From @cyber-fairie to @ohgodsalazarwhy
This piece is definitely NSFW and is an A/B/O AU.
“Is it really necessary that I be here Commander?” Dorian drawled, unable to hide the shiver that coursed through him even though he’d worn the warmest robes he had, sacrificing fashion and covering both shoulders with thick spun wool.
“I suppose I could invite Madame Vivienne…”
Dorian growled in the back of his throat, his eyes narrowing at the Alpha standing beside him. “Now you’re just being nasty.”
Cullen laughed, the sound ringing out through the courtyard where several young mages stood looking cautiously at a matching number of former Templars. That Dorian would rather freeze solid before relinquishing his position judging the newly arrived mages fitness for battle, Cullen finally gave in to the Omega’s shivering and took off his own cloak, dropping it over Dorian’s shoulders. “There, is that better?”
Warmth, delicious warmth suffused Dorian’s body followed quickly by the familiar lyrium and sawdust scent that he had long ago learned to associate with Cullen. Forcing back a purr of contentment, Dorian pasted a bland look on his face as he covered up his almost instinctive scenting by drawling, “It smells surprisingly less like wet dog than I had anticipated.”
Another burst of laughter escaped Cullen. “You’re welcome. Now, can we begin?”
Dorian nodded his head regally, wrapping the cloak more firmly around himself as he followed Cullen over and motioned for the first mage to begin.
to @sometrashland from @doozerdoodles You give so much to the fandom with your incredible art, so have a big sappy holiday fic that tries to hit all of your prompts! Happy Holidays <3
Most of the common Yuletide traditions stem from the Southern Chantry’s Satinalia feasts, though parts of the world still embrace the more raucous festivities historically practiced in Antiva and the North. In modern Tevinter, it is not unheard of for high society to throw gala events in the spirit of the old Imperium, but food and gift giving remain the staple activities of Yuletide across modern Thedas and even the Avvar Territories.
*
“Holy shit,” Bull muttered, “Santa is real.”
To his credit, Krem only slightly choked on his mulled wine. It wasn’t the weirdest thing Bull had said to him, probably not even that day. Still, the quiet awe in Bull’s tone sounded a precursor to some kind of trouble. Krem squinted sidelong up at him.
“How do you figure, chief?”
“He got my letter,” Bull said, with the intensity that was typically reserved for the Herald’s Rest on a rowdy Saturday, when the pub’s usual rock and regulars were replaced with EDM and an influx of revellers. Given that they were presently standing in the cozy, cheerful living room of a friend’s flat on Yuletide, Bull’s Target Locked face was a little jarring. Also, the smile was off. It was uneven on one side, bordering on dopey. Krem followed Bull’s gaze across the room, past Sera determinedly attempting to staple sprigs of mistletoe to anything she could, to the doorway where Lissar Lavellan was brushing snow from her scarf and smiling at the handsome man she had in tow-
Who was Tevinter. Krem straightened up a bit. Lavellan was as good as Bull at finding strays, but the posh looking bastard she had with her now was a stretch. The nose, the moustache, the rings: That was an Altus. How in the hallowed halls of the old gods had she dug up an Altus in the South and convinced him to go to a Yule party?
@stickthisbig for @labarkour for picking up a pinch-hitter spot very graciously
Prompt: Literally all I want is some really good Rule 63! Adoribull.
NSFW
Dorian was completely uninterested in the Iron Bull.
She clearly enjoyed pressing Dorian’s buttons, almost as much as she enjoyed sleeping her way through Skyhold, male, female, and other, all of whom gave her rave reviews. And that ridiculous body of hers. Tall and broad and well-muscled, with breasts that were easily the size of Dorian’s head, large swaths of skin frequently exposed.
Why would that possibly be a thing Dorian wanted? The idea was absolutely absurd.
This is what Dorian was telling herself as she entered the tavern, looking for a little distraction after a long day of research. The place was loud, but not overly crowded; Varric and Trevelyan had a game of Wicked Grace going, while certain of the Chargers had instigated a sing-a-long. Surprisingly, Bull was on her own, having a drink and surveying the crowd, so Dorian made her way over. Why not? Dorian wasn’t interested. No harm in chatting with an acquaintance. Didn’t mean anything at all.
by @thejerseydeviledoodleblog for @sarahwhat (& @redeemer-headcanon for being a read pinch-hitter)
Summary: In which they play at being a couple for a laugh, and instead, end up spiraling towards something else instead.
The Bull is the most unlikely, but most… appreciated friend that Dorian has made here in the frigid South.
He won’t admit that he finds the Tal-Vashoth’s brand of humor somewhat entertaining, or that he enjoys the way they can snip and argue and yes even exchange somewhat flirty banter, while also retreating back to safer waters where he doesn’t have to consider the way the Bull’s shirts always seem too tight, or that he himself has grown into the habit of making punny rather than witty statements just to see the Bull snigger and—
Ahem.
In short, the Bull is a surprising, generous, and well-appreciated friend. One of a small, but growing collection of friends, plural, he’s made in Fereldan. They are the sort of friends that makes the cold passably bearable—not that he’ll tell any of them that. Especially the girls; they’d never let him live it down.
But the Bull stands head and shoulders (pun very much intended) above the rest in his sheer generosity and a heart that is far too big to be true, sometimes, but well, here they are. It’s easier to blame the Bull’s big heart for the start of the whole affair, rather than acknowledge the fact that they were spiraling towards the inevitable together.
It starts like this: Dorian’s lease is almost up, and though Lace has been a darling roommate, it seems that she and Krem are rather serious about taking Things a step forward and will risk co-habitation, so she’s going to be gone soon, as will her half of the rent.
He’s teased her well and truly, and earned enough kicks to his shins to make it maybe not his smartest idea, but so worth it. However, as they—Dorian, the Bull, Lace and Cremisius, that is—work on packing up her surprisingly few boxes, with the two of them working on sorting out Lace’s Tupperware from Dorian’s, he comes to the sudden, surprising conclusion that his lease will soon be up and he remarks, “Oh, I probably should look for a new roommate, or maybe, find somewhere else to stay.”
Lace glances over at him, incredulous.
“Dorian, I understand that perfectionists procrastinate but this is ridiculous.”
“Oh I’m sure I’ll think of something,” Dorian replies, trying to wave away her concern. “As my freshmen seminar urchins are fond of saying: one cannot expect to adult well all the time.”
That seems to be the Bull’s cue to stick his head and horns into the kitchen door with an unattractive waggle of his brows.
“What’s this about adultery I hear?”
for @saterema by @bingobramble
Prompts:
1. Gold piercings (nsfw piercings encouraged)
2. Literally anything with finger sucking/licking
3. Post-Trespasser marriage in Tevinter
4. Dorian in super expensive clothing (silks, satin, gold etc) and Bull ruining it and taking it off.
5. Bull fucking Dorian in front of a mirror with him all tied up in rope and telling him how pretty he is and making him watch while he praises him.
I attempted 1, 2, 3 and 4, with maybe a little bit of inspiration from 5.
Dorian could feel the heat of the sun sneaking in through the window. It crept slowly but surely, caressing his naked skin where he lay, uncovered, on his sinfully soft mattress. When it reached his face he stretched and let out a contented sigh. A grey eye cracked open to peer out into the soft morning.
It was his bedroom in Tevinter that greeted him, as it had done for the past year. Familiar motifs of golden snakes gleamed in the sunlight, and the large antique vanity and dresser beckoned him. Entirely unconcerned with his state of undress, Dorian rose out of the bed to ready himself for the day. The vanity mirror allowed him to watch himself as he draped loose layers over his bruised body. He pressed a finger into one discoloured area and shivered at the brief flare of a most delicious ache. Last night had been filled with a most… vigorous kind of exercise.
He pulled his favourite burgundy robe over his bare shoulders; enjoying the cool and delightfully smooth silk as it brushed against his sleep and sun-warm skin. A handful of tiny clasps that glittered brightly held his outfit together enough that he could be considered fit for company. Or at least the company of one particular Qunari.
Dorian sat on a plush stool in front of the vanity mirror, smoothing his moustache and hair out of its disarray with gentle, sweet-smelling oils. He opened a small ornate chest filled to the brim with tiny pots and brushes, and cast a critical eye down over the myriad of colours offered forth. His appearance was one he took pride in and today, the anniversary of Bull and his first year of blissful marriage and life in Tevinter, he planned to shine.
For @scarletfoxtales by @kayura-fuckthechantry-fii
Prompts filled: - Dorian and Bull both surprise each other with a hot drink on a cold night at skyhold. Maybe coffee or cider for Dorian and Cocoa for Bull? But I’m not super picky + Huddling up in a cave during a blizzard, telling each other tales to distract from the fact they may not get out alive. Whether they do or not is up to you.(and I kinda mushed it all together with hugs.)tagged: cuddling for warmth, caught in a storm, sharing body heat, a touch of internalized homophobia, teasing, first kiss, shmoop
note: I really wanted to call this Varric’s Lament
Summary: Dorian and Bull get caught with a cave in between them and the rest of the party. With instructions to “stay put” and nothing but time to kill while being smothered with tension, the two find themselves actually talking.
They’ve been dancing around each other since the Inquisition found Skyhold. Aggressive flirting and steamy bluster back and forth with no clear line between fun making and genuine offering. To those on the outside, the feelings are just as mixed; concern at the sentiment and excitement at the show.
Dorian is frustrated (huffy) at how easily the Iron Bull could rile him up; at how much he wants the flirting to be real. But he doesn’t trust it. Ignoring that the man’s Qunari, he’s Ben Hassrath, a spy and a liar. Dorian learned early in his life that anything so blatant is, not only too good to be true but also, hiding something else. Something hurtful. So even when the Iron Bull makes him he rebuts any approach and hides his smile behind a sneer.
The Iron Bull knows just about everything he needs to know about Dorian (scion-of-house-Pavus-most-recently-of-Minrathus), little Altus from Tevinter; emotionally repressed, personality made of misdirection and self deprecation and arrogance; a man who wears a mask more easily than his own face. Bull also knows that he’s too pretty by half, and far too aware of it. (He’s certainly a case for believing Tevinter breeding practices, regardless, the Bull thinks in his more less-than-sober considerations of the man). And Bull’s okay with that, mostly because he can tell that the ‘Vint is being straightforward with /why he’s joined the Inquisition.
But the longer Bull watches him, which is as often as he can get away with and a few more blatant times besides, the better he can read the younger man. The more he wonders if half of that bluster isn’t just the man not knowing how to react with normal people. He sees the way the mage’s eyes linger on the Commander’s shoulders but glide over the Inquisitor’s ample assets, the way he flirts as easy as anything but only shows high color and quickened breath when the men smile encouragement.
My gift is for @serenityfails, from @ohgodsalazarwhy
Prompts filled: Dorian taking care of Bull and: Dorian and Bull happy and retired and alive long after the events of Trespasser
Rating: G
———————–
The wind this time of year was cold, but not biting. Not quite yet. They still had a few more weeks before the chill sank into the ground and killed the last of the stubborn plants in their modest garden. Right now the wind was blowing his hair about as he spread out kernels of corn for their clucking chickens. Dorian watched idly as they scratched through the dirt and chased each other around with loud angry burrs and screeching. Horrible animals. Dorian could hardly believe they owned them.
If asked as a child what sort of home he’d live in as an old man he would have confidently replied that he would die in the Pavus estate, surrounded by wealth and comfort. Dorian smiled to himself as he pictured his younger self’s reaction to being told he’d live in a comfortable, but modest, cottage with a little garden, some goats, a stubborn donkey, and a flock of screeching chickens; and that he was content, no, happy.
The Imperium held many wonders and Dorian had been happy to indulge in his youth. He’d almost had to as a Magister. Those days were done, and the Pavus homes and lands were given to the burgeoning Lucerni. His seed had sprouted, and it was strong enough to go on without him. The Pavus name? Dorian could have passed it on to any one of his many apprentices, but he thought it best that it die with him. Dorian would be the final Pavus, and his vanity demanded he remain the greatest.
The tin bucket was finally bereft of corn, so Dorian set it aside. He squinted up at the sky, trying to gauge how much time had passed since The Bull had gone into town to grab some supplies for winter. He should return soon. Dorian grabbed his staff and a pair of big tin buckets, hoisting them by their handles over his forearm so he could walk slowly to their well. His body ached these days, and the cold did him no favors, but his back was still straight and his mind still sharp, so he couldn’t complain too much. He did, but that was beside the point.
The well had been a project that they’d worked on together many, many years ago. A summer spent with The Chargers and dirt always under his fingernails. Dorian smiled fondly at the memory, pulling up water and dumping it into his tin buckets. The work had been well worth it, Dorian was hardly a young man anymore, he couldn’t walk half a mile every time he needed water drawn. When both buckets were filled to the brim, Dorian waved his hand and both floated three feet off the ground, drifting gently just ahead of Dorian as he walked them to the house.
For @shae-c-art, who had so many good requests that I had trouble choosing. This is based on the prompt: Sick/Injured with caretaking, and no explicit sex. By @nyagosstar
Summary: Bull’s been visiting Krem in the hospital every day, honestly looking forward to the time when he’s released. Only now, Krem’s got a new roommate, a quiet man who never has any visitors and doesn’t have anywhere to go.
Modern AU, no magic
References to violence and injury, but nothing on screen
Teen audiences and up rating
The scent of industrial cleaner over sickness and people trying too hard to live hits Bull hard as the automatic doors whoosh open. Maybe for most people, the smell wouldn’t be so bad until they were farther into the hospital, but he’s got a good nose, or maybe a bad one, considering all of the gross things he gets to smell. Either way, there’s no mistaking the scent. The Qun and he parted ways a while ago, but there are things he still misses. The way they treated the sick and failing, keeping them comfortable and calm instead of in a too-cold box-like prison.
He shakes off the thoughts and heads for Krem’s room on the third floor. He’s been visiting every day for a week, so some of the staff recognize him, don’t ask him where he’s going or if he needs help, the way they do when they’re not sure if he’s going to cause trouble.
Krem’s awake, propped up a little in bed and watching the television on the far wall. He smiles. “Hey, Chief.”
Bull drops a stack of magazines on the bedside table and sinks into the chair at his side. He looks good, today. Less pale, cheerful smile. Wouldn’t believe looking at him that just five days ago no one knew if he was going to make it another day. That’s the kind of thing that happens when someone ignores abdominal pain until an appendix bursts in the middle of the night. He’d give Krem more shit about it, but honestly, it’s the most scared he’s ever been, hearing Krem’s slurred, panicked voice in the middle of the night, calling him instead of an emergency number. “What’s on the schedule today?”
Krem points with the remote. “Judge shows.”
This had been going on long enough that the Bull could now discern when Dorian wanted sex by scent alone.
Dorian would walk into the tavern and sit next to him at the usual corner. They’d play cards and tip back their drinks, laughing along with whatever stories were brought to the table, no matter who was telling them - Varric or Adaar or one of the Bull’s boys.
Then the mage would reach over and brush the inside of Bull’s wrist against his warm, but slightly twitching fingers.
Dorian wore his cologne like a proper gentleman: just a small dip on his wrists, behind both ears, and in the hollow of his throat. The usual scent he preferred was a mild jasmine. Flowery, but not overwhelming or sweet; elegant in a way that would never really be out of fashion.
But on the nights where Dorian was randy, the cologne he wore bore traces of cinnamon and cloves. The hint of spice filled the Bull’s nose and it burned him in more ways than one. All the while, the sneaky little Vint would just sit next to him, discussing some sort of magical crap with Dalish as if nothing was different. Such a goddamn tease.
The worst part was that no one else seemed to notice the change, or at least they weren’t commenting on it.
“Bull?”
Giftee: @solar-windswept
Gifter: @dragonflies-and-katydids
Prompts: Hot wax play, Meeting in the Dog Park (101 Dalmatians Style)
Rating: Explicit
Tags: modern AU, definitely NSFW
“This is a bad idea.”
Bull laughs and thumps Krem on the shoulder as the pet shelter’s volunteer glares in outrage. “Awww, c'mon, admit it. He’s cute.”
Krem looks down at the dog that’s currently huddled–whimpering–against Bull’s shins, then back up at Bull. “He’s pathetic.” The volunteer glares harder, her arms crossing tightly over her chest.
“Now you’re just being mean,” Bull says, pretending to be hurt as he kneels to scratch the dog behind the ears. It’s made harder by the dog’s attempts to stay against his leg, even when it puts Bull’s descending knee dangerously close to the dog’s front paws.
“I’m being accurate,” Krem says. He looks around the kennel at the other cages, and points to a lab mix pressing its nose to the bars of its cage. “What about that one?”
Bull glances at it and dismisses it in the space of a second. “That one doesn’t need me,” he says, smiling fondly at the dog still trying to wedge itself up against him. “This one does.”
“That one needs a lot,” Krem mutters.
He’s right and Bull knows it: besides the obvious anxiety issues, the dog is thin and a little mangy. The shelter has been doing its best, but by the tag on the cage, Bull knows they’ve only had it a few days, not nearly long enough for regular meals to do any good. If it’s even been eating them, anxious as it is.
“He’s a purebred French bulldog,” the shelter volunteer offers brightly, as if Bull cares one way or another.
He makes an acknowledging noise out of politeness and continues to scratch the dog behind the ears.
“Admit it,” Krem says at last. “You just want him because he’s a bulldog.”
Bull laughs, then smothers it when the sound makes the dog jump. “Okay, yeah, that’s a plus, but really? How do you say no to that?”
The dog is leaning into Bull’s hand now, looking up at him like he’s about to deliver a steak dinner and a lifetime supply of rawhide chews. The whimpering from earlier has stopped, along with most of the shivering.
Krem sighs in a way Bull recognizes, the long-suffering sigh of a man abandoning a lost cause. “Paperwork?” he asks the volunteer, and for the first time since they came back to the kennel, she looks at him with something less than outright hostility.
Fake Dating for @stupidlullabies by @hcvillicrd
Festivus had the tendency of being an absolute disaster for Dorian Pavus, whether he intentionally pushed the holiday in that direction or not. Add in family reunions, and he could be sure that at least three people in the family would be crying by the end of the night. This year, however, he had one goal in mind: his eyeliner would not be smeared as he walked out the door, and he would carry himself with pride.
The only issue? It had become something of a habit to shock and astound not only his parents but every other extended member of the family with some sort of surprise. Last year it had been dreadfully long hair, the year before a ridiculous amount of piercings, and the year before that he had gladly shown off his brand-new tattoos in all their wonderful Tevinter-esque style. This year would be the year to undo all others.
And that’s how he ended up calling Cremisius Aclassi at one in the morning three days before the family reunion, asking if he could borrow his large Qunari friend for the get-together.
“Altus, what now?” Krem picked up the phone sounding all but awake, and Dorian could hear Lace’s quiet grumbling in the background, which meant that he’d most likely woken them up. Oops, how unfortunate.
The mage ran a hand over his eyes and wondered on how exactly to phrase this without causing Cremisius to have a heart attack. “I need your help. There’s a Pavus gathering on Friday and I need a boyfriend-”
“No, absolutely not, there will be no way in hell that I ever go with you to a shitshow like that! It’d be like going back to Tevinter all over again. Do you want me to throw myself to the dogs? Is that something you find fun?” Krem started blathering before he could even finish, and Dorian patiently listened to all the reasons his dear friend had decided that no, they would not look good together.
“No, but I do want to borrow your Qunari friend for the occasion. He seems like he’d be a man up to the task!” A daring and daunting request, maybe, but it was worth a shot. There was a long pause and silence dragged between the two for an agonizingly long moment. Dorian settled a bit more into his comfortable arm chair, closing his laptop and setting it aside while he waited.
“I don’t know. I’d have to talk to him. Shit, he might be crazy, but I don’t think he’d be that crazy.”
“Just give me his number, and we’ll work it out between ourselves. No need for your involvement beyond this point, I promise.”
“Fine, I’ll text it to you.” There was a sudden beep and the droning tone that told Dorian that Krem had decided to hang up. Huffing, he re-opened his laptop and waited. About five minutes after he’d started reading about Varric Tethras’ spit-shined sequel to the absolute drivel known as Hard in Hightown, his phone made a pinging sound. Krem seemed to have made good on his promise, and sure enough, there sat the Iron Bull’s number.
Writer: @acheesecakewrites
Recipient: @tedkordisanasshole
Tags/Prompt: Modern AU
Dorian settled back in his seat with a sigh, watching the other passengers file through the plane. It wouldn’t be long now. He’d fulfilled all his duties, stood at his mother’s side, shaken the hands of important people, delivered a few proper and not at all heartfelt words. He’d remained stoic and solemn through the ceremony, thanked the right people for coming to the wake, and assured his mother that he didn’t want the house in Qarinus, she could do with it as she liked.
He didn’t know why the only flight from Qarinus to Ferelden always left at four in the morning, but he’d traveled the route enough times now to be bored with it. He just wanted to be home.
The other groggy travelers settled into place, and the plane took off with a roar of engines. Dorian watched as the ground fell away below him, the massive, imposing buildings shrinking in moments to toy-sized, to ant-sized, finally disappearing from view as the plane reached the thick layer of clouds. The early-morning darkness deepened, then vanished altogether as the plane rose above the cloud bank and the open sky stretched around and above. Above the clouds, the horizon was a dramatic array of color, from dark blue at the height of Dorian’s vision all through the spectrum to a soft pink at the bottom of the sky.
The plane tilted south, and Dorian could see where the sun was just about to rise. Tevinter was invisible below the clouds. He was never going back.
For: @zythepsary
Prompt: Resting (and/or celebrating) after a dragon battle.
From: @damnyoualex
Dorian wakes stiffer and sorer than he’s been before in his life. For a moment he wonders what happened to get him in such a shape, but as he slowly blinks his eyes open and stares up at the shadowed canvas roof of a tent and the events of the previous day return to him.
With Corypheus dead, the Inquisitor had finally been able to divert inquisition resources towards rebuilding Judicael’s crossing and had decided to examine the ruins beyond, a process that had involved taking down not one, not two, but three dragons – without any of their usual pauses for recuperation between battles. A worthy cause no doubt, both because dragons were a menace and because their parts would sell at a high price, necessary now because the lack of any immediate threat meant that donations to the Inquisition were dropping away. But being worthwhile didn’t change the fact that the battles had been strenuous, particularly the third in which Dorian’s well-honed fire spells had been useless. By the end Dorian had wanted nothing more than to be transported back to Skyhold and a rest up in a proper bed, but Bull had been ecstatic and desperate to celebrate such a phenomenal conquest and despite his reservations Dorian had found it hard to resist being swept up in Bull’s enthusiasm.
It had been a glorious evening to honour a glorious kill.
For @themusicmaker69 and the prompt “Dorian’s parents come to Skyhold” by @scarletfoxtales. Angst and family fighting follows.
They don’t talk about it, not at first. They don’t talk about a lot of things. Important things, yes, the Iron Bull makes sure of that. On the second night Dorian comes to him, courage bolstered by whatever he’d been drinking in his alcove, the Bull sits him down and waits until it’s worn off a little. Goes and gets him some food from down below, nothing fancy.
A bowl of stew and some bread, a pitcher of water. Dorian hasn’t overdone it on the drinking, doesn’t usually. He doesn’t live in the bottle.
The Bull could see Dorian getting to that point someday, sure. But not now. Not when there are better distractions to be had. The Bull’s fine with being one of them.
They talk about watchwords; it’s not a fun talk. Dorian’s flippant, agrees to one because why not, he wants sex and Bull’s somewhat attractive and has nice muscles and a kind face if a bit scarred, but will he just get on with it? Dorian wants to be fucked into the mattress, now please. Ugh.
The pleases are an afterthought, not true begging. They’re said with a sigh, like Dorian is doing the Bull a great favor by even being here.
“You’re not the first man I’ve done this kind of thing with” Dorian tells him, “and you won’t be the last. Now if you would just get on with it? Or should I tie you up, and fuck myself on your cock? At least something would be happening, then.”
Prompt: AU
Happiest of Holidays, @yogurt-gun! Hope you like it! From @maliwanhellfires
The Inquisition was a hotel in the Vashoth quarter. It was made in the Orlesian style, with high-vaulted ceilings and delicate architrave, signage done up in a calligraphic hand. Not very Qunari at all, but that was the point. The owner didn’t care much for tradition, beyond getting up early and wearing loose-collared shirts. It was family-owned, and proudly too. A real pillar of the community.
It was also the front for a Speak-easy. It almost had to be. There was no money in hotels, what with the depression.
Modern AU by @ichigo-otaku for @thekingofcarrotflower
He had taken Sera’s recommendation more seriously when he realizes most of the gyms in the area were much less accommodating than he’s used to. Not only that, but many of them are owned by the same company, Ferelden Fitness, and because he’s been banned from becoming a member at any facility owned by them, he has limited options.
Sera highly recommends the small and almost impossible to find gym when they talk over drinks. She’s got a girl in her lap and she takes her attention away from the conversation long enough to giggle and kiss her between sentences. “Just sayin’, fancy britches. The place is the best, run by a freaking beast of a lady. Woof,” she snickers. The girl in her lap, Dorian learns eventually her name is Dagna, doesn’t seem to have any complaints, too busy downing her own drink. “They’ve got great snacks and wickedly amazing showers. The shower heads are detachable too…”
Dagna giggles into her drink, and Dorian decides he’s had enough of the conversation.
He can’t deny he’s interested though, which is what brings him to a place called “Buff Bodies and Buddies.” It seems like a more intimate sort of crowd as he walks into the doors, paying close attention to the people operating various exercise equipment just beyond the front desk.
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Hello, everyone!
So, it’s that time of year! Because of the interest from everyone, I am organizing an Adoribull Holiday Exchange. Please read through the guidelines and timelines below to see if it’s something you can do before signing up. At the bottom is the link to sign up where I’ll ask you a few things so I can pair you with a gifter. Try not to spill the beans on who you get as a giftee, because I think some element of surprise would be fun! Also, please follow the account this is posted from to keep up-do-date with the exchange and for additional reminders.
Here’s a general timeline for the exchange:
Here’s the rules for gifts:
Questions? Comments? Confusions? Feel free to ask!