MY GIFT for @disturbed-katten! The prompt was, “Something fluffy and Christmassy.” from @goddamnbees
“Plasticity”
GIFTEE: @dragonflies-and-katydids
PROMPTS: “modern AU!”, “office holiday parties” (ish), “D/s, especially switch!Bull or sub!Bull”, “totally fine with smut”.
TAGS: adoribull, adoribull holiday exchange, nsfw, modern AU, implicitly negotiated kink.
– @mater–tua , Jan 8th.
The Qun never pegged him for much of an artist. Then again, they never thought he would have turned either. No, not bright-eyed, stout-hearted Ashkaari. Not the devout, unyielding pillar that was Hissrad. But it turned out that the Qun was fallible, and once you caught a glimpse the first crack in the lattice of precariously balanced truths, you began to see them all.
Why not an artist? The Iron Bull was damned good with his hands. It was as good as anything else, and frankly, there were worse ways to eke out a living in the hazy, snow-capped mountains in Ferelden. (Pensions were things that awaited retired servants of the Qun. The Qun took care of its own. Nothing was set aside for someone discharged from service as he was—tal-vashoth—except a one-way plane ticket out of Seheron and a half-hearted assassination attempt on the other side.) No, Bull had spent enough time taking (people) things apart with his hands. Making something with them was a good change of pace.
In the following years, Bull made a life for himself with the assortment of pieces that came out of the little abandoned-studio-turned-workshop he rented on the edge of Haven University campus. The Iron Bull experimented. Paintings with heavy-handed strokes in reds and blacks and oranges depicted the smoke and ripening carnage under the fiery swell of the Seheron sun at high hour. More whimsical watercolours captured dragons in flight and their long, undulating forms and the twilight catching the glint of scales. Sometimes, it wasn’t even a painting, but a careful floral arrangement, or painstakingly etched leather mask in Orlesian style.
Silk Surprise
Author: @ms-ashri
Words: 4568
Rating: Explicit!
Summary: Adoribull holiday exchange for @elthadriel! Dorian has an intimate surprise for the Iron Bull.
Sorry if there are any inaccuracies and stuff, I’ve only really played through the game itself once.
—
The Iron Bull had briefly mentioned it a few weeks ago during one of their nights together in the mercenary’s mess of a bedroom. Dorian had been pressed up against the wall, squirming, with this hands pinned above his head with one of Bull’s hands while the other was down the front of his smalls. His hand was wrapped around the mage’s cock, stroking him firmly. Dorian’s body shuddered, whimpering slightly as Bull bent down to suck at a spot on his neck.
“Fuck Dorian, even your underwear is all fancy,” hissed Bull, trailing more kisses up his neck and behind one of his ears. There he gave a low growl. “Mmm, I’d love to fuck you in a pair of silky panties. Maybe pink. Have you make a mess in them, just for me.”
Honestly Dorian had forgotten about that comment for a couple days, until one night while he lay alone in his bed, thoughts drifting to the Iron Bull who was out in the Hissing Wastes with the Inquisitor. The bed was much too cold without him there, nude, with those large hands running over his body. He’d lean his massive body over Dorian, his hot breath drifting across his face as he pressed against him –
The moan he released seemed to ring around in his small room, startling him. He kept his hand wrapped around his length, moving it in long, teasing strokes just as Bull loved to do to him. It was then that he remembered. Laying there he could just imagen the silken lace covering his body, along his crotch and the stockings on his thighs. Oh, and the look on Bull’s face when he realized Dorian remembered his offhand comment, that Dorian had put effort in doing something just for Bull, a man who gave everything and never asked for anything in return.
Besides, he would look rather fantastic in something like that.
…
It took a while for Dorian to even start on his plan. He had to wait for the Inner Circle’s next trip to Val Royeaux, which didn’t come up too often, much to his disappointment. Then there was the difficult task of obtaining said article of clothing without Bull finding out; not exactly a simple task when the one you are involved with is an ex-Ben-Hassrath Spy.
Thankfully, a month later a few members of the Inquisition were making their way to the city. The whole journey he was rather giddy, nearly hoping up and down in his seat, earning a few questioning looks from Blackwall thought he never made any comments. Even better was that Bull was assisting the Chargers with a mission not too far from the Orlesian City and would be rejoining with the rest of them in a few days’ time. It was the perfect opportunity for him to put his plan into action.
Distant Smoke on the Horizon
Bull falls in love. Slowly.
To @cyber-fairie, from @zythepsary. I hope you enjoy! <3
Prompts:
- Hurt/Comfort from either of them
- First time they each realize what they have is maybe love
- Reunion after separation (prefer pre-Tresspasser)
7k words | Adult | Brief mentions of violence
Something is wrong with Redcliffe.
The rifts are weirder than usual, the Grand Enchanter is acting like she didn’t run into Lavellan in Orlais, and there’s way too many mages around for Bull’s comfort. All the Tevinter people are mages, even the ones in full armor; the way they hold their swords gives it away. Some of the southern mages still try to hide their staves under their cloaks, like the shape of a staff isn’t recognizable, and they’re all tired and hungry. That won’t end well. People do things they regret when they’re desperate, and a frightened mage can do more damage than one strong man with a sword.
Bull can’t believe this town hasn’t gone up in flames yet.
“I don’t like it, either,” says Lavellan, as they exit the tavern. He reaches over his shoulder towards his quiver, absently tapping each arrow. “While we’re here, we might as well walk into the trap.”
It’s not a trap, but adding another Vint to this mess doesn’t help. The man they meet in the Chantry is all smiles and quick wit, addressing them with an odd kind of grace, like he’s on stage. He’s fascinated by Lavellan and the mark on his hand, and Bull doesn’t trust that for a minute.
“Watch yourself,” says Bull, keeping his eye on Dorian. Four against one. One exit. He could bring the Chantry down on their heads with his fire, but Bull knows that mages can’t cast as well without their hands. First: the hands, and then the throat. Keep his axe ready, in case a demon claws its way out. “The pretty ones are always the worst.”
Dorian takes that as a compliment, beaming. His smile falters when he glances at the axe on Bull’s shoulder.
“Suspicious friends you have here,” says Dorian, and then the Redcliffe problems get weirder.
When I Say All The Things That I Want To
From @thekingofcarrotflower to @ofwolvesandshatteredshields for being a wonderful human being & pinch hitting. <3
Angst with a happy ending, blood, canon-typical violence below.
“I have sand in my boots, sand in my robes, sand in places I never dreamed of having sand,” Dorian complained as they traversed the expanse of shifting desert. Bull let out a small huff in answer - it had been nearly two weeks of this now, and everything from Dorian’s complaining to the Boss’s ceaseless exuberance to the unrelenting rays of sun were getting to be too much, even for him.
Normally, none of those things bothered Bull. Really, he could even say he had grown fond of Dorian’s whining, finding it endearing when Dorian’s nose crinkled in exaggerated disgust or annoyance. But, the desert heat was unrelenting, his skin was raw from the sun and wind, his knee ached from more than one misstep that caused him to go skidding down a dune. There were still more Venatori to clear out, another one of those eerie tombs in the distance left to explore, and rifts that made the night sky glow green on the horizon. He was tired of the desert, and sympathized with Dorian about how irritating the sand was becoming. Each evening meant taking off his boots and dumping out a pile of sand outside their tent. There was sand in their bedrolls, which did admittedly make it to places to Bull didn’t particularly want sand.
“Ah, shove it,” Sera said, poking Dorian in the shoulder with the sharp end of an arrow she’d been using to clean her fingernails, “We all got sand in places it don’t belong. ‘Sides, I bet you like it when you get an excuse to ask the big guy ‘ere to inspect all your crevasses.” Sera punctuated the statement by smacking the arrow against Dorian’s ass.
Dorian spluttered slightly, batting her away. It was hard to tell, his already dark skin having deepened even darker under the constant sun, but Bull could swear Dorian was blushing. He caught Dorian’s gaze for a moment and grinned. Whatever their … relationship was, it had recently went from the occasional tumble whenever Dorian decided to show up in his room, to a more consistent thing, Bull expecting him to make it to his room more nights than not. Even the Boss had asked them both about it, and she was currently giving them an amused smile over her shoulder.
“Yes, well,” Dorian smoothed out his mustache, a nervous habit Bull had quickly noticed early in their nebulous relationship, “Pleased to hear you’ve picked up on some of my impeccable vocabulary.”
Bull snorted loudly at the deflection, earning a glare from Dorian and a grin from Sera.
The moment of camaraderie quickly passed, the sound of distant chanting rising up from the dunes. Adaar’s attention snapped back to the task at hand, her easy smile quickly turning into something determined. Dorian’s own expression quickly went grim as he recognized the too-familiar incantations of his vile countrymen. Before the Inquisition, Bull wouldn’t have thought anyone could rival his hatred for ‘Vints, but both Krem and Dorian’s disgust occasionally gave his dislike a run for its coin.
The Beefy Bodyguard and the Magnificent Mage
Title: The Beefy Bodyguard and the Magnificent Mage
For: @fwolfling
From: @redeemer-headcanon / @coveredinfeels
Beta: chocobofangirl
Warnings/etc: none that leap to mind, it’s fairly tame.
prompt: modern au – Bull and the Chargers are a security team hired by Magister Pavus to provide security for his estranged son after death threats/actual attempt on his life. Dorian is less than thrilled.
Bull should have known something was up, the cagey way the Magister responded when he asked about his son’s current security arrangements. He should have known something was up the moment a Tevinter Magister tried to hire an Orlesian-based merc group headed by a Qunari to guard his son, apparently currently in the Free Marches.
“He’s summering with a friend by the name of Trevelyan, some sort of Ostwick… nobility.” the Magister had said, expression through the grainy video call making it clear that his opinion on Free Marcher nobility was nearly as low as his opinion on qunari mercenaries.
Also, who the fuck says ‘summering’? Poncy asshole. Still, he was very rich, too desperate to negotiate properly, and at least sounded genuine when he was worrying about his son getting knocked off. “You know anything about the source of the threats?”
“It may well be someone from Tevinter. I would not say I am bereft of enemies, and if they can’t get to me, well– it’s politics, you understand.” He says it like he expects Bull to not understand at all, and Bull does his best meathead impression. Understand Tevinter politics, him? Nah. Bull barely knows Tevinter has a Divine, let alone that the guy who most recently bribed and backstabbed his way to said holy position is at odds with the guy who most recently bribed and backstabbed his way to Archon, and everyone else is either taking a side or taking cover.
Tevinter politics as usual, which is to say, it’s a mess. The Ben-Hassrath like a mess. Good to hide in. He might not be one of their number any more, but it’s not like they’ve changed their tactics recently.
Shit, he hopes that’s not what’s going on. He doesn’t fancy a clash with any of his former colleagues. He’ll do it if he has to, but– A mess. Definitely a mess.
“I can’t say I’ll take the job until I’ve talked to your son, but I can promise I’ll go there, meet with him face to face, and do my best to convince him to accept additional assistance with his security. Fee for that’s upfront, mind.” For the sort of money the Magister’s waving about, his boys would happily go to Weisshaupt, never mind a nice jaunt up to the Free Marches. Even if Dorian Pavus tells them to fuck off, they’ll be paid up and ready to take on some local work.
Stitches is going to be happy, at least. And spend all his spare cash on cheese.
Happy holidays @grenoiulle!! It is I, your secret Santa, actually @chaoslindsay. Here is your present, for your prompt:
The filthiest cum!inflation porn you can imagine
Thank you… for this prompt… the prompt of my heart. Here is the NSFW version! It’s got dick(s).
Adoribull Secret Santa: A Paw-us and a Puppy
For @goddamnbees, by oopsbirdficced/dreamychaos
Prompt: -anything about dorian bonding with the chargers – slowing being integrated into their ranks and becoming ~*ONE OF THEM*~ clenches fist
-Anything with dogs. :|a Is Dorian shocked to learn that there’s something to the southern obsession???? DOES HE ADOPT A THREE-LEGGED, ONE-EYED DOG THAT IS WARY OF BULL AT FIRST???? Does Krem find a box of puppies in the snow???? I trust your judgement
(The dogs featured here are loosely based on Pyranese mountain dogs. I will probably write a coda at some point with the bath scene.)
~
“Keep your guard up, Krem!” Dorian sighed dreamily as he watched. Bull being commanding was delightful to watch.
“If my guard goes any higher, it’ll be in the sky with the damned Breach, Chief.” The slightly acerbic reply came courtesy of one Cremisius Aclassi, who was also very easy on the eyes. There was a reason Dorian hadn’t objected too much to being asked to fling the occasional spell for them to deflect. There was a bright, high chuckle from across the fighter’s ring, where Dalish leaned against the fence, also enlisted to spell flinging duty.
She and Dorian met eyes and shared a moment of perfect accord, before they both smirked, and Dorian flung some low level lightning as Dalish called vines to wrap round their legs. Both men were reduced to swearing viciously. Krem had leapt out of the way of the plants and gotten zapped by the lightning, while Bull had blocked the lightning and gotten snared by the plants.
They got themselves sorted out, and we’re about to re-engage, when a small bundle of russet hair and brown and green clothes bolted out to the ring.
“Krem, Krem!” The person who had neatly vaulted to sit atop the low fence was none other than the Inquisition’s own lead scout. Dorian couldn’t quite remember her name. It had something to do with Varric’s books, he was certain. Krem lit up, and with a brief glance at Bull, loped over to greet her.
“Lace, what’s up? Is everything okay?” The man bent to give her a kiss on the cheek, and Skinner wandered up to lean beside Dalish. Maybe not one of Varric’s books then? And he’d been so sure. Bull was going to be disappointed, he’d been trying so hard to get Dorian to remember people’s names. Called it ‘spoiled brat reconciling to the people’ - at least, that had been the last silly moniker. Dorian called it the school of hard knocks’ version of showing him how to be what the South considered to be a decent person. It was definitely an uphill struggle, and the very definition of culture shock. Dorian tuned back in to the conversation.
“…and this great huge idiot decided to give us puppies! I’m not sure if it was out of thanks, or like, some misguided idea of tribute or what, but puppies!” the usually quite level-headed dwarf was practically squealing at the prospect. He’d thought, up til now, that the Fereldan preoccupation with dogs was mostly just exaggeration, and a fondness for displaying national pride. He had a sinking feeling it also extended to the actual furry wiggly beasts. She sounded far too excited about this prospect.
“Okay, then. Shall we go meet some puppies, Chief?” Krem was smiling. Dalish actually looked excited, and Skinner was actually displaying human emotion on her actual face, a faint smile to be precise. And Bull wasn’t objecting, no, he’d turned around and yelled for Grim, Stitches, and Rocky. Dorian had a moment of fleeting horror, looking at Bull, whose face was light, happy, and expectant, and realizing he was actually going to have to go meet the drooling monsters. Ugh.
Krem and Bull departed briefly to remove their weighted armor, and returned in casual clothes. Dorian had recognized this as the prime moment to escape, but Dalish, tricky elf that she was, had engaged him in an interesting magical theory debate, and now he was stuck. Dorian was beginning to suspect a conspiracy.
He trailed after the excited crowd, dispirited, and Bull dropped back to check on him, chuckling when he saw the other man’s expression.
“Don’t look too excited there, Kadan.” He laughed. Dorian sighed dramatically. “Puppies, Kadan. Puppies shouldn’t make you look like you’re walking to the gallows.”
“Puppies are slobbering, clawed, hair-shedding monstrosities.” Dorian grumbled. “My outfit is going to be ruined.”
“Ah.” Bull nodded sagely. “Which means that you’ve secretly wanted one your whole life, but your parents and society being what they were, you couldn’t have one?” Dorian sputtered and huffed. Bull looped an arm around his shoulders and Dorian leaned into his solid, steady bulk, grumbling.
“I’m assuming they’re Mabari?” He asked, resigned. Bull shrugged.
“Hey, Harding! Are they Mabari pups?” He called up to the scout, and Dorian experienced a brief flare of pride. Her name did have something to do with Varric’s books! Sort of.
“We have other dogs than Mabari, you know,” she complained. “These dogs are better than any silly old wardog. These are Frostback Herding Dogs.” She proclaimed, and Stitches visibly brightened.
“You’re joking! Someone just gave us two litters of Frosties? Those dogs are most Fereldan farmers’ most prized possessions!” Stitches was wide eyed, and Harding, Dorian could swear, had little hearts on her eyes. She started gushing about something he couldn’t fillies related to breeding and working dogs, and Dorian sighed slightly, leaning more firmly into Bull’s side. Not cuddling. At all. He was faintly disappointed.
“If they’re not Mabari, they don’t do that weird mystical bonding thing, do they, Amatus?” He asked softly, not wanting to show the extent of his ignorance. He hated being ignorant. Bull chuckled lowly.
“That’s a predominant trait in the Mabari line, yeah, but that sort of loyalty is something they breed for. They might not have a ‘mystical bond’,” here Dorian elbowed his lover for making fun of his choice of words, receiving a smile, a squeeze, and a slightly sore elbow for his trouble. “But they are loyal to a fault. That’s all the fabled Mabari bond is, you know. Unwavering loyalty. In Mabari it’s bred to the extreme, creating a dog who will literally follow one person until one of them dies.” Bull finished his explanation, and Dorian wondered idly on what occasion he’d chanced upon learning this random factoid. He hummed thoughtfully.
He followed the rest of the Chargers through the barn door, and into a stable that had been ringed in hay bales to, presumably, prevent and escapees. He resigned himself, then and there, to replacing his current outfit. He clambered over the hay and through the stall door with the rest of them, and was confronted with the sight of eleven enormous, fluffy white clouds, decorated with straw and dirt. They quickly resolved into giant, young, fluffy dogs, and Dorian gaped slightly.
“Those aren’t puppies! They’re enormous!” He yelped, and Bull positively melted.
“Yes they are, Kadan, just look at the size of their feet!” He gushed, and dragged Dorian down to the floor with him. Dorian yelped again, as a puppy bounded up to him and knocked him over to enthusiastically bathe his face.
“Amatus, help!” He sputtered, flailing uselessly. Bull laughed, pulling the puppy off and propping Dorian up against his side. His moustache was absolutely wrecked, no two ways about it. Dirt and dog slobbering spiked it out oddly, and part of it was sort of smeared up his nose. Bull chuckled, but not unlikely, and leaned over to kiss him. Dorian squawked and tried to redirect him.
“Don’t kiss me, I’m hideous!” He cried, and the Chargers, to a man, laughed. He shot them all glares, but their expressions weren’t malicious, just fond and slightly exasperated.
“Kadan, a bit of dog slobber doesn’t make you hideous. Come on, Dorian.” Bull cajoled, as a small, soft, wet something dabbed gently at Dorian’s hand. He looked down and saw a pup, smaller than the rest, and strangely missing a leg.
“What happened to this one?” he asked, tentatively rubbing one of the puppy’s velvet-soft floppy ears. Harding looked over and her expression softened.
“It’s a birth defect. It happens sometimes, even when the breeders are careful. It’s odd,” she said, with a smile. “That little girl’s the runt of the whole pack. She’s so shy, but she’s cuddling straight up to you.” Harding’s smile grew. “I think you just got claimed, Tevinter.” She teased, and Dorian looked down grumpily at his lap, onto which the three-legged girl pup had curled, filling it perfectly.
“Perfect. A shy pup for a shy man.” Bull proclaimed, and any other day he’d draw around himself a cloak of indignation, and declaim the fact that he was not shy, he just had more refined tastes than any of his present company. He didn’t though. Instead he tucked himself more firmly into Bull’s side, muttering about a cold draft, and skritching his new puppy’s ears. Bull chuckled fondly, pressing a kiss, finally, to Dorian’s pouting mouth before changing the subject.
He held Dorian a little tighter, though, and Dorian relaxed, drifting into a safe, calm brain-space as he combed through thick, tangled, curly white fur with his fingers.
“You need a bath, little one,” he murmured, and there had been an unfortunate lull in the conversation just then. Harding looked up with an unholy grin.
“You know what, Tevinter? You’ve got a good point.” She said slowly, and that grin was contagious. Bull was grinning too, though Dorian had to crane his neck strangely to see.
“Chargers, we have a duty to the Inquisition, and a job to do! Horns up!” Bull laughed, a little manic, but mostly just because. The Chargers were all grinning and figuring out how to organize eleven puppies and a bath, and Dorian just sighed softly, gathering his lapful of slightly smelly, fluffy giant dog a little closer, much to her delight. He dropped a surreptitious kiss atop her head, before leaning up to press a fond kiss to Bull’s jaw.
“Thanks, Amatus.” He murmured. Bull tilted a little further and pressed a brief kiss to Dorian’s lips, despite a small, fussy noise of protest.
“Anytime, Kadan.”
“Anytime, Kadan.”
A Miracle of the Everyday
Summary: In which Bull is human, and teaches science, and Dorian is Qunari (or Tal-Vashoth, if you care for distinctions) and teaches magical theory at a high school in Haven. Or, the story to really put the Alternate into AU.Tags: alternate universe - modern with magic, alternate universe- modern thedas, high school, teachers, human!Bull, qunari!Dorian, developing relationships, fantasy racism, bar fights, blood and violence, hurt/comfort.
for @hcvillicrd from @littlexabyss
“Kid,” he sighs, and scratches his head with the end of his ballpoint pen, “All the justification in the world isn’t going to stop me giving your ass detention. You know the rules. If you’re stupid enough to let me catch you doing it, maybe a detention is going to make you think twice about it in the future. Grow a brain, huh?” The young qunari mutters something and shuffles his feet. Bull’s pen stops on the pad, and he growls, “Didn’t catch that.”
“Nothing, sir.” But the inflection on the word is too glib, and Bull decides to serve a little education. He looks down slightly, into the skinny face. Though the boy cannot be more than fourteen or so, he is almost as tall as Bull, but with gangly limbs not yet at their full potential. His adult horns have not yet fully grown in either, and though he pulls himself up straighter and puffs out his chest, he is not yet any kind of match for Bull physically. And besides - Bull knows this kid. He’s a Vashoth, well known amongst the faculty for sarcastic comments and rolled eyes - clever, but a bit of a wiseass. As Bull continues to stare at him through his one narrowed eye, the young Vashoth swallows nervously and shuffles his feet again. Bull lets the silence stretch for a little longer, then murmurs softly, his voice full of latent threat, “Really? Didn’t sound like nothing. Sounded like don’t have to take orders from some viddathari scum. That sound like something that’d come out of your mouth?”
The boy’s nostrils flare as he looks up into Bull’s face. He shakes his head mutely, and Bull grins, asks, “Speak up, wouldja?”
“No, sir. Sorry, sir.” The kid’s voice has lost its flippance, and Bull leans back, finishes writing out the detention slip.
“Give this to your homeroom teacher, Adaar. I’ll see you in class later.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy takes the slip meekly enough, and Bull watches him scurry away.
He hates hall duty. He wishes he was back in the lab, trying to formulate experiments which are both exciting and curriculum-based. There is a woeful lack of teachers in Ferelden after the war, and the government had offered attractive packages to teachers from overseas to try and fill the vacancies. That’s how Bull ended up here - he supposes it’s pretty mercenary, but hell, the pay is good, and the work isn’t too taxing. But until all the vacancies are filled, there won’t be many opportunities for creating a junior science lesson plan with anything approaching the usual standard of both rigour and entertainment that Bull strives for. He sighs into the now abandoned hallway, and continues on his rounds.
Finally, it’s lunch. The day is turning lazily away from the noontime zenith, and Bull yawns over the pile of marking in front of him. Do your homework next time, he writes on the bottom of the paper in front of him, then sighs. He hates to see potential wasted, and the kid that wrote this paper has that in spades, but no head for application. Putting one hand against his stubbly cheek, he leans an elbow on the table, and raises his eyes to find his coffee cup.
And then, it happens.


