#and lucanis keeps his mouth shut

[lagingersnapz]

I'm just innocently trying to talk to Jacobus when suddenly this other Crow shows up and gets reeeeeeally close. Like, sir, can you back the hell up for a second? You were not a part of this discussion. This boy is in mourning and does not need your tomfoolery right now.

[mosoderbergh]

Have some more NSFW Emmrich

I just couldn’t keep my hands off of Emmrich’s breeding kink. Honestly? What a thought. So here’s my own little twist.

The first time, Rook very much accidentally triggers him. They’re still in their honeymoon phase, still at the lighthouse. Everyone sits at the kitchen table. Manfred’S latest shenanigans are discussed. Rook, not for the first time, calls him their “skeleton son”.

“Do you have any children, Emmrich?”, asks Davrin. “Other than Manfred, of course.”

“Ah.” It’s said with a smile, but there’s a buried sadness there. “I’m afraid it wasn’t to be, no.”

“Not yet, anyway”, Davrin chuckles.

There’s a flash of concern on Emmrich’s face. His eyes meet Rook’s, who has already come to suspect this is a sensitive subject. They swoop in to save him.

“Oh, he knows he’s welcome to try and get me pregnant whenever he wants”, they say, their voice dripping with innuendo. They take potions regularly to make sure it doesn’t happen, which Emmrich knows. Their intention is to gross the others out so much the subject gets dropped.

Lucanis chokes on his coffee. Taash boos. Davrin tells them to get a room. The conversation moves on. But Rook catches Emmrich’s glance, his face blank, eyes dark. As soon as the topic is well and truly forgotten he leans in, whispers: “A word, dearest”, his voice tense in a way that gives Rook anxiety. They excuse themselves from the table and Rook earnestly worries that they’ve offended him. They barely make it through the door to Emmrich’s library before he has Rook pinned against the nearest wall. Rook knows Emmrich as an attentive lover, giving to a fault. More often than not, Rook has to do a bit of sweet-talking before Emmrich lets his own pleasure be the focus, and wringing little sighs from him has become one of Rook’s favourite games. Right now, Emmrich is whimpering into Rook’s mouth, groping them with a neediness that renders him clumsy. Rook is more than willing to help. They are undressed within moments, and Emmrich in on them again immediately, taking just enough time to position them both against the desk for support.

It doesn’t take long before they are soaking wet, mainly because this new side of Emmrich turns them on so much they think they might just black out. Usually, Emmrich tends to lavish them with praise, and the way his voice falters in between declarations of affection when he’s losing control is the hottest thing Rook has ever heard - until tonight. Because right now, Emmrich, who usually doesn’t shut up right until the very end, is unmistakably too horny to form words. He enters them with a cry that is equal parts need and relief, as if every second leading up to their union had him in agony. Rook wraps themselves around him, cooing into his ear that yes, Maker, he feels good, this is so right, they want him so much. The one word that makes it over Emmrich’s lips is Rook’s name, uttered over and over, a moan, a whisper, a plea. Emmrich doesn’t last long, and he comes with a groan from so deep within his soul it seems entirely removed from his speaking voice.

Rook wraps their arms tight around Emmrich as he catches his breath against their neck. They can sense his mind kicking back into gear, ever overthinking.

“That”, they whisper into his ear before he can even begin to feel self-conscious about what just happened, “was amazing.”

Emmrich huffs a laugh that is muffled by Rook’s skin. He sounds incredulous. They untangle from each other, just enough for Emmrich to rest his forehead against Rook’s. His smile is somewhat sheepish, but his eyes glow with adoration.

“I truly wish I could explain”, he says.

“Oh, I think I got the gist of it”, Rook says with a grin.

The way he spoils Rook after feels almost like an apology. Rook wishes he left them with enough breath to say there’s nothing to be sorry for. Then again: They’ll have time enough to talk later.

[dreamdragonkadia]

Give me Rook who is struggling to grieve and is angry with the world

Crow!Rook

Spoilers for Veilguard

It really was a funny thing, when you thought about it—the Demon of Vyrantium, Lucanis Dellamorte, half-asleep against your legs. The same man who scoffed at the very idea of rest, claiming he never truly slept. And yet, here he was, his features softened by the edge of dreams, his breathing steady as your fingers threaded through his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp. It was peaceful, in a way that felt stolen—like a moment ripped from a story you had no right to claim.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this kind of calm. Not since you’d been pulled into this whole tangled web of gods and schemes. A bitter laugh caught in your throat at the thought. Would it be wrong to admit how angry you were about it all? At Solas? At Varric? Especially Varric. The bastard. For dragging you into this mess, for making you care so damn much. For giving you a name—Rook—and then vanishing, leaving you to deal with it all alone. You knew it was grief talking, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. Damn Varric and his stupid, sentimental names. Damn him for seeing something in you and putting a label on it that you couldn’t shake. And damn him most of all for leaving you behind.

You swallowed hard, forcing the sadness back down before it could claw its way to the surface. That wasn’t a luxury you could afford—not here, not now. A Crow’s first lesson: never let them see what you’re feeling. You’d learned it well. Too well, maybe. Even Viago had grumbled more than once about how impossible it was to read you. A damn fine Crow, indeed.

But fine Crows didn’t sit around like this, did they? Stroking the hair of a man who had somehow, against all odds, become too close to your heart. A man like Lucanis, who could slip a blade between your ribs as easily as he breathed. Not that you believed he’d ever do it—not now, not to you. He was too close, too vulnerable. And you were no better, your guard lowered in ways that would have once terrified you. It was almost endearing, really, if you ignored how dangerous it was. For both of you.

You sighed, shifting slightly, and Lucanis stirred, his brow furrowing before he relaxed again. The warmth of him seeped into your legs, keeping you in this fleeting moment that could end at any given time. You’d never admit it aloud, but maybe you didn’t mind it. Maybe, for once, you could let yourself have this. Just for a little while longer.

Because who knew when the next storm would hit?

Your fingers paused for a moment, hovering just above his hair. “I thought you didn’t sleep,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lucanis grumbled something unintelligible, shifting again so that his head rested more firmly against your lap. “I don’t,” he said after a beat, though his voice was sluggish, the words drawn out. “This isn’t sleeping. It’s... resting. There’s a difference.”

You snorted softly, the corner of your mouth twitching. “Sure, because this is so different from sleeping. Next, you’ll tell me you don’t dream either.”

“I don’t,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it, just the lazy drawl of someone too close to sleep to argue properly. “Dreams are for the dead. And Spite.”

“Charming,” you said, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “And yet here you are, practically drooling on me.”

He opened one eye, pinning you in place. “If I drooled, Rook, you’d be the first to know.” His lips curled into a faint smile before the eye slid shut again. “You’re too good at reminding me.”

Your fingers resumed their lazy path through Lucanis’s hair, less to soothe him and more to distract yourself. “You’re lucky you’re cute like this,” you said, letting the teasing edge into your voice. “Otherwise, I’d shove you off and call it a mercy.”

“Cute?” He scoffed, though it came out more like a rumble. “If you think this is cute, you’ve got terrible taste.”

“Better than none at all,” you shot back, earning another quiet grunt. He didn’t respond further, his breathing evening out again, and you were struck by how utterly still he seemed. It was unnerving, seeing someone like him so vulnerable. The pride of house Dellamorte, who always carried himself like he was a moment away from striking. The Demon of Vyrantium, who’d slit a man’s throat before he’d let anyone close enough to see him like this.

But here he was, trusting you with this fragile piece of himself.

Your fingers slowed, your gaze drifting. “You know, I used to hate silence,” you admitted quietly, not really expecting a response. “Too much room for thinking. For remembering.” You swallowed hard, the words threatening to stick in your throat. “But now? Sometimes I think it’s the only thing keeping me sane.”

Lucanis shifted, his head nestling slightly deeper into your lap, and for a moment, you thought he’d finally slipped fully into sleep. The room settled around you, quiet save for the soft rhythm of his breaths. But then a voice—low, guttural, and unmistakably not Lucanis.

“Silence. Is luxury. Enjoy it. While it lasts.”

Spite.

Your eyes flicked down, half-expecting some shift in the demon’s form, but Lucanis didn’t move, not even a twitch. Instead, you could’ve sworn the faintest rumble, like a purr, came from him. The thought of it almost made you laugh.

“Guess that answers whether or not you’re awake,” you muttered under your breath, though Spite didn’t bother responding. It wasn’t like he cared about conversation unless it served his purpose. “Oh, I’m sure silence won’t last,” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not with rampaging gods breathing down my neck. Not with everything falling apart.”

Lucanis—or rather Spite—opened his eyes, just a sliver, those unnerving purple irises locking onto yours. There was something uncomfortably knowing in that gaze, something that made your stomach twist even though you knew Spite wasn’t a threat to you. At least, not right now.

“Then don’t. Fall apart. With it,” Spite said simply. “You are better. Rook.”

The nickname made something shift. You weren’t sure whether to feel comforted or suffocated by it anymore. But before you could decide, Spite’s presence seemed to wane, the glow of his eyes dimming as Lucanis stirred, letting out a soft grunt. For a fleeting moment, you thought he’d woken fully, but no. He merely shifted, his head turning slightly, and let out another one of those quiet, almost purring noises.

You shook your head, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Great. I’m getting pep talks from a demon now,” you mumbled. “How far have I fallen?”

There was no answer, not from Lucanis—nor Spite, either. It left you alone with thoughts you weren’t ready to face.

[fanfoolishness]

Failure (~680 words, Lucanis x Rook)

-

You have this.

It was something he used to whisper to himself when he was young, a push to keep himself going through training, through trials, through torture. The words echoed in his mind, his voice or Spite’s, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was both of them blurring together. You have this.

Yes. He had this. He was the Demon of Vyrantium, was he not? An Antivan Crow who never betrayed a contract? This was nothing like the slaying of a god. This was conquest. Romance. It was time he took control.

Lucanis took a step forward, drawing breath deep into his lungs. He tried to remember every crumb he’d ever gleaned from romance novels and Illario’s exploits. He fixed his gaze on Rook’s face, her pale eyes half-lidded, a smile playing about her lips. 

For a moment the nerves vanished as he gazed at her. Her smiles, her jokes, her kindness; they did banish the gloom he so often struggled with. Rook cared about him. She had made it clear between checking up on him after episodes with Spite, with how she had been attentive to him after his failure at Weisshaupt. More than that, there had been teasing smiles, a playful glint in her eyes. He wasn’t blind. He simply… had not been sure how to respond.

You have this. He drew near to her, his heart hammering within his chest, uncertainty crawling beneath his skin.

He rested his arm against the wall. He wasn’t tall, but neither was she, and here he had the edge. This close he could smell her hair -- the scent of woodsmoke and fine clean ash, hints of her Mourn Watcher rituals -- with every breath he took.

Rook was beautiful. He understood that. 

She… liked him. He believed he understood that.

There were steps he was supposed to take now.

He smiled, slow, languid, targeted like he’d seen Illario do a thousand times. Then Rook reached out, brushing her finger against his chest. Her magic lay in fire and necromancy, and yet it was lightning he felt arcing through his body. His heart stuttered. This was correct, wasn’t it? This was part of it?

Why. Afraid! Spite howled in the back of his mind. But fear wasn’t the right word for it. Lucanis didn’t have a word for it. 

He said something -- one of the lines he’d thought useful from a romance novel, about walking too close to the edge -- and Rook smiled, leaning towards him. He leaned a little closer in response, holding his breath. Yes. This was what he was supposed to do. She closed her eyes. Her mouth shifted, waiting for a kiss -- waiting for him --

You have this!

He pulled back abruptly, curling a hand close over his chest, his eyes stinging. “I… need to clear my head.” 

He turned away. He could feel her confused gaze upon him, but he couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. “Excuse me.” He turned tail, quick sharp strides out of the narrow pantry, making for the kitchen. He took the side stairs up two at a time until he found himself out on the rickety platform, looking out at the endless white void. His breath tore in his chest.

He leaned back against the stone, one of the few reliable things in this world of the ephemeral. It felt real. Solid, cold, sturdy. He sank down the wall into a crouch and folded over himself, hands tucking tight beneath his arms, and bowed his head.

Ruined! Spite snapped. Why. Leave Rook?

“I wish I knew!” Lucanis growled beneath his breath.

Spite fell mercifully quiet. But the demon’s silence brought no respite, for now his own shame and confusion ringed viciously round his head, crueler than anything Spite could manage on his own.

Lucanis screwed his eyes shut, willing himself to let it go. He had survived torture and possession. He could survive this misstep. But he saw Rook’s face, hopeful and curious and leaning towards his own.

He wondered if she would forgive him this failure.

If he could forgive himself.

[cybershock24601]

I have more Veilguard time travel thoughts but do you guys think Spirits would be affected too because I've been plagued with thoughts of Spite and Manfred remembering the future and the chaos that would come from that.

Manfred is suddenly talking and Emmrich is delighted though perhaps a bit confused about what has caused this sudden leap in capabilities and why Manfred seems so fixated on birds (Manfred keeps repeating ROOK ROOK ROOK ROOK ad nauseam).

Spite on the other hand is super confused about where is Lucanis, why can't I find Lucanis, I want Lucanis! and ends up going to search for Rook instead because Lucanis always listens to Rook, Rook can fix this. The next part is a little dependent on my Lucanismancer Watcher Rook who is suddenly getting relentlessly badgered in the Fade by an incredibly worked up Spite, manages to calm him down and explain the situation to him, and then says I got you when Spite wants to still help and manages to bind him to a suit of armor. I was originally thinking a skeleton but then I thought about how funny it would be if Rook and Spite were to travel around Thedas Fullmetal Alchemist style with an incredibly mouthy child ready to throw hands at any time and a giant imposing suit of armor with them though Spite isn't nearly as polite as Alphonse, he's just Spite.

So anyways, Rook and a newly bodied Spite make the journey south from Nevarra and by the time they reach Ferelden/Orlais the Inquisition has settled into Skyhold so it'd be a lot harder to deal with Solas so instead they have to settle on just keep an eye on him and making sure he can't cause trouble. Unfortunately, a big suit of armor with glowing purple eyes going to attract a lot of attention especially since Spite is absolutely a mouthy bastard and now Rook has to talk real fast to keep everyone from trying to kill him because they're in the South and just see Spite as a demon and Rook is shouting everyone down with an incredibly impassioned lecture about how the classification of demons and spirits is stupid and they're all just spirits and Spite isn't even (that) malicious. This all ends with Rook and Spite accidentally getting inducted into the Inner Circle because they are a package deal. Do Not Separate or else you're going to have to deal with a very grumpy Spite.

On the bright side at least everyone learns to appreciate Cole a lot more because Spite is a bit of a menace. Especially to Solas but Rook is also an exceptional bitch to Solas. No one can figure out what that one is about because clearly they have some issue with Solas and Solas seems to know exactly what they're talking about half the time but its also incredibly clear he doesn't know them and the entire confusing situation is driving Solas just a little mad because how does Rook know these things?? The reason why Rook seems to get really emotional when they're around Varric or Scout Harding is also a mystery but Rook definitely seems to have latched onto them.

I can also see Emmrich showing up in Skyhold because the Crypt Baby is missing and Manfred seemed to be fixated on finding them so Emmrich volunteers to track them down and Rook and Spite make a rather memorable pair so its easy to figure out where they have gone. His confusion is not helped when they arrive at Skyhold and Spite excitedly goes up to Manfred to show off that he has feet! and hands! Rook may or may not end up explaining the situation to Emmrich even if they're otherwise keeping their mouth shut.

[orangekittyenergy]

A Loss of Control

Ive been slowly writing a longer angsty Lucanis thing but need to keep myself in check so here is a snip I liked.

Spite POV.

1,500 words of mostly Spite weirdness and angst. Pre-Inner Demons. Very early Rookanis implied.

Full here or on AO3

------

Eyes awash with purple snapped open and just as quickly snapped shut again. Fingers drumming and wriggling against knees. Tongue too heavy and wet in the mouth. The feelings of inhabiting a body, having full control; they took a moment. The smell. He always has a sense of the smells but smelling them with an actual nose was powerful. It was different. Coffee. Onions. Food. Meat. The nose wrinkled up.

Eyes open again. The room unfolded around as Spite blinked and swiveled his head around. Stiff neck. Sore muscles. His face contorted into a wince and a very human instinct deep down was telling him to just lay down. To embrace the feeling.

No.

Instead, Spite stood, unsteady for half a second, before finding his footing. Feet on stone. Slapping. Noisy. So noisy. But he needed to move. He had a goal. Trying to ignore all other sensations that would be a distraction, he headed to the door of the pantry.

A goal. The last time Spite managed to gain control he headed to the Eluvian. Mistake. The brow on his borrowed face furrowed. Lucanis’ brow. It felt strange to feel his face move and he wriggled the tongue around while he walked across the dining hall.

At least the fade felt more comfortable. He felt out of control in the world. What he understood to be the world at least. Sentences were reduced to words. Words reduced to syllables. His mind felt slightly more at ease here. But not completely. Never completely. The goal. Human minds liked to wander. He would remain focused. Needed to.

Last time. As the human hand reached out to grab the doorknob, Spite paused. Again recalling the last attempt. The others didn’t know what they were stopping. Lucanis had made a deal. A deal he was now too afraid and broken to commit to. Spite felt himself snarling, his control waning for a moment, and gripped the handle tight. Keep a hold of this. Metal on flesh. This world. This body. But what now?

Rook. How often Lucanis’ thoughts were of Rook. Spite found it confusing and was angry at first. Rook made Lucanis weak and afraid. But. Rook was strong. Rook was a leader. Lucanis ...trusted Rook. Spite...again his strange human face twisted around. He didn’t understand having feelings like this. What was this? A remnant of Lucanis? His sleeping mind seeping in even though Spite was in control?

He knew the words. The emotions. In a far distant memory, at the edges of what used to be his now torn spirit he knew of deeper things than what he had been twisted to be. Spite let out a snarl. Distractions. Rook was useful. He needed Rook. Spite…..trusted Rook.

Muscles contracted, the handle pressed, and the door opened. A best attempt at Lucanis. That would have to do. The purple haze that revealed themselves through Lucanis’ eyes he couldn’t hide. But Lucanis was allowed to walk around the courtyard. Wasn’t he?

Spite looked around briefly and in clumsy, lumbering steps drove himself forward, rushing down the stairs with a lurch and plowing quickly through the doors beyond. A quick pause to stop and listen and smell the air told him no one was in the atrium. He rolled his head around again, the unnatural ache that came with this body a momentary distraction as he surged forward. How long? Never long. Never long enough. Gone soon.

Rook. Her smell was unavoidable. He knew it instantly and followed. Rook felt familiar. This place. Was still so foreign to him. A quick glance around at the swirling bookcases above as he ascended the staircase on the wall almost left him reeling. What was this place? Escape. He should just escape. Tried. Failed. He needed help. Needed Rook. A few steps later and he was at her door. He could hear her inside...hear or smell, it was hard to determine which filled these strange senses more.

The door swung open and Spite found himself squinting at the bright wash of light that covered the wall. For a moment it was pain and he felt a stab of fear in his chest. Eyes adjusted quickly and he stepped forward. Pushing past anything else. Determined. She would help. She had to. Rook was to the left at a small bookcase, just far enough away from the harsh gleaming light. He turned towards her just as she started to turn around.

“Lucan-” She started but stopped immediately as her eyes fell on his face. Lucanis’ face. Spites face. “Spite.” She corrected and turned fully. She didn’t sound angry. Not mad. Concerned. She was concerned? He felt his face twist up again, finally seeing her. Somewhere deep inside this body he felt a stirring.

“Rook. Have to help.” He managed out, tongue still feeling foreign. He seethed. His words already falling short. It would be so much easier just to talk to her. Outside of Lucanis. Without this body battling him and betraying him at every movement.

Rooks eyes widened. Soft. Caring. She understood. She would help. She took a step forward and held up her hands, palms up.

“Okay, Spite. I’m here. I’m listening. What do you need help with?” She asked. Her voice was a song. A lullaby. Soothing. Sweet. Too sweet. Too kind. It was unexpected. He wasn’t used to this. Neither of them were. After so much pain. The first words he knew were shouts and screams. Yells of pain. Lucanis’. Others. Captives. Captors. Blurs of noise. They echoed fresh in his ears in such stark contrast to Rooks voice now.

Before he could use the voice again the stirring inside grew violent. He was losing control. His grip slipping. Lucanis was waking up as Spite felt himself fading away, his energy dulled from his efforts getting here. He doubled over, eyes shutting once more as the purple fled from them. Descending back into darkness.

Groaning loudly, Lucanis lifted his head and blinked at the image of Rook in front of him. Realization hit him with a crash of embarrassment and he felt a pounding in his head take over the receding confusion.

“Meirda.” He breathed out in the absence of anything else to say.

“Lucanis, are you okay?” Rook asked and stepped closer, tentatively reaching out to him. As if he were something fragile. Broken.

He had lost control. Again. And this time he came...to Rooks room? He clenched his jaw and took another deep breath in, trying to hold himself steady as he came back to reality. He forced himself to do a once over of Rook. She seemed unharmed at least. Not shaken. But. That same of look of concern he had seen before on her face. Of empathy. No, of ...pity.

“What happened? Did Spite…” He trailed off. Did he hurt you? Did he say anything to you? What did he say? Why did he come here?

“He just asked me for help.” She said as her hand landed on his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He looked down to her hand. Perched ever so gently on his forearm. He couldn’t even recall the last time he had been touched like that. A touch that wasn’t the lash of a cane. The piercing sting of a dagger. The blow of fists.

Without fully meaning to, he recoiled. More instinct than free will. His body and arm pulling away from her touch and instantly regretting it. He shoved his hands to his head, brushing the hair away from his face to distract from the movement.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He muttered. To himself or to her, he couldn’t tell. He glanced around, anywhere to avoid her face. Again the harsh reality that he was here in her room crashing back into him. His eyes locked on the far wall where a giant fish tank occupied the entirety of it. He blinked hard, a sudden wave of dizziness and panic streaking through his veins.

“Lucanis, please. I want to help.” Rook’s words sounded miles away. He needed to get out of here. Any lingering embarrassment washed away with a wave of fear. He felt himself stepping backwards.

“I need to go.” He said as he forced his head away from the wall. For the briefest moment his eyes caught Rooks as he turned. Why did she care so much? She wasn’t afraid of him. Of them? He could still feel Spite, deep down, dimmed for now, but still clawing at his insides. Telling him to stay. Or was that even Spite?

“Come find me later.” He breathed out and broke away, heading back through the door they had just entered moments earlier. He heard a voice call to him as he rushed back through the hall and down the steps. A missive from Teia? It would have to wait. He needed to get away. He needed to focus. He needed to breathe. His steps rained down, heavy on the stone outside as he hurried back to the dining hall.

How long can you push this away? A voice pulsed in his ears.

With shaking hands he found himself at the kitchen, unscrewing a container of fresh coffee beans. Trying to focus on the sole effort of pouring them into the grinder without spilling.

“As long as I have to.” He said out loud, steeling himself for the internal raging that would follow.

[ofcrowsanddragons]

The First Kiss Scene That Didn't Include Any (Much?) Kissing / Rook's Demisexual Love Letter to Lucanis

Thank you for tagging me in WIP Wednesday, @basedonconjecture! Tagging @dustdeepsea, @i-had-bucky, @teyrnacousland, @thebaldursmouthgazette and @deputyrook if you have anything from fic to meta that you'd like to share.

This is a MUCH later snippet of my Rookanis fic, A Working Relationship, which jumps to the point where a young Crow Rook and an undercover "Luca" are in Minrathous and there are FEELINGS.

Thank you to @thedissonantverses for encouraging me as I worked on figuring out the dynamic between these two.

An earlier side fic, But I Won't Do That includes this bit of context:

Lucanis might have his own blindness, but he knew enough to realize that anything he could offer might not be seen as optional by the younger assassin, and the thought terrified him.

If such a thing happened, Viago could slit his throat and Lucanis would prearrange to hide the body.

Here's the first draft of the first kiss/almost kiss scene. The final version might be different, but I need to write another 20-30k words to get there. (Power dynamics, consent issues addressed, no sex).

I leaned in, placing one hand gently against the back of the chaise. I kept my weight on my feet, ready to step back if I was rebuffed. My whole body was tight with anticipation, my mind ready to pull back at the rejection I knew was coming.

Instead, Luca raised his eyes to mine.

I could drown in them, I thought. His eyes had gone dark with want, for all that he looked at me like something wounded.

He held himself rigid, like he was afraid to move. His jaw was slack, peppered with evening stubble across the warm tones of his skin, and his lips were parted just so.

Without thought, drawn to the heat of him, I reached across his other shoulder and braced my hand against the chaise. I boxed him in, tentative, and the fabric of my sleeve just barely brushed his arm.

I let my weight fall onto the chaise, and the inside of my knee brushed against his thigh. It felt like lightning, and I sucked in a breath, desperate to keep my eyes on Luca, to not be distracted by my own reactions.

He was trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Luca raised a hand from where it rested on the side of the chaise. There was a barely visible shake in the fingers as his arm skirted over the velvet cushions and came to hover near my hip, like he was afraid to touch me. Taking it as a sign of his interest, I sighed out my relief even as I kept the toes of one foot on the floor, ready to pull away if he needed me to.

My back leg trembled, and I wanted nothing more than to fall into his lap. The heat from his muscular thigh on the inside of my leg was agony, and I felt weak with it.

I was afraid to touch him, too. I was afraid to push too far.

“Look at me,” I breathed, inches away from his face.

Warm, brown eyes met mine, and I marvelled at the softness of them. At the smooth planes of his face and the mole next to his hairline. At the crease between his brow and the spot next to his nose. At the creases in his bottom lip.

His tongue darted out on reflex, to wet the lips even as he prepared to push me away.

“You don't have to do this,” he said, even as his eyes fell to my lips and he tilted his face to match mine. The fear in his voice was real. “Please tell me you know that.”

The warm breath from his voice was close enough to feel against my lips, and I bit my lower lip without thinking, sweeping my tongue out to soothe the dryness I found there. My mind felt like it was full of the thick, sweet syrup used by a nearby street vendor.

“I don't know if I can stop,” I said, too honest. Not knowing what he wanted, too full of whatever I was feeling to make room for him, I tasted something like failure at the back of my mouth.

He met my eyes, and his fingers finally brushed against my hip. The lightness of it felt like a brand, striking like a viper through my nerves and into my chest. I had to slap down the instinctive rise of my magic to meet it.

I gasped, falling forward another inch as I struggled to keep my eyes on his.

Luca’s eyebrows were furrowed as he kept his touch light on my hip, his other hand clenched in the cushions. All of the tension in his body was held away from me, in his legs and core and his far arm. I didn't know what he was holding back, but I wanted to beg for it. I wanted him to pull me down and fist his hand in my hair like he was holding the cushion and I knew it was too much.

That light touch, urging me closer. I obeyed without a thought.

Luca tilted his head forward and I let my forehead meet his in a gentle touch. It felt like a cool breeze on a summer day, and I sighed into it with relief, closing my eyes.

“Any advantage you want,” he breathed in promise, “It's yours for the asking. I don't want…”

I should stop, I thought, but I was afraid of what would happen if I did. I was afraid that he would look at me afterward like a student who had tried to seduce him for safety, for power, for resources. For a chance to live.

“You've given me everything I've asked for,” I said, tilting back so that my lips almost brushed his. “Can I ask for something else?”

“Anything within my power,” he vowed, breath ghosting across my lips.

I pulled away enough to meet his eyes, feeling an overwhelming wave of my own emotion threatening to spill out of them.

His hand dropped, instantly. His expression was guarded, on the verge of the desperate triumph of being proven right.

“Believe me,” I begged, meeting his desperation with my own. “Believe me when I say that I want you.”

He searched my face, eyes flickering across my features. “Why?”

I finally stopped resisting the urge to touch, and I let my hands grasp at his shoulders. He startled, like it was a shock I would touch him this way.

The wants of my own flesh barely registered. The only thing I needed was this.

“Because you're beautiful,” I said, reaching for the meaning that meant more than his handsome face or his grace in battle. “Because the first day I met you, you started changing out our rations until everyone had something they enjoyed eating, not just me. Because you're kind when you don't have to be—because when the world tells you not to be, you'll be kinder out of spite.”

His lips twitched with a pull at the corner that was barely a smile. “Acting out of spite is hardly a virtue.”

“I don't care,” I said, leaning fully into his space, drawing both feet up so that I was kneeling on either side of his leg, a blasphemous approximation of an Andrastian chant. “Void damn it, Luca, I'm an assassin. You told me yourself that there's no virtue in what we do.”

His expression changed, slackened into something softer. “You make me wonder if it could be different,” he told me, with something like a smile rising up from his eyes.

My heart was pounding in my ears, as fast as a sparrow’s. I fought the urge to run, feeling the unfairness of doing so when I had trapped Luca so thoroughly. I forced myself to meet his eyes, even as the sensations of the man’s warm body beneath my legs and hands rose into the foreground.

I blew out a breath. “I want you. What do you want?”

Something seemed to rise in him at those words, settling over his face and pulling at his restraint, and it thrilled through me like a wave of electricity. He held fast, holding himself back, only bringing his hand back to my hip in a touch so feather light it risked driving me insane.

“I just…” Luca started, and trailed off like he didn't know what he was trying to say. The hand at my hip settled more firmly into the position he'd use to lead me in a dance. “I want—”

He cut himself off with a growl of frustration and brought his free hand to my shoulder. In one smooth movement, he threw me onto my back on the soft, velvet cushions of the chaise. I had to force myself to relax into it, and I let my arms fall, boneless, along the back and over the edge of the couch.

“Is it too much,” said Luca, kneeling between my legs, with one elbow against the back of the chaise gripping my arm, “To want you to feel like you don't have to be afraid?”

“We're dangerous people,” I said gently, tilting my chin to expose my throat. “Maybe I know what that means, and I trust you not to hurt me.”

He rolled off the chaise into a crouch on the floor. I felt the bitter disappointment at the loss of contact, but I stayed on the cushions, following his movement only with my eyes. I was exhausted, aroused, and beyond ready to retreat into my bedroom to cry into the pillows. The points of warmth on my body that Luca had touched tingled with the awareness of the loss of him. I had been expecting a rejection, but I didn't know what this was.

With too much gentleness, Luca reached from where he had settled on the floor, to hold my hand where I had allowed it to drape over the edge.

He met my eyes. “I don't want you to be afraid.”

I pulled his hand up onto the cushion, slow and telegraphed, forcing him to let go or move so that his knees were closer to the base of the chaise. He chose to move forward, and I turned onto my side. He watched carefully as I pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand, next to the meat of his thumb, and then rested my cheek against it like a pillow. I let my eyes fall shut.

His breathing was even and deliberate in the way that we’re trained to be.

I let my mind drift to the solid mountain of my dreams, where my feet were always on the ground and there was always a way forward, no matter what obstacle rose in front of me.

Frowning, still focusing on the way the imaginary light reflected from the harsh alpine trail, I told him, “I don’t know how to stop being afraid. What does it feel like, when you’re not afraid?”

The sound of wet laughter. “I’m not sure I can answer that right now.”

“Maybe,” I said, opening my eyes, “We can find out together?”

Too much hope was riding on the last word, but Luca didn’t pull away. Instead, the smile—maybe the first real, true smile I had ever seen from him—lit up his eyes in a way that took my breath away. I let what was probably a stunned smile play across my face, in turn.

“Maybe so,” he said, voice soft as he shuffled forward so that he could rest his head against mine.

I let my breathing match his, and let the time pass me by, luxuriating in the closeness of another being who I somehow, miraculously, trusted with more than my life.

[jainydoe]

Metastable; Chapter 1

When it started, he told himself it was something irrelevant - that squirming in his gut and need to straighten his vest, smooth his hair, feel if his face was really getting hot or it was a trick of the senses.

This whole thing was a bug to be squashed. A burnt dinner you ate anyway and hoped you forgot about in the morning. Her glances were an accident. She wasn’t taking an inventory of his features the way he did hers. Those weren’t the kind of words he should take seriously. Her comments on his jewels or his impressive use of language. Each time she’d look up at him through her lashes, ghost of a smile on her lips and a quick remark about his intellect, his looks, how very capable he was and what a brilliant��idea it was to bring him along, she should kiss Bellara for being such a good scout - he really was such a dashing asset - he’d feel that voltage in his chest saying do it. 

Ask her to dinner. 

Buy her some jewelry. 

Tell her how dashing she’d look in Nevarran robes. 

With a Nevarran date. 

In his Nevarran sheets. 

Then, of course, reality would whack his thoughts away with a ruler and cruel grin. 

You published your first paper before she was a thought in her mommy’s belly. 

He quickly ushers her out of his quarters so he can grip the balcony railing and will himself to hold down his lunch. He reminds himself to ask Lucanis about how he keeps Spite at bay. He’ll be sure it comes across casual. Purely academic. That’s all he is, anyway. A brain for hire. Years of practice in the type of classical restraint that comes so naturally nowadays will work on the likes of Lucanis. It held up with the Dalish boy years ago, too. And that woman from Orlais. And the bartender from that place after that thing a while back. Maybe it’s because Rook can dismantle him so easily that terrifies him as much as it intoxicates. A girl with a puzzle she’s solving too fast, expectant eyes soon to be following. Was that all? 

He tells himself getting to know the rest of their quilt-together cohort will distract from the certain doom of Captain Rook, Daring Young Adventurer. Stronger. More capable. More dashing of an asset. Bellara is a fine way to achieve this. So many questions. So eager. So curious. Time flies when they dissect their studies. She reminds him of a younger version of himself, back before things got easier. He’s not here to make friends, exactly, and after meeting everyone, it’s not something he banks on succeeding in, but she’s a decent partner for lengthy discussion. The sun is on their shoulders one afternoon, papers scattered on a bench outside, and after they’ve exhausted themselves over rhetoric, he watches as Bellara’s eyes follow after their fearless leader. She sighs. 

“Isn’t Rook just so,” she trails off. 

“She is,” he answers. 

Yes, he sees himself in her. Curious and eager. Hungry. A dreamer, cursed. They don’t realize minutes go by in silence until Rook casts a glance their way, eyes darting between the two before a smile unlike one he’s seen before melts and simmers onto her expression. It’s hard. Acidic. The kind reserved for enemies before battle. It runs a shiver down his scalp and settles in his hands. They continue their discussion on summoning spirits and ignore each other’s shaken breath. 

The next morning, Rook doesn’t invite him on the mission and it’s an embarrassment. He’s become accustomed to their routine. Expectant. It’s a strange type of pride he holds close to the vest. He knows it’s because he’s older, wiser, more practiced than the rest of their crew. 

But isn’t that a bad thing, old man? 

He still hasn’t asked Lucanis about Spite. Damnit. Serves him right. He stands at the breakfast table, patting his mouth free of crumbs and making his way to change into his gear when Rook shouts, “Neve, Lucanis, we’re heading out to Tevinter.” 

He’s embarrassed by how fast he turns to stare. It’s embarrassing the way his mouth opens, as if to protest, before quickly shutting and his hands beginning to flex. 

It should be strange for you to come along, at all, reason whispers. You’re a brain for hire, remember? Sometimes, Rook doesn’t wanna carry the team all on her graceful shoulders. You should know. Dead Weight Walking. 

Even Neve looks confused, but steels her expression and nods. He sees the ways hers and Lucanis’ eyes meet, then depart, then meet again, cheeks growing redder by the second. They’ll make a handsome couple. An appropriate couple. He feels a boiling behind his eyes at how easy it must be for him. To just ask. To smile at Neve. To offer her sweets and them both understand it’s a prelude. When he gets back to his quarters, he rips open his desk drawer and rummages for the gold case of Rivaini cigarettes he’d managed to stave off for long enough he couldn’t remember. For someone so petrified of death, it was funny how instantly he itched for a smoke at times like this. He decides he won’t draw comparisons between the cigarettes and Rook. She’s not an addiction. She’s not death. She’s not something to hide in a drawer. He paces out his room, through the den, out onto the balcony to get some last few seconds of fresh air. As he closes his eyes, breeze kissing the back of his neck and hips leaned against the railing, his mind billows over to a girl - bloody, victorious, fire in her gaze as she looms over her latest triumph - and he feels himself get hard. It’s harder to ignore when he hears her laughter below. 

He looks down at the quad, quickly finding a rare smile on brave Davrin’s face, and next to him, a giggling Rook. They’re going inside to the library. Perhaps to her room. Maybe they’ll swap horror stories and he’ll show her just how those Grey Wardens keep warm in the wetlands. Before he can stop himself, he flicks the rest of his cigarette off the edge, it landing on Davrin’s shoulder. He’s quick enough to duck away before either can find his horrified expression looking down at them. Their continued laughter makes his mouth taste like ash. 

A week has gone by and he’s catching up on one of the books he brought from home, a story about two brothers and betrayal, when a low knock echoes through the room. Manfred is with Harding, this evening. He’s thankful for the companionship. He makes his way to the door, tying his robe and beginning a Thank You, Harding speech when those eyes stare up in mild amusement, minor challenge. “Do you always wear collared shirts to bed?” 

He stares for a moment before looking above her head, out into the darkness of the hall. “Common side-effect of working late.” They watch each other before she steps close and then closer, shoulder brushing his ribcage as she pushes her way into the room. 

“You have a real eye for design, you know. Everything is so very … clean.” She brushes her fingers along the staircase, the autopsy table, the fireplace, and he follows her trail, stalking like a wisp. “And it smells like something lovely. Flowers?” 

“Lilacs.” 

She hums in acknowledgement, turning to him. Her nose twitches as she inhales, gently leaning in. “You even smell like lilacs. It’s perfect in here. Pristine.” He can’t breathe. “I suppose that’s why you smoke outside then?” 

This must be what it feels like when your lungs collapse, he thinks. “I am, I am so very, very sorry, I had no idea young Davrin, or you, for that matter, were walking that way, I was simply falling into old habits and once I realized what happened, I was so mortified, I just had to, well, I just, I panicked, I suppose the point is I am so completely sorry and will be sure to send Davrin a plate of confections in the morning as an apology, I hope he wasn’t offended,” he hasn’t breathed in a while and decides to. She says nothing. Then laughs. Like the fact she’s found him funny should be a secret. She follows with a whisper. 

“Next time you want to smoke and be angry, send over an invitation.” 

He wants to ask how she knew he was angry, but she brushes past his arm and glides slowly to the door. Ghostly in her perfection. 

“Have a nice night, Emmrich.” 

He’s not sure if he does.

Things go back to their version of normal. He comes along on journeys, offering information and excellent healing charms. He kindly ignores the jabs her colleagues take, making it clear not only do they find him off putting, but they question Rook’s judgment. When she shuts them down, lovingly firm, eyes clear and shoulders squared, he wants to kiss her. Thank her for rescuing him. Bat his eyes and smile and sigh and grip her armor as she pins him to the side of a cave. It’s refreshing, being outside and flexing his magic. Proving his worth beyond a seminar. The sun agrees with him. The exercise agrees with him. For once, he’s not thinking about how slow he feels and how choking the future can be. He’s staring out at the coastline, the bustle of Minrathous buzzing behind him when a hand rests on his shoulder, her breath hot against his ear. “You were excellent today. How lucky am I?”

I. I. I. Not we. I. 

By the time he looks down, she’s gone, but she’s smiling at him over her shoulder, hair floating in the breeze and tan setting in on her skin. Her cheeks are flushed and the hair around her temples are sweaty. The slice of pie she had earlier has crusted into the corner of her mouth. A berry smudge that paints her lips in a suspended smirk. He realizes, in that moment, that things are much worse than he originally thought.

That evening, he writes a letter to his colleague at the college. 

Dear Simon,

I hope you’re well, blah blah blah, I’m doing this and that, etcetera, etcetera, how is so and so, whatever whatever, tea at our normal haunt? Hope to hear from you soon.

E

Simon wasn’t exactly a friend. There are a lot of not-exactly’s when you’re a professor as decorated and relaxed in his field as Emmrich was. But when there are plenty of pricks in the department and you find a fellow with enough self awareness to not keep his published works loudly present on his desk or laugh the hardest at the dean’s quarterly dinners, you keep in touch. 

“What’s shaking, Ricky,” he smiles, flat accent blaring. Fine, he responds, just fine. They share a pot of tea, trading rumors and stories about other faculty members before he feels comfortable enough bringing it up. 

“I know this isn’t something you probably want to discuss,” he starts, keeping his eyes trained on the tea leaves lurking at the bottom of his cup. Blueberry lavender. “And I understand if you want to change the subject entirely.” He holds his breath. “You and your wife.”

He doesn’t have to say anything more. Simon straightens, crossing his legs and leaning away from the table to stare at the rest of the establishment. It’s dim in lightning and warm, a kind separation from the chilling darkness outside. No one they know is here. That doesn’t make things better. “Is this why you wanted to meet? To question me about,”

He throws a hand over the table, splayed next to Simon’s cup. This is out of character. He hopes it conveys the urgency. “When did you know it was more than,” he looks around, “more than just you. Did she,” he’s sweating. Must be the fire. “Did she say something or, or do something to suggest,” he can’t finish his thought. 

Simon’s eyes widen for a moment before his shoulders lower, eyes quickly going to the fire before meeting Emmrich’s. He understands. “She held my hand. I’d told her about my daughter being sick and she was so. Sorry. But she wouldn’t stop staring at my mouth.” He tilts his head. “Of course, nothing happened until after she graduated. No matter what the others might tell you.” He leans in. “How old is she? Yours?” 

Emmrich thinks of rotting flesh, Assan dead, mutilated villages to wage war against the shocking thrill of hearing her described as his, however untrue the claim may be. 

“Young enough for it to not be real.” 

At that, Simon laughs. “Been there, old pal. Write me when it gets all too real, all too fast.”

He promises, should that unreality make itself real, he will. He’d throw a parade, too. And go skinny dipping in Hossberg. 

No one asks where he’s been when he returns to the Lighthouse. Instead, he arrives to a slice of pie on his desk, a note with a bit of blue thumbprint on the edge. 

Trust me, it’s delicious. 

-R

He doesn’t think twice before digging a finger into the center, ripping off his slice and slipping it into his mouth. It’s sweet. It’s tart. It’s a perfectly fine pie and he imagines blue thumbprints all over her body. A joke about how she's the only thing he'll get dirty over. He lets the slice melt on his tongue. 

“A little birdie told me someone likes you ,” Bellara sings to Davrin, feet kicking under the dinner table. Conversation swings their way, smiles all around and drinks spilling in favor of hearing Bellara’s hot new gossip. Rook is the only person not present. 

“Oh, yeah? What have you heard?” Bellara’s beaming behind her hand, leaning over the food to whisper in his ear. 

This table is a young man’s game. 

Emmrich prides himself on manners. No one would ever accuse him of impoliteness. Which is why he says to no one in particular that he’s excusing himself for the evening before pushing his chair out and beginning the walk back to his room. It’s more like a pre-jog. He’s only had half a dinner but that’s fine. There will be no wars won tomorrow. He wishes there were stars around here, instead of this blasted, perpetual summertime. He considers going home, where he could wallow and rot in peace. Before he can enter the library, tell Manfred to pack a bag and make sure to pack his robe, a flaming hot sizzle lands on his left shoulder. In surprise, he yelps, brushing it off and looking up to see who the hell would dare?

She would. She would dare. “Walking home all by yourself, handsome?”

He huffs, if just to make her feel the slightest bit bad. He knows it won’t work. “Lost my appetite, I’m afraid.” 

She beckons him up the stairs. “Good thing I’ve got just the thing to help.”

When he reaches the top, she’s lighting a new cigarette, passing it to him as she stares out onto the cul-de-sac they’ve begun to find familiar. “If these kill me, will you bring me back?”

He doesn’t want to let on how terrified the thought leaves him. Instead, he looks her in the eye, letting the end rest on his lower lip before sucking down a deep inhale, eyes stuck on hers. “You know, the likelihood is I go out before you, my dear. Should I decide against immortality.”

Her eyebrow quirks. He ignores that she’s staring at his mouth. “What do you think of our little stowaways?” 

“Perfectly qualified team of individuals. They’re certainly exciting.” 

She sighs. He starts wondering how he answered her wrong, but she cuts in. “One of these days, I’d appreciate if you told me what you really think. However,” she stops, looking at his nose, his tie, his chin, “... improper … you may think it be.”

He wants to kiss her. He’s going to kiss her. He’s going to drop his cigarette and light this place on fire and feel the flames licking their legs as he bites into her neck and dares everyone to admire just how accomplished he really is. 

She grabs the cigarette from his lips. He finds it’s his cue to answer. “I could do with less from Davrin, lately.” He’s shocked he’s said it. “I mean,”

“Wow, didn’t realize you really meant to burn him earlier.”

“I didn’t, I-”

“You got a problem?”

“No, I don’t, really, I don’t know why I-”

“It makes sense, really. He’s brave, and strong, and all the things that make a hero. ”

He schools his expression into the one reserved for faculty meetings and difficult students. It’s hard. It’s acidic. “I see you’ve taken an interest in a new companion. How charming. I’m sure you’re both," he considers his words, "well-suited for each other.”

Something shifts in her gaze. Off-kilter. On the back foot. She ceases to be the warrior he works with, the woman that torments him - instead, he sees a girl, fingers picked bloody and lip worked raw, suddenly unsure. He sees himself in her. Hungry and cursed. 

“I certainly have taken an interest, Emmrich.” Ever daring, she steps closer. Her hand brushing his against the rail, then curled against her chest, then to her lips and finally placing the bit of cigarette left between his lips. “A little birdie tells me you feel the same.” 

Later that night, when he’s ghosting his hand over her backside, watching his fireplace dance shadows on their legs, he asks Manfred for some stationary and ink. He has a surprising letter to write.  Ch. 2

[blarfkey]

Sub Rosa

Lucanis x Neve x (Spite) ficlet

Spite and Neve have a conversation. Might clean this up later and post it on ao3 but I had to get it out! This scene possessed me.

The change happens almost too subtly to catch. One moment he's bent over the coffee machine, finagling another cup for her; the next, his shoulders go stiff. When he looks up, his eyes glow purple.

Fear slides like a freezing drop of rain down her spine but she keeps her impassive mask firmly fixed in place. Minrathous smelled weakness like blood in the water; she learned early to keep it trapped and fluttering in her chest and no where else.

"Hello, Spite," she greets calmly, as if they ran into each other at the market.

"Neve."

Her name scrapes through his throat like a skinned knee through gravel. She swallows back down another spike of fear. (But it's not all fear. Neve doesn't hide from the truth, even when it comes from herself.)

Lucanis's body shudders, his limbs jerking like a rusty candlehop. Is he fighting for control? She takes an unconcious step backward and a hand jerks forward and grips her wrist. It's only because it's Lucanis's hand that makes the coffee, bakes the pies, and whisks the divine sauces that go over pasta, that she doesn't freeze it solid and smash it to pieces.

"What is it you want, Spite?" she asks.

"Not me." Lucanis's body shudders again. "Him."

"Lucanis?" she clarifies.

"You. He wants you."

The words send a swoop of -- of something in her gut. (It's longing. and hope. And the terror of that hope. And dear god what is she getting herself into)

"How so?" Clarity. Always good to have it.

"I don't know."

Ah. Well.

The hand loosens it's grip on her wrist just enough to slide, achingly slow, up the length of her forearm, until it cups her elbow. Then he pulls himself two steps closer, until she can smell the coffee on his breath and the scent of spice from Lucanis's obscenely expensive conditioner. Gooseflesh follows its wake, the hair on the back of her arm standing up.

"But he never. Shuts up. About it."

Her eyes dart down to his mouth as they for the words, to the soft dark hair of his beard, and she quickly jerks her gaze back up to those unsettlingly purple eyes before the demon can catch it. Interesting. Very Interesting.

Neve swallows thickly and those dark eyes lock onto her throat.

"That must be hard for you to bear," she says, trying to lighten the mood. Do demons understand jokes? She's never spoken to a demon long enough to find out.

"I. Want. Peace." Spite says and he almost sounds . . . .pleading.

Another hard swallow. "I'll see what I can do."

It's the promsie she makes every time she takes a job, an empty reassurance that doesn't keep her on the hook. Jobs can go sideways as fast as one can blink.

Spite releases his grip on her elbow and then, almost hesitantly, brings it up to her face. Fingertips brush against a lock of her hair before alighting as gentle as a bird on her cheekbone.

Breath stutters in her lungs.

"Yes," he says simply.

The body jerks again, this time hard enough to sent him stumbling, reeling back. Neve's hand darts out to snatch a fingerful of sleeve before Lucanis can knock over the coffee pot.

"Neve?" Lucanis's gaze darts around the room, assessing damage in milisecond glances. "What did he do? What did he say?"

"Everything is fine," she assures him. 

Spite's confession sits heavy on her tongue. She could speak it into the light but something holds her back. Morbid curiosity perhaps, if Lucanis will have the guts to say it himself.

"And you?" His hand raises up towards her for a moment before he jerks it back to his side.

"Peachy."

He looks like he doesn't believe her for a moment, like it's too good to be true.

"It only lasted a moment," she adds. 

"I . . .Okay. That's good. Do you want . . ."

His eyes look like dark bottomless holes, and she braces herself, her insides clenched like she's ready for an ambush.

" . . More coffee?" He finishes.

I want peace. 

Maybe Spite was right to sound exasperated. She might have to do this herself.

But not yet.

"Please."

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chapter 10 - Churros and Cioccolata Calda

This story contains major spoilers for Dragon Age the Veilguard. Read at your own discretion!!

Kalais x Lucanis

Summary: The gods are capturing Dalish as sacrifices. It's Kalais's job to stop them. Lucanis makes dessert just for her.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Swearing, tension

A/N: IT FINALLY HAPPENED!!

Chapter 9 DATV Masterlist Chapter 11

Lucanis wasn’t one for words, but the way he looked at me now spoke volumes. There was something unspoken in the way his eyes lingered on mine---heavy with gratitude, guilt, and something I couldn’t quite place. I tried not to let it get to me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what it meant.

He had returned the embrace, hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. It was brief, just a moment, but the memory of it still sat on my chest like a live coal. The warmth of it, the weight of his arm, the way he’d held on just long enough to let me feel it. It wasn’t a dismissal, but it wasn’t a promise, either. It was… Lucanis. Complicated and restrained, a man who didn’t let anyone close without a fight.

I should have left it at that. I should have let him process whatever he needed to and kept my distance until he was ready. But I wasn’t built for waiting, and I wasn’t about to let him shut me out again.

I caught up to him as we walked through Dock Town back to the Eluvian, slipping my arm through his. “You’re quiet,” I said, falling into step beside him.

He bent his arm slightly, instinctively, as my hand fell into the crook of his elbow. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced down at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m thinking,” he said finally, his voice low.

“Dangerous habit,” I teased, hoping to ease whatever weight was pressing on him.

He huffed a soft laugh, more exhale than sound, and for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitched like he might actually smile. “You could say that.”

We walked in silence for a while, the quiet between us thick with things unsaid. I wanted to ask him if he was okay, if he meant it when he said he was ready. I wanted to tell him how much it had scared me to see him like that, lost in his own mind, unreachable. But the words tangled up in my throat, and I couldn’t find a way to say them without breaking whatever fragile truce we’d found in the aftermath of the Fade.

Instead, I said, “Don’t do that to me again.”

Lucanis stopped walking, turning slightly to face me with an expression that made my chest tighten. “Kalais…” he started, then trailed off, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have---”

“Don't,” I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intended. “Don’t tell me what I shouldn’t have done. You don’t get to decide that for me.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Too late,” I said, softer now. “I already did.”

His eyes widened slightly, the words clearly catching him off guard. I pressed on before he could recover. “Seeing you like that, Lucanis… it hurt. I couldn’t stand it. And I’ll do it again if I have to, because you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

He looked at me for a long time, his expression shifting through a dozen emotions I couldn’t quite name. Finally, he said, “You’re impossible.”

I smiled, though my heart was pounding in my chest. “You’re welcome.”

For a moment, I thought he might say more, but then he turned and started walking again. I followed, keeping my hand in his arm, letting the silence settle between us. It wasn’t comfortable, exactly, but it wasn’t cold, either. It felt like progress.

He didn’t look at me as he spoke, his voice low and deliberate. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I couldn’t quite breathe. “You won’t,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Not if I can help it.”

He glanced at me then, just for a moment, but it was enough. There was something in his eyes---something raw and unguarded---that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, we’d finally started to understand each other. 

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For now.

—------------------

Taash, Lucanis, and I met up with Strife and Irelin at the Veil Jumper camp. They had been having some trouble with the Venatori, and we were going to investigate and deal with the issue for them. At least, what we could.

As we were dealing with them, we followed a trail back to some old ruins. A Veil Jumper there told us the Venatori were rounding up Dalish. I told him to report back to Strife, and we would handle it from here.

The closer we got, I started hearing their screams. The Dalish.

We’re coming, guys… I promise. There were about a dozen Venatori swarming another Dalish camp. They had them locked behind magical wards. When we finally freed them, they told me that the Venatori were rounding up the Dalish for sacrifice to the Gods. I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed and enraged.

The Veil Jumpers were going to meet us at the Lighthouse to discuss a rescue mission plan.

We decided to scope out the crater before starting anything. But when we met there, we ended up putting disguises on. Neve would lead us as one of the Venatori and Lucanis and I would be her entourage. 

As we moved, I could hear Elgar’nan in my head trying to whisper pretty words and promises. He said he could feel the sorrow etched in my bones. A lost child born into obscurity. And that he would be my salvation. His voice was a loving purr in my ear, drawing me in. 

I was tired. So, so tired of fighting.

He knew it. I knew. It would’ve been so easy to give in. 

But then I glanced at Lucanis and remembered I had something worth fighting for.

We reached the place he was giving his speech, some kind of blood magic influencing our minds. His Archdemon rose behind him, bigger than a fucking mountain.

It would’ve been so, so easy. All we had to do was worship, obey, love, and kneel. Somewhere outside my consciousness, I could feel Neve and Bellara working on his enchantment. Elgar’nan would notice someone breaking his old. We had to go, now.

We would only be able to handle so much. We needed to get in, get the Dalish out, and run like hell.

On top of fighting a million Venatori, they also had machines running on blood magic trying to kill us. And somehow, on top of all of that, we ended up in the fucking Fade.

After running through the same goddamn area for what felt like forever, I heard Solas speaking to me—something he had only been able to do in my dreams. He said he would be able to offer some assistance in distracting Elgar’nan. I soon found out what he meant as he shouted at the Evanuris in elvish.

With Solas distracting him, his attention was divided, and we managed to slip out of his trap. After a few more close run-ins with the Venatori, we made it to where the Dalish were being kept. I brought down the wards, letting them out. Solas led us back to his safehouse where we could escape back to the Lighthouse via the Crossroads.

When we regrouped at the Lighthouse, Strife thanked me for the help. He said Elgar’nan sacrificed the Venatori as a punishment for their failures. Those who escaped scurried back to Tevinter. Tomorrow, we would have to worry about another Archdemon. But for now, my stomach was calling me.

—------------------

I wandered into the dining room, drawn by the warm, savory aroma wafting from the kitchen. My steps slowed as I spotted Lucanis standing over a counter scattered with ingredients—piles of chopped vegetables, glistening pans, and a dusting of flour that had clearly missed its mark. He was focused, turning something over in his hands with surprising delicacy, but the moment he noticed me, he set it down and stepped toward me, wiping his flour-covered hands absentmindedly on his usually pristine shirt.

“Oh great, is it your turn to cook? What’s all this going to be?” I asked.

“Paella,” he replied, his tone casual, though a flicker of pride showed in his eyes. “Two of them. One without seafood for Emmrich.” He paused, an almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “And churros for dessert. They pair well with cioccolata calda.”

I blinked, taken aback. “Wait… Did you make dessert just for me?” My lips curved into a soft smile, warmth blooming in my chest at the thoughtfulness of the gesture.

“There’s enough for everyone,” he said carefully, as if hedging against the weight of my reaction.

“As long as they don’t mind having it with my favorite drink,” I countered, my smile widening.

“They won’t complain,” he replied with a shrug, but his voice held a distinct note of satisfaction.

My heart squeezed, and I found myself shaking my head. “You didn’t have to do anything special for me,” I said, though my voice betrayed me, laced with gratitude.

“Yes, I did,” he said quickly, his voice firm. His gaze met mine, unwavering. “I still don’t know how to apologize for… everything. And you…” He stopped, searching for words, his brow furrowing in frustration.

I cut him off with a soft laugh, stepping closer. “You made dessert! Just for me!” I repeated, letting the words roll off my tongue with deliberate slowness, as though trying to savor them as much as I knew I’d savor the churros later. My heart felt like it was melting, spreading that unfamiliar, gooey warmth through my chest and down to my stomach.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, though his voice wavered slightly. “Or not enough.”

“It is,” I said firmly, daring to place a hand on his flour-dusted forearm. “And you are.”

For a moment, we simply stood there, the hum of the kitchen filling the quiet.

“And I’ll have you know,” I added, grinning now to lighten the mood, “I’m very easily bribed.”

He smirked, that slow, crooked smile I’d come to recognize as his version of letting his guard down. “I’ll have to keep that in mind,” he said.

I watched him for a moment longer, the light from the stove casting a golden glow across his sharp features. This man—who guarded his emotions so fiercely, who carried burdens he rarely shared—had gone out of his way to do something so undeniably kind. For me.

Without fully thinking it through, I closed the space between us.

“Kalais?” he said, his voice low and hesitant.

I reached up, brushing a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead and felt the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. “You’re a good man, Lucanis,” I said softly, not quite sure where the words were coming from, but knowing, somehow, that they were true.

His eyes flicked to mine, a storm of emotion swirling in their dark depths—uncertainty, hope, fear, and something deeper that I couldn’t quite name.

Before I could lose my nerve, I smoothed my hand over his hair, cupped the back of his head and dragged him down to me. Our lips met only briefly before I pulled back, not wanting to overwhelm him.

He looked at me, brown eyes wide with surprise and something else I couldn’t name before his flour-covered hands were pulling my hips into him, crushing his lips to mine like a man starved. 

The world seemed to pause around us. His hands slid to my waist, holding me gently like something to be cherished. When he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss, I felt my knees weaken. My hands roamed over his shoulders to run my fingers through his hair.

His lips were warm, tasting faintly of cinnamon and sugar, and I couldn’t help but smile against his mouth. I could feel his hesitation ebbing, replaced by something more certain, more real.

When we finally broke apart, my heart was racing, and I knew my cheeks were flushed. He looked at me like I’d just done something impossible, his breath hitching slightly as his thumb brushed against my side.

“I should make dessert more often,” he said, his voice rough but teasing.

I laughed, resting my forehead against his. “Don’t push your luck,” I murmured, though my smile gave me away.

Lucanis chuckled softly, his breath fanning against my skin as his hands lingered on my waist. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of my shirt, grounding me in the moment. For someone who often seemed so untouchable, his presence now felt impossibly close, intimate in a way that made my pulse race.

“Still,” he said, his voice low, “if dessert gets this kind of reaction, I might have to find a few more recipes to try.”

I raised an eyebrow, the corners of my mouth twitching with amusement. “Is that your way of saying you want to bribe me again?”

He tilted his head, his expression shifting to one of mock seriousness. “Depends. Did it work the first time?”

I laughed, the sound light and unrestrained, and shook my head. “You tell me, master chef. But fair warning, I might expect something equally thoughtful next time.”

“Next time,” he echoed, his voice softening as the teasing edge faded. His gaze held mine, and for a moment, the world around us seemed to blur. The golden light of the kitchen, the faint sounds of the others in the house, the lingering smell of cinnamon and spices—it all fell away, leaving just the two of us in this quiet, stolen moment.

I reached up again, brushing my fingers through his beard lightly. “Lucanis,” I began, my voice barely over a whisper.

“Kalais,” he interrupted, his hand sliding up my side to rest just below my ribs. There was a weight to his touch, a silent question in the way his thumb traced gentle circles over the fabric of my shirt. “Thank you. For… staying. For not giving up on me when you probably should have.”

“Should have?” I repeated, frowning slightly. “Don’t you dare tell me what I should or shouldn’t do when it comes to you.”

His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile, but his eyes were serious. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is,” I said, leaning closer, letting my words settle between us like a promise. “At least for me.”

He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly, and I couldn’t resist closing the distance once more. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. His lips met mine with a quiet intensity, and the warmth I felt earlier now spread through me like fire.

Time seemed to slip away as we kissed, a slow, unhurried dance that spoke of things neither of us was ready or able to put into words. When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“You know,” I said, my voice teasing, “if you keep looking at me like that, we’re going to burn the paella.”

He laughed, the sound rich and unguarded, and pulled me into one last brief, tender kiss before stepping back. “I guess we wouldn’t want to ruin dinner,” he said, his smirk returning. “But don’t think for a second I’m done with you, Kalais.”

My face flushed. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied, my heart still racing as I turned to sit at the table, the warmth of his gaze following me the whole way.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Duuuude I'm so psyched for the next parts

As always, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for Lucanis or this series :) <3

Tag List: @encrytpta

[nervestatic]

undeserving of your sympathy

“We don’t have to do this, you know.”

Rook’s hands are gentle and soft as she loops the ropes around Lucanis’ wrist, two of her fingers slipping underneath the rope to test the tightness. Her cataract-riddled eyes stare vaguely into the middle distance as she works, tying off the first rope before moving to his other wrist. “I mean, you do have to sleep,” she continues as her fingers find his pulse point and she begins looping the second rope. “That’s non-negotiable at this point-- if you keep pushing yourself like this, someone’s going to end up getting hurt.”

Lucanis frowns up at the ceiling, absently testing the binding on his left wrist. It gives him around an inch of movement when he pulls at it, but holds against the tugging. Whether it will hold against Spite is another question entirely, but Rook seems unbothered as she works.

The demon itself is quiet, unusually so, as Rook works. They both watch her, two sets of eyes tracking her every motion as deft hands twist rope to her bidding.

“You seem rather practiced at this,” he says eventually. The implication of his words hits him the moment they leave his mouth, heat rising in his face as he shuts his eyes.

read the rest on ao3

[himluv]

First Touch

Well, will you look at that? Another Lucanis fic? This one is fairly standalone but you can read the others in this linked-ish series below:

Determination and Benevolence

Dark, Complex, and Intriguing

Stuck

Preparations

Something a Little Sweeter

And now, onto the good stuff! @vorchagirl 😉

When Lucanis took this contract he’d imagined chasing powerful mages through Arlathan Forest. Maybe a ruin or two. Hiking through some mountain in the Anderfels had never once crossed his mind. 

When Rook had asked him to come with her to meet the Wardens, his first thought was that Harding was the obvious choice. She had Warden contacts, while the only Wardens he’d ever met…

Well. Lucanis didn’t fail his contracts.

But, he didn’t bother saying all of that to Rook. If she wanted him by her side for this, she had her reasons, and he certainly wouldn’t argue. So he followed after Rook as they searched for this monster hunter. 

The climb wasn’t easy, a winding path made more for scaling and scrambling over rocks than walking. But Rook seemed at ease on the trail, leading the way with a grace he couldn’t help but notice. For the first time since their last visit to Treviso, it was just the two of them, alone on this remote mountain path, and Lucanis allowed his gaze to wander. 

In all their outings, he’d never really considered the shape of her. How Rook perfectly blended softness and strength. Her Arlathan leathers did much to obscure her physique, but this close the swell of her hips was obvious. 

A shock swept through Lucanis, as if he’d been on the receiving end of Rook’s chain lightning. It coursed and thumped through his body and his breath hitch at the intensity. 

Want, Spite hissed. 

Rook glanced back at him over her shoulder. “You okay?”

Lucanis shot her a nervous smile. “Fine.”

She looked like she wanted to disagree, but before she could, they rounded a corner to find a camp ahead. 

“Looks like we found them,” she said. 

They stepped into the camp, but it was empty. No movement. No sound. Just a lone tent and a well tended fire.

“Or,” she said. “We just missed them?”

He crouched beside the fire and frowned. “They left the fire burning.”

Spite sniffed the air, then gagged. Corruption.

Sure enough, the tent behind him was covered in the grey tendrils of the blight. 

Rook cursed and was about to say something when a chittering shriek pierced the air. He and Rook shared startled looks, then she bounded around the fire, behind him, her hand running across his shoulders as she went.

A second jolt of heat coursed through Lucanis, his whole back flushing at Rook’s casual touch. He watched her run ahead, putting herself between him and the source of the noise, his mouth agape. 

She had no idea what she’d just done to him. He barely understood it himself. But that touch? So light and so easy? Lucanis only knew he wanted more. Wanted her to touch him again.

Want Rook?

“Mierda,” he breathed, shutting own all the inappropriate images that question suddenly conjured. This was not the time for this realization.

Yessss! Spite crowed.

The shrieking grew louder, angrier, and then a lithe creature swooped down from the sky to snap its beak at Rook. He’d barely recognized the beast as a griffon before his blades were in his hands and he stood to join Rook.

She dodged the animal’s attacks, hands out as if to soothe it. Lucanis really didn’t want to kill a griffon –weren’t they supposed to be extinct?– but not more than he needed to keep Rook whole and healthy. 

“Assan!” A deep voice called from further down the path. 

Immediately the griffon abandoned its attempts to maul Rook and went to its master. The elf bore the Dalish vallaslin, but his armor declared him a Grey Warden. He stroked the griffon’s head and glared at Rook and Lucanis. 

It seemed they had found their monster hunter, and then some. Lucanis kept quiet as Rook explained their presence, watching the Warden and the griffon, just in case. But he should have known Rook would convince the Warden to trust them. Was there anyone she couldn’t win over?

He supposed the First Warden, but there was no accounting for idiots.

And just like that, he was following Rook and this Warden, Davrin, into more danger. He listened half-heartedly to the conversation, while his mind ran laps about Rook. About her touch. How simple it’d been, guileless. The barest brush of her hand. So gentle. 

Another pulse of warmth radiated through him at the memory. He hadn’t felt like this since… he had to think about it. 

Viago?

This was bad. Very bad. He’d been an absolute idiot with the Fifth Talon. Pining like some neglected puppy, until it became clear Viago did not see Lucanis the same way. 

No, Spite said. No one will.

But, if Bellara was to be believed, Rook already did. Or, at least, was open to the idea. 

She doesn’t know,  Spite hissed. Doesn’t see. Won’t want once she does. The demon growled, Not youuuu.

Good. Rook had enough trouble with these blighted gods. She didn’t need to add him and his demons to the list. 

Lucanis would just have to be careful. Keep some distance between himself and Rook, and by the Maker, he couldn’t let her touch him again. 

He didn’t think he’d survive it if she did.

[wickedwitchofthewilds]

Oooohhhhhhohohoho, #24: whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin?

Thank you! Exploring Lucanis and my main Rook: Elauthin

Lucanis stared down at the bottom of his cup and sighed. Time to make another pot to get him through the night, and the morning, and the next day, and the next. Caffeine zipped through him, making him jittery enough to stave of sleep for a little while longer. Exhaustion was a cruel mistress. Lurking around every corner. Seducing him into his cot with a playful wink and nudge. There were times he caught his eyes drifting closed and Spite's burgeoning agitation to take over, to make Lucanis do whatever he wanted, made him shoot back up. The demon, having listened to the others far too much, began to curse whenever Lucanis managed to fend off the siren call of sleep.

He set down the book he had been trying to read but the words blurred together on the page. Harding's pick for their impromptu book club was fine, though a bit boring at times and lacking on romance. Perhaps he would get the chance to choose the next book and they could read one of his favorites. Maybe Rook would join for the next meeting though when she was invited, apparently she declined while looking nervous. He couldn't help but wonder what was so intimidating about a book club. If he asked her why, would she be honest with him?

The dining room was quiet which led him to believe it was empty until he walked out of the pantry and spied a single occupant curled up on the couch. A cold, empty mug was abandoned on the table. He picked it up and the light scent of chamomile and valerian root tickled his nose. Rook only drank that tea when she struggled to sleep. Perhaps Weisshaupt haunted her more than she let on, her relentless optimism fraying at the edges when she was alone. He wished she would open up to them more but then again, he kept himself closed off as well. It was a selfish want. He wanted to know her. All of her. Yet, he had to keep himself locked away lest his demon destroy her. She was not scared of Spite so Lucanis had to be cautious enough for the both of them.

He crouched down right as she drew in a deep breath and he half-expected her to wake and catch him staring at her. But her eyes remained shut and Lucanis took the moment to study the way her eyelashes brushed over her high cheekbones, currently still pink after spending a day in Rivain. A lock of strawberry-blond hair had escaped her braid and curled under her sharp jaw. Gold studs and hoops adorned her pointed ears. From the moment her first saw her in The Ossuary he thought her attractive, and after getting to know her, he thought her beautiful.

But he couldn't have her.

It wouldn't be fair to her. Who would want to pledge their love to an abomination? Especially one who lacked control over his demon. Spite could lash out and harm her while Lucanis could only watch, an intruder in his own body. Lucanis couldn't falter. He would protect her from himself.

"Want." Spite's hiss echoed in the back of his mind but otherwise stayed quiet, waiting for the perfect opportunity to spread his influence.

Lucanis didn't know if Spite was reading Lucanis' desire or speaking about its own. The demon was at the very least fascinated with Rook and that made Lucanis uneasy enough. He didn't need fascination to become infatuation.

Her lips parted slightly. Warm breath tickled the pale hairs on her arm. The balm she often swiped onto her lips—the color of crushed violets—smudged at the corner as her mouth pressed into her arm. Sleeping here couldn't be comfortable but he didn't want to wake her and have her walk all the way back to her room. What if in her half-asleep state she walked right off the edge and fell forever into the Fade? But the thought of carrying her in his arms, of having her body that close to his...Lucanis shuddered.

He carefully brushed the stray lock of hair away from her face and leaned closer. "Rook," he whispered, lips grazing the soft shell of her ear. There was no need to be this close but he wanted to be. He desperately wanted to know how her skin tasted. The sounds she would make if he kissed her.

She grumbled, tucking her face into her elbow and he chuckled softly, allowing his knuckles to brush across her jaw.

"You need to sleep in your own bed, querida," he murmured, the word flitting from his mouth with nary a thought. It felt right. She had become dear to him in a way he could never tell her. Not while he was like this.

With a groan, she rolled onto her back and he leaned away just as she opened her eyes and blinked at him. Lucanis thought he would hate the color blue after being trapped The Ossuary, but her eyes were the color of Treviso's sky during the day and he found himself loving the hue. Purple ringed the pupil of her left eye and he wondered if it was a birth defect but she never spoke about it.

She swiped at the small bit of drool captured in the corner of her mouth. "What happened?"

"You drank your tea and fell asleep in the dining room," he said, tapping the empty mug. "Why didn't you go back to your room?"

Rook frowned and stared at him as if the simple question stumped her. "I was…" she trailed off and reached up to brush baby hairs back from her face and paused. She pushed herself up onto her elbow and reached under her head with her other hand to pull out a book. "I think Bellara left this here."

He carefully plucked the book from her hands. It was the same one from their book club. "Were you reading it?" he asked.

Her eyes shifted away from him and shrugged. "Trying, I guess."

"Did it bore you?"

"No, it was…" she gave a half -hearted shrug. "The words sort of blur together honestly."

"Because you are tired?"

She tugged at the end of her braid. "Sort of. A little." The tips of her ears turned pink. "No, not really."

He raised an eyebrow. "Which one is it?"

"The print is small and the words are too close together," she quietly admitted. "They make versions with larger print but I didn't want to ask. If I had my spectacles, I could read it."

"I have never seen you wear spectacles," he said.

"They kind of broke. Months ago. I never got around to replacing them. I only really need them to look at small things." She rubbed the back of her neck. "And to read."

Lucanis stared down at the cover of the book. "Do you want to read this?"

She gave a small nod.

"Would you like to read it together?" he asked. "I could read it to you."

The pink spread from the ears he had brushed his lips against moments ago down to her neck. "You don't have to."

"I would like to," he said.

She leaned forward, the soft scent of lavender that clung to her skin tickled his nose and he fought the urge to breathe it in. Her eyes searched his though he didn't know what she searched for. For a brief moment, her eyes flicked to his mouth and he swallowed nervously, but if she wanted to kiss him she didn't try. He wanted to. Desperately. Wanted to know if her lips were as soft as they looked. But he couldn't. He wouldn't cross that line.

"Okay," she finally said. "But only if I can read the next book to you. When I get new spectacles, of course."

He should say no. Tell her it wasn't necessary. She did so much for him that he wanted to do something for her. But the chance to listen to her voice even more when he already hung onto her every word. Often replaying their conversations in his head when the silence was too much. Imagining her whispering in his ear, words for his ears only, while existing together in the designated twilight hours. Alone. Unburdened if only for a brief moment. He was toeing the line, but he wanted this. And he wanted for so very little.

"Deal."

[whispersleo]

sleep paralysis

Summary: A quick 1.9k fic about how Rook, in this case a human (trans man) crow mage, struggles with sleep paralysis induced by a demon's presence, blurring the lines between dreams and reality. Trapped in this state, he desperately tries to take control by hallucinating Lucanis.

Rook x Spite mostly lmao ⭑.ᐟ Masturbation, vaginal sex but uhm It's more of a hallucination of the idea of ​​sex sooo... sex is up to the reader's interpretation HAHAHA, second hand embarrassment (probably), no second part, what you read is what it is.

── .✦

Rook had been asleep. He had knocked himself out with alcohol hours ago and had recently woken up, unable to drift off again. After countless attempts of tossing and turning on the couch, sleep finally overtook him.

When he opened his eyes, the room appeared blurred. He got to his feet, hearing a clamor outside—metal clashing and the unmistakable sounds of a fight. This wasn’t The Lighthouse. He was in Treviso, standing in the middle of a street overtaken by the antaam. He braced himself for combat, grabbing his usual staff. The soldiers turned toward the mage, but instead of attacking, they erupted in raucous laughter.

Rook’s eyes widened—first in confusion, then in shock—as he realized he was completely naked. He hastily covered his chest and made a clumsy attempt to shield his lower half.

When he refocused, he was back in the room. A sigh of relief escaped him as he stood up and headed toward the door. The sounds outside now felt familiar—plates clattering, a knife rhythmically hitting a wooden cutting board, the soft crackle of flames from the stove. But as he stepped into the kitchen, all those sounds vanished. No one was cooking. Even the fire in the hearth was out.

His brow furrowed as he moved toward the door at the far end of the dining area. “Lucanis?” he called out softly to the assassin. He pushed against the door, but it remained firmly shut, as immovable as a solid wall. Stepping back, he prepared to kick it open when something damp beneath his feet caught his attention. Looking down, he saw a pool of blood spreading rapidly across the floor. “Lucanis!” he shouted, panic now clear in his voice.

His gaze darted toward the fish tank, his body rigid with unease. This is a dream, he told himself. It has to be a dream. There must be a demon lurking around here. Frustration seeped into his thoughts.

He tried to stand but found himself completely immobilized. His mouth wouldn’t open; even keeping his eyes halfway open was a struggle. Rook stared at his body, draped in a blanket, unable to move a single finger. The fish in the tank began to twist and morph into monstrous shadows swimming toward him. He could feel an oppressive presence behind the couch, its gaze piercing through him.

His eyes shut involuntarily, and when they opened again, he was on his feet, bolting out of the room. The scene he stumbled into was one of horror—a demon of despair loomed at the center of the blood-soaked room, now destroyed beyond recognition. The bodies of his companions lay scattered around.

When he found himself back on the couch, he wanted to cry but fought to clear his mind. He was a mage. He had to fight. He had to wake up, or the demon wouldn’t relent.

Think, he commanded himself, grasping for a way out of the paralysis. He recalled the advice of another apostate among the crows, who once said he escaped such states by hallucinating something… arousing. At the time, Rook had laughed and mocked the suggestion. But now…

He stared at the shadows inching closer, feeling the insistent presence that kept him trapped in the liminal space between dreams and waking reality. If he couldn’t escape, he could at least try to hallucinate something he wanted.

His mouth filled with saliva. Lucanis. He focused intently on the man, forcing the thought to take shape until, with the slightest flicker of his eyes, the vivid image of the assassin appeared before him. Lucanis stood there, dressed in his usual resting attire. The only details out of place were his glowing lilac eyes and a pair of wings sprouting from his back. But Rook wasn’t about to argue with his imagination conjuring yet another demon-like figure. He was simply pleased that he’d managed to summon the image at all—a personal triumph he had no intention of sharing with anyone else.

Lucanis, or rather, Spite, looked at him static and silent, as if waiting. Rook felt his cheeks redden and tried to fill with courage, knowing that none of this was real. He could shape it as much as his darkest desires wanted.

He concentrated, imagining he could move his hand under the blanket, just enough to slip it under his pants and begin directly to masturbate. Rook visualized what he would usually do, place three fingers on his clitoris and rub making circles opposite to where the hands on a clock would go.

The lines between reality and dream blended again. He had no more clothes on him and no blanket, and Spite was in front of him, his eyes focused between Rook's spread legs, on his fast moving hand. Just seeing him like that, watching him attentively while he masturbated, was enough for the mage to feel his area became thoroughly soaked. He parted his folds and inserted one of his fingers, his head going back gently. He wished hard that it was Lucanis' cock instead.

The next thing he felt was the man's body settling in with his legs on either side of his hips and lifting him up to settle his ass over his thighs, set on his knees on the couch. It felt almost real. The sensation stunned Rook. He swore he could feel his sweaty skin on Lucanis' clothes, smelling the scent of the other crow, his hands cupping his waist, touching him.

“Please,” the words left his lips in a low, desperate exhale, watching the other man's face. Spite smiled at him, then unzipped his own pants. Rook supposed he couldn't claim his hallucination had a voice either, but would kill for it, to hear the sounds the assassin would make while aroused.

He felt his eyelids heavy again, too heavy. He couldn't fight to keep his eyes from closing.

A hand touched his face. Slowly, he managed to open them, focusing on the possessed man in front of him again. Spite ran his thumb across his lips and Rook smiled softly, before he felt the demon penetrate him. His gesture contracted, his mouth opening to let out a moan. He was so wet that taking Lucanis full length inside him was only a pleasurable sensation.

“Yes, yes, more,” he whispered, his head resting back on the hand that held him. As Spite began to move, his chest heaved, his back curving. There was no rhythm to how their bodies met, sometimes being faster, then slow, deep and shallow intermittently, but he was delighted, aroused and ecstatic. He moved his mouth, taking the demon's thumb and licking and sucking in a vulgar way.

Rook heard Spite chuckle in a restrained way. He suddenly could hear his breathing, heavy and agitated, mingling with the intense sound of the onslaught, like wet slaps. He saw the demon lean in to kiss his neck, and that gesture alone brought him over the edge immediately, whimpering as he had his release, his whole body vibrating. Spite grunted as he felt Rook squeeze him and pushed as deep into the man as possible to finish inside him, filling Rook.

His vision cleared. He was fully awake now, well covered by his blanket, his hands away from his area. He sat up, his breathing labored, his face red and his skin sweaty.

He felt his pussy stinging and wet, so much so that it might look like he peed in his underwear.

Rook squeezed his face. He just had an orgasm only hallucinating that Lucanis, possessed by Spite, was fucking him in an attempt to escape from a demon of despair that had him trapped in sleep paralysis.

Rook rubbed his face roughly, exhaling in frustration. "At least it worked," he muttered to himself, rising to clean himself up.

Moments later, he entered the dining room, nearly on a jog. Lucanis, busy preparing breakfast, turned toward him with a curious glance at his agitated state. Rook let out a heavy sigh.

“Is something wrong?” the assassin asked.

“No, just… a stupid nightmare,” Rook replied, shaking his head and moving toward the counter to make his usual tea. It was oddly comforting just to see Lucanis safe and sound, though he definitely needed his favorite drink to ground himself back in reality.

Lucanis didn’t push further, returning to the task of preparing plates for everyone. That was when Spite appeared in the dining room, a wide, unsettling smile on his face. The demon’s expression was both unnervingly cheerful and eerily quiet, making Lucanis frown.

“What did you do?” he asked, directing the question toward where Spite now lounged on the couch. For a brief moment, Lucanis thought he saw a flicker of panic in Rook’s expression, though he couldn’t fathom why.

Nothing, Spite replied. Just. Fun. I like Rook. He’s fun even when scared.

The crow scoffed, turning his gaze back to the mage. “Can all demons induce nightmares?” he asked.

Rook gave the slowest, most hesitant nod of his life. “They usually do it to us mages to try and break us or possess us,” he explained, his mouth dry. “Why do you ask...?”

Lucanis wrinkled his nose in irritation. “But can Spite mess with you even if he’s not trying to possess you? Because I think—no, I know—it was him. And if he’s bothering you like that, I don’t know how I’m going to stop him from invading your dreams, but I’ll find a way, because he shouldn’t—”

His voice trailed off as he took in Rook’s expression. The mage’s eyes were wide, his face so red it looked like steam might erupt from his ears. Slowly, realization began to dawn on Lucanis, a faint blush creeping onto his own cheeks. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure as he placed his hands on his hips and looked at the floor.

“It… wasn’t a nightmare, was it?”

He was having a nightmare! Spite interjected, standing up and stepping closer to Lucanis. The demon’s tone was indignant. A despair demon. Rook cried for your help. I heard him! Helped him! Didn’t do anything wrong! Just gave Rook what he wanted! Helped!

Lucanis stared, stunned, unable to process the weight of what the demon was implying, and what Rook was also implying merely with his expression.

“I’m so sorry,” Rook whispered before bolting from the dining room, accidentally bumping into Emmrich on the way out. The older mage stumbled, catching himself as Rook muttered a flurry of apologies before disappearing.

Emmrich turned a puzzled gaze toward Lucanis. “Uh… is everything all right? Can I help with something?” he asked, noticing the assassin’s unsettled demeanor.

Spite groaned dramatically. “Lucanis made Rook feel bad!” he exclaimed, his tone accusing, knowing that the necromancer could hear him.

Lucanis raised a hand. “Spite, please. Quiet. Now.”

“No!” the demon growled. “Rook didn’t do anything wrong! Neither did I! Why do you make him feel bad?” By the end, Spite’s voice carried a note of sorrow.

“Spite, I’m sure Lucanis didn’t mean to upset him,” Emmrich interjected, his tone placating as he turned toward the assassin, looking for confirmation.

Lucanis sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “I’ll take him his breakfast later,” he muttered, brushing a hand over his face. “Thank you, Emmrich.”

“It’s no trouble,” the older mage replied with a gentle smile.

[cybershock24601]

Playing through Bloodbath again and I just know Rook and Neve were exchanging side glances at that cut off amatus when Zara saw Illario like “are you going to tell him?” and then just deciding to keep their mouths shut because they’re not about to tell the guy possessed by Spite that his cousin was fucking the woman who’s been torturing them both for a year and was also the one to sell Lucanis out in the first place. They’re both a little too smart to put themselves in the firing line to tell the guy with a demon in him who just lost his grandma that his only remaining family member fucked him over because Illario’s a jealous bitch.

[littlemourningstarr]

Bright Beginnings

With Thedas safe, Roth can take a moment to wonder about what might wait for him, come morning.

Part of the Catharsis series!

Read below or on AO3!

Pairing: Lucanis x transmasc Rook

Tags: transmasc rook, hurt/comfort, fluff

Stumbling through the Eluvian and back to the Lighthouse felt surreal. Roth wasn't sure he was fully alive, that he wasn't dreaming in a near death state at the feet of a dead god.

But the calm within the Lighthouse pulled him from the battle fog, as he leaned heavily on Davrin, the other elf keeping him upright. His adrenaline had waned, leaving him so tired that even the marrow in his bones ached.

Still, Roth straightened as the rest of the team emerged- bloody, battered, but alive, except for-

Harding.

Her sacrifice hurt. Roth knew it would only hurt more, when it sank in- but right now, exhaustion was clouding everything. They'd won, Thedas was safe from the gods, Solas was in the Fade-

And they could rest.

He was glad to see that no one seemed alone, despite the fact that he was sure they all felt as if they were floating on their own personal dream like isles. But there were wounds to tend to, and that was best done with a partner.

Roth felt a hand, on the small of his back- didn't need to glance back to know it was Lucanis. They may have only shared their one night, but they'd been dancing towards oblivion with each other since their eyes first met-

And gods, the crow loved him. He'd said it, with his whole chest, staring directly into Roth's soul. He loved him.

Neither spoke as they broke off from the group, heading up towards Roth's room. There were medical supplies stashed in everyone's room, and the thought of walking across the strange fade courtyard to Lucanis's little pantry get away- no. Absolutely not.

Besides, this room was something magical, in a way, to Roth.

He closed the door behind them, leaned against it, let his eyes fall shut. He could feel his shirt clinging to him with sweat and blood, bruises forming all along his body- and oh, his head throbbed.

He knew when Lucanis moved- didn't need to see him to hear the air seem to shift, to feel the heat of his body, smell his cologne and blood and sweat, all mingling into something dizzying. Roth barely got his eyes open when a hand slid along his cheek, cupped his jaw so lovingly, as Lucanis found his mouth, kissed him sweetly, yet terrified. Kissed him like he had to make sure Roth was real.

Roth reached between them, grasped at one of the many belts holding a dagger to Lucanis's chest, tried to keep him close, wanted to welcome him into his ribs. He was alive, they were both alive.

"We shouldn't have survived that," Lucanis whispered, barely pulling from Roth's lips. "We should be dead."

"But we're not." Roth flashed a smile, playful, reminiscent of the way he'd smiled at Lucanis when he'd told him, just the night before, that he wouldn't be easy for the crow to get rid of. He leaned up, pecked the corner of Lucanis's lips, before he moved his hands, slid his arms around Lucanis and held onto him. The assassin dipped his head down, nestled into the crook of Roth's neck, let the elf hold him until Roth swore they would be sleeping on their feet.

When he finally lifted his head, he stole one more kiss- sweet, soft, before taking Roth's hand, tangling their fingers together, leading him back towards the large couch that had served as his bed for countless weeks.

It was wordless, as they began to shed armor, weapons. Both knew they would be ugly, beneath the layers- bruised and bloodied. Roth pealed his shirt off and tossed it away, grimacing as the smears of blood along his side, just below one of his tattoos. He touched the wound, bit back a little gasp as his fingers came away slick and red instantly. Fuck, that was deeper than he thought.

"You need to stitch that," Lucanis pointed out, before Roth could try to turn the wound away from him. He glanced at the man- he was bruising already, but seemed to be bleeding less at least.

"Not going to be fun," Roth muttered. He'd stitched himself up before, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it. He'd just been on his own enough in his veil jumper days that waiting for someone else to patch him up wasn't an option.

Lucanis placed a hand on Roth's shoulder, guided him to sit. The elf did, perch on the edge of the couch, as he watched Lucanis cross the room, disappear into a tiny offshoot that had been Roth's bathroom. And where he'd left all of his medical supplies. Damn, maybe he should have grabbed those before half stripping.

What could he say, he was lucky he could think, in that moment.

Lucanis reappeared, supplies in hand, along with a pile of small towels and a bowl, filled with water. Roth shifted, ready to stand up- to take some of the supplies, to worry more about Lucanis-

But the crow shot him a stern look that had him keeping firmly in place. "Let me," he said, as he set everything down, guiding Roth to lean back so he could see the wound. "Someone should look after you occasionally."

He wet one of the little towels, took the cloth and very carefully dabbed at the wound, cleaning the blood and sweat from it. Roth sucked at his tongue- it hurt, but Lucanis's touch was gentler than any living being's touch should be. To think those hands killed countless, and yet they could touch Roth like this…

Like they had, the night before.

The next touch was another cloth, doused with something strong smelling. It stung and Roth winced, gritting his teeth against the undignified noise he made. Lucanis hushed him, before the sting turned into a tingling numbness.

"You're still going to feel this," Lucanis warned, and Roth nodded, glanced away. No reason to watch the needle pierce his skin. And while it did still hurt- Roth was able to bite at his cheek, his tongue, to keep himself still. His fingers flexed as he grasped at the couch, until Lucanis was setting the needle aside, adhering a large bandage over it.

Roth exhaled, when Lucanis pulled away, the crow standing up, a little groan escaping him. His whole body had to ache in just the same way- joints locking, muscles torn and exhausted, heavy. Carefully Roth pushed himself up, careful not to twist too much, as he grasped Lucanis's forearm, forcing him to pause so Roth could try and get a good look at him. He could see a nasty tear in his pants, at one thigh- blood stained, but not flowing still, like Roth's side had been.

"Your turn," the elf offered- and when Lucanis didn't move, he reached out, deftly flicked his belt open, left the crow staring at him with slightly wide eyes that he could move so swiftly with such a silly action.

Roth left him with a little smile and nothing more, pulling out a roll of bandages and and wetting a cloth. When Lucanis moved around him, back into his line of sight, he had stripped down to just his underwear. He perched himself on the couch, one heel dug into the frame, so that his bloodied thigh was elevated and Roth could work.

There were a few cuts, as if claws had ripped along Lucanis's tanned thigh. They weren't deep, much to Roth's relief, and while they had to be tender, they were barely bleeding at this point.

He wiped the blood away, making sure his touch stayed light. Carefully he wound the bandage around Lucanis's thigh a few times, before gently guiding the man to settle his weight onto it. "Okay?"

"Okay is not the word- but better." The crow flashed a smile, and Roth felt his entire being go up in fluttering wings. Head spinning from it, he leaned forward, got his arms around Lucanis's waist and rested his head in his lap, content to just touch, to just be connected- to feel the heat of his skin against his own. To know they were both alive, for another day.

Maybe for many more days.

Lucanis threaded his fingers into Roth's mahogany hair, toying with it gently. It made Roth feel drowsy, and for a few blissful minutes he drifted, felt like he could simply succumb to exhaustion right there on his knees.

But the creak of his room's door roused him, as he heard, "Roth? Lucanis?" He lifted his head, caught sight of Bellara as she walked part way into the room- enough that she could see over the couch, could see Roth settled half clothed so close to a nearly naked Lucanis's lap.

The color that rose on her cheeks was absolutely adorable.

"Oh! I, uh, I didn't mean to- well, I just… I can go." She took a step back, as Roth simply dropped his head down onto Lucanis's thigh, laughing.

"Bel, it's nothing," he managed, though he wasn't sure she even heard him. "Lucanis, tell her."

The crow, however, seemed at a loss for words- and Roth was forced to lift his head, to stand up slowly. Bellara had walked back a few steps, but she hadn't left, at least.

"I'm just so exhausted I nearly fell asleep," he offered. "Did you need something?"

"I just wanted to check on you both." She shifted, her hair free for one of the first times that Roth could ever recall. She had changed from her own bloodied clothes, and Roth could see countless bandages and wrappings along her hands. "Davrin got himself patched up already and is dead asleep with Assan. Emmrich and Manfred are… well, they're sitting outside Taash's room.."

Roth closed his eyes for a moment. Taash. They had to be in agony, with Lace sacrificing herself. But they would need time, Roth knew. Time to accept it, before they wanted to open up.

"And Neve?" Lucanis asked, having turned now, an arm extended along the back of the couch. Roth could see a nasty bruise forming on one of his biceps- like something had held onto him so tightly it had branded his skin.

"Passed out the moment she was near something soft." Bellara smiled over that. "The blight might be out of her, but she's drained."

"We all are," Roth admitted. "Get some rest yourself, Bel. I think the best any of us can do right now is sleep."

She nodded, glancing between the two men again- before giving a little smile and showing herself out. When the door closed Roth flopped down onto the couch next to Lucanis, giving a heavy sigh.

"I think," Lucanis offered, gently placing a hand on Roth's shoulder and trying to guide him back, "you should take your own advice."

Roth glanced back at him, before he reached up, covered Lucanis's hand with his own. "Only if you stay," he whispered, tracing the man's fingers. The thought of being more than a room apart from Lucanis in that moment made him feel ill.

"Tesoro, where would I go?" Lucanis moved to carefully wrap an arm around Roth, cognizant of the wound he had stitched up breaths and years ago. "You're here, there's nowhere else for me to be."

Roth squirmed, twisted so he could face Lucanis slightly- ignored the way it pulled at his fresh stitches, made his chest fell as if it had boulders resting on it. He got his hand in Lucanis's hair, pulled him closer, kissed him with an intensity that had the crow going stiff, for a moment, shocked. He melted into it, after a moment, responding to every movement of Roth's lips- even the press of the tip of the elf's tongue, to his own.

Lucanis leaned back, pulled Roth down with him, so the elf was sprawled between his legs, resting against his chest. Roth kept kissing him, unwilling to let himself breathe, happy to die if it meant joining himself to Lucanis's soul.

When Roth did pull back, panting softly, Lucanis chased him, stole another slow, deep kiss, before he was reaching for the blanket they had left discarded that morning, when they had rose to face the end of the world together.

Facing the beginning of the world together was a nice change.

Roth dozed, fell into a dreamless sleep, a sweet embrace of nothing. And when he woke, it was still to Lucanis, the two having shifted, so that Lucanis was pressed into Roth's neck, clutching at him with their legs entangled.

Slowly, Roth blinked away sleep. There wasn't a sign that Lucanis had moved from their entanglement- meaning that Spite had slept soundly, as well. Or whatever demons did. Roth sort of wondered if they could just turn themselves off, like when a candle blows out. Or if they existed in a semi-aware stasis…

Slowly, he felt Lucanis move- shifting against him, lifting his head. His eyes were hazy with sleep, and Roth couldn't keep from smiling at him, so sweetly, so affectionately, that his cheeks hurt.

"Hello gorgeous," he offered, and Lucanis gave a single chuckle, as if he was bemused that the little rogue was far from smooth. Yet there was a bit of color, on his tanned cheeks, along the bridge of his nose. "What?" When Lucanis didn't answered- just kept that little smirk that made Roth's knees weak, the elf continued. "Well, it's true- but would you rather I call you something else? Hmm, honey," Roth lifted a hand, tapping his fingers as he lifted the options, "baby, sweetheart, darling- oh, doll."

"You're still impossible," Lucanis mumbled, gently guiding Roth to his back, so he was looming over him. The crow's hair fell over his shoulders, acted like a veil against the room, against reality itself. "You could simply use my name."

"Lucanis," Roth whispered, so sweetly he swore he was going to burst with affection. Lucanis's stare softened.

"I won't ever get sick of hearing you say it."

Roth leaned up, pecked his lips. "Lucanis." When his crow smiled more, he kissed him again, deeper now. "Lucanis," he sighed, into it, before the man pushed him back down, kept him pinned as he inclined his head, deepened the kiss until Roth was spinning behind his closed eyelids.

Lucanis finally pulled back, and Roth glanced up through thick, dark lashes.

"I won't get sick of saying it," he admitted. "But you called me… something."

Lucanis hesitated, before he said, very softly, "tesoro." Another pause, before he glanced away, and that flush was back on his pretty face. "It means treasure."

Roth could have sobbed. His breath stuck in his throat, his belly up in knots, and oh, he loved this man. So fiercely. As if they had spent thousands of years inside the heavens' stasis, two souls entwined.

"Lucanis…" Roth splayed a hand on his chest, gently guided him until Lucanis was sitting up, so Roth could as well. He kept the hand on his chest though, fingertips flexing just over where he could feel his heart beating. "You said you loved me."

The crow reached up, covered Roth's hand with his own. "I meant it." Roth could feel the way his voice vibrated, within his chest.

"I know. I didn't doubt that you did." He leaned in closer, leaned his forehead against Lucanis's. "I love you too. I should have said it right then- or maybe I should have just said it months ago-"

Roth cut off when Lucanis got his free arm around his waist, pulled him flush to his chest, pinning their hands awkwardly between them. He kissed him, all sweetness and affection, but gods, there was force there, there was desire, there was this screaming need to consume everything Roth was.

Roth felt the air crackle, through his lashes could see those purple phantom wings appearing, wrapping up both of them. Whether Spite was trying to take a moment of freedom while Lucanis was so engrossed in feeling, or perhaps the demon himself was agreeing, Roth wasn't sure.

"I don't know what happens when we leave this room," Roth added, when Lucanis finally relinquished his mouth. "I don't know what sort of world we're about to face. But I'd take on the gods again, if it meant meeting you."

Lucanis freed his hand from between them, curled it along the side of Roth's throat, thumb on his chin, against his lower lip. And, so quietly Roth could barely hear him, whispered, "come home with me." When Roth just stared, couldn't answer, Lucanis added, "To Treviso. Come back with me. Stay with me."

And Roth… he didn't know what to say, but he knew what he wanted.

"Would that be alright?" Lucanis lived in a world so different from what Roth was accustomed to. Sure, he'd been away from the veil jumpers for some time, had been with traveling with Varric, but-

The crows. They-

"Will welcome you with open arms."

Gods was Lucanis actually in his head.

"Stop doing that," Roth teased- and when Lucanis quirked a brow, at added, "Being in my head- knowing what I'm thinking."

"Only if you stop doing it to me as well." Lucanis pulled back, stood up- and in the faint light, Roth could clearly see all of the bruises on his skin. It left his insides hot with anger, that Lucanis hurt-

But gods did he want to press his mouth to each one, and try to soothe them.

"I'm not a crow," Roth pointed out, as he stood up as well.

"But you should be." And- alright, Viago and Teia had said the same thing, once. "But that doesn't matter. Crow or not," Lucanis cupped his face, thumbs running along his cheeks, almost brushing the dots tattooed just below his eyes. "You're mine."

Lucanis kissed him again, harder now- and Roth reached up, grasped at his forearms, held on as he swore his legs trembled.

"And," Lucanis added, between kisses, "I'm yours." He leaned back, giving Roth a look- waiting for an answer.

"And your grandmother?"

Lucanis barked a laugh, shaking his head. "Leave Caterina to me, tesoro." Roth took a breath, before he nodded.

After all, where did he have to go, after this? He wasn't exactly a veil jumper anymore- and the world wasn't ending. Frankly, he wouldn't mind not being in charge of keeping Thedas in one piece, honestly.

And the only place he wanted to be was wherever Lucanis was.

He was given another kiss, before Lucanis stepped away, searching for his clothes. Roth couldn't keep himself from watching- and despite the aches in his body, if Lucanis had turned around and thrown him down on the couch, he would have gladly gone.

Instead, the crow began dressing. Roth considered asking him back to bed- even if it was just to lay there, entangled together- but his own stomach gave a growl a moment later- and oh, Lucanis grinned.

"I think breakfast is in order." He picked up Roth's bloodied shirt, before furrowing his brows at it and dropping it again. "And I imagine you're not the only one who would think so."

True, Roth wasn't sure how long they had slept, but if anyone else was awake, he was sure they were famished. Saving the world really was hungry work.

"I can make the coffee," Roth offered, looking for another shirt. And while he had expected Lucanis to brush that off, the crow gave him a bemused little chuckle.

"I think I can trust that to you."