I Had A Boring Day So Here's Some Adoribull Doodle

I had a boring day so here's some adoribull doodle

If you ever feel yourself a bit underdressed just think about how Sherlock was at the Buckingham palace.

I found this LoveDorianWeek thing and I think that's could be funny so I made this doodle for the first day. Dorian the very powerfull mage potato

Some times he's a little, innocent angel,  but some times he's just like this:

♦•♦ First Kiss - part 1

My twist to the first kiss scene. Fael is drunk and he panicked. Very smooth. Wow. A+

(I bet you thought it was gonna be serious and romantic)

here’s the first request out of three that @vixiak gave to me!!! please go follow their excellent tumblr <3

here’s the prompt i got from them:

“Bull and Dorian have been in an established relationship for a long time. I would like to read about Bull’s reaction on Dorian cheating on him. The cheating only happens once, and Dorian is very regretful. He tells Bull all about it, and he’s certain Bull will want to end their relationship. Happy ending please!”

i had soooo much fun writing this, and i wrote most of it in the backseat of a taxi lol.

1,931 words long. enjoy!

One of the fair few perks of having Ben-Hassrath training is the ability to read people. Those who can usually keep their real emotions hidden underneath a mask become helpless in the face of The Iron Bull’s intellect.

Dorian has always been used to concealing his more grating feelings behind a bravado (refined to near perfection) and award-winning smiles, so to have such things revealed to the Qunari is a grating experience. Or was, until they became close. Over time, Dorian (and Bull too) has learnt to open up, to show that not all petals of a flower are beautiful. Bull makes him feel beautiful even when Dorian shows him the ugliest parts of himself.

But nothing, hardly anything could feel uglier, more shameful than the crime against love Dorian had just committed. It is part of him he wants to shove down and bury so deep that the memory never sees the light of day again. Otherwise, it would be a constant reminder shackled to him, weighting down his heart and his moral compass. Deep down, Dorian knows that if he tries to forget, it will still be a weight on his shoulders, but one that would hurt infrequently but intensely. That, and his kadan would find out sooner or later. It wasn’t difficult to figure out that him finding out would be tenfold worse than Dorian just telling him. He knew that either way, their relationship would be left in tarnishes like a ripped tapestry of a fake future, but the Iron Bull would hate him for hiding a secret for him. No, he’d despise him. Shun him and treat him like less than a person because it’s what he deserves in the end–

No.

Just calm down.

Dorian’s well-trimmed nails leave red crescent shapes in the smooth palms of trembling hands as he beings the walk of guilt to the tavern. They’ve been together, he and Bull, for so long that Dorian doesn’t even need to guess where he’ll be. He just knows. Sad.

A large contrast sparks at the tavern door as Lace offers him a playful, chipper salute, her sunny grin bidding him good afternoon. This is not a good afternoon. However, if only to preserve her beautifully childlike happiness, he responds with a smile and a half-hearted ‘afternoon’. Dorian expects her smile to falter and melt behind his back, leaving a cold space as he pushes open the door to Herald’s Rest— nothing. He feels no change from her.

The deafening yet amicable atmosphere hits him like a wall of water as he enters the tavern. Men, women, and people alike roaring with laughter and ordering ale and exchanging stories. Once, Dorian was part of it, the Chargers and Bull a tight-knit group that had let him rest among them, a part of something that truly accepted him. And now, he’s just apart.

He can see Bull- making small talk with a dwarven and a human recruit over oversized tankards- all seven foot and whatever inches of him glowing with easygoing charisma. He really is the most beautiful man he that Dorian has ever met, in both personality and appearance, something that took him a long time to realise. He wishes all of the other people here to vanish into thin air so he can be alone with Bull and worship him for the excellence that he is.

A flash, a memory, a recollection of the night before and that crumbles before his eyes. At this point, the Vint has been standing stock-still at the entrance for a good while now. Bull has noticed him. Dorian’s stomach twists grotesquely, and it’s all he can do to fight back the instincts in him threatening and invisibility spell.

“Kadan!” Bull roars, his booming voice reaching halfway across the room even with everyone else making their noise. An embarrassing heat flushes through Dorian at the shamelessly publicised nickname. The two excuses to be made are: hardly anyone in here speak Qunlat, and over half of Skyhold probably knows of their status by now. Most likely accidentally. Not telling how they found out, though. 

Bull speaks a couple words to the people who he was recently engaged in conversation with before approaching Dorian (who still can’t move, fuck, he feels sick). Bull’s grin, heartwarming and brimming with affection, slowly slides off his face as he notices his lover’s grim face, shadowed by something— something he regrets. A concerned, almost worried expression takes its place as he extends a great hand to cover Dorian’s entire bare shoulder. The contact is an instant catharsis, and does something to loose the aching tension in his muscles. No amount of caring touches could wipe clean the slate, though.

“Is everything alright?” The Iron Bull asks, his full voice gone quiet. Just tell him a lie, Dorian thinks. You can’t do this, you cannot tell him!

He’ll figure out soon enough anyway. Dorian sees a castle of citrine stone crumbling behind his eyes.

“There is…”

Speak, speak, speak. He feels dizzy with the guilt. All of a sudden, he becomes hyperaware of how dry his throat is, how sweaty his palms are-

“Come on. Let’s go somewhere.” Bull prompts, so soft and so caring, all that love he doesn’t deserve as the smaller man is gently pivoted towards the door by his shoulders. Bull is a warm wall of protection behind him as Dorian is gently steered out of the din of the tavern.

There is a low chatter in the plains of Skyhold, but the stark difference between the noise of inebriation is well welcome. Bull takes hold of his hand (and his wrist, too) and walks him behind the tavern, past where Cassandra would be standing if she didn’t have business being yelled at about becoming the Divine. 

Slipping behind the stone walls where they would so often go for a quick moment’s kiss, Dorian kept his eyes boring hard into the ground. Bull was never not gentle (unless Dorian wanted him to be rough) with him, soft when he was down, warm when he was happy, reciprocating when he was in love. 

And all this was about to end.

“What’s the long face for, kadan?” Bull tries again, slowly, his words a jest but the tone soothing and serious. Dorian stands on the precipice of guilt and wrongdoing and– why must he lose everything he gains? For a second, an infinitage rage at fate boils in his chest; and then he realises that most of it is his own fault.

If Bull were anyone else, it would take minutes of struggling and flailing for words to finally vocalise his sin. But no. This is his amatus- who he has betrayed and deserves an explanation.

“Last night, I… had relations- sexual relations… with someone else.”

And there it is, clear as day.

Kaffas.

Self-hate claws at his clothes and body, threatening to pull him six feet under, away from the world he’d cheated and had cheated back. And the second world, the great Qunari in front of him, that he had cheated on.

“Dorian…”

He feels as if there are a thousand spotlights pointed on him, and the world watches him and his irreversible mistake with jesting, jeering, judging eyes. Dorian bites his bottom lip, so hard that he’ll see the bruise later. If he hasn’t killed himself from the shame. 

“I-it was only one night, really, I was lonely, and you were nowehere to be seen, and he kept coming onto me, and at first I told myself that you wouldn’t mind if it was just a night but you do don’t you? Bull, I am s-”

“Dorian.”

He pauses and finds his body wrangling a throaty gasp of air, desperate for oxygen, for something to stop the damned trembling in his voice.

“Breathe, and tell me slowly.” Bull’s voice is lower than ever, though it’s already octaves lower than most Dorian’s heard, and stone-cold. There is worry splattered on his face, but serious worry, dark worry, and Dorian flushes burning cold.

“He was… he was an elf I met in the halls. In the evening.“ 

He remembers the man’s dark hair, red undertones barely visible, ears parting the locks. His raised eyebrows, his voice like a river, the impeccably soft, smooth undulations of his body that Dorian should’ve recoiled from.

"I had plans to return to my chambers, but he pulled me aside and- distracted me.”

Every word he speaks slowly, stalling, the venomous truth dripping from his tongue.

The Iron Bull is silent.

“We found friendship, I suppose. And then he suggested that we… keep each other company for the night.”

Dorian tumbles deeper, deeper, into embarrassment with every tenuously pronounced word.

“I declined at first, pretended I had plans, but…" 

A long pause. Bull waits, hanging on his every word and not in the good way either. Dorian is endlessly glad that he hasn’t even shown an inkling of emotion apart from stark worry, or moved a muscle; any reminder that he’s actually hearing this, taking this in, would break Dorian.

"He was very persistent. Every time I declined, he would make another excuse. In the end, I gave in. I was told it would only be one time.”

He can’t remember much of what they did— he’d slept too long afterwards to keep every memory crystal clear. Thank the hairs on the Maker’s chest.

Time passes. An internal clock crawls slowly on, the cold sun the couple’s only audience. Hopefully.

“How did you feel during it?” The Bull finally questions him, eyebrows furrowed in an unreadable expression. Dorian feels interrogated. Dorian feels scared.

“Well, I- don’t think I remember that well,” he begins, then realises it sounds like a pathetic excuse, “I knew deep down that it was wrong of me, but… Kaffas, Bull!”

This huge, powerful, caring Qunari actually pulls Dorian into a consoling hug, stroking the back of his neck with his thumb; what he always does when Dorian is upset. Without pulling back, he speaks.

“This thing that happened has a lot of difference to a long-term affair that you started, Dorian. What you’ve done isn’t great, yeah, but you’re upset by it and you want me to forgive you. Is that right?”

Dorian weakly nods against thick, warm grey skin. The sun shining down on them finally feels warm— what Bull said does make sense, and maybe Dorian had just been catastrophising. Well, if he was, he had a Maker-blessed reason to. 

He’s never felt safer in Bull’s embrace, arms as thick as small logs wrapped around his smaller form, nearly hoisting him off the ground. It’s so heart achingly familiar, and he honestly loves it. Wait, no. Don’t include that.

“I’m not going to end this with you over one mistake, kadan. We’ve done a lot to get here, and I’m going to try my best to keep us there." 

The tears brimming in Dorian’s slate-grey eyes and the affection behind Bull’s words feel very real, and he slumps further into the hug, warm and light-headed and still a little panicked.

It’s true, indeed, they’ve jumped the entire spectrum together— from Vint and Qunari enemies to inseperable lovers. Perhaps, it’s made their relationship stronger than if they had began on friendly terms. He believes (no, both of them believe) that they could go to hell and back, holding hands. Being part of the Inquisition, hell does face them. But as long as The Iron Bull is there, by his side, by his seat at the tavern, by his bed? Hell better watch out.