#dad dorian

Seriously, my favorite response to one of my random posts ever

For one night, you finally have the house to yourself with your father, Dorian. It's been so long since you two have had time to spend with one another, but tonight, your mother had decided to spend time out of town.

There was the debate of simply ordering in and drinking wine that Dorian had managed to grab on a business trip in Italy (definitely not cheap, per usual). Ultimately, you agreed to it, not minding something more lax and less socially demanding.

Food was eaten, and wine was still being drunk from tall glasses. Your father had been sitting in his usual black slacks, tie completely undone and white unbuttoned by a few with sleeves rolled up. It was a look you'd seen plenty of times from your old man when he simply wanted to relax.

Your attention had diverted from the TV as the wine well ravaged your system; warm, floaty. Drunk. Dorian was at that same level, too. Wine was always his weakness despite handling his bourbon rather well. Such a strange old man.

Dorian had felt your gaze, slowly looking at you with a lazy smile and trying to discreetly adjust the clear boner imprint at his thigh. Lord. He was big.

"Need something, darling?"

You could hardly focus, mind swirling and buzzing with lust as you swallowed, growing flustered. Was he hard because of you? Maybe you thought too deep into it, but God, you could tear your gaze away from the imprint. Although, you peeled off and looked up at him.

☆ Silver fox. The man is 53. (Can't you tell I love silver foxes?). The graying is along the base of his beard, then has gray strands from the top of his head.

☆ Rich and divorced. He takes pride in his work because he does it for you.

☆ Bisexual without a doubt.

☆ Very much a boy dad but doesn't mind a daughter one bit. He loves all the same.

☆ Generally calm, laid-back, very soft, and parental in his ways. He was the one who primarily raised you as he gained sole custody.

☆ Loves to spoil with gifts and the like. So many times, he's brought breakfast in bed. There isn't anything he wouldn't do for you.

Speaking of which... lewd stuff under the cut. Hey, don't like it? Then scroll. It's why this warning is here, and have a nice day, too. ^-^

For Father’s Day, I’m sharing a bunch of short stories about the various Dragon Age guys as dads.

Inconsolable screams banged against Dorian's ears, his hands stuffed full with the wiggling chest of his three-year-old daughter. Her cheeks were flushed in anger, tears falling faster than any could hope to catch them. And, she was having a complete and utter meltdown in public. He tried to smile at the concerned citizens seemingly worried the evil Tevinter Magister absconded with a child for his blood magic, but his little girl wasn't making it easy.

"What's the problem?" he asked, hoping that clinging to logic would work. Maker's sake, why wasn't her father here? Her better father who had some kind of child whispering magic that passed Dorian clean by.

"I...I...I..." she snuffled, snot bubbling out of her nose. Absently, he rolled the hem of his sleeve down to wipe it away. And to think before her existence, Dorian would have been horrified of such an endeavor. Now, it was a Tuesday.

"I GOT A BOOBOO!" her tears ripped into a scream, Dorian finally noticing she was holding onto her elbow.

He reached to pick her tiny fingers off, but she held on tighter, eyes glaring at him. "No!" she shouted, her grip turning white as it increased.

Dorian sighed, "I have to see what you did..."

"No!" she whipped her head back and forth, tiny pigtails thrashing into his mouth.

"Fine," he accepted, rolling through his meager medicinal spells. "I'll heal you then while you..."

"No! Don't want it!" the girl fumed, her pain seemingly forgotten as she glared at him. "No magic!"

"Why not?" Dorian gulped, growing more aware of the people wondering abut the mage in their midst. Their daughter did not have anything approaching an indoor voice.

The apple of his eye stomped her pink shoed foot and snarled, "Don't want magic."

Not even four and did she already hate magic? Fear mages? Hate them without question? It seemed to happen quicker in the south than he thought possible. "Topolina..." his cheek butted into her forehead, Dorian trying to ignore an awkward stink of failure flooding his senses.

Greedy little fingers fished into one of his pockets, and he watched as a spool of lime green bandages plopped out onto the ground. "You little..." he sighed, "this is what you want, isn't it?"

"Uh huh!" she nodded vehemently, her fingers falling from her booboo so he could wrap it up. There was barely little more than a small nick, but Dorian took the full green roll and bandaged his daughter's entire arm from wrist to armpit.

Giggling, she swung her now immobile arm around like a windmill, watching the pretty color. Dorian rubbed his eyes, staggering up to his weary feet while sighing. Fatherhood would be the death of him. It certainly didn't do much for one's ego.

"Come along, we should get you home for a nap," he muttered, picking up her non-injured hand. "Maker knows I could use one as well."

His daughter twirled her prized arm once more before big, hazel eyes turned up to him. "I love you, Daddy!" she shouted so loud half of Orlais had to hear it.