#bullala

[old-archivist]

Isala for TMI Tuesday; Does she tease Bull throughout the day, if they don't have any time for anything until later? If so, how does she tease him, and how does Bull react to it?

Okay, so this was a difficult question. Not because I didn’t know the answer but more of I couldn’t articulate a short answer like I wanted to give you. So instead you have me going into length about this because it’s Bullala, I have no chill.

So the first part of your question:

Does she tease Bull throughout the day, if they don't have any time for anything until later?

Yes. Both friendly jibs and in ways that leave a heated promise of later between them.

Isala is a rather cantankerous lover, naturally flirty, and someone who enjoys slow burn teasing. Yet for as mischievous and cantankerous as she is, she prefers to keep her flirtatious teasing from being broadcasted across Skyhold. Isala prefers to keep their roles as Boss/Employee and Lovers separate. It is more so others don’t have fuel to undermine her. It’s part of the reason no one knows about their romance till much later.

How does she tease him, and how does Bull react to it?

When she teases Bull in a way appropriate for friends and her inner circle in general, she is light hearted. Her jabs following in the same way as Varric, Dorian, or Cassandra. She teases him about his hideous pants, jabs at his lack of shirts, preferred ale, and when they spar how shabby his technique is. All things that Bull takes in stride, a smirk and chuckle lighting up his face. There are some jokes that Isala makes that has Bull raising a brow, the ones that toe the line of professionalism and hold a seed of intimacy that if you paid close enough attention it would raise questions. Jokes about dragons, his cooking skills, and rumbling snores all said with a smile that is just a bit too wide.

Her more flirtatious teasing is done in darkened corners, empty halls, dusty wine cellars and ancient libraries. Words hinting of an intimacy closer than friends, with lingering looks and warm cheeks. This is probably Bull’s favorite sort of teasing. It’s when Isala allows her stress to leave her for just a moment, when she makes him forget all of his doubts for a moment as he focuses on her beyond their scheduled interludes. He treasures these random encounters. Where he can see the woman that she traps in her quarters walking the halls of her home freely.

But the teasing Isala loves, the one that she finds she gets the strongest reaction from him are the rarest of moments. Behind the tavern, in the woods by the pastures, among the stalls in Skyhold’s marketplace. They start with a heated glance, a firm hand pulling the him into a shadowed corner, or staying just out of reach as she starts a playful game of chase. Where hands slide across clothed hips, and lips meet. The briefest of thrills of getting caught running between them as teeth gently skim flesh. Then it’s over too soon as she slips from strong hands, eyes glittering and lips swollen. A heated gaze and soft panting filling the space between them. Bull will sometimes let out a throaty grumble as his nostrils flair. It only serves to widen Isala’s grin as her ears twitch in anticipation and she steps further out of reach. The heat of the moment lingers as a soft later chases her while she makes her escape.  A heated promise that doesn’t always promise a continuation, but a moment to be wrapped in caring arms. Whether she’s reading reports, they’re watching the stars, or Bull is asking her about her clan. It’s the promise of ‘I’ll be there later’.

[old-archivist]

The Way They Say “I love You”

Bullala fluff. At the request of @faslaidir

Since they found out how serious she was about Bull, Isala’s closest friends noticed a few things.

After a battle he was there, by her side. A hand resting lightly on her hip, a joke or whole hearted praise followed by his booming laugh. There was a smile on her lips as she dismissed him, a blush that tinged her cheeks and ears when he buries his face into her hair and inhales deeply. His shoulders lifting as he pulled her close. He’d pull back slightly and fire off another joke, another line of praise. This time she wouldn’t brush him off, this time she’d squeeze his hand before moving away from him.

She fussed. There was no other word for what she was doing. She had shooed away healers, her hands glowing brightly as she poked, prodded, stitched and lectured her qunari patient. He would let her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched her. There was the occasional joke, the gentle teasing. But he never tried to brush her off, dismissed her concerns like he would anyone else.

At every tavern, ever stall, every cafe or dining hall he would steal a bite of everything before it touched her lips. A roguish smile and bolstering words to hide what he was really doing. But she knew, they both knew. Poison. It was in the slight frown between her brow, the way her smile wavered until he leaned in and kissed her hand. Then she would pick at her meal, watching him, waiting it out just enough for both their comforts. In return she kept his tankard full, paid his tab or brought him dessert. If they were in Skyhold or pre-arranged lodgings the meal was always to his taste in some way. A side dish, the drinks, or the desserts.

Blackwall still didn’t understand it, but that didn’t matter. They did, and it meant the world. Him with his dawnstone blade and her with her dawnstone infused staff. The standard dawnstone dagger that had worked its way into standard Inquisition uniform, nothing extravagant, but noticeable if you knew. Enough for Bull to grin when he saw new recruits stare at the blade puzzled, enough to invigorate him when they used it in the defense of villagers while she ran off to end Corypheus. Enough to mean something to them.

Everyone in the Inquisition had agreed that this was too much. But they couldn’t stop her, the advisors and closer friends tried to sway her but she wouldn’t budge. She had the biggest grin when he returned with the Chargers. A fire in her eyes and a bounce in her step. She was childlike. It almost soothed the dread in everyone’s gut. Seeing her so happy, so filled with life. She wasn’t much for grand gestures, overtly public displays of affection, but this time was an exception. The magic she usually held with tight reigns was dancing around her playfully, adding a warm to the breeze throughout Skyhold. His reaction upon learning what she had brought him made her practically glow. His laughter carried from the stables, echoing as far as the gardens. A dragon she had hatched a bloody dragon for him. It was needless to say that Blackwall moved out of the stables the night it happened. It was also needless to say that the lands she had scouted to the west of Skyhold finally had their tenant once the young dragon started spewing ice.

The Orlesian nobility always whispered of it, and for a time Josephine could not fathom the explanation of it. No longer were Andraste’s grace, lilies, or even roses decorating the Inquisitor’s stationary but frangipanis. It befuddled all the recipients of her letters, all except one. When Josephine found out, when she saw the way Bull’s eye lit up upon seeing the note she had left her with she knew. It was for him. When questioned Isala blinked owlishly, as if it was obvious. “Because I liked them.” She had said, as if it was in no way tied to the fact that Bull frequently requisitioned them. That she did not have them growing in her room or decorating the shrine of Andruil. Leliana explained why, it made more sense than the simple reasoning of Isala favoring the fragrant flowers. She couldn’t show him that favoritism, couldn’t paint a target on reports for him or even a letter. When explained that way Josephine couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t thought of that.

[old-archivist]

Fluff? This is what we call fluff right?

Fluff for friendos.

His hand slides up her back. Isala lets out a soft hum before nestling herself further into the rumpled sheets. His deep rumbling laugh echoes from behind her.

“Come on Boss-”

She kicks blindly in his direction, only meeting air instead of flesh. He catches her ankle, pulling it to his side with another chuckle as her toes press against his ribs.

“I am not your boss.” Her words muffled by pillows and furs. She glances over her shoulder, eyes narrowing as she catches sight of his grin. “The Iron Bull… Do not-”

The words barely leave her lips before they’re cut off with a shriek. He yanks her from the bed, scooping her into his arms as she wiggles in his grasp. Laughter wracks her as she tries to break free. Something they both know she could easily achieve if she truly want to.

“Boss.”

His voice gives her pause, the way the title rolls off his tongue. She looks up from beneath thick lashes and tangled hair, just staring at him for a moment. With a calming breath she shakes the hair from her eyes, squaring her shoulders. Pressing closer, she wraps her arms around his neck. Clearing her throat as she mirrors his smirk and with her own.

“The Iron Bull.”

He fixes her with a look, a mixture of amusement and something else.

“I believe one of our rules was that you’d let me care for you afterwards as well.”

“Mmm, yes. I believe I remember something similar.” She murmurs, cupping his jaw as he carries her down the steps of her chambers. “Food, wine, a nice bath, oils. I do think I am getting the better deal out of this arrangement.”

He chuckles at her words, nudging open the door to his left. Isala glances around, humming as she takes in the room.

“Yes, much better deal. Candles, a fresh hot bath. Truly, you spoil me The Iron Bull.”

He doesn’t comment on her use of the article in his name, he never does. It was a token that kept the distance he could feel being eaten away every time he touched her. Only letting out a soft chuckle as he makes his way towards the enormous clawfoot tub. When Bull had first seen the behemoth he almost put an end to their arrangement. Buying furniture for a bed partner spoke of permanency, of commitment. Yet he found himself unable to speak against it when he came to deliver reports one morning. Only to find her and Vivienne discussing said item. Just as he found himself at a loss when she replaced her bed to something that could fit them both. That was almost necessary if they were to continue this arrangement. But this, a bath, it was completely frivolous.

“One word Boss. Dra-gons.”

She laughed, a rich, warm sound that bounced off the walls. She swats at his shoulders as he lowered them both into the tub. Water spills over the edge, flowing towards the drain in the floor. Isala laugh dies down into a throaty hum. She closes her eyes as the water's warmth surrounded her, seeping into her sore muscles, into her bones.

“I hardly see what that has to do with this.”

She gestures airily between the two of them as she trails off with a breathy laugh. They sit there for a moment, in comfortable silence. Until she twists around, straddling his lap. The room echoes with the sounds of water sloshing in the tub. The sharp ‘plop’ of water droplets falling back into the bath.

“However, The Iron Bull, I believe we both agreed you would not call me ‘Boss’.”

There is a lengthy pause, as studies her calm gaze, as if he was struggling to remember. Something she knew was never an occurrence when it came to their arrangement. But he stays silent, “pondering” the question as he leans forward and kisses her forehead. Wordlessly, he drags a rag across her back, following the lines of her vallaslin on her side.

“We did.” He whispers in her ear as he presses a kiss to her jaw. “But if I can’t call you ‘Boss’, Boss. I think then, you can stop saying ‘The Iron Bull’. If we’re going to stop with the work names.”

She frowns at this, studying his gaze as he drags the sudsy rag up her back. It wasn’t that she opposes to the idea. But, he was the one to express desire for people to remember the article in his chosen name. But if, for their time together he wished for something different, who was she to deny him? Especially when she wished for the same thing. She lets out a breath as he drags the rag down her arm, her eyes follow it for a moment before returning her gaze to his.

“I believe that is something I can agree too… Bull.” 

He offers her a small smile, Isala barely notes the splash of the rag falling into the water as he cups her face. He kisses her gently, one of his rare kisses without the heat that sent them tumbling into bed. One of those kisses that Isala found herself wishing for more and more. A gentle kiss that was accompanied with a warm look that meant more. A more she had not felt in a long time.

[old-archivist]

...what?!

Isala is sitting in her enormous claw foot Orlesian tub. She sits in only her breast band and shorts, a bottle of liquor cradled in her lap. The dying light outside the window keeps her from being surrounded in darkness.

She doesn’t look up when the door opens, ignoring Bull’s appearance as he leans against  the doorway just watching her. The silence between them drags on, she brings the bottle to her lips and takes a swig. Her nose scrunches at the taste, the way it burns going down. Bull still says nothing, not even after the second, third, or sixth swig. She goes to take another, but her lips finds the bottle empty of the burning liquid. She drops it, letting it clatter against the bottom of the tub as she tilts her head back, staring up at the ceiling that has grown even darker now. She wouldn’t be surprised if she was barely an outline to him now.

“What are you doing here The Iron Bull?”

“Why don’t you tell me Boss. Why’s Krem twitching like a scolded kid after seeing you.”

Her brow wrinkles with a frown, her lips twist in something akin to distaste. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was the after taste or the thought that Krem was upset, that caused the wave of discomfort. Probably both. 

“You know, I almost ended up like him.”

There is a long pause, a silent “Who?”, even her drunken hazed mind caught.

“That magisteerrr,” she frowns as the ‘r’ rolls too long on her tongue, but continues anyway, “Not in such a lit- literrrr- literal sense. But just the same. If those dark-. Kuh. Kuh. Dar-kuh. Darkspawn. If the darkspawn hadn’t come that day... I could have been just like him. Like Cal- Cal. Calper- Calpur-? Calpurrrrr... Calpurrrrrnia.”

She plays with the words yet stumbles and struggles with the woman’s name, her tongue heavy and slow.

“Had not. Shouldn’t say hadn’t.” Her brow and vallaslin crinkle further, “Should not. Had not. Whole words.”

Those last few words come out little more than a mumble as she looks towards Iron Bull. He’s still leaning in the doorway, but his posture is stiffer than it should be. Stiffer than it should be for someone who doesn’t care.

“My birth. Birth. Birrrrrr-th. Birth clan. My birth clan gave the same treat-. Teat.... Teat, treat. Treatment. Same treatment to their mages as Core- Cor.... Corrrr-. Coryshit did to that magi- magi. Magi. Maaaaagi. Magisterrrrrrr. Magister.”

Something flickers in his eye as he watches her, something she knows she should recognize but it just doesn’t click right now. Maybe later. She much rather be drinking right now, too much thinking.

“Chains were words though. The clan itself. I ever tell you that I was born an exile? Like your Tal-Vashok.... Tal-Vashot- Tal-Vashoth. Banned from the clans.”

He comes over while she’s stumbling over the word ‘Tal-Vashoth’. He sits on the stool behind her and she lulls her head back to look up at him. She can’t read his face, it's too calm, too flat. She huffs in frustration, reaching up to cup his cheek. She spreads her fingers across his cheek, brow lifting at how small it seems pressed against him.

A soft hum rumbles in her throat and as she wets her lips, “Banned means we couldn’t get new clansmen. No new blood. No mages. We were dying out... So when there was a new mage.... They took them from their pair- pier- pare- nngh. From their parents. The training of mages and firsts were never known by the rest of the clan. Once you were discovered to be a mage..."

Words failed her and she withdrew her hand from his cheek letting it fall to her lap with a sigh. They just sat there in silence until it grew so dark even her eyes could barely see her hands in front of her. When Bull collects her in his arms and makes his way upstairs, he remains silent as tears wet his shoulder.

Thanks for asking!

Drunken Confession meme

[old-archivist]

If you squint hard enough it’s fluff...I think...

So this is essentially my take on Isala and Bull’s first kiss. Not their literal first kiss, but the first kiss between them that actually means something more. This is roughly set after Demands of the Qun but before Wicked eyes and Wicked Hearts. For my headcanon there is a solid 5-6 months between those two events.

First Kiss

Soft was not the first thing one would use to describe Iron Bull. Gentle and tender were not the second or third thing to come to mind. Not for most anyways. Behind close doors, in the Inquisitor’s quarters, Isala had come to use many words to describe him. Come to think many things of him.

Kind. Comforting. Understanding. Strong. Firm. Commanding. Observant. Intelligent. Unmovable. Unexpected.

But gentle, tender, and soft were not within the first ten things she used for him. Something she was surprised to find were the very words to describe him in that moment. However, surprises were common with The Iron Bull, never something she was adverse to. Neither was this, but it was surprising nonetheless.

The Iron Bull was many things - a spy, a provider, a protector, a friend, a leader. What he assumed he wasn’t and would never be was a tal-vashoth, a traitor - a lover. What other word would he put for the feelings he held towards the elvhen woman currently in his arms?

He cradled the back of her head gently, fingers tangled in her wine red locks. His other hand supported her neck, his grip gentler than it had ever been before. She was so close, so slender, a thought that had crossed his mine on more than one occasion. Thoughts that had been casually followed with ways to use that if ever needed. But this time, they didn’t. This time the thought filled his chest with a tightness as she cupped his jaw. Her thumbs slide across his cheeks, running along his scars. Their lips moving gently against each other.

This time it was different.

There was no heat behind this kiss. No firm hands or growled commands. His hands were gentle on her skin and he shuddered under her light touch. This kiss held a sweetness she’s never had with him before. A sweetness that ghosted across her mind with familiarity. A flutter in her belly whenever he so much as sighed deeply, when his fingers twitched. She was so aware of him it startled her. Such feelings she hadn’t held for another in a number of years that she almost forgot she ever had. It was a warmth that vibrated through her whole being, a warmth she thought was lost to her.

Lost since Inan.

Wrapped in their own thoughts yet tangled together. They held their eyes shut, breath soft against the other’s cheek as the gentle kiss dragged on. There were no fireworks, no heat - just satisfaction, warmth, more.

Isala’s heart raced a mile a minute as Bull’s hand slid to her waist. Cheeks and ears flush, the giddiness of a young girl in love flooded through her. A tendril of panic snakes through her mind as she breaks the kiss. This wasn’t suppose to happen, this wasn’t suppose to be more.

Bull reinitiates the kiss, cradling her as he presses her flush against him. This was different, she was different. This wasn’t another session, this wasn’t passing time with the serving girls. This was dangerous. A part of his mind whispers the word like poison, but it dies as quickly as it rose when she breaks the kiss, pressesing her forehead to his. She drags his hand from her neck, kissing each knuckle softly, shyly.

This was right.

They’re lost in their thoughts, their wonderment kept as their own. Each touch remains soft, as if they held too tight the other would disappear. Hands never wander past broad shoulders or slender waists, as if asking for more would end the magic. They stand there each time a hand skirts the boundary, letting their breaths mingle. Remaining frozen in each other's arms til one cups the other’s cheek and brings them together.

Not a word was whispered, but their eyes never left each other. Questions burning between them and answers selfishly hidden. Standing outside, cloaked by the shadow of Herald’s Rest, they clung to each other. Their only audience the stars above them and the cool autumn breeze.

[old-archivist]

Isala: groin (I JUST HAVe sexy bullalalala times on my dirty, dirty mind ok I'm SORRY)

Isala: Groin

You want sexy Bullala? Okay you can have some sexy Bullala. You’ve waited so long for me to get to this. dsjsihiehfer

NSFW.

The crackling fire illuminates a pair of sweat slick bodies lay entangled on plush furs with pillows scattered about. The only sounds in the room are breathy gasps and soft groans with the shifting of blazing logs crackling in the fire accompanying lustful noises.

An attentive tongue follows the scarlet lines of her vallaslin; dragging over the curve of Isala’s hip, pausing to trace each scar it comes across. Such ministrations leave only chilled flesh and soft whine of desire as desperate hands gripping furs.

Bull continues his teasing, dragging his teeth across her skin before gently biting down on her inner thigh. She moves beneath him in small ways, reactions she can’t hold back completely; flexing thighs, Isala’s lips trembling as they refrain from shaping words forming on the tip of her tongue. Her ears twitch at every crackle of burning wood and soft breath Bull breaths against her skin.

As he presses his tongue on the shallow scar on her inner thigh, he savers the taste of her skin. Honey, sweat, sunshine, and the faint taste of magic. He found her soft; softer than any Orlesian, Chantry Sister, or barmaid. Her skin holding strength in its tenderness, the strength of weathered skin, skin that raced against rain and snow, darkened by the blazing sun and softened by the grind of sand, stone, and dirt. Weathered but beautiful, like a stone smoothed by the rivers tide. A marvel, like most things about her.

“You’re doing well Kadan.”

He turns to look up at her, watching as she wets her lips. Her brow creases beneath the black silk over her eyes as she swallows thickly.

“I-” her voice hitches as she trembles, gripping the furs with ice covered fingers. “I told you, this was something I could- nn, something I could handle.”Bull press a kiss to her heated skin before dragging his lips along her vallaslin. A breathy gasp escapes her, her heels dig into his back.

“You did.”

He moves back, watching her still, brow creasing as her ears twitch. He won’t deny his reservations over the blindfold, how tense she had gotten when he suggested it. But Isala was handling this far better than he had predicted.

His absence was felt as he watches her thighs flutter, conflicted with the impulse to press them closed now that he wasn’t near, yet the knowledge that he was watching held it back. She was stiff, tense. Her ears flicker towards the crackling fire.

Finally he moves closer, leaning over her as he hovers his hand just above her stomach. Bull watches with fascination and satisfaction as her skin twitches beneath his phantom touch. Her breath catching in her throat as her hips stutter when they go to lift of the couch.

Bull’s own desire spikes as he watches the firelight dance across her skin. Scarlet lines glistening with sweat, skin shimmering as her muscles twitch with restraint. She was a familiar beauty, raw power confined and controlled within her weathered form. A living piece of art, his own dragon.

His gaze and touch turn lower, to the tops of her sweat slick thighs, to the inked lines of scarlet curling down her forms like a road map, and the neatly trimmed nest of wine red curls between her thighs.

“Bull?”

Her voice was soft, a gentle call back from his thoughts. The woman beneath him tilted her head as if she could see through the blindfold.

“Are you alright?”

A tender smile tugs at his cheeks while his hand cups hers. She always seemed to know when he disappeared into his thoughts; benign or not.

“Ya trust me Kadan?”

She frowns at the question, confusion stilling her for a moment.

“Of course. Why are you-”

Her words are silenced with a kiss, their lips moving together and leaving her breathless as he slips back between her thighs.

Thank you for asking!