what she said stitches

Achmed who?

Saving Me Roman Godfrey x Reader

Requester: Anonymous

Prompt: A Roman Godfrey imagine where the reader is attacked by something or someone in the woods then when she’s about to be killed Roman saves her. When he does he falls in love for the reader, at first sight and he promises that she’ll be okay and that he’ll protect her. Just make it fluffy please, thank you!


Note: Enjoy 

Originally posted by mlle02love

Originally posted by charmantaelita

All of your friends liked to call you “Red”.

Short for “Little Red Riding Hood” even though your true name was (Name). The reason behind the nicknames was for many reasons but the most obvious reason was because ever since you could remember you loved the color red and wore it everyday.

Not to mention your favorite fairy tale growing up was Little Red Riding Hood. For some odd reason you just seemed to relate with the character in the book and wanted her courage to be able to stand up to the wolf when he asked her what was in her basket.

To make matters even more coincidental your mother used to raise abandoned and sick wolf puppies. You loved to play with them like real puppies and had actually adopted one you named Beo.

You had found him when you were 12 well you were walking down the street to your grandmothers house. You had found him laying on the road whimpering and injured. He was the runt of the family so he was smaller compared to the others and appeared to have not even opened his eyes.

Your mother told you either keep the animal there since the adult was looking for them or bring it back home if it was injured and the poor wolf looked like it was about to bleed out.

So you wrapped Beo up in your red hoodie and hurried to take him back home. Your mother cleaned him up and had stitch his leg from what she said a feral cat attacking him.

The momma wolf probably thought he was dead and left him behind but you and your mom certainly weren’t going to give up on him. You made sure to feed him special milk from a tube and talk to him and cradle him until he was healthy and finally able to open his eyes.

You and him had developed such a tight bond that you couldn’t let him go and your mom accepted to keep him as a pet. Ever since then you’d been best friends since you didn’t have much friends at school.

You went to Hemlock High and really it was one of the crappiest schools ever. You were a senior and you could drive but you choose to walk from your home to school to avoid having to deal with others.

That was probably why you didn’t have any friends. You were bullied since 1st grade about you being “Little Red” so you were always quiet and independent in class and only spoke if a teacher asked a question.

Sure enough another day had started and you were walking down to school with a messenger bag slung over your shoulder. Today you were wearing a red plaid lace up dress with black details and brown combat boots.

You had on black leggings underneath your dress knowing how boys here liked to sneak peek under girls skirts and dresses. Most of the girls here were sluts anyways who purposefully bent over with heels on to get the idiots to meet them behind the gym after school.

You tugged on the hood of your red fleece coat as you passed by one of those said idiots.

Roman Godfrey.

Keep reading


Shawn and Alex are in her small but comfortable apartment, talking about shows and music.

“Yeah it’s really good you have to watch it.” She said, setting her drink down. Already pretty tired.

“Alright but I’ll only watch it with you. It’s cute how you get excited whenever I have a question.” Shawn laughed, playing with her hair.

Alex blushed and leaned on his shoulder. “Cause it makes me think I know a lot of things.” She giggled.

“You do know a lot of stuff, hun. You just explain stuff so thoroughly and I love that about you.” He whispered.

“I get excited.” She giggled.


“Yeah I would break up with the guy. He knew what he was doing!” Alex said, facing Shawn on the far corner of the couch.

“True. I’d beat his ass for you.” Shawn said, making her giggle.

“Thanks, cutie.” She smiled. He chuckled and blushed a bit.

“Do you think having a.. ‘Partner’ or whatever, is something everyone needs to get through life?” Shawn asked, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“Jeez. You got deep really fucking fast.” She laughed, picking at her sofas stitching.

“Well… First off… That’s what she said,” He started, making her laugh, “secondly, answer my question!”

“Uhm… No. It’s not a necessity, you see… Here’s what I think, partners are like… Purses! Yeah, purses! They’re there, and they look all nice next to you. You have them for a while, maybe a couple months. Or even years. But then something happens and you get a new one. But then… There’s ‘soulmates’-”

He cut her off, “You believe that? Like soulmates, I mean.”

“I think everyone has that one person that becomes a soulmate, whether for life or just at a certain time in life. You know? Someone that understands you on a deeper level. Someone you connect with over a while- I dunno, that’s just what I think. It’s stupid, whatev-”

“No no, I- I get it. It’s not stupid. I like the way you think.” He stated, she smiled and leaned back on her couch, getting a bit more comfortable.

“Thanks. So what do you think?”

“About what?” He asked serious, she snorted.

“The goddamn question!” She giggled, throwing her head back.

“Oh yeah! Um… Yeah I think it’s a nice thing to have. But not really necessary.” He shrugged, he can’t top what Alex said.

“Do you think it’s necessary for you?” She questioned.

He hesitated. Thinking about it maybe a little too much, “I mean, I’ve always wanted a wife and kids. I still want it, but lately I’ve been thinking about… About if she doesn’t want kids.”

“Well fuck her, don’t let her interfere with what you always wanted.” Alex said, not really thinking before speaking.

“Do you want kids?” Shawn asked.

“Haven’t thought about it, really. If I’m with the right person, I don’t see why not.” She smiled.

“Okay,” He smiled, “I think I’ll be okay then.” Shawn laughed, grinning when she nodded.

“You will.” Alex said, not really getting what he was saying.

“Wow you have no idea what I’m saying, do you?”

“Yeah you said you’ll be okay!” Alex giggled then let out a yawn. Shawn got a bit frustrated but decidided to just dive in.

“Oh my god. I… Like you. Yeah, I like you. You’re beautiful and funny and… You fell asleep… Fucking… great.” He sighed, seeing Alex with her eyes closed, breathing slowly.

Shawn smiled and kissed her head, covering her with her Spiderman blanket.

“Goodnight, Al.” He whispered


Brian, Alex and Shawn are hanging out at a carnival that was gonna be there for just the weekend.

They’re all sharing a funnel cake, talking about random things. Until Brian, being the idiot best friend pipes up when Shawn gets up to throw the trash away.

“So, Shawn told you he’s like… In love with you already?” He asked, making Alex look up quickly.

“Um… No? He likes me?”

“Fucker won’t stop talking about you… Yesterday he told me that he was gonna tell you- okay I never said this.”

“What ride next?” Shawn asked, smiling at Alex.

“Uhhh, whichever one you want!” Brian suggested, looking at Alex, his eyes saying, “Don’t say anything, for the love of god, please don’t.”

Alex nodded and stood up next to Shawn, “Yeah. You choose. We chose a lot of rides already.”

“Okay… That one! There’s no line.” He said, pointing at one where you have to lay on your stomach and it spins in a circle. Like a hanglider thing. It was three people per row so it was perfect. No third wheeling on this ride.

They all walked over, Alex thinking about what Brian told her. She did sort of hear something last night, but she was half asleep.

“Hey. You alright?” Shawn asked, nudging her arm.

“Yeah,” She smiled, following Brian to the ride, “Just thinking.”

“About what?” He questioned, grazing his hand over hers as they walked through the line. Brian wide eyed her, the look saying 'don’t say anything, just give an Alex answer’

“Mortality.” She shrugged, Shawn laughed and motioned for her to go first on the ride.

“Sounds depressing.” Shawn laughed, getting situated on the ride next to her, she was inbetween Brian and Shawn.

“Please don’t tell him anything. He wants to wait for the right moment apparently.” Brian mumbled, Alex smiled and nodded.

She can wait.


Requested by Anon - hello lovely could you do a 23 for Hotch x reader please ✨ ps i love your work
Prompts – 23 – ‘Babe, you have a problem, please, let me help you.’

Word Count – 718

Characters – Jack and Hotch x Reader

You had been working almost every hour as you had been working longer shifts as the time of season was when we saw a larger amount of causalities coming in. The spring and summer season caused the younger kids to be in more accidents as they were out playing after being coped up all winter. You had been working almost 24 hours when you opened the curtain to see a familiar.
‘Y/N.’ Jack said as he saw you enter.
‘Hi, Jack. Aaron.’ You welcomed your boyfriend of a couple of months and his son, who you had looked after a few days before.
‘Well Mr. what happened to you.’ You asked Jack as you sat at his side.
‘I fell of my bike and hurt my wrist.’ Jack said holding his wrist. You sat his chart beside him.
‘Is it okay if I feel it? ’You asked and he nodded. You gently felt his wrist and watched were he flinched. You looked to Hotch.
‘He needs to go for an x-ray.’ You told Hotch and you say his face fall.
‘He’s flinching when I touch his carpal bones.’ You said showing Hotch where on your wrist.
‘It may be a strain but he may have broken it so to be sure, I’ll get a nurse to take you there.’ You told them and picked up Jack’s chart up.
‘Can’t you come Y/N?’ Jack asked as he watched you gather your things.
‘I wish, an x-ray is so cool but I have to go and help other patients. I’ll probably see you later though.’ You told him.
‘You need to tell me what bones you see and what colour cast.’ You told him before walking out through the curtain getting a nurse.
As you were working on and elderly woman you heard your name getting shouted. You turned.
‘Bye. I’ll see you later.’ You saw jack as he walked past with Hotch the nurse you smiled and blow a kiss at him.
‘Oh your boy is so cute.’ Mrs. Anarchy said from beside you. You turned and smiled.
‘Oh no, ma’am he’s not mine.’ You confessed.
‘Is he not.’ She asked shocked.
‘No, his mother died a few years ago.’ You told her.
‘Oh that’s a shame but he and his father both love you.’ The lovely lady said and you tilted your head to the side.
‘Come on you don’t see it. They both have the same look of admiration in their eyes.’ She said and you went silent thinking about what she said. You finished working on her stitches.

As you left the hospital after your shift you had a text from Hotch saying he wanted you to come over. You smiled and drove over there. You knocked on the door and saw Jack answer it.
‘Y/N! you were right. You could see all my bones.’ Jack said as you walked in behind him.
‘I also got a blue cast.’ Jack said as he lifted it. You laughed.
‘As long as you don’t keep breaking bones to see them.’ You told him. He started going up the stairs.
‘I won’t.’ He said as he ran up the stairs. You walked into the living room and saw Hotch sitting there, staring of into the distance. You sat next to him.
‘You okay?’ You asked, he just nodded but still not focusing on anything.
‘Babe,’ You said and he turned to you.
‘You have a problem, please, let me help you.’ You said as he focused on you, when you were speaking.
‘I need to say something.’ Aaron said as he turned towards you. You nodded.
‘I know we’ve only been dating a few months but after seeing you with Jack today, I- I, don’t know something snapped inside.’ He said as he grabbed your hands, rubbing them.
‘I want to be with you. I want to have you by my side. And some day I would like to turn you into to Mrs. Hotchner.’ he said and captured you lips, you pulled back placing your fore head against his.
‘Mrs. Anarchy was right.’ You said remembering the conversation.
‘What?’ He asked.
‘The lady I was treating after Jack, she said that both of you held admiration in your eyes.’ You said and you and Hotch burst out laughing.

Adoribull Fic | January 6 | On the Road Again

A very merry Adoribull holiday to @kayura-fuckthechantry-fii! You suggested Bull and Dorian meet before the events of DA:I, and I decided, yep, that’s the one for me. So here is a fic for you!

The stats: explicit! 4,400~ words! There is no objectionable content, I think!

The summary: The Bull met a traveler on the road.

The fic:

On the Road Again

They met a traveler on the road, some thirty miles out from the nearest civilized town in Nevarra. He was sitting in a tree back from the main thoroughfare, and Skinner spotted him.

“Shem in a tree,” she said.

“What,” said Stitches, “is that one of your songs? Chief, stop swinging your arms, I’m trying to get this damned bandage tied.”

“I don’t know that one,” said Dalish to Skinner, “is that from your clan?”

“Thought that was a mosquito,” said the Bull. “Aw, hey, let it bleed. It’s clotting. Look pretty good as a scar. What do you think that is, a scimitar?” He flexed his arm up to examine the cut framing his biceps.

Stitches swore as the ends of the bandage escaped him.

“Leave Stitches be, chief,” Krem called from the wagon trundling ahead of them. “We need him too much for you to make his head pop off.”

“No,” said Skinner sharply. She pointed. “Shem in a tree.”

The Bull looked. A man was halfway up a scraggly tree, behind three other trees, all with better spaced branches and thicker foliage, but nearer to the road. The man stared back at the Bull. He said, “Bollocks.”

“Shit,” said the Bull in mild surprise. “Shem in a tree.”

Dalish, looking thoughtful, said, “Shem in a tree. Shem … in a tree.”

The man was still swearing. “Vishante kaffas!”

“‘vint in a tree,” the Bull corrected.

“What’s he speaking?” Krem asked.

“Mostly swearing.”

They’d pass him soon. Hard to tell at a distance, but the man looked in poor repair; he’d mottling to his face that suggested fighting, and no sack to his back. The Bull considered the bandit operation the Chargers had only just laid waste to for the good of the countryside, and a substantial reward from the constabulary thirty miles up the road.

“Want I should call the stop?”

The Bull shook his head at Krem. “Nah. We’ll catch up. You can handle our guests?”

Krem sneered at the Bull. “Please, chief. The little lambs are sleeping.” His maul had done that.

“Keep ‘em dreaming,” the Bull said. He gestured to the footed company with him to follow. “Put your knives away, Skinner. He might be friendly.”

“He’s shem,” she said.

“She’s got a point,” said Stitches.

“She’s got twelve,” said the Bull, “and you’re shem, too.”

Stitches and Skinner exchanged a look.

“Watching you,” Skinner told him.

Dalish was whispering rapidly under her breath. Protective spell, mayhap. The Bull hadn’t much worked to learn the high pattering tongue she used for magic craft. The lines of power tucked between the words gave him the creepies under his skin.

The matted leaves and sticks that lined the forest’s floor crunched satisfyingly underfoot. The man’s sleeve had caught on a branch, and he swore again as the Bull drew up even with the tree. He tried for purchase on the trunk, but his boots, a fine leather worn thin, with soles meant for looks rather than work, skidded off the bark. He was very quick to plant the right foot heavily on the branch again.

“Looks like you’re stuck,” the Bull called.

The man gave up his struggling. He looked at the Bull. He’d dark skin and black tousled hair and a sluggishly oozing gouge over a fresh black eye.

“So it seems,” he said.

“Need a hand?”

The man considered this. “No,” he said, “I’ve two of my own. Why don’t you run along.” He fluttered his hand at the Bull.

Of all things, the Bull felt not amused, but charmed. “Got a hell of a shiner.”

“A what?”

Stitches stepped forward. “Your eye.”

The man’s confusion cleared. Lightly he touched two fingers to his cheek then winced.

“Yes, well. I’m doing rather better than–” He glanced at the Bull and then away. “This strapping fellow.”

The Bull laughed.

“Hm,” said Skinner. “I like him.”

“Don’t be deceived by my dashing, some might say rakish appearance,” said the man, one arm pinned above his head, and his legs bent at odd angles as he braced on the trunk and a branch. If he lost his balance and fell, the Bull saw, his arm would wrench from the socket. “My wits are sharp, and my charms, without number.”

“Think I’ll cut him out.” Skinner drew a boning knife from her bandolier.

“That won’t be necessary!” The man’s voice rose.

Dalish clapped her hands. “That’s the note!”

“How’s about I get you down,” said the Bull. He set his toe against the trunk and pushed up to grab the man’s steadying branch.

“Again, that won’t be necessary! I assure you, I’m more than content with my tree–”

“We’re not going to rob you,” the Bull said.

“As I have nothing else to donate,” the man said, or perhaps had not stopped saying, “but of course for the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet–”

“They won’t fit me.”

“I can see <em>that</em>,” said the man. His eyes skimmed over the Bull’s shoulder, then again, he looked away.

The Bull grunted. “Dalish, get up there and free him.”

Humming to herself, Dalish bounded up the tree, using the Bull’s back as a spring-board up the trunk. 

“How do you do,” she said by way of introduction, and she pulled her own knife from her belt and cut through the man’s sleeve without pause.

“That is linen!” the man protested, and Dalish said, “Oh, well, it’s gone now,” and pushed him off the branch.

The Bull caught the man easily in his waiting arms, and laughing, he let off the trunk and turned, carrying him without struggle. The man’s hands gripped at the Bull’s chest. He’d a look of absolute shock, perhaps even outrage, on his strong, fine-made features.


“So, hey,” the Bull said, “there you go,” and he set the man gently to his feet.

“I–” The man’s palms were warm, callused at an angle from the space between thumb and finger to his wrist. His fingers spread wide upon the Bull’s breast. “That was hardly– I could have got myself down.”

“Free of charge,” the Bull told him. He winked.

The man’s grimy brow folded. “Do you have something in your eye?” Then he realized he’d his hands on the Bull’s chest, and he whipped them away as if the Bull were on fire.

“Yes,” said the man. “All right. Well. Thank you. That was your kind deed for the day. Well, I’m out of the tree now, so you colorful lot may be on your way.”

“Your staff’s over there,” said Dalish from the tree. “You want I should get it for you?”

“What staff?” said the man loudly. “Oh. My walking staff. Yes. If you would be so kind. But you must realize I can’t possibly repay you for such generosity.”

“Now what kind of assholes would we be,” said the Bull, “if we rescued you and then stole all the coin from your right boot?”

The man looked at him in horror.

“He’s going to shit himself, keep teasing him like that,” said Stitches. “Dalish, quit nancing. I need ice for his face.”

Dalish reemerged from the leaves. She swung a staff, rich, dark wood carved in thick swirls up to wrap about a raw green stone as big around as the Bull’s – fist, he thought. The man stood very close to the Bull, and he smelled tantalizingly of long nights in the woods. He had a gorgeous mouth, too.

“Ooh, good balance,” said Dalish. She thumped the focusing stone on her palm and gave it a squeeze. “Must have cost you a fortune. Rich 'vint shem.”

“My favorite,” said Skinner. She grinned.

“Thank you, yes,” said the man in a hurry. “My walking stick. You’ve found it.” He grabbed it from Dalish, who gave it up with a laugh.

The man’s hands slid naturally into place on the polished wood. The color of the wood was darkened along certain swirls. His hands fit to those trails.

Yep, thought the Bull, that gem was definitely as big around as his own clenched fist.

“So,” said the Bull. “'vint mage on the road. All your money in your boot. Thought you could take on all those bandits on your own, but they got a few swings on you. Grabbed your rucksack, too.”

The man swallowed. “What a fertile imagination your broad friend has,” he remarked to the group.

“Tip your head back,” Stitches said. He pulled a handkerchief from his sporran. “Ice, Dalish.”

The Bull was grinning, a slow thing. “Pretty fertile. Yeah. But don’t fret your pretty head about it. We took care of those bandits, didn’t we, Chargers?”

“Horns up,” said Dalish absently.

She pulled a small block of ice from the air, the air that dried in the Bull’s nose. Frost marked her fingertips. She handed the ice to Stitches.

Skinner crept near, silent on her toes. Magic fascinated her, made her youngish in a way nothing could. It was a clinical interest the man had showed, though, unblinking as he observed Dalish’s fingers pinch and tug through the air.

“Chargers?” said the man. He looked Dalish over. No flirtation to it, just an intrigue the Bull recognized as professional. Hm, hm, thought the Bull.

“Bull’s Chargers, you heard of us?” The Bull crossed his arms over his chest. The itching scratch on his arm pulled open. He let it. The man’s eyes darted to the Bull. His gaze caught on the Bull’s arms.

Stitches wrapped the ice in the handkerchief and pressed it firmly to the man’s eye. Though the man flinched, he stayed as he was under Stitches’ check-over.

“Let me guess.” The man’s voice dried too. “You’re the Bull. And they’re the Chargers.”

“Figured it out, huh.”

“Very clever,” the man said. “And you aren’t bandits, but, what? A traveling charity?”

“Mercenaries,” said the Bull, “licensed too. On the up and up. One hundred percent legit.” He scratched at his chin. “Well, outside the Free Marches.”

“I was under the impression the Free Marches didn’t much care for legitimacy.”

“Depends on the city,” said the Bull. “You don’t get out much do you.”

“And no one at all minds a Qunari running around Thedas, flexing his muscles at every stranded traveler he sees?”

“Stop flexing at the 'vint,” Stitches said to the Bull without turning.

“Who’s flexing?”

“You,” said Skinner.

Dalish said, “We ought to catch up.” The Bull turned his ear to her, listening. “Nightfall will be coming soon, and there’s wolves 'round here. The dead kind.”

“Nevarran shem,” said Skinner darkly. She drew her boning knife along her leather trousers then sheathed it.

The Bull grunted agreement. “So. You want to come with us, or make your own way?”

The man eyed the Bull around Stitches’ wrist. “You’re awfully trusting,” he said, as if disbelieving, “of a strange Tevinter mage. Don’t your people bind and gag their mages?”

The Bull made a show of looking around the trees, the road, the darkening sky.

“This look like Par Vollen to you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said the man. “I’ve never been.”

“You wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“I’ll trust you on that.”

“He hasn’t tied me up, for what it’s worth,” Dalish offered.

The man made a noise in his throat. “Yes, but what’s to say you won’t tie me up anyway? Strip my boots from me?”

“Hey, if feet’s what you’re into,” said the Bull. “But I’d buy you dinner first.”

His eyes widened. The man looked dartingly about, but Skinner only grumbled and Dalish rolled her eyes. Stitches, the Bull wagered, feigned deafness.

The Bull changed tack. “You got a name? Or you want we should call you 'vint?”

“Dorian,” said the man. He sounded awful young. Without that frazzled mustache, the Bull thought, he’d look it too. “Dorian Pavus. I suppose I should thank you for plucking me out of that tree.”

“You could,” said the Bull. “But we didn’t do it for a reward.”

“Shem,” said Skinner with ancient disgust.

“She keeps saying that,” said Dorian Pavus to the world, “but what does it mean?”

“Don’t fuss, shem,” Dalish told him. She patted his head. “You’ll learn.”

“I hope not,” Dorian said.

The Bull shrugged.


Town, in the morning. Dorian, who’d spent the night in one of the wagons, looked horrendous. The bruises had settled and swelled, and his hair was a wild tangle.

“How does anyone sleep like that?” he complained to the Bull.

The Bull hadn’t forgot him precisely, but put thoughts of the man aside as he’d worked through the business of a mercenary company. Dorian had sought him out on foot outside the town’s walls, after the company pitched morning camp. Checking the line of captive bandits, and reviewing the paperwork for the turn in, the Bull was surprised to find Dorian pegging his heels.

“Morning,” said the Bull.

“Good morning and good day,” said Dorian. “The dwarf next to me broke wind all night long.”

“That’s Rocky for you,” said the Bull.

Dorian looked narrowly at him. “You had a man watching me, didn’t you?”

“What, me?” said the Bull. “I’m awfully trusting.”

“No, it’s a relief,” Dorian said. “I was wondering if you were a simpleton.”

“My boys can handle themselves,” said the Bull. “Rocky never farts in his sleep.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

The Bull only shrugged, then shouted for Skinner to stop poking at the prisoners with her knives. By the time he had that all sorted out, Dorian had gone.

A shame, the Bull thought. They could always use another able body. Thinking a little too much about his able body, thought the Bull. Ah, well.

“I know that look,” said Krem, breaking away from conference with some of the greener recruits. “Just check that they’re married before you fuck 'em this time. Or that their spouse is into cuckolding. I like this town. I don’t want soldiers with long pikes chasing us out.”

“One time, Krem,” said the Bull, injured. “And hey. How was I to know what married meant?”

“You thought it was a food, didn’t you?”

“Well,” the Bull said, “he sure as shitting gave me a lot to eat.”

“I hope Andraste smites you,” said Krem. “I’m set to inherit the company, aye?”

“Keep your mouth flapping, and I’ll start looking at Stitches,” said the Bull. “All right, let’s round 'em up. Daddy feels like getting paid.”

“Don’t call yourself daddy,” said Krem. “That’s not what daddy means.”

“Start reeling in the line,” the Bull shouted, and they went to town.


A week of leave sounded a fair reward for a simple job with a high bounty. The constabulary had proved so grateful they’d added three nights free lodging and free drinks at the town’s two taverns, at the behest of the tavern’s keepers. The Bull figured they’d yank the last two nights from the tab once they saw the damage the Chargers could do to a keg, but you took what you could get.

He was on his fourth tankard of good ale when Dorian found him again. A hand touched his arm briefly, beneath the scratch, and the Bull turned as Dorian, no longer touching him, sat at the bar.

“Hey, there you are,” said the Bull. “And in new leathers, too.”

These were better suited for the road, tough rather than fine. Dorian said, “It seemed the appropriate choice. For the time being. How do I look?”

“Like shit,” the Bull said, and Dorian snorted. “But I bet under all those bruises you look something sweet.”

“Sweet, I’ve not heard,” Dorian said, “and I’m not sure I care for the taste of it,” but he sounded pleased.

“I never did thank you for helping me.”

The Bull demurred. “Wasn’t just me.”

The tavern’s light was dim and smoky. Long shadows moved through the air, silhouettes that walked laughingly across the bar, across the thick bones of Dorian’s face. Even with the bruises he looked like something the Bull wanted on his tongue.

Dorian blinked slowly, his lashes falling then rising half-mast. It was a calculated move, only slightly hampered by the swelling of his blackened eye. The Bull found he admired him for the calculation.

“So,” said Dorian.

“So,” the Bull agreed.

Dorian ran his fingertips along the bar’s edge. He had worn lines at the bases of his fingers, spots where he would have worn rings till the bandits had taken them, or he’d sold them for coin.

“What do you charge for escorting a poor traveler to safe harbor?”

“Told you, it’s on the house,” said the Bull. “Besides, it probably cost you some sovereigns, taking out a room with my boys claiming most of 'em.”

A cunning smile like silver darted across Dorian’s bruised mouth. “Oh, but I’m one of your boys. So far as the town is concerned.”

“That so.” Again, he charmed the Bull.

“Only for the night, of course,” said Dorian. “I must be on my way in the morning.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” the Bull said. “You look like you could hold on your own.”

He slid his tankard to Dorian, who took it in hand to drink from it. The ale left a sheen on his lips. Dorian licked them. His fingers were thick, long, artfully curved about the mug.

He looked at the Bull.

“Why did you help me?”

“You needed helping,” said the Bull.

“And that’s all,” said Dorian.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” the Bull said. “Nobody’s ever been kind to you before?”

Dorian looked at him. He licked his lips again. He touched the tankard; he drew his hand away. He stood from the stool. His shadow fell along the Bull, to touch his chest, his throat, his face as he looked up at Dorian.

“I think,” said Dorian, “that I’d like to be kind to you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” said the Bull.

“No,” said Dorian, who had fled Tevinter only recently, for his own reasons the Bull would not ask. A smile curved the corner of his mouth. He’d groomed his mustache to a wicked twist. Now his smile mirrored it. “But I’d like to take it anyway.”

How could the Bull say no to that?


Sex was easy when you knew what to do, and you had a sturdy bed to do it on. He asked Dorian and Dorian asked for the Bull’s cock rubbed between his ass cheeks. The Bull obliged. Cock in had never been a necessity, and oh, shit, the view. The Bull squeezed a cheek in each hand and rocked his hips forward.

Dorian said, “For god’s sake, harder,” and the Bull let go of one side of his ass to slap it. Dorian swore.

“Hard, that’s how you like it?”

“Obviously!” said Dorian, ass up, a hand between his legs to fondle his own balls. “Or else I wouldn’t have said so!”

“Can’t go too hard,” said the Bull. Idly he smacked Dorian’s ass again. Dorian jumped. His back undulated a moment. “Don’t want to break you, big guy.”

Some people liked that, the thought of breaking. Dorian flared hotter.

“You could certainly try,” he snapped. “But I don’t think you’re trying at all.”

“You always smart off this much when a guy’s fucking you?”

“Oh, but you aren’t fucking me,” said Dorian. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled, lean and crafty. “But you wish you were.”

“That your game?”

The Bull pulled back, smacked Dorian’s ass hard to see him jiggle and then the muscles clench, and shoved forward harder now, his fat cock pushing between those fat cheeks.

“You want to make me mad so I’ll take it.”

Dorian’s breath caught. His shoulder rocked with the movement of his hand, now squeezing and tugging at his own prick.

“But I’m not going to do it,” said the Bull. “Not unless you ask me for it. You want to ask me, Dorian? Ask me.” He punctuated it with light slaps to his ass, alternating sides then squeezing gently as he continued to rock. Dorian’s skin was soft around his cock, and hot, and the muscles tensed then eased then tensed again.

Mutinously Dorian turned his face to the sheets. His hips were beginning to twist now, drawing tight circles in the air as he fucked his hand. Yeah, that hand, thought the Bull. He remembered the calluses, the particular lines they followed. Strong and rough on the Bull’s chest.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.”

“Talk all night?”

“I’m going to fuck you like this,” said the Bull, “till I come on your ass. And then I’m going to lick it off you–” Dorian’s breath was catching. “–turn you over, suck your cock down–”

Dorian’s hips jerked, and the Bull left off his ass to grab his hips and hold him still to slide his dick over that tight asshole.

“You’d do that, would you?” Dorian managed. “Suck my cock? On your knees?”

The Bull hummed, pleased by the thought. “I bet you taste good, Dorian. Bet you scream when I get my tongue under your skin.”

“Do you have–any concept how filthy–”

“Oh, babe,” said the Bull, “I wanna eat you out,” and Dorian said, “Andraste, holy above others–why don’t I fuck you?”

“Why don’t you?” the Bull countered, and he reached to squeeze his own tightened balls so he spilled white and thick over Dorian’s asshole.

Dorian’s cock, it proved, was as delicious as the Bull hoped. He tongued the foreskin down the shaft, swallowed the fat, dark head. It felt even better in his ass, Dorian’s balls slapping against the Bull as he fucked him.

“C'mon, big guy, that’s it,” said the Bull. “Fuck me. Yeah. You wanted it hard so do it harder. Come on!”

Sweat, clinging to the black hair curled across Dorian’s chest. His throat arched. His head fell back. Boots, set neatly by the door, clothes dropped along the floor. Bruises marked Dorian’s arms where he’d taken a few blows. The Bull thought of the fair few bandits they’d found already dead, skin burnt.

Dorian fucked deep inside the Bull, the crook of his dick rubbing sweetly against the Bull’s gland. The Bull groaned.

“Oh, yes,” groaned Dorian too; that was all he said.

In this act, it seemed, he could not speak. He bit his lip. His throat worked, muscles dragging beneath the skin. The Bull wanted to pin Dorian’s legs up over his horns and suck his cock again. Heat moved in the Bull’s belly. His cock ached. He imagined Dorian, bound in rope. How he’d flutter his eyelashes and smirk at the Bull, as if the Bull were bound and not he.

At the very last Dorian came, ticking hotly within the Bull. The Bull pushed Dorian, gasping, sweated, beautiful in his breathing, to his back and bent to clean his cock.

“Oh, don’t,” said Dorian, “that was–just inside–” and he sighed deeply as the Bull stroked his hands up Dorian’s chest.

“You’re hard again.”

“Don’t worry about me,” said the Bull.

“Mm,” said Dorian. His eyes had closed. His arms stretched, fingers curling against the wall. “Do you know? What I’d like most?”

The Bull, hard and throbbing, licked gently at Dorian’s balls. “Tell me.”

Dorian was smiling beatifically at the ceiling. “On my face. All over my face.”

“Got it,” said the Bull. He rose to give him it. Dorian was still smiling as the Bull grunted and came across his darkened lips, his nose, the battered lines of his brow. Dorian licked at his lips. Come smeared his tongue. The Bull managed a final weak line of it, white upon Dorian’s teeth then mustache.

Dorian’s lashes rose. The bruised eye glimmered.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

The Bull bent to kiss him. The tips of his horns scraped along the wall. Dorian turned his hands so his fingers curled instead up the Bull’s horns. Downstairs the Chargers were singing the anthem. The Bull pulled Dorian closer. Dorian said, “I,” and the Bull kissed him again, and that was the last of it.

Easy, yes, if you knew what to do.


In the morning the Bull woke alone. He’d expected that. He stretched and got out of bed to piss, and on his way from the pot to the bowl of washwater, he stepped on a square of cloth. A handkerchief, linen. Someone had embroidered the initials DLLP in each corner, in a steady, elegant hand that leaned left.

The Bull considered it. In the end he folded it in quarters and pocketed it. As a joke he thought if he should meet Dorian on the road, he’d return the token and thank him for the thought. Then he put Dorian from his mind and went downstairs to see about breakfast.

A small group of the Chargers had risen early, too. They applauded him in his descent of the stairs.

“Congratulations on the sex,” said Grugg.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have,” said the Bull.

“Hope they weren’t married.”

“I didn’t ask,” the Bull said. He scratched absently at his arm. He thought of the handkerchief in his pocket and of wrapping it about his arm, but he imagined Dorian would complain about the blood.

“It was the shem wasn’t it,” said Skinner. Dalish, face-down on the table beside her, began to sing in a high, sweet voice.

“Not the 'vint,” said Rocky. “He farted all night!”

“What can I say,” the Bull said as he took Dalish’s plate of cooling pancakes as his own. “I’m all about bringing people together. What’s she singing?”

“Don’t look at me,” said Rocky. The Bull looked at Skinner.

“Shems in trees,” said Skinner. She shrugged.

Dalish broke off to say, “My mother used to sing it.”

“Your mother used to sing about shems in trees?”

“No, I think they were birds,” said Dalish. “But the chief didn’t lie down with a bird.”

“He sang like one,” said the Bull.

“Ugh,” said Grugg, “I’m done eating. Here’s the sausages, chief.”

“You’re all right, Grugg,” said the Bull, and he ate his breakfast.

He didn’t forget Dorian, precisely, but he was only a traveler that Bull had met on the road. He did use the handkerchief after a while, to staunch a shallow gouge in his thigh, then when he had that cold in Antiva. The handkerchief, folded neatly in his pocket, was somewhat the worse for wear that night in Redcliffe when Aginas pulled open a door to the chantry.

The mage standing before the rift said, “Iron Bull!” in surprise.

“Aw,” said the Bull, “you remember me.”