had discussed her…peculiarity before. She had to after he had appeared in her room inviting her to “ride The Bull” and she had accepted because…well, because he was there if Breme was being honest with herself. At that exact moment, she had sex because having sex was simpler than turning him down or explaining her real attitude towards the deed. Afterward, she told him that wasn’t normal for her; not to expect it as the norm.

Breme had told him there were days when she would have sex and days she wouldn’t. Days she’d rather cuddle; days she’d rather tease. Days she may want it; days she’d be happier giving than taking. The Iron Bull, for his part, had shrugged and accepted it all. “You have your terms, I have mine. I think if you’re really interested, Breme, we can both get what we want,” he had said. And Breme had tentatively agreed. Though that dark voice in the back of her mind told her this would end quickly--just as Leliana’s fling had ended quickly. Yet to her surprise, it didn’t. The Iron Bull indeed gave her what she craved in companionship and in turn, Breme let him tie her up when she was feeling it, never needing to utter that strange word, “katoh.”

But her years had taught her to still be afraid, to still second guess herself. “Yesterday you said you didn’t want sex but today you do??” She was always ready for the accusation, the sting of irate words from someone who would simply never understand. It was exhausting in and of itself.

The Iron Bull reached over her and took the would-be escapee from her hand and she felt a chill drip on the top of her head as he poured soap on it for her. His fingers kneaded the liquid into a lather and Breme closed her eyes as he worked. She wondered not for the first time at how gentle he was being. How careful and controlled did the giant man have to be not to tear her ear off or injure her neck? With obvious care like he showed her, why did she continue to worry he would be annoyed with her…oddness?

“You’ve had a long day, Kadan,” he rumbled. “Are you sure? You know that I can get a little…”

“Crazy?”

“I was going to say ‘enthusiastic,’ but I’m touched to know you think so highly of me.”

Breme snorted as his soapy fingers moved to her neck, massaging out the tension there. “Well, you were the one implying you would tattle on me to my father earlier so…” He gave her shoulders a good squeeze and a little groan escaped her.

“I would do no such thing! I would never compromise being able to do this.” One of his hands reached into the water and he pinched Breme’s nipple, causing her to jump and slap his arm. Water sloshed out of the tub and The Iron Bull just laughed. The throaty sound of it washed over Breme and made her swell with happiness. His damn laugh was contagious and soon she was giggling right along with him. “Rinse, before you get soap in your eyes.”

Doing as she was told, Breme submerged herself and ran her fingers through her hair until it felt clean. When she emerged, Breme barely had time to take a breath before Bull was over her, kissing her again. This time he was fierce, tongue sliding against hers with urgency like he was trying to take something from her. Heat curled in her stomach, dull at first but kindling fast until he tore himself away from her with a grunt.

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “You look so good with the water running off you like that. And I can still smell the dragon’s blood. You drank more recently, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Breme laughed, “something like last week. Does the smell linger that long?”

The Iron Bull buried his face in the curve of her neck and took a deep breath. His arms propped on the tub as he kneeled behind her, the fingers of one hand tracing lazy strokes over her bare thigh.

“Oh yeah, it does,” The Iron Bull sighed, nipping at Breme’s throat. “I love it.”

Breme reached up and touched his cheek with her hand, leaning into him for a moment. “Bull, earlier, I meant that–tonight at least–I feel like doing…something w-with you… It might just be a tonight only thing, of course. It just sort of seems like a good thing to do…right now, that is…” She sounded stupid, she realized, feeling the heat rise into her cheeks.

“Oh, no, no. Yeah, of course, I get that part, Kadan,” Bull rushed as if he hadn’t noticed her discomfort at all. He pulled away from Breme’s neck and rested his chin on her head. “The part I was unsure about was how you wanted me to show you. Am I describing everything I imagine? Or, if we were doing everything I imagine, I think you should hurry because we have to get started as soon as possible. I do have a very long list.”

Breme sniggered and smacked his arm again. “Just put soap on that sponge for me so I can get out of this bath and kick your ass.” She wanted to act as though she were annoyed but inwardly her heart was bursting to many times its size. Breme had doubted for nothing, she realized, and she had to tell herself so over and over again. Bull knew, he remembered, he didn’t ask questions, simply…accepted her, as he had since the beginning, as he likely would for as long as this arrangement went on. Perhaps one day she’d even be used to it.

“Ooh, I like ‘em with a little fight,” he said, the hand on her thigh squeezing for a moment before he moved to comply.

They enjoyed the other’s company while Breme finished bathing. Breme filled Bull in on the worst of her adventures in the Dales (“That sucks but the place sounds gorgeous, Kadan. Maybe next time Cullen won’t need to deploy the Chargers and I can go with you to see it myself.”) and the tense ride home with her irritable father and the newly recruited ex-Chevalier, Michel de Chevin (“Ha! I would’ve loved to have been there. I bet Loghain had a few things to say about that!) then Bull regaled the newest move the Inquisition had made against the Venatori (“It was great! You should have seen how many there were; it was 5 to one! I ran in and chopped this Vint’s head right off with one swing--it was glorious!). Breme bathed in contentment, even though Bull liked to dip his hands in the water and pinch her when she wasn’t looking. She got her revenge, splashing him enough that he looked like he could have been bathing himself. And the kisses. He covered her with kisses. In reality, it had only been a few weeks since they’d seen each other but it felt like entire Ages longer, and The Iron Bull kissed Breme like he couldn’t get enough of her. And Maker, she had missed him.

When she was finished, she wrung the sponge out several times and tossed it aside. “Towel?” Breme asked sweetly as she stood up, careful not to slip.

She looked up and—whip—Breme got a face-full of towel.

“Finally,” she heard The Iron Bull say before he wrapped a second towel tightly around her body and lifted her out of the tub and onto his shoulder.

“Hey!” Breme protested, muffled by fluffy linen. She cried out as Bull suddenly tossed her and she landed on the bed with a soft whuff.

The Iron Bull pulled the towel from her head, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re beautiful, Kadan, but you talk too much.”

“Ohhhh I’m gonna get you for that—”

His grin turned impish, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “You can try.”

This is def getting a second part with some real smut I stg

[writingisjustsweatingblood]

Fanfic Rec 002

Aneth Ara

Dragon Age: Inquisition

Boss is too straight-laced for her own good. For her sake and the Inquisition itself, the Iron Bull generously offers his services to help her relax, for once.

And gets...rejected?

Hm. That's new.

--

Basically "what if an Iron Bull/Inquisitor mage Lavellan romance was a slow burn friends to lovers, actually"?

[whatsgnat]

Leslin/Bull ♡

B: "So, listen, I've caught the hints. I get what your saying. You want to ride the bull. Can't say I blame you, but I'm not sure you know what your asking. Not sure if you're ready for it."

L: "Oh I'm ready for it."

B: "See, you say that, but you really don't know what that means."

L: "So why don't you show me?"

《I'm sorry if this posted twice, but it didn't look like it posted on my end

Ok so I finally got here in my Re-do route and I couldn't not share it with ya'll! 🤭❤》

[mydrug-is-dragonage]

Veda Adaar, A Letter from Home

The balcony off my room had great light in the morning. The sun shining through the clouds, the crisp mountain air, spring properly arrived and ready to melt into summer. My belly swelled, slowly but surely. No kicks or stirring, a growing bump where they said a child would be. I hid myself in long, flowing robes and oversized tunics. I spent most my days here, staring out the window, feeling the sun on my skin. I wondered if this was the feeling my parents missed, living in this cold land so far from their home. I sighed and looked out at the mountains, so calm with the wars ceased. The sky still bore the thin green scar.

The week after the healer confirmed the child, Lace came into my room with tea. “Hey, V.” I nodded and waved her in. She handed me the cup and we settled onto the sofa. The fire crackled, I pulled my robe closer around me and placed both hands on the warm cup. “I haven’t written the Divine yet,” she said.

“You haven’t written or you haven’t sent it?” I asked.

“Sent. I’ve written a draft,” she said.

“Do we have to send it now?”

“No,” she paused. Her eyes stared at the burning logs. “We will have to tell her soon, though.”

“I suppose we can get it over with. Not like it’ll get any easier,” I sighed. I took a sip of my tea. My hands stayed on the cup, the warmth passing through my palms.

“She’ll make it easier to keep this quiet, if that’s still what you want to do,” she said.

I swallowed and stared out, the sun setting, the chill of the mountains taking over. “I want to keep it quiet. I’ll tell a few friends, in time, but for now it needs to stay with only those we trust the most.”

She nodded. “Have you written your mother yet? We got another two letters from her this week.” I shook my head. “The Divine considers her trustworthy. She hasn’t betrayed any Inquisition secrets thus far.”

“I know,” I said, “I just don’t know how to tell her.” Lace tapped her feet. “Go on, you’ve got a mind full of something.”

“Veda, she loves you. She loved Bull. She’ll be thrilled.” I took another sip of my tea.

“She does love me. She did love Bull. She also loves my father and will certainly tell him,” I said. Lace started to speak, but I interrupted. “Pa never trusted him. He had his reasons, of course.”

“I think he’ll support you more than he hates Bull,” she said.

“You’ve met my father. Do you really believe that?”

“He’s a hardass, but he’s always been bolder in affection than hatred.” I nodded, took another sip of my tea.

“Lace, can you bring me a fresh candle and ink?” She nodded and went to fetch them. I settled into my desk.

Tama,

I’m sorry I haven’t written. Lace tells me she’d get you informed about the immediate developments. I’ll also admit I haven’t read your letters. I’m going to, I keep them in a safe place. I simply haven’t found the time or the gumption. For being so brave, I’m so afraid. I don’t know why. I’ve face dragons and magisters and time travel. I suppose the risk there is death. Dying never seemed as scary.

I remember the stories you told me of when you were a girl. A young apprentice baker, elbows deep in flour. You wanted to be a Tamassaran, raising the children, guiding their growth, comforting their hurts. I suppose it’s the closest thing to motherhood in Par Vollen. They didn’t let you into the priesthood, though. They didn’t let you raise the babies and cuddle them, tend to their wounds. They sent you to a small bakery near the sea. I remember the gull songs you’d sing to me as we wandered along the coastline of the Waking Sea.

Pa never told me the same stories you did. I pieced them together from stories you’d told me. Pa, part of the antaam, stopping by your bakery for bread in the morning. Pa, the good soldier, making jokes as you packed his rations You, the naughty the baker, sneaking him sweetened bread, baked with too much sugar. His hands lingering on yours too long in front of the baker. You two sitting on beach, the sea lapping the shore, your hands finding their way to each other’s again. When I got older and understood the Qun, I always wondered how you weren’t quaking with fear. To love, while not forbidden, was certainly not allowed like this.

When you fled, were you afraid? Crossing through Seheron and Tevinter, Pa joining mercenary companies to gain passage, did you regret it? Did you miss the calm of the bakery, the friends you left behind? Was he worth it? Was I worth it? Were you afraid?

I remember when you sent me off with my first company, an apprentice myself, unsure of the power in my fingertips. I remember Pa standing, arm around you. You held back your tears, but I saw your eyes well up, so afraid for your only child, your only daughter. You wanted more for me than mercenary companies, killing for my dinner. You sang from the Chant of Light, you warned me of magic, yet it came to me anyway, taking me away from you. The first letter I got from you started and ended with, “May the Maker guide you.”

He guided me through mountains and valleys, along the seas. I’d seen the Free Marches, Nevarra, Orlais, the South Western corner of the Anderfels, all while learning to protect myself from demons, manipulate the fade to bend to my very will. The best, of course, was when I’d come home, a year older, a head taller, hardly the child you’d sent away, still so far from real womanhood. You fussed over me so, made goat pies, asked about the places I’d been and the joy I’d found. When you went to bed, Pa and I sat outside, looking towards the sky, the moon so full and hungry. He took a sip of the wine you’d opened, offered me my first glass. He put his arm around me and pointed out constellations. He said something softly, the sounds still ringing in my ears, “We wanted better for you. We wanted safer for you.”

The first time you visited Skyhold, we’d stopped the demon army, but we hadn’t yet gone to Halamshiral to save the empress. You wore a simple cotton dress, you hair braided down your back. Pa put on his nice shirt, his horn caps. You looked so nervous around the nobility. They didn’t know what to make of you. The deafening whispers, everyone so curious about the new Qunari amongst the Inquisition. I heard you sing from some Canticle as you walked towards the throne, up towards my room.

I was scared then, too, my mission unfinished, the Magister still on the loose. When we got to my room you gave me the biggest hug. “My little girl has gone on to be something so much bigger!” You beamed, your own daughter the Herald of Andraste. Pa hugged me too. While I was pressed against him he whispered, “I’m happy you’re safe, for now.” Pa pulled away and glanced at my neck.

The dragon’s tooth was heavy. It rested against my skin, cool and smooth. He didn’t say anything, eyes stuck on the tooth. Your eyes were stuck on me, until Pa’s hand reached your back. Your gaze went where his rested. I can hear your voice now, the surpise and curiosity, “Veda, is that….” your voice trailed off, so Pa, forever your rock, finished for you, “A necklace of the Kadan.” He didn’t share your curiosity.

I said yes. No use in lying to you. I felt my heartbeat in my ears. Your eyes widened when you asked me, “Do you have a Kadan?” I nodded, so unsure and afraid. Not of my love. I knew I loved Bull. I hoped he loved me, but the two of you, seeing me in love with a man closer to your age than mine, a Ben Hassrath agent no less. You two joined me in Herald’s Rest, we found a small table in the corner upstairs. Pa drank a full ale before Bull came to join us. It was awkward, so painfully awkward. When Pa excused himself, I wanted to be sick when Bull said he’d take a walk with him. The men gone, us alone at the table. “He’s,” you thought so carefully about your words, “a lot of man.” I laughed and agreed. You asked if he made me happy.

He did. He made me so happy. He made me happy for years. He made me happy dancing at Halamshiral, he made me happy fighting dragons, he made happy in taverns and campsites, in castles and caves. He held my hand in carriages, he held me in cold storms. He took blows meant for me, he killed foes sent to strike me down. I saw the whole future, I saw the danger you and Pa had lived through. I knew we’d have troubles. I knew he’d be called away from me, but he was mine and he made me so happy, Tama. I couldn’t have loved him more.

I assume you know now what he did. Pa was right. Pa, despite walking with Bull, pulled me into a great big hug before he left. Again, he whispered in my ear, “He’ll never love you more than the Qun.” I shrugged him off. What did Pa know? He didn’t know Bull. He didn’t know me or our circumstances. I thought myself so grown then, barely nineteen, but the most powerful woman in the world. I loved Bull. Bull loved me. I was so sure Bull loved me.

I don’t know if love persists once we return to the Maker’s side. I don’t know if he even gets to return to the Maker. I don’t know what the Qun says happens we die. He obeyed the Qun. He did what the Qun demanded. If there is satisfaction to be had there, he’s earned it. At the cost of himself, at the cost of our love, at the cost of my dignity.

It’s been scarcely two months, his body left to rot near that dragon’s prison. I saw my love struck down before me. Cassandra delivered the killing blow, saving me the anguish of having to kill him myself. He’s dead, Tama. He’s gone. He’s gone forever and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to accept that he loved me and still did this. I don’t know how to accept that he never loved me and felt no guilt. I don’t understand. I don’t understand.

It’s been two months, I’m in Skyhold with Lace and the few others who stayed behind to serve what was the Inquisition. I’m no longer the Inquisitor, I’m no longer a fearsome fighter. I’m no longer someone’s Kadan. I’m just Veda. I’m just Veda and that’s all I’ll ever be. I’ll try to help stop Solas, but I won’t lead the charge. I can’t, not anymore. I’m going to be a glorified advisor, one-armed and tired. All that is so hard to write. Forgive the smudges. I’ve finally cried without violence and I don’t know how to accept any of this, but I do have something I have to tell you.

I’m no longer the Inquisitor, a Valo-Kas mercenary, a Knight Enchanter. But I’m still your daughter, and I’m going to be a mother.

Love,

Veda

Lace sent the raven to my mother, I sat down and finally read her letters, her usual, motherly concern filling each page. Father was doing well, a goat had twin kids. When she’d found out about Bull, the letter was longer. Words about love and loss, the way pain settles in our chest, proving our love mattered at all. Beautiful words, frustrating as they were comforting. I heard her and Thom ringing in my ears. I lounged on the sofa, my hands resting at my side, sometimes settling on the top of it. My stomach was warm and tight. Sometimes my fingers would wander towards my stomach, but I’d pull them away. The child would have to be acknowledged eventually. I would have to care for the child, provide for its needs. But I didn’t have to love it, caress its home. Not yet, not now.

Two weeks passed, visitors came and went, spring got brighter, the documents and plans seemed more convoluted. A sunny afternoon, Lace came to my room with two letters. “I thought you’d want this as soon as possible,” she said. I opened the first, smelled the pages. The light scent of lavender and smoke, the oils mother loved and the constant cooking.

Sweetling,

Asit tal-eb. It is to be. Maraas Kata. Nothing is ended.

Love,

Tama

I held the letter to my chest, weeping. So few words, yet they struck right into my heart. Asit tal-eb, what mother would say whenever we suffered and lost. One summer, before I’d come into my magic, Pa came home furious. He cursed and threw down his sword. They spoke in quick Qunlat, too fast for me to understand. Pa sat down and put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hand. Tama put her arms around his head, rested her head on his. She whispered, “Asit tal-eb,” over and over, stroking his hair. I put my doll aside, walked up beside them. Pa took an arm off Tama’s waist and pulled me into their embrace. She leaned up, dried her eyes, and squatted down to my height. “We’ve got to go, sweetling,” she said. Her voice calm despite it all.

“But I like it here! They’re not even mean at the Chantry!” I said, full of childlike fury.

“They won’t sell us the land,” Pa said. “So we can’t grow food for ourselves. We can’t raise animals of our own.” He sniffed and stared at the wall. His gaze moved down to me, little girl with little horns still budding. “We will try again. Find a new place we can stay. Asit tal-eb.”

I caught my breath and opened the next letter. Instead of my mother’s gentle writing, a harsher, sturdier hand had written it.

Imekari,

Your mother says you are having a child. This means we will be grandparents. I have never known a grandparent. Like parenthood, it is a concept we’ve stolen from the Bas. Regardless, I will inquire with the man who sells wheat what this entails. I presume we will love this child, just as we love you. The stories I’ve heard, being a grandparent is easier. That brings some joy.

I read the letter you sent your mother. I read it a few times. I lost count after seven. You’re not so wrong with your telling of me. I was in the antaam. I tried to make your mother laugh often. We did hold hands when we shouldn’t have. Due to your existence, you know we fled together, children ourselves. We chose love over duty. We abandoned the Qun.

I never told you of the walk Hissrad and I took the day we met. You were right. It was awkward. I hoped for a moment to compose myself. Perhaps find a man to hit me with a stick. Of course, Hissrad chose to join me. We walked along the battlements for some time. He was quiet, as I was quiet. We reached a corner and overlooked the endless mountains. I asked him about the necklace. Your mother and I had never told you of this. Kadans and necklaces of Kadans were a memory we left behind. It had to be his idea. He kept a blank face. I presume he was a very good Hissrad. After some contemplation, he said (translated for your sake), “I mentioned it off hand. We killed a dragon less than a week later. I thought we were just having fun, but she surprised me. She constantly surprises me.” I asked if he loved you. He said yes. I asked if he loved you as the Qunari he was or the Tal-Vashoth he pretended to be. He said (again, translated for your sake. You need to learn more Qunlat. The child should know Qunlat), “Both. I love her as the friend and companion I’d get to have in Par Vollen. I love her as a Tal-Vashoth would love whomever they chose.” When I asked about the Qun and when he’d be pulled back to Par Vollen, he gave meaningless answers. He’d spent too much time around bas, he’d forgotten how to talk to men like men.

Imekari, I was wrong. He’s dead. He died obeying orders. But, presuming this new imekari—Imekari II? Small imekari? Ari-imekari? I’ll discuss with Tama—was not of your planning, he broke the Qun. He knew how to control his seed. We all grow up knowing, waiting to be called for breeding. He made a choice. He violated the Qun.

He died Tal-Vashoth. I wish he had lived to fulfill that betrayal of the Qun. The child will come. Tama and I will come too, to discuss and guide. For now, I’ve enclosed something that gave me great comfort during our great suffering.

You’re still a Kadan. You’ve always been our Kadan.

Your Father,

Beres

Behind his letter there was another piece of paper. I opened it slowly, the creases deep and discolored. Inside was a drawing, crude, of a little house. Two Qunari stood, both smiling. The drawing was labeled, “This will be our house. This is where the goats will sleep. This is where the goats will chase the chickens. This is where Veda will play. This is where Tama will sing to Veda. This is where Pa will squeeze Veda on days the Maker didn’t bring kindness to school.” A smaller Qunari reached both hands up, a parent grabbing each hand. At the bottom, it said, “Home.”

I read and re-read the letter. When my hand drifted to my belly, I let it rest.

[uhh-wait-what]

Mik posting writing online? This is new. First public fic! Did someone say Bullavellan Pre-Trespasser Angst? Low-key a companion piece to this drawing.

Jaws of Hakkon spoilers.

History Has its Eyes on You  - AO3

The inquisitor sat, perched high on a branch overlooking the Varsdotten River, thumbing through an ancient journal with carefully gloved fingers. Sunlight filtered down in spots through the dense canopy, making it difficult for her to make out the already faded writing. She knew when the Iron Bull approached, but made no motion of acknowledgement.

“Dorian headed back to Skyhold. Said he had some packing to do but he’d wait to say goodbye before he heads back to Tevinter,” Bull said.

Cora nodded in thanks, a red curl pulling loose from her ponytail and bouncing at the edge of her vision. She’d cut it too short last time and it had been insufferable to deal with since.

“You alright, Kadan?”

Bull dropped down beside her with a clang of metal.

“I’m fine.”

“Mmhm. Fine. Sure. You’ve been brooding ever since we found Ameridan.”

The elf was silent for a long time, but the Iron Bull sat expectantly.

“There’s just a lot of history we uncovered,” Cora sighed when it became clear he would wait all night for an answer if she made him.

“You love history.”

It was a simple statement, but she could hear the question behind it.

“I do. But watching history repeat itself is not quite as… thrilling as I’d hoped it would be.”

“What, the Avaar? The Inquisition will take care of that. We got the god. And I gotta say, if you didn’t think killing a dragon-god was thrilling then-”

“No, not that.”

Bull arched a brow.

“Ameridan was a dalish elf. A mage. And history decided that wasn’t worth remembering.”

“And you’re worried that history will decide not to remember those things about you?” he guessed.

She nodded.

“Time and again, elves are written out of history. Conveniently forgotten. First the downfall of Arlathan, then the Canticle of Shartan, now this? Will they choose to ignore those parts of me as well?”

“I heard Varric’s writing a book about all this. Make sure he gets your pointed ears on paper,” he joked, affectionately flicking the tip of one of them. His attempt to lighten the mood brought a smile to Cora’s face, if only a small one. He draped a heavy arm over her shoulders and pulled her into his side. “As long as you don’t freeze yourself in time like Ameridan, you should be around long enough to make sure the historians get their stories straight.”

Cora swallowed a lump in her throat and carefully closed the journal, wrapping it in a cloth and tucking it in her pack. She looked down at her gloved mark. She could see the faintest glow of magic through the seams and she closed her fingers around it in a futile attempt to snuff it out.

“That’s just it,” she said slowly, taking her time as she uncurled her fist and began to pluck the glove off, finger by finger. Once she removed it completely and dropped the glove onto the branch beside her, she felt the Iron Bull’s breathing halt, even if his face gave nothing away.

The mark was spreading.

What was once a sliver now covered her entire palm with glowing green energy. The veins in her arm looked like they’d been injected with the fade itself, and it was slowly creeping up toward her shoulder like poison.

“When did this start?” he asked. His voice was hoarse. Cora went to curl her hand around the mark, but his warm fingers stopped her.

“On the way to the basin.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

Bull was silent, inspecting her hand as if looking for an off switch.

“It’s hurting you,” he said eventually. It wasn’t a question.

“How did you-”

“The rifts. I noticed you were hesitating. Drawing back. I hadn’t figured out why but I never thought-”

He stopped mid-sentence and Cora wondered if he’d thought better of his words or if he was having as much difficulty speaking as she was. Eventually, he let out a throaty noise of frustration and a long string of curse words in as many languages as he knew spilled from his mouth.

“Well said.”

“We’ve still got a shit-ton of mages back at Skyhold. They can come up with something. Maybe Dorian-”

“Bull.”

“-can think of something. The vints have some crazy-”

“Bull.”

“-shit don’t they? Fuck, maybe we could just cut it off. You can do magic one handed, right? We can-”

“Vhenan, stop. Katoh.”

At the sound of the watchword, Bull went silent. Cora cupped his large hand in both of hers and turned to better face him.

“Banal nadas. Nothing is inevitable, but I don’t want to think about this right now. I want to spend time. With you. With my friends. Every second, no matter how many more of them I get.”

The Iron Bull swore again and cupped her face in both of his hands as he dipped his head down to kiss her. She could feel the frustration in it. The fear. It was harsh. Passionate. Bruising. But she leaned into it because damned if she didn’t feel every ounce of that as well.

When he finally pulled back, he dropped his forehead against hers. Cora idly wondered at what point it should be considered a head butt. Bull’s unpatched eye was closed, but while he couldn’t seem to look at her, she couldn’t look away from him. Her gaze traced every scar, every stray freckle and mole, until she had committed them to memory.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

The words were barely a whisper and she was almost convinced he didn’t hear her until he pressed  his lips to hers once more. Softly this time. So deep and tender she felt like her whole body was aching. When he pulled back, he took a deep breath.

“I love you, too.”

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Trust

After a long and tiring week, chapter 47 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3! 

This is my take on The Descent DLC. I refused to novelize it, and instead I took an excuse to write a lot of FRIENDSHIP FENSHIP BANTER between FennyFen and Dorian, Bull, Blackwall, Cole, and Varric. Oh, and as usual, some sappy sap with Rynne, because I am trash.

Read the whole thing on AO3; only the first bit is here (>9800 words). 

****************

Four months after Corypheus’s death…

Fenris felt empty.

He took a deep, slow breath to fortify himself, but it was futile. The battle with that lyrium-studded guardian creature had left him feeling horribly depleted, as though he’d been sucked dry of more than just his stamina. He was loathe to admit it, but he knew what this particular kind of exhaustion likely meant. 

He’d been using his lyrium tattoos too much. 

I had no choice, he thought tiredly. The monster guarding the Titan’s heart had been a horrific challenge to fight: a completely unfamiliar enemy powered by the incessant strength of the lyrium veins that flowed to and from this cavernous space. There was a very real moment during the fight when Fenris had feared they would fail to overpower the stone-and-lyrium beast. Bull and Blackwall had both taken a number of lashings from the monster’s flailing stone tentacles and were starting to slow down. Dorian had gotten struck by an unfortunately-timed blast of lyrium-powered energy and was crumpled against a wall trying to catch his breath while Varric guarded him. Hawke, meanwhile, had gotten trapped in a corner behind her own barrier, unable to emerge without getting struck by one of the guardian’s writhing rock limbs. Cole was hovering near her, hidden by the Veil and trying valiantly to find a way to help her slip free, but he too was effectively trapped. Fenris, meanwhile, was wearing himself thin using his own lyrium flares and the magic in his left palm to try and quell the monstrous stone beast.

It was a lucky strike that had ultimately saved them. Blackwall had lunged forward and smashed his shield against one of the guardian monster’s lyrium nodes, stalling its lashing limbs for a moment. Only then had the rest of their group realized that the lyrium nodes were not only the monster’s source of strength, but the sole reason it was animated at all — a realization that finally allowed them to freeze and to weaken the creature until Dorian and Hawke could blast it into a harmless pile of rubble. 

Fenris turned to Valta, who was watching them all with an unnervingly beatific smile. “You’re certain you’ll be all right down here?” he asked. 

“I will,” she said. “I have my stone sense, and now so much more. I’ll be safe.” She lifted her chin and closed her eyes serenely. “The song calls me here, like a lullaby to a child. This is where I belong.”

He nodded. Truthfully, he didn’t have the capacity to argue with Valta about this. The earthquakes had stopped, and Orzammar was no longer at risk of collapsing, either physically or financially. If Valta wanted to remain here in this strange subterranean fog-encrusted forest with only the Sha-Brytol for company, that was her prerogative.

 “Farewell, then,” he said.

She gave him another calm smile. “Farewell, Inquisitor. And thank you again for escorting me here.”

He nodded once more, then turned to Hawke. Her face was pale and her posture slumped, and he was certain that he didn’t look much better.

He reached for her. “Come,” he said. “Let’s make our way back to the surface.”

She gave him a wan smile as she took his hand, and Dorian sighed in relief. “Finally,” he exclaimed. “I can’t speak for the rest of you, but I could certainly use some sun.” 

His voice was rough with exhaustion as well, and Fenris spared him a look of concern. Bull seemed to hear it too, as he tucked Dorian against his side as they started toward the nearest stairs. 

“Afraid you’ll lose your tan, big guy?” he teased. 

Dorian sniffed in disdain. “I’ll have you know this tan is entirely natural, no sun needed. I will admit that this lurid blue light isn’t doing my complexion any favours, however, fascinating though it might be.” His eyes flicked over the brightly glowing lyrium veins that snaked across the stone walls and pillars in an intricate web of branching lines. 

Fenris’s gaze traced over the lyrium veins as well. Titan blood, he thought, and a shiver of revulsion ran down his spine. That’s what was embedded under his skin: the blood of these huge ancient creatures whose existence had been struck entirely from the Wall of Memories in Orzammar. That’s what held his former magic captive on his body: blood. Blue and incandescent blood, perhaps, but blood nonetheless. 

Blood magic. That’s what his lyrium marks were, quite literally. That’s what he was using every time he clenched his fist and brought these marks to life. Every time he phased across a battlefield, every time he lashed out at his enemies with a burst of lyrium-bolstered power, every time he plucked a pulsing heart from an enemy’s chest: every single time, he’d been using blood magic. 

Oblivious to his internal anguish, the others were continuing to chat tiredly as they made their way up the stairs and back toward the nearest camp. Varric sighed. “Well, this’ll be a fun one for Fenris to explain to good old Orzammar.” 

Dorian scoffed. “I can only imagine,” he said, and he launched into a mocking little dialogue. “‘Inquisitor, what happened to our dear ex-Shaper?’ ‘Sorry, King Dwarf, but we left her there.’ ‘Left her where?’ ‘Oh, you know, inside of the enormous stone creature that your entire civilization seems to have forgotten.’”

Bull scratched his chin. “Maybe Fenris should sit on this information for a while. Think it over before sharing it with the boys down below.”

Dorian gave him an incredulous look. “We spend nearly two weeks wandering through the Deep Roads in the company of their people, and you think we can return to the surface without telling them anything?”

“I’m not saying that,” Bull said mildly. “We give them a report, of course. Tell them their mines are safe and their earthquakes are solved, and hold on to the rest of it until we can decide how to use it to our advantage.”

Blackwall frowned. “That’s dishonest. Orzammar asked for our help. We should tell them what we learned.”

Varric shot him a small smile. “Wow, hero. You really are done with politics and the Game, aren’t you?”

“It’s not about politics,” Blackwall said gruffly. “It’s about doing what’s right.” He waved at their surroundings. “This is far bigger than they thought when they asked us to fight the darkspawn. Maker’s balls, it was more than we bargained for when we came down here to fight.” He looked at Varric. “They should know what’s hidden under all their cities, don’t you think?” 

Varric twisted his lips ruefully. “Honestly? I don’t know if it’s a great idea. ‘Real’ dwarves think they know exactly who they are and exactly how far back their bloodlines go. Telling them that something this huge was struck from the Memories… They’ll have to rethink everything they thought they knew about how great they are. They’re not going to like that.” He shook his head. “Makes me glad I’m a topsider.” 

Dorian looked at him in surprise. “You think they shouldn’t know, then? Just because they won’t like what they hear?”

Varric grimaced. “All I’m saying is that it’ll change everything for them.”

“That’s no reason not to reveal the past,” Dorian said. “In fact, some might say it’s exactly why they should know.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “We still talking about dwarves, Sparkler? Or are we talking about a different group of people who think they know exactly who they are and how far back their bloodlines go?”

Dorian paused, then sighed. “Maybe I am. Touché, my hairy friend.”

They all fell quiet as they continued up the seemingly interminable path to the camp, and Fenris was grateful; the higher they walked, the more fatigued he felt, and it was taking all of his attention to simply place one foot in front of the other. 

Hawke, meanwhile, had been uncharacteristically silent during the trek. Fenris shot her a sideways look. “Are you all right?” he murmured.

She nodded. “Just tired. Looking forward to a bedroll and a nice warm fire.” She gave him a feeble smile, but it swiftly melted into concern.

She squeezed his hand. “Are you all right? You don’t look well.”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” He kept on walking, putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring the unpleasant spinning sensation in his head and the feeling of emptiness that was sucking at his veins.

Keep going, he thought doggedly. It couldn’t be that much farther to the camp. They’d been walking for at least ten minutes already. 

He tripped on a step and stumbled to his hands and knees with a grunt, and Hawke fell to her knees beside him. “Fenris,” she breathed. 

“Shit,” Varric exclaimed. “Are you guys okay?”

Fenris didn’t reply. He stared blearily Hawke’s face. Venhedis, she looked so tired and wan.

She stroked his cheek, but her cold and trembling fingers were no comfort. “Fenris,” she said shakily, “you’re overext–”

“I’m fine,” he said loudly. He didn’t want the others to hear her, even if what she was suggesting was true. Besides, there was no point harping on it; there was nothing to be done. It wasn’t like he could take a lyrium draught for this, not that they had much lyrium potion to spare. 

What he really needed was rest, and to have that, he needed to get to the blasted camp. 

Dorian and Varric were crouching anxiously beside them while Cole hovered over Hawke’s shoulder. Fenris ignored them all and gently pulled Hawke’s hand away from his face. “Let’s keep moving,” he said, and he tried to push himself upright. 

His hand slipped out from underneath him. The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back and the sky was spinning above him — no, not the sky, because that would mean they were outside in the open air… 

“Fenris!” Hawke’s voice was sharp and worried now. When her face appeared above his own, he could see the fear reflected in her blurry features. 

He didn’t want her to be scared. He wanted to tell her not to worry, but he was so tired that he couldn’t open his mouth to speak. He was so tired that he couldn’t even keep his blasted eyelids open. 

Her trembling palm pressed gently against his forehead, and he shivered. Why were her hands so cold? 

“Hawke, what’s wrong with him?” Blackwall asked anxiously.

Dorian’s reply was taut with concern. “He’s… kaffas, does he have a fever? He looks almost like he’s—”

Hawke cut him off. “I’ve got it,” she said brusquely. Then her cool fingertips were pressing against Fenris’s temples. 

Don’t, Fenris thought. He forced his eyes open. He knew what she was about to do; he’d seen Anders do this for her a handful of times, and he’d seen her do this for Anders once or twice as well. But healing an overextended mage was a drain on the healer’s mana, and Hawke was already so depleted… 

He stared at her desperately. Stop, he tried to say, but he couldn’t move his tongue. Already her eyes were closed, and a cool pulse of magic was leaking from her fingers into his temples.

“Hawke, be careful with this,” Varric warned.

“With what?” Blackwall demanded. “What is she doing? What’s going on?”

Fenris tried to pull away, but he couldn’t move his head. He tried to glare at her, to forbid her from continuing with the look on his face, but he had no idea if his face was even moving, and his eyes were falling shut once more…

A minute later – or maybe it was five, or fifty? – the soothing pulse of her magic disappeared, and a heavy weight landed on his chest: it seemed that Hawke had collapsed on top of him. A dull spike of horror shot through his belly, but he still couldn’t open his eyes.

“Damn it,” Varric hissed. 

“Vashedan,” Bull grunted. “Blackwall, get over here, let’s pick them up. We’ll get them to the camp quickly, there’s a potions kit there…”

A moment later, Fenris was being hefted over someone’s shoulder — whether Bull’s or Blackwall’s, he couldn’t tell — and he was jolting along uncomfortably as whoever was carrying him took off at a run, but the discomfort didn’t matter; what mattered was Hawke. Was she all right? Was she… why had she… why couldn’t she look after herself for once…?

He couldn’t ask any of these questions, though; they were half-formed ideas, barely cohesive beyond the thread of fear and fatigue that was holding them together. By the time he was being laid down on the distinctive padding of a bedroll, even that thread had started to dissolve, leaving him with only one bleary thought in mind. 

Hawke. He wanted her. Where was she?

He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were too heavy. He pried his tongue away from the roof of his mouth. “Rynne,” he croaked.

A cool hand touched his forehead, but it wasn’t Hawke’s this time. 

“You’ll be all right,” Cole murmured. “Sleep.”

Read the rest on AO3. 

[self-ship-imagines]

HENLO I SAW YOU CAN DO DRAGON AGE HCS AND I WOULD ABSOLUTELY LOVE SOME HCS WITH MY BIG OL BOYF IRON BULL IF ITS POSSIBLE,,,, (love the blog btw you're doing the lord's work andkanxkabx)

AAAHHHHHH YES OF COURSE!!!!

IRON BULL

-He always wears his half of the dragon tooth

-You being an honorary charger

-The Chargers getting into all kinds of shenanigans getting you two together

- Bull uses Paint to create Vitaar patterns on your skin

-Him teaching you to play chess

-Nightly Cuddles

-Varric will 100% write a love story based on y’all

-if you are ever to stressed he will pick you up and carry to your room to relax

-CALL HIM KADAN!!! HE WILL GET REALLY FLUSTERED AND HAPPY WHEN YOU DO!!!

-Making flower crowns and decorating Bull horns with them

-if he hasn't seen you in a while he will pick you up and carry you around

[jawsandbones]

a commission for @boss-saarebas, thank you! NSFW under cut.

His hand only leaves her for a moment, the other still at her back. He slams the door shut behind them, without looking. His attention is focused on her, on the taste of pastry which still lingers on her lips. Sweet. Raspberries. Champagne on the edges, expensive and rare. Only the best for the Winter Palace. His hand returns to her waist, the other keeping her steady, her body leaning into him. A hand at his arm, the other at his shoulder, and she’s opening her mouth to him, her tongue pressed against his.

“That’s an amazing dress, boss” he says, voice low and hoarse as they shift. “Been dying to tear it off you all night.” She’s slow to open her eyes, while the smile comes almost instantly. Lips red with attention, the desperate affection that hasn’t stopped since they left the balcony. Her hands move over his shoulders, down the perfect buttons of his coat, and settles against his chest.

“I’m glad you showed some restraint,” she says, as she undoes the sash around his waist, begins to undo the buttons. “I’m also glad you don’t have to show any restraint now.” A strangled noise in his throat, and Bull puts a hand over hers, leans down to kiss her once again. His hand splayed at the small of her back, unwilling to let her go. His jacket half open, she pulls the sash away, casts it to the ground even as he walks her backwards.

A gasp, as her shoulders touch against cool glass. The windows of the Winter Palace almost touch from ceiling to floor, pale moonlight shining through. He’s caught glimpses of her, here and there, as she waged war against the court and its nobility. A flash of blue. Following in her wake. It was never enough. Gold glitters down the front of her, armor built into silk. A long flowing train, a split for a teasing glimpse of her leg. The back, oh, the back. Cut low, showing taught muscle, the strength she keeps from all sides. He could look at her for an age.

She leans back against the window, reveling in the way his glance devours her. She reaches out with a hand, follows the seam of his now disheveled jacket, and pulls at the fold of it. “Come here, big guy.” Spoken with a sly smile, an assured glance upwards, a lick of her lips. Absolute smugness in her as she brings him closer with a touch, tilting her head upwards. “What are you waiting for?” she murmurs against his mouth. A low chuckle, and his touch moves over her arm, her shoulders, a hand at her throat, and thumb underneath her chin.

Bull crushes his lips against hers. His other hand grabs a fistful of dress, drags it upwards. His hand runs against bare skin, her thigh, finding the slip of her undergarments. Without warning, the kiss breaks. He turns her deftly, her palms against the glass, his hand still at her throat, arm against her chest, holding her steady. His other hand follows the line of her undergarments. Her breath fogs against the window as he leans close to her, the smallest bite to the tip of her ear. There’s no one in the courtyard below, the guiding lights of the garden extinguished.

“They were all looking at you, Inquisitor,” he says. She can feel his mouth moving against the shell of her ear, breath warm against her. Under her dress, his hand, calloused fingertips. All the scars and marks that make his hands so distinctly his. He keeps his hand light around her throat, a stroke against her neck keeping her reminded that he’s there. The touch at her thigh is following the line of her undergarments, moving against her belly.  

“Everyone could tell you were the one in charge. All the nobility of Orlais. They want in your graces. Want a part of you. But you’re all mine,” he says low, hoarsely, in a charged whisper.

Slipping inside her undergarments, his big hand pressed up against wet curls, a finger pressed aligned with her cunt. Biting her bottom lip, eyes closed, her hands curl into fists. The window begins to fog with her breath, a steadily rising rhythm. The quick inhale. The groaned exhale.

“You were so good tonight Boss,” he says. A single stroke down her cunt and she shivers, while he holds her steady. “You had them all wrapped around your finger.” Another stroke, slow, from her entrance to her clit, and back again. “You have a nation under your command now.” Again, but this time his finger lingers at her clit, a pressed circle, one that makes her gasp, her leg shake. Bull’s hand squeezes slightly around her throat, “they’ll listen to your every word. Whatever you want. Tell me what you want.” His touch moves in unceasing circles, and she trembles in his grasp.

Her eyes snap open, and she looks over her shoulder, her elbow pressed against the window, hand in a fist, as her other moves over his wrist, and keeps his touch focused on her entrance. “Fuck me,” she tells him. The smile spreads across his face as he presses kisses from her ear lobe to her temple, his other hand slipping down her chest. Pulling up her dress from both sides, and with a quick flick of his thumb, drags her underwear down her legs. She steps out of one, as he undoes he laces of his trousers.

He settles his hands on her hips. Keeping her legs close together, he slides his cock between her thighs, against her cunt. Back and forth, becoming slick as his cock is coated in her wet. A hand shifts from her thigh to her breast, fondling her over her dress. That gold stitching is well crafted, but provides no shield from the finger that slips over her nipple, the palm that rolls against her breast. He holds her well and good in his grasp, as he finally slides his cock into her cunt. Pushing in slowly and surely, the moan slipping from her lips as she raises herself up on her toes. Filling her up completely, and Bull’s never been shy in making his own pleasure known. “Fuck.” Spoken in a husky groan, almost a prayer of sorts.

Filling her up so full, and she grinds backwards slightly against him, resting her head against her forearm. Her other hand moves back to the glass, just fingertips touching against it. He tightens his grip on her thigh, the other at her breast as his hips move back, forward again until he’s buried in her to the hilt. Biting lip gasps wide and her breasts bounce with each heavy and punctuated thrust. “You’re so good,” he speaks in that same groan, “good girl. That’s it.” Her dress pulled up so, and he runs a hand over her ass. The slap is unexpected but welcomed, her cunt tightening around his cock, and she puts a knee up onto the windowsill.  

Skin slaps against skin, his trousers halfway down his ass, his jacket still unbuttoned. The glass is almost completely fogged, from the breath of her, the heat of them. With each moan, he rewards her with a slap, a flat and carefully practiced thing, made for pleasure. “Good girl,” follows each one, a reassuring squeeze of her hip. “Ellana.” The low rumble of her name, almost a desperate plea, and those, more than anything else, are the words she likes the best. “Ellana.” The shudder of his hips, an increase in tempo, and his hand is leaving her breast, finding her clit once again.

A mewl, at the touch of it, the quick flicking motion, spelling his name into her pleasure. “Cum for me,” he says, “That’s it baby, cum for me. Ellana, Ellana.” He curls against her. All of him, at her back, surrounding her, his mouth at her neck, one of his horns touching against the glass. Fucking up into her, a close grind, a steady rhythm on both fronts and with a stuttered inhale – her cunt squeezes around him in waves, and he rides her through her pleasure, her exhale.

He slips from her, his hand wrapping around his cock, wet with her, stroking himself to completion. He spills himself into his other hand, goes to reach for one of the towels on the table near them. She turns, her back against the window once again, sliding down until she’s sitting on the sill. She watches as she cleans himself, begging her breathing to return to normal, for the red tipped fire in her face and ears to dissipate. Wisps of her hair escape the bun that had once been so ornate, float against the glass, around her face.

Bull kneels down before her, his touch slipping against the back of her leg. He kisses the inside of her thigh, looks up at her as she puts a hand on his horn. “Hey boss,” he says, his voice still hoarse.

“Hey,” she says fondly. He rests his head on her knee, and keeps his hand on her leg. After a few moments of silence, he finally looks up at her once again.

“That really is one hell of a dress,” he tells her, as she breaks into startled peals of laughter.