#or at least one of the more known ones anyway

[alchemistc]

He's been good. He's been - pretending to be good well enough that no one has been suspicious.

It's just -

That was it. That was The One.

And sure. He can get back out into the world. He can fall in love again. There is a beautiful man somewhere out in the world who will make him laugh, make him cry.

He's just not sure he wants to put the effort in anymore.

For a hot second he'd really thought -

Not that it matters, anymore.

He's pretty sure his leg is pinned. The cockpit is more smoke than air, at this point. He can feel his toes, but honestly that might be more a curse than a blessing.

He's been staring at the phone in his hand for the last five minutes. Ever since he realized he didn't have the leverage to try to move the bracket keeping him from slipping free of the broken, crunched in door frame.

It's selfish. It's the most selfish fucking thing he's considered since he decided to break his own heart instead of letting someone else.

But logistically he's got about seven minutes until there's too much smoke and not enough air in here, and that's only IF the fire doesn't catch somewhere else.

He's got enough bars. And there are two numbers he could call. Two ways this could go.

The phone rings through four times, and on the fifth, someone answers.

"This is a bad time, Tommy," Eddie says, and Tommy feels a little hysterical. The laughter comes in fits, only slows when he gets a nice good whiff of smoke straight up his nose.

"Sure is."

The tone shifts. "Are you okay?"

"It was a bad idea anyway."

He feels woozy. Glances down at his leg and realizes that stain he'd thought was shadow is... definitely blood.

"Listen. I'm - when Evan gets the call, don't let him go alone. It's my fault for not updating my ICE."

The silence on the other line is deafening. "Tommy, where are you? Don't - don't make any decisions you can't come back from." It's a panned line he'd heard at the VA the half dozen times he'd gone.

"Yeah I didn't really make this decision myself. I'm just - I'm losing a lot of blood, here, and there's not a lot of ways for the smoke to get out of this cabin, and -."

High alert has a very specific sound and feel to it.

Eddie's cursing, something is shuffling, he's snapping his fingers in the distance. God, they're probably at work. "Where are you?"

Tommy rattles off his last known coordinates. "I already told dispatch, Eddie. I'm just. They're not gonna make it in time, and I need you to promise me you won't let him be alone when -."

It'd been a trip he would have been riding shotgun for, if Tommy hadn't made sure he wasn't. He's grateful for that, at least.

He's really not expecting much, he thinks. Eddie doesn't have to go far out of his way to support Buck. It'll hurt him, true. But Tommy's gotten pretty used to being the cause of that. And. He'll be dead, anyway, so he won't have to carry that guilt for long.

And then Eddie betrays whatever vestige of friendship they had left, because it's not Eddie's voice that responds.

"Hey asshole. Do you have enough leverage to break the window?"

He's got a good voice. A little gruff, a little heavy.

Tommy doesn't want this.

"No."

"Actually no, or are you just accepting your fate again without even talking about alternatives."

It's not how he thought he'd go. Dramatic final hour phone call, the end of their relationship as a metaphor for the bleakness of his situation. "I'm sorry, Buck."

He's having trouble focusing his eyes. There's a beat behind his ears that keeps slowing down. He thinks he might be hearing sirens but -

"Evan," Tommy says for the first time in six months. "I'm so sorry, Evan."

He says - something. The tone of it is there, even if he can't quite make out the words.

Tommy blinks. Coughs.

There's a phone in his hands.

Why is there a phone in his hands, he's supposed to be flying a -

He'd crashed it, actually.

Well shit.

Damn.

Eddie's gonna be so pissed if he has to find out second hand that Buck's going to get a really fucking shitty call in a few hours.

He should call.

---

When he blinks open his eyes, he finds his fingers first, nearly has a panic attack when they don't move they way he wants them to, except - oh.

There are fingers interlocked with his.

Tommy follows the line of the arm, even though he knows.

"Sorry," Evan says, and there are tears unshed at the corners of his eyes but he looks mad as hell. "You only get one dramatic exit out of my life in a calendar year."

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Another thought on this, you know what would also be funny? If Arthur, Merlin, and the knights, while on a quest, came across a colony of trolls living in a cave.

Of course, they all prepare to be attacked by the angry trolls, but then one troll barks out in a gravelly voice, "Wait, isn't that human with the gold sword Grolda's stepson?"

The trolls pause and look at Arthur, and they start murmuring amongst themselves, while Arthur, Merlin, and the knights all glance at each other, very confused, but they begin to creep back towards the exit while the trolls are distracted by whatever they're talking about.

Before they can make it to the exit and escape though, the trolls turn back to them with grotesque smiles on their faces. Suddenly, one of the trolls started speaking to Arthur, who had to resist the urge to violently flinch backwards at the smell of its breath.

"Well, we had heard that that old wench had gone and disguised herself as some ugly princess to trick the king of Camelot into marrying her, but none of us thought she'd ever get away with it! It turns out you humans are a bit thicker in the head than you think! Never thought we'd be seeing you around these parts though!"

Arthur and Merlin both take sharp inhales at that, realizing now that these trolls must have known the one that pretended to be Catrina and infiltrated Camelot.

The group of trolls then starts to crowd around the group of humans, putting them on the defensive. The trolls push them back, further into the cave and towards a long slab of rock that looked like it was being used as a long feasting table, if the rotten fruit and meat piled up on it was any indication.

Arthur's anxiety increased with each step back he was forced to take. Were these trolls aiming to avenge their friend? Oh god, were the trolls looking to make a meal out of them?!

Arthur swung his sword at the troll in front of him with all his might, fueled by fear and desperation. He couldn't meet his end at the hands of these disgusting creatures!

To Arthur's horror though, the beast simply caught his arm in an inhumanly strong grip and laughed, his breath somehow smelling even worse than before.

"You've got some fight in ya! I'm sure you'll fit right in, but that still no way to greet family!"

Arthur lowered his arm, confusion somehow overpowering his fear. "Family?" His tone was filled with disgust, confusion, and sheer disbelief.

The troll grinned at him again, this time slinging a grimy arm over Arthur's shoulders.

"Of course! I should introduce myself. The name's Bronk, and I'm your step-uncle!"

(Merlin almost couldn't stop himself from laughing hysterically, but he managed to barely stifle his laughs.)

And that's how Arthur found himself, dumbfounded, sitting with Merlin and the knights at a feasting table filled with rotten food, listening to his new "extended family" introduce themselves and discuss all the best ways to introduce him to the troll lifestyle.

The trolls all tolerated the knights, but funnily enough, they seemed to be enjoying Merlin's company, laughing at the stories that the manservant was telling them. At Arthur's questioning look, Merlin shrugs and says "It's not that different from sitting with the knights during feasts. They have all the same manners anyways, and at least the trolls don't demand me to fetch them more mead."

And that's how Arthur got forcefully adopted by his troll stepfamily! :D

(also @sugar-coated-prat-dragon, since I promised you something fluffy! <3)

You know what's one thing I'm disappointed we never got in Merlin? After the troll episodes, the entire event was never brought up again!

I mean, I understand if the people of Camelot would rather forget about the whole thing, but Arthur had a troll for a stepmother for like a week and Merlin never teased him about it later on?!

I would really like to write a fic or au some day set in the Golden Age where it's discovered that dragonlords got their powers from being descended from ancient powerful dragons that shapeshifted in humans and had half-human children.

And Arthur's reaction is to turn to Merlin and go "So what you're telling me is that one of your ancestors was deranged enough to sleep with a dragon? That certainly confirms my theory that your insanity is passed down through your blood."

And of course Merlin immediately fires back, "And remind me Sire, which of our family trees includes a troll?"

Arthur sputters for a moment before shouting that that doesn't count, she enchanted his father and the whole thing was a trick, before Geoffrey pipes up and says, "Actually sire, as it was an official wedding, Queen Catrina the Troll was officially added to the Pendragon family tree. And as the marriage was never formally annulled before her death, she cannot be removed from the record."

Arthur's left horrified by this, while Merlin's laughing his ass off.

I just think a scene like that would be neat!

[parfaitblogs]

over the moon ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a bout of insomnia prompts the usage of your arguably overworked baking equipment. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. cliché flour fight into kissing... sorry... no i'm not. use of pet names. make out sesh (obviously).  word count: 1.4k a/n: also known as spencer and reader take on the margotlia bucket list for margovember!!! happy birthday to my lover @pathologicalreid!!! who has very quickly become my other half on this silly little side of tumblr. a prophet told me there are snickerdoodle cookies and a smithsonian date with our names on it in our futures ♡

"Honey, please tell me the light on in the kitchen is you getting a glass of water."

Like a deer in headlights, you're frozen in your beelined pathway between the fridge and the countertop of Spencer's kitchen, the carton of eggs in your hands preventing any attempt of a lie to him.

"Uh..." Your eyes lock with his, and he's visibly deflating upon spotting the pantry's baking ingredients arranged in front of you. "I'm just getting water?"

"I didn't realise you put sticks of butter into your water," he counters, voice meticulously picking apart your lie in front of your face. "Does that taste good?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sure," he nods his head, his feet carrying him over to you behind the counter. "What recipe have you chosen to victimise today?"

"Snickerdoodle cookies," you mumble, as his arms wrap around your waist, and his chin sits on your shoulder, eyes peering at your phone screen that had the cookie recipe open. 

"Any particular reason?" 

"I couldn't sleep," you explain. "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah," he nods, and a beat passes where you mumble a quiet apology to him, before he's pulling away from you and picking up your phone. "Where do we start?"

It wasn't the first time you had baked instead of sleeping, and it certainly wasn't the first time Spencer had woken up to the sound of your hand mixer combining sugar and butter, or the oven timer dinging to accompany the smell of freshly baked muffins. In fact, he had become accustomed to not getting through an entire fortnight without at least one tray of baked goods taking up counter space. 

It was the first time he had offered to help you, though. He either accompanied you and watched you bake, or sat at his desk to get paperwork done (he said he should use the extra time spent conscious wisely). 

"You don't have to help," you're shaking your head, but he's already going to the sink to wash his hands. 

"You only slept for two hours before waking up to do this. I'd like to get you back to bed sooner rather than later," he answers, patting his hands dry. "I won't sleep until you do, anyways."

"Okay," you relent, staring at him almost stunned, before you return to the recipe you had up on your phone. "Um... could you combine the sugar and butter?"

Baking with Spencer Reid seemed to make everything a lot easier. Ignoring the obvious (the help an extra set of hands provided), his eidetic memory meant you could throw a step his way, and he'd know exactly what he was doing. Having asked him to add the eggs to his sugar and butter mix, he was already separating the yolk from the whites before you needed to say a thing.

"Have you ever stuck your hand into flour?" you ask him, and he lifts his head, eyebrows frowning together. 

"No. Why would I do that?"

"To know what it feels like," you say, dryly, though there isn't any malice behind it. "Have you never wanted to know what it feels like?"

"You can use context clues to figure out what it would feel like," he replies. "Correct?" 

"Spencer, you're entirely missing the point," you shake your head, and though he lifts his head from his sugar-butter-and-egg mixture to question you, he doesn't even remotely expect a large fistful of flour to explode across his chest. 

Then, you're laughing, and he's still battling with the initial shock of your flour attack for a few more seconds to laugh with you. But, when he does, he's almost mocking with it, and your face falls when he's putting his own hand into the container labelled flour, lifting it, and dragging his hand over your stomach. 

"Oh my God!" you say through a laugh, looking down at the smear of flour on your t-shirt. "Spencer!"

"Reap what you can sow," he retorts. 

So, you do.

You aren't too sure when the flour fighting gets more intimate. Somewhere between your fingers running it through his hair, and his hands landing on your ass, as he tugs you into him.

You're heaving, though the smile on your face is perfect, and he's certain he might be falling in love with you all over again. Cheeks stained in flour and all. 

"Hello," you sing, lifting your chin up to smile at him.

"Hi, sweet girl," he replies, ducking his head down to brush his lips against yours, and you pull a face at the faint taste of flour on them. 

Your finger lifts up to brush his lower lip, face growing concentrated as you brush the powder off it. "You've got a little... something..." 

"Do I?" he asks, condescendingly, and you're firmly nodding your head. 

"Yep. This is why I bake alone, Spencer Reid," you tut. 

His eyebrows raise. "I don't know if I want to even try to prove you wrong."

"I wouldn't recommend it."

"Duly noted. Anything you do recommend?"

You pause. "Kissing me might help in my journey of forgiving you for this mess."

If he's got any plan to defend himself, it crumbles beneath the words of your request, and his lips are stretching into a smile. 

"I'll do whatever I can."

His lips have a film on them from the brushed away flour, making them softer than they usually are, as he presses them against yours. Hands that were once resting almost teasingly on your ass lift to your hips, and your own drop to the countertop behind him as you lean into him.

As you usually feel in your slow moments like this with him, you feel your heart soar, your head tilting to the side as you accomodate his face being so close to your own. 

Arguably, his favourite thing about kissing you for longer than half a second, is the mewls and hums that leave your lips. Never too much to prompt anything more, but instead just enough to tell him just how much you enjoy kissing him. A feeling that is entirely mutual.

As soon as it starts, it's over. Which can't really be true, for you are panting when his head pulls away from yours,  and he's got that glassy look in his eyes that always makes your body warm. 

"We need to go shower," he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. 

You want to decline, just to stay standing right there in the kitchen with him, the urge to keep kissing him almost overwhelming. But his fingers have lifted to brush against a patch of flour on your neck, and you're surrendering at the feeling. 

"Okay."

Thus, forty-five minutes and one unreasonably long shower later, you were standing back in the kitchen, a bowl with cinnamon and sugar in front of you. Spencer's t-shirt hanging off your body — after you had expertly coerced him into letting you wear it — and a fork in your hands as you whisk the two toppings together. 

He's sitting on a stool on the other side of the bench, stirring the dough together after you had complained it was too thick. He argued it was supposed to be. 

Heading over to Spencer once the cinnamon and sugar was combined in a bowl, you mumble, "Okay. 'm tired," your head buried into the crook of his neck. 

"Yeah, weaponising that flour probably exhausted some energy," he muses, letting go of the wooden spoon to wrap his arms around you. "We still need to bake these, though."

"Cookie dough is yummy too," you retort, hand reaching out to pinch a piece of the dough. 

"Cookie dough isn't safe for you to eat," he answers, catching your wrist before you can get ahold of any batter. Upon seeing your pout, combined with the tired look in your eyes, he relents, letting you pick up a small piece just to eat. "How about we put this in the fridge, and we bake them tomorrow?" 

"I like that plan."

"I thought you would."

Helping him with the clean up consisted of you putting the dough in the fridge and cinnamon sugar in the pantry, and him doing... everything else. He didn't seem to mind, though, and his hands found their place on your waist as he walked you back towards the bedroom. 

"C'mon, sleepy girl."

He laughs at your incoherent grumble towards the name calling, letting you drag him back into the bed adorned with wrinkled sheets. 

"Thanks for baking with me," you say, voice layered with your exhaustion as you're curling up next to him. 

"Thanks for attacking me with flour."

"And I'd do it again."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[6esiree]

𝐑𝐮𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧

Even after almost a century in Hell, Alastor refused to address the primal urge that ensnared his body because, according to him, his efforts were fruitless—a measly handjob. You kept your lips sealed in a fine line as you pressed yourself against his back, but your chest vibrated with an amused hum anyway. You couldn’t help it. How could he not know that only one of his kind could grant him release from the dreadful ache that overcame him every year?

“So, you’ve never thought to ask for help?” You asked him as your arms came around his waist to unbuckle his belt. “From someone like—“

“I have, from Mimzy,” Alastor interrupted you, his eyes flitting down to observe the way your fingers pried his belt open with a clink. “It didn’t work.”

You were the first doe he had ever met, and while a small part of him instinctively yearned for you, he refused to acknowledge it because once upon a time, he swallowed his pride. And what came out of it? Nothing. Nothing good. Nothing but disappointment and a friend who continued to pester him without a singular ounce of shame, promising a “better performance” that would surely leave him satisfied. What a sleazeball, but he always let her down gently due to their history.

“Hell’s an unforgivable place, you know,” You said as you unfastened his slacks. “If we could just *do it* with anybody, would Hell really be Hell?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be,” Alastor simply said, his hands anxiously flexing at his sides. “But what are you getting at—oh, why does that feel different?”

Because you were a doe and he was a buck. It only made sense that when you dipped your hand into his briefs and gently swiped your thumb against the head of his cock, smearing his precum down his length, he would find relief for the first time since he found out he was damned for eternity. But to Alastor, the revelation was strange. He had known you for, what, less than a year? So how could he feel relieved being touched in the most intimate of areas by a practical stranger?

“Mimzy is no doe,” You told him. His cock was thick, but you managed to wrap your hand around the base anyway. “And in a good way orrr?”

“Yes, in a good way,” Alastor let out a small huff, one that oozed relief at the experimental pump you gave him. “And yet it’s still not enough.”

Of course your hand wasn’t going to be enough, but you selfishly indulged yourself by stroking his cock a few more times anyway, memorizing the soft, velvety skin of his length within your palm before urging him to make himself at home on your bed. You could feel his muscles stiffen against your chest in uncertainty, but eventually, his shoulders sagged and a resigned ‘Very well, then,’ seeped past his lips. It was rut season, after all, and you too were aching for a breeding.

“When we’re… *done*,” Alastor tentatively started as your bed dipped with a soft creak. “Is that it? Or must we seek relief for the entirety of it?”

“Unfortunately, it’s the latter.”

“That is what I feared.”

It wouldn’t be long before you had Alastor, the Radio Demon, splayed out on your sheets, his chest heaving with trepidation as you crawled onto his lap and positioned yourself over his cock. And while he only shrugged off his coat and slipped off his shoes for the sake of his comfort, he looked absolutely breathtaking beneath you. He was being so compliant and submissive, and as you hiked up your skirt and pulled your panties to the side, the gasp he let out was otherworldly.

That is what he feared—the obvious gratification that fell over your soft features as you planted your palms on his chest and sunk down onto his cock, and all because you had such a powerful overlord grasping your hips with a vulnerability that even the least perceptive of sinners could recognize. Not the act of having sex with you. No, not at all. As your walls accommodated every bit of him, molding to his girth, molding to his length, he realized he quite liked that.

But you didn’t know that. And while his statement admittedly dealt a blow to your ego, you continued to roll your hips in a steady rhythm to milk Alastor’s cock for all of what it was worth because you needed him just as much as he needed you. Not because you had reduced him into something weak or pathetic as he assumed, and your lips only curled up in obvious gratification at how perfectly his cock filled the empty space in your walls.

“But you need me,” You gasped as he thrusted up and tried to match your pace, the pleasure clouding his judgement.

“That is not what I meant,” Alastor let out a groan as he caught you by surprise, your back hitting the mattress. “You, ma biche, were made for me.”

Your eyes flew open as he wrapped his arms around the back of your knees and practically laid himself on top of you, his face pushing into the crook of your neck. But it was the way his cock drove impossibly deeper into your cunt with the sole purpose of painting your womb with thick, hot ropes of his cum that had your lips parting with a long whine. You were nowhere near done, your swollen clit throbbing against his pelvis in longing, but neither was Alastor.

“I don’t know what has overcome me,” Alastor admitted as he moved his head down to kiss at your pebbled nipples through your shirt.

“But you?” He paused so he could caress your bud with the flat of his tongue, making your walls clamp around his cock.

“You aren’t leaving my sight until I’ve managed to defy God by filling you up with my fawns.”

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and weaved your hands in his hair, tugging at his ears with a long whine as his claws suddenly pierced your thighs. He then gave your breasts one last kiss before rubbing his cheek on whatever part of you was exposed, completely and utterly taken by his rut-addled mind. But you? You were still present. And as he abused your cervix with the head of his cock, you wondered what would happen after rut season was over.

[saturnniidae]

Hiccup would speed when he's alone and the roads are empty (hes a reckless driver but only a danger to himself. At least he tries to be), and on long car rides with passengers whoever in the seat next to him is on leg holding duty bc ts would be uncomfortable if you're sitting for so long (he's not above whacking Ruff with it when she puts gravel in the glove box. ??? Like a freak)

He'd also probably be kinda spiteful about just driving in general. I'm not well versed on it for amputees specifically, and laws vary on location but. generally they're not huge fans of disabled people wanting to drive and I feel like just getting a license when you only have one real foot would be beyond irritating. (You crash once and they make you jump through hoops just to be allowed on the road again despite it being the other drivers' fault 💀)

I feel strongly he'd also be very bossy about music with passengers (do NOT let Fishlegs on aux 😭🙏. Bro nobody wants to listen to ur self help audiobooks). And a backseat driver when he's with others. Astrid refuses to drive him anywhere bc not only is he insufferable and hypocritical (nitpicks her abt shit HE DOES TOO), he has the audacity to try and control the music she plays in her car (tried to go somewhere together on a date and almost broke up from the fight that started on driving habits).

Actually none of them can carpool they're all horrible it devolves into shouting matches at record speeds. Fishlegs has given up on trying to diffuse things and started bringing headphones to drown out the shouting.

I think other than Fishlegs who is a sickeningly careful and anxious driver (accidentally ran a red light once and almost had a heart attack) Astrid is the most responsible, except for the roadrage that only comes out when the gang is in the car with her, although she has been known to flip other people off... (her ugly, old soccer mom car was optimal for all of them and the twins failed their learners permit exam, weren't allowed to retake it and are essentially blacklisted from ever having licenses, Snotlout has his own monstrosity of a car but will not pass up a chance to bum a ride out of one of his friends, and Fishlegs is again, very anxious behind the wheel.) It's for this reason she stopped taking her friends places.

There was a lot of "Hiccup to not TOUCH the bluetooth speaker. I'm not in the fucking mood for lemon demon or whatever– Tuff if you roll down the window to stick your head out of it like a dog one more time, I'm leaving you on the side of the road like a stray. You too, Snotlout, if I catch you eating in my car with your nasty cheeto fingers again there will be HELL to pay. Ruffnut if you stick your gum on the dashboard I'll crash this fucking car just so you go down with me" etc etc.

Anyways no more dragon rider carpool they just meet up to hangout at each other's houses or parks.. or anywhere they're not banned from, which is a list that gets slimmer over time (Hiccup blew up some mailboxes on accident when he was like 13 and small business to Not forget. Local establishments are not fans of the twins for obvious reasons)

As skilled at flying dragons the gang is I sincerely don't believe that even ONE of them would be passasble at driving a car

[poetryvampire]

✨️trop men and if they could get you off based mostly on vibes ✨️

💕Now to level the playing field let's give a simple y/n on if they could get the job done during your first time together and the overall mood of the evening. Mildly nsfw (I'm not gonna get too detailed...unless 👀)

Adar💀 Yes. Woof, not to get too crass right off the bat but daddy is the name he earned so yes absolutely. Also brace yourself it will be kinkier than you think and it will awaken something in you. And it would start off painfully slow just easing you into it lightly. Seems like a great opportunity to try things you've been curious about but beware you're getting into like five kinks that haven't even crossed you mind before. One minute you're having a romantic candle lit dinner then Bam youre wearing a chain collar with his name on it.

Elrond 😇 Oh, god bless. No. Baby I'm sorry but no. That being said it would still be a great time with really positive vibes. But Elrond would get too in his own head thinking about options and the best 'plan of attack' to actually deliver. Plus he would play it super safe not wanting to off put you in anyway and thus would kill the passion a bit. Still would be the biggest sweetheart and over all give you a fun time. (Give him time to build his confidence though lotr Elrond Fucks for sure)

Halbrand 🐶 LISTEN Listen listen...No. Hear me out. I just-I feel it in my blood that this guy will rizz you so hard and talk such a big game and than when he time comes it's just ok at best. Like he's made at least one person come before and thinks he has cracked the code. Still his heart's (seemingly) in the right place and its pretty romantic over all. Lots and lots of cuddling.

Annatar 🐱 Yes. And it's amazing but the vibes are terrible. He gets way too intense too fast. He's the kind of guy to say some really weird shit during. Like not even anything dirty just waxing poetic about how you're part of each now and the bond of your bodies is inescapable even in death. And he waaay into talking about how you belong to him now and you're just like?? Is he just talking crazy in the heat of the moment or ?? Also no aftercare and he's 100% gone when you wake up.

Arondir 🏹 Yes. And it's Good but not as romantic as you were hoping. He's into you but Arondir def doesn't realize what a catch he is and is surprised that you're so here for him. Also buddy's got a lot going on so he's still gonna be pretty guarded emotionally. Still he's extremely respectful and such a good kisser like he's got your head spinning and you've barely started.

Elendil 🗡 No. But he tries hard and it's a great time. He's kinda got that big puppy Halbrand thing going on but like genuine. Def more into you than you are him. Elendil will rizz you with care. Pays very close attention to what you like/want. Even if it doesnt happen he's fine with talking about it, even makes a few light jokes at his expense. He's terribly good at putting you at ease. By the end of the night you're more smitten than you first thought.

Celebrimor 💍 Yes. Are you kidding me?We're talking mastery, we're talking attentiveness, we're talking about a very smitten old man that's going to court you with his whole heart. The vibes are impeccable and he's going to make it known that taking care of you is his top priority. Additionally I can't explain why but you know this man's head game is god tier.

Gil Galad 🏵 Yes. Don't even get me started on how this man is gonna rock your world. The high king is a big guy so it's go big or go home when it comes to love and affection. He doesn't allow himself to pursue romance often but when he does he goes hard. In terms of the act itself and the amount of extravagance and detail he'd put into wooing you. Plus cmon you know he's stressed and pent up as hell. Brace yourself for being be absolutely worshipped All night. You're in for a wicked case of jelly legs and you're not going anywhere.

[n30n-l1ghts]

Tokyo revengers basic NSFW headcannons pt. 1

characters- Mikey, Draken, Mitsuya, Baji, Kazutora, Chifuyu, Hakkai, Nahoya, Souya, Hanma, Kisaki

Mikey-

Packing a respectable 5.8 inches, with a light pink tip and a couple of small bluish purple vains that aren't really noticeable unless he's painfully hard, he doesn't really curve to one side or the other, but he has a subtle upward curve. He doesn't strike me as the type who tries too hard with grooming, but he at least tries every now and again. But the hairs down there are the same pretty strawberry blonde as his hair, pretty thin and a little wispy with a slight curl towards the end.

Draken-

PUH-LEASE. This boy is fucking HUNG and he knows how to use it too. Curves hard left as well. He doesn't have the most experience as I can't imagine him sleeping around much, but he's heard the girls at the brothel complain enough that he generally knows what to do and what not to do. 7.9 inches holy GAWD. I think he stays pretty on top of grooming, manscapes at least once every other week. Also blonde, but I think he's got more curls than Mikey. Definitely a lot thicker. Also, completely random, but I feel like he'd totally fuck with coconut body wash and shampoo.

Mitsuya-

Another man who's got a rather mid-sized length, I'd say probably like 5.4. The prettiest pinkish lavender tip, and oh my god I mean it when I say this man's cock is beautiful. It deserves to be worshipped. Not all that big, BUT he makes up for it by knowing all the sweet spots. Not to mention he's the KING of foreplay and aftercare. He for sure stays on top of his grooming game, he can't stand feeling like he looks sloppy. He's got a pretty tuft of curly white hair right at the base of his dick, very well maintained and usually actually smells pretty good. Again, this man is on top of his hiegene and he wants all of him to smell good and look good at all times. (Not that he could ever look bad)

Baji-

I'd guess about 6.3 in size for him, and his tip is red and angry like his face (I'm joking. Mostly, but he does get painfully hard very quickly) there's a thick ass pinkish vein that runs from base to tip, and he will full body shiver if you lick the whole thing. I'm sorry, but I cannot for the life of me imagine that this man gives a singular fuck about grooming down under. He might trim a little or shave on occasion, but that's only if it gets annoying. However, his hair is effortlessly shiny and beautiful no matter where it is on his body. I have no idea how he does it. But, if it bugs you, he would (begrudgingly) start manscaping more often.

Kazutora-

LITTLE DICK SUPREMACY

Okay- little known fact, but I kind of have a thing for subby guys with little dicks, that and I want to give some variety so I'm not making them all unrealistically huge. So I'm gonna say this man sits at about 4.2. Not rediculously small, but definitely not big either. But it's okay, because he'd much rather be under you anyways. Slightly unrelated but this boy has trust issues so please be kind to him, hold his hand and tell him how good he's being, he will absolutely start crying. Never really even thought about his hair down there, never paid any mind to it, and probably wouldn't unless you brought it up. But I see him being super understanding and chill with it if you want him to groom more often.

Chifuyu-

Another one on the slightly smaller side, probably only around 4.5 to 4.6 with a sort of muted pink tip. He's actually kind of self conscious about it, so he's a bit sensitive if you make fun of him for it, but he'll fold instantly if you praise him in any way, shape, or form. I feel like he's the type to get all embarrassed and blushy super easily despite trying to play it cool. Would not admit he's a bottom out loud but everyone can pretty much tell anyways. Honestly pretty clean, I feel like pubes might bug him. He might try to keep a small tuft down there just because he feels it's more masculine, but I'd reckon he'd prefer it clean shaven. Less of a hassle and it doesn't get on his nerves that way.

Hakkai-

Oh, this poor sweet boy. So much dick that he has no idea how to use 🥺 I can't imagine him topping for the life of me, so it's almost adorable how his monstrous 8.3 inches just hangs there uselessly hanging as he gets pounded into his next life, squealing like a little bitch, whimpering and whining and pleading and- *AHEM* anyways. I imagine he's pretty alright with grooming, mostly because he super looks up to Mitsuya, who had told him at some point or another that it was important to look clean everywhere. But I don't think he's quite that good at manscaping though to his credit, he does at least try. He's got a decent sized tuft of thick, curly black hair that he trims maybe once a month or so when he remembers. But he'd get better about it in a heartbeat if you asked him to and gave him some basic block of instruction. Smells like vanilla though, so there's that.

Nahoya-

Nahoya's got a relatively solid 6.2, with a slight curve to the left and a pale tip. I feel like he'd probably be more experienced with it than his brother, even though his twin is a little bigger. He just strikes me as much more of the playboy type. (Probably gets hard after a good fight, I don't make the rules) super duper curly hair down there, ginger just like the hair on his head. Probably keeps it moderately well groomed. Enough to be presentable for the ladies (and the lads-)

Souya-

Similar to his brother (no shit they're identical twins) but with slight differences. For starters, he's ever so slightly bigger, measuring up to about 6.6, and he curves pretty hard right instead of slight left. He's not too experienced, but he strikes me as a rather quick learner. He doesn't normally care to groom all that much, but after getting into a relationship, especially if you guys are sexually active, he will actually start to manscape on occasion. Also super duper curly hair, but it's light blue instead of ginger, again matching his hair.

Hanma-

(Definitely gets INSTANTLY rock hard after a good fight, I don't make the rules) 7.9, same as Draken, difference is that Hanma has less girth. A tall, skinny dick for a tall, skinny boy. But he knows how to break you and he will go hard when he's domming. Or alternatively, when he's in the mood to sub, he gets a little bratty (just give his cock a rough squeeze and he'll shut right up) dark brown almost black hair, thick and curly. Contrary to popular belief I feel like he would put at least some effort into grooming, though he does forget sometimes.

Kisaki-

Oh, this boy. Solid middle of the road (just like his height- jk this boy short asf) but I think he'd have maybe around a 5.3 or 5.4 length wise. Pretty average around too, not particularly skinny but not particularly girthy either. Would absolutely fight you for dominance every time, and lose every time. This boy would rather die than ever admit he's a bottom, and he's 100% a brat until you edge him to the point he's sobbing. DEFINITELY clean. Well kept, grooms just about every day to every other day, and I feel like there's a fifty fifty chance he also dyes his pubes blonde. I can see him doing that. But this man hates being dirty at all. And tell me why I feel like his hipster ass smells like pumpkin spice all year round? All in all, a well kept, bratty little bitch.

[cloudselkie]

For Miri and Siebren:

1. Ah, pre or post accident? Pre it's definitely Miri. Post it is unfortunately Siebren.

2. Miri gets it for this one. Siebren is more private than she is.

3. Siebren has and will continue to forget to text her back. Science can be so distracting, you know.

4. This also goes to Siebren. His age factors into this, but also he loves music.

5. If you look up the definition of oblivious in the dictionary, you will find both of their pictures. They're pretty dense.

6. Oof, Miri and her poor ADHD ass can never find her keys.

7. Miri would be the one to apologize first. She values harmony far more than Siebren, who is more likely to hang on to negative feelings longer, especially if he feels he is in the right.

8. Oh, absolutely Siebren. He has never been much of a party guy anyway.

9. See #1. Same situation.

10. Miri, and only if it meant getting to show up Siebren for a few minutes before revealing her deception. Siebren would never - his pride won't let him.

11. Neither. These two are dead if they end up on a deserted island. But more likely? Probably Siebren.

12. This one also goes to Siebren and he doesn't always care if he's alone, at least for humming.

13. Miri has played wing woman to Helena so many times.

14. This one goes to Miri, but Siebren is an old sap when he wants to be.

15. 100% Miri. She's always worn her heart on her sleeve.

16. While both would like to avoid unnecessary run-ins with local law enforcement, it's probably Miri just due to being more socially adventurous than Siebren and more likely to end up in a weird situation.

17. Siebren. He has a terrible habit of having a running commentary during movies, but it's usually pretty funny, so Miri enjoys it.

18. Siebren on a technicality - he said it in Dutch and she didn't know what it meant until weeks later when she remembered to look it up.

19. They're both cuddlers, honestly.

20. Siebren isn't great with dates, but he does keep a calendar to help him remember important ones.

21. Siebren wins this one. He's got style, but functionality is definitely his main concern with clothes, and he tends to lean on classic mens' clothing colors and styles. Miri on the other hand loves bohemian styles and bold colors.

22. Siebren's private nature makes him an excellent confidant. Miri, though she does respect people when they ask her not to share something, is more likely to spill the beans if she feels it is necessary.

23. Miri is hotheaded and more likely to immediately stand up to someone in a fight. Siebren, however, is more likely able to WIN that fight.

24. Miri again on this one as the naturally more outgoing of the two. The gala was an anomaly and Siebren wasn't entirely sober when he asked Miri to dance. Liquid courage is right!

25. These two are both night owls, and they are both well known for foregoing sleep in order to finish whatever they were working on. However, Miri is probably worse because being younger, she is still able to get away with it better than Siebren.

Send this to someone who has OCs

Most likely...

to get lost

to kiss and tell

to 'forget' to text back

to know the lyrics to every song you play

to not realize that they are being flirted with

to lose their keys repeatedly

to apologize first

to leave a party early

to get lost in a place they already know

to cheat while playing a game

to survive in the wild

to sing when they think they are alone

to be someone's wingman/woman

to plan a romantic date

to start blushing

to get arrested

to talk during a movie

to say I love you first

to be a cuddler

to forget about someone's birthday

to always wear the same outfit

to not be able to keep a secret

to defend their friends in a fight

to drag the other's to the dance floor

to fall asleep first at a sleepover

[olderthannetfic]

How do you feel about the different styles of writing POVs?

Personally, first person is the most awkward to write and the most restrictive. It definitely has its place though, when the narrative lends itself to releasing limited info. I can’t bring myself to write in first person though, it feels so weird. I think I enjoy a level of detachment when reading and writing fiction.

I’ve seen people rag on second person but I find it the easiest to read, it seems more natural than say, first person. You’re understanding the narrator but you’re not physically in their shoes. You’re a silent observer, privy to character thoughts but also able to detach and view them as a whole. There’s a level of intimacy with the character but more detachment than first person.

Okay so google says third person can be split into two; limited and omniscient.

I find omniscient to be a funny beast, as it’s not a style that I write, often finding that if I give away what everyone was thinking, all the time, the element of mystery is lost. For me, it feels like showing everyone’s inner thoughts or motivations at the same time ruins the suspense, at least in the fiction I write. I think that’s a personal failing though because I enjoy reading fiction with omniscient POV.

Limited, I’d like to say, is more within my wheelhouse, but I have been known to switch character POV in different chapters. I wonder if by switching characters per chapter that actually means I write omniscient. Anyway.

I feel like I’m write in some weird, secondary-third person which feels very much like playing with dolls: X mutters quietly, stepping close to Y. Y responds with a remark, grasping X’s hand. X is overwhelmed, their thoughts racing. Etc.

Very reductive, but you get the point. One persons intentions are clear, the other is not.

I’m troubled as I think that my writing style comes across as unnatural, almost robotic. I find it hard to step into the mind of another person, especially if it’s a creation of not my making - how could I possibly know how this character would react in this situation? I can only guess and hope it reads as in-character. As such, I often find that I don’t spend a lot of time expanding on how characters feel and their inner thoughts on situations, which seems like a really big oversight! It’s difficult for me, though.

Do you have any tips or assurances about this kind of thing?

I apologise as well, brevity is not a strength of mine.

--

Oh god... the things I want to say, nonnie...!

I've promised myself no more really long writing meta on here. I write that stuff for my patreon, which I should be spending more time on.

The short version is: I loathe second person due to early exposure to CYOA books and just finding it clunky and mannered.

First makes it more obvious if your command of character voice is ass, but it's not actually more intimate or harder than limited third.

Limited third is often the most neutral and transparent of voices for English language popular fiction in modern times. It's the norm. It's what has all the conventions built up. Switching chapter by chapter is very common and is not omniscient in any sense, WTF, anon.

Omniscient makes more sense if you've been reading works that are actually in it. Golden Age mystery novels are a good example. No, it does not list every thought of every character. What? No good writing does that. Of course you withhold info.

What does "secondary third person" mean here?

[yingandzhan]

You know, one thing that boggles my mind is how some in the fandom can dispute that Yu-furen "didn't whip WWX", "only whipped him that one time in the novel and once in the extras" and my absolute favourite response... "WWX said she never hit him".

All of which are the most ludicrous statements I've heard since Trump won the election...

Obviously YZY hit and abused WWX throughout his life. Not only do we see her doing so, but we are given a vivid description of his back in the extras and it's covered in old scars alongside the new ones she has just given him for no good reason. Before anyone cries "but it's propriety, he was half naked in front of a young woman!" and all the other crap I've seen people spout, he's not the only one with a bare chest... Yet she specifically blamed and targeted him. Your precious "tiger mom" YZY was being unreasonable and you god damn well known it!

Anyway, regardless of whether you believe WWXs obvious lie to save face and cope with the trauma (just like JL does when he denies JC hits him and we clearly SEE otherwise) there is an actual line in the novel, from the narrator, not WWX... that spells it out for readers in black and white!

...and Jiang Fengmian’s wife Yu Ziyuan had never spoken well of them to him— honestly, things had been pretty good if she didn’t WHIP HIM or tell him to scram, or kneel in the ancestral hall, or stay away from Jiang Cheng.

- Vol 1. 7S, which is my least favourite translation because I really do feel the translator actively tries to play the abuse down.

Jiang Fengmian’s wife, Yu Ziyuan, never had a decent conversation with him. He would be fortunate if she didn’t GIVE HIM A FEW LASHES, or banish him to kneel at the ancestral hall so that he would keep his distance from Jiang Cheng.

- Chapter 29, Taming Wangxian

...Jiang Fengmian’s wife, Yu Ziyuan, had never been interested in having a conversation with him at all. If she didn’t WHIP HIM A FEW TIMES and tell him to get out, kneel at the ancestral shrine, and keep far away from Jiang Cheng, he already considered that pretty good

- Chapter 29, Fanyiyi

...Yu ZiYuan never spoke properly to Wei WuXian at all. It was lucky for him if she didn’t GIVE HIM A FEW WHIPS and send him to kneel in the ancestral hall so that he’d keep his distance from Jiang Cheng.

- Chapter 29, ExR

It's in...Every. Single. Translation. So there's no excuse if you're talking about the novel or tagging things as MDZS or Mo Dao Zu Shi. It's right there for everyone to see. WWX deemed it a good day if he wasn't whipped! Which would have been the days YZY was off night-hunting and nowhere near Lotus Pier.

Thankfully YZY being away from the clan residence seems to be the case more often than not. But those days she was there... It was a likely scenario WWX was going to be "punished" (for absolutely nothing) in some way or form and judging by the scars he had across his back, she very much liked to hit him with her spiritual weapon.

[senditcolton]

So Tragic and Rare

"Taste Your Silhouette" (pt. 11)

a/n: the first full fic of this universe! and I can reveal to you all that every fic is going to be told from Andrei's POV. I grew attached to the idea that you don't really know who Keely is and are forced to learn about her through outsider observations/opinions, her interactions with Andrei, and of course, her music and lyrics. anyway, here's the story of their first meeting!! It's wild, it's a bit messy, but it also is a whole lot of fun - if I do say so myself.

word count: 9.9k warnings: Andrei being awkwardly endearing, me basically rewriting last seasons All-Star game and smut! [oral (f receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, and a handjob]. masterlist

There were many things an NHL player could do over All-Star Break. A majority of players chose to fly to a tropical location, enjoying the warmth and sunshine in the middle of February and take a moment to relax before the season kicked up again.

But not Andrei Svechnikov. At least, not this year.

Instead, he was sitting on one of the many benches lined up in the middle of Scotiabank Arena in Toronto, watching the lights flash around him, listening to the crowd milling about in the stands. While he awaits the start of the NHL All-Star Draft, clad in his Canes jersey, his feet kicking gently.

Let it not be confused that he was ungrateful. Sure, it was colder in Toronto than it was in Raliegh and definitely colder than it was in any of the numerous beaches he was sure his teammates were currently on. But, no matter how much of him wished he could join them in their vacation, he took pride in representing Carolina at the All-Star Game. And he wouldn’t deny that the title of All-Star sent a bolt of cocky confidence through his body.

So, yes, while he was sitting in rink-side instead of poolside, he had never been happier. This was his place. This was where he belonged.

The amplified music cuts through his reverie, his gaze now moving towards the stage where the hosts of the evening stood. He listens to their welcomes and the explanation of how the draft would work, before the music build and the introductions of team captains begin.

The music shifts with each introduction and after Team Matthews is announced, the sound of a recognizable bassline pricks at his ears. He knew the melody from practice, the song often pulsating through the locker room speakers thanks to Seth Jarvis. The hosts call the names of captain Nathan MacKinnon and assistant captain Cale Makar – names that deserve their own cheer – but all he can focus on is the dark blonde hair of the other person walking up to the podium next to them.

“And the celebrity captain: Boston singer and songwriter, you’ll see her as our headline performer on Saturday, give it up for Keely Halloran!”

The cheers flow through the stadium – not as many as Toronto-based Justin Bieber received but that was to be expected. Andrei swears that he hears some boos as well, his eyebrows furrowing at the sound. He remembered Jarvy mentioning some prior drama in her career, back when he info-dumped about his favorite artist one night over dinner, but it seemed ridiculous to Andrei that people would boo her for that.

Perhaps their vocal dislike was based off her being a Boston native and therefore probably a Bruins fan. That made more sense to him.

He redirects his gaze back to Keely, standing on the stage in her own yellow All-Star jersey, talking animatedly to Cale and Nathan.

She was really pretty.

Jarvy didn’t explicitly mention her looks that but Andrei should’ve known. Yes, Seth liked her music but it would be idiotic to think that there wasn’t some attraction woven into his admiration.

But she was really truly beautiful, the spotlight shining down on her. She seemed so at ease, under the lights, in front of the crowd, and Andrei supposes it came with the territory. She made her living on the stage and even though this was a much different circumstance than she was probably used to, it probably didn’t phase her at all.

The draft starts and Andrei can’t take his eyes off of Keely. There is a need flowing through him, a desperate desire to be on her team. Although, if asked, he wouldn’t be able to concisely say why.

It could’ve been the fact that her team was captained by Nathan MacKinnon and Cale Makar – two powerhouse players that anyone would be lucky to play with. It could’ve been because he promised Jarvy that he’d get a picture or autograph for him and being on Keely’s team would make that task easier to accomplish. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that he found her attractive.

Whatever the reason, he wanted to be hers. Her player – on her team, that is.

He watches as her, Nathan, and Cale look at their options, talking each pick over. He sees her disappointed face and hears a small sound of disappointment leave her lips when David Pastranak gets chosen by Team McDavid, confirming his assumption that she was a Boston fan. He listens to her voice, cheerfully greeting and shaking the hand of each player that skates up: Crosby, Georgiev, Kaprisov. All he can do is wait and hope for his name to be called – hopefully by her.

When Robert Thomas gets chosen by team McDavid, the host jumps back to Keely, ready to announce the next pick of Team MacKinnon.

“Alright Keely, your team is up. How much power do you have in these draft choices?”

“I’d like to think I have some but they’re the professionals so I’m trusting them,” Keely laughs, tossing her hair back. “We were looking at all the names here, and I’m going with the guys on this one. We’re going to select… Andrei Svechnikov.”

His name on her lips sounds like music to his ears and he lifts himself off the bench, skating over towards the third of the small podiums lining the stage. He can faintly hear the voice of the announcer praising his game but that all seems irrelevant to the sight of those blue eyes trained on him.

He skates up, first clapping Nathan on the back, before his eyes connect with Keely. She has that smile on her face, a camera-ready smile but one that also seemed entirely genuine.

“Hey,” she says to him, her voice still lifting with the edge of her laughter as she holds out her hand to him. He accepts it, shaking it gently before moving to Cale, taking the All-Star jersey from his hands.

It isn’t until he is settled down on the MacKinnon bench, lined up next to his new teammates, do his eyes return to Keely and notices her staring at him. And it is only then does he realize he never said a word, not even a hello, to her.

A strange feeling of embarrassment runs through him, his eyes darting down, pretending to be absorbed in unfolding the yellow jersey. God, she must’ve thought he was an asshole or something. What a great first impression. He throws the material over his head and only afterward does he allow himself to look back up towards the podium where Keely stood.

He continues to watch and listen to her aid in the building of Team MacKinnon. And every time she speaks, he notices more things about her, aspects the draw him in even deeper.

He noticed her playfulness when Jeremy Swayman was selected by Cale, laughing at the incredulous “alright?” that escaped Keely’s lips, clearly not agreeing with the defenseman’s choice of adjective concerning the goalie.

Andrei’s laughter soured quickly, feeling a small twinge of jealousy thrum through him when Jeremy skated over and shook Keely’s hand, the rockstar clearly overjoyed that he was selected. It was an odd thing to be jealous about, he realized, and he shook off the feeling, focusing back to the rest of the draft.

He noticed her welcoming warmth when she selected Elias Lindholm, newest member of the Boston Bruins, traded from Vancouver just before the All-Star game.

And when there were only four players left and each of the leadership teams came up onto the main stage, he listened intently when he heard her name fall from the mouth of one of the hosts.

“I wanted to talk to Keely Halloran for a moment here. You have a big performance coming up on Saturday. How do you feel?”

“I’m so excited,” she replies, her words and her smile seeming nothing short of genuine. “Growing up in Boston and growing up a Bruins fan – dangerous thing to admit in Toronto, I know, but – it really made me fall in love with hockey. My dad is coming in tomorrow and he’s just super excited.”

“Well, since you mentioned being a Bruins fan, are you happy you got a few Bruins on your team?”

“Yeah, of course. I mean, kind of disappointed we didn’t get the full set with Pasta but I like the team we made up and I know that at least me, Jeremy, and Elias will bring some of that energy and power that I always feel in TD Garden.”

“Well, we’ll be feeling the energy and power during your performance on Saturday, I’m sure,” the host says, turning away without acknowledging the laughter and confirmation that falls from Keely’s lips.

The draft wraps up after the final selection, each team being filled. A cheer goes up from the crowd as the rosters are announced, followed by a reminder of the skills competition tomorrow and the All-Star game the day after that. After the final cheer, the bright lights of the stadium come back up, the production crews and behind the scenes personnel milling about. One of them stands in front of the Team MacKinnon bench, a quick explanation falling from their lips.

“Alright, guys, we’re gonna take a team photo for social media and then you are all free to go, sound good?”

Andrei nods his head, standing up to be positioned for picture. His eyes scan the stadium before landing on Keely again, slowly walking down the steps of the stage, trailing behind Cale and Nathan. He sees her slow shuffling across the ice, her eyes trained on her feet. A jolt of confidence plus a need to redeem himself from their first interaction runs through his body and without hesitation, he skates away from the team bench, towards her. With a small hiss of his skates, he pauses beside her, holding out his arm.

“Would you like help?” he asks. He can feel his heartbeat stutter in his chest when she looks up at him, her bright blue eyes connected with his brown ones.

“Is it that obvious that I’m not the strongest at walking on ice?” she laughs, still shuffling across the surface.

“It’s amazing you haven’t fallen yet,” Andrei replies. One of Keely’s eyebrows pops up and Andrei realizes that his words sounded more than a little patronizing. “I mean, in those shoes,” he elaborates, gesturing down to her heels, trying to mitigate whatever damage he may have inflicted.

“Yeah, not the smartest decision,” she replies. “I would love some help. Falling on my face wouldn’t be very good publicity for me.”

Andrei nods, relaxing in her easy-going attitude, re-extending his arm towards her. She takes it, her hand curling around his bicep. Andrei starts to slowly move back toward the group of yellow jerseys, attempting to keep a steady pace, focusing more on his skating in this moment than he had in ages.

The two of them reach the bench and Keely murmurs a soft thank you. His only reply is a nod, skating behind the seat and smiling for the camera. As soon as the photo is snapped, Andrei is ready to immediately return to Keely’s side, offering his help again. But he is beaten to it by the true Canadian gentleman Sidney Crosby.

With a sigh, he watches as she walks off with Sid and Nate before he skates over to the tunnel, ready to head back to the hotel. He still wasn’t sure if he was going to go down to the hotel bar or stay in his room, getting some necessary sleep before tomorrow. But his decision is made for him when he spies Keely glance back over her shoulder, locked gaze with him and sending a soft smile in his direction.

He would do anything if it meant that she would look at him that way again.

~*~*~*~

The hotel bar was crowded, filled with players, their significant others, and a few members of the media, eager to get every snippet of content they could.

Andrei knew it might have been best for him to stay upstairs, what with the skills competition coming up tomorrow – a competition that Andrei had a spot in. But it was the All-Star game and he was the only Carolina Hurricane here. He should represent his team as much as he could, in as many places as he could; let his face be seen and captured by the cameras around. He promised himself only a beer or two before leaving and he was making good on that promise. Although, he would admit that he was distracted looking for one person in particular.

It wasn’t until he was at the bar, ready to grab his second beer did his eyes finally locate the now familiar dark blonde hair of Keely Halloran.

She was sitting a few seats away from him, her back against the wooden bar-top as she talked with Nathan, Cale, Sidney, and Mitch Marner, her laughter bouncing through the air, cutting through the smooth jazz echoing through the speakers. She’s nursing some form of cocktail – Andrei can’t tell what – and intently listening as each person talks, seemingly interjecting with her own additions and obviously some humor considering the chuckles that fall from the men surrounding her.

He wanted go over there, join the conversation and insert himself into the circle, but a small part of him said to hold off. He didn’t want to overwhelm Keely with too many people, too many stories. She seemed connected to Nathan and Cale considering they were the two people that she had most likely interacted with the most. He didn’t want to force her to entertain an even larger group of almost complete strangers, which is exactly what he was.

Instead, he strikes up a casual conversation with the bartender, with every person that walks up next to him at the bar. He bides his time, his brown eyes occasionally darting over towards Keely, feeling his heartrate rise as the group surrounding her dwindles from four, to three, to two. And then she is alone.

Andrei takes a deep breath and another swig of his beer, willing whatever courage the amber liquid could provide to flow through his body, before picking up the bottle and walking over.

She is absorbed in her phone, texting someone, laughing gently at the words on the screen. The sight of her smile makes Andrei falter for a moment, the thought of her texting a boyfriend flashing in his brain. However, that voice is silenced when Keely looks up from her cell, her blue eyes connecting with his – seemingly aware of his presence – and the smile that was on her face does not fade. In fact, it seems to shine brighter.

That is the last bit of encouragement that Andrei needs to take those final steps, sliding his large body onto the adjacent chair and turning towards Keely.

“Hey again,” he says, his voice a little breathless and still a little uncertain.

“Ah, there’s my prince charming,” Keely smiles, looking up at him through her darkened eyelashes. The combination of her words and her stare has Andrei faltering once more, his own eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Prince charming?”

“For helping me across the ice, of course,” she lightly explains, her lips wrapping around the straw of her drink.

A light chuckle falls from Andrei’s lips as he tries to brush off his confusion, attempting to copy the bold and confident attitude that the woman sitting across from him displayed.

“Right, of course. Well, I guess Crosby – I mean, Sidney – would also be your prince charming.”

Keely hums, her head moving to glance behind her, towards Sidney, now talking with someone else a few paces away. Andrei takes Keely’s momentary distraction as an opportunity to let his gaze rake down.

With her head turned, he could see that the baseball cap perched backwards on her head was a Boston Celtics cap, her city loyalty on full display. The leather jacket that had previously been thrown over her shoulders was now draped over the back of the chair, revealing the rest of her all-black ensemble. The corset top that highlighted her chest and waist, a highlight that most other men would’ve been eyeing shamelessly. Andrei would’ve joined in but his eyes had drifted lower, to the skirt/short combo that seemingly had a built-in buckled garter, stretching across her upper thigh.

A gentle clearing of a throat causes Andrei’s eyes to snap back up, his face flushing when he sees Keely’s eyes glued back to him.

“He is gentleman, that’s for sure,” Keely speaks, continuing the prior conversation, blissfully not responding to Andrei’s blatant stare. That is, until her own eyes shamelessly rake up and down his body. “But Sid’s not nearly attractive enough to be my prince charming.”

While being caught red-handed threw him off-guard, Keely outright giving him some of the most seductive bedroom eyes that Andrei had seen in his life threw him entirely off-kilter.

“What?” he said, not being able to stop his bewilderment at – what seemed like – the sudden turn of events. Keely’s laughter makes his cheeks flush again, her leaning back in her chair, her legs stretching out causing Andrei’s eyes to dart back to that damnable garter.

“What’s the matter all-star? Never had a girl flirt with you?”

“N-no. I’ve had lots,” Andrei stutters out before his brain registers how bad his response sounded. “I-I mean… um…”

His fumbled words were once again cutoff with a gentle laugh from Keely, her body leaning towards him again. This time, her expression is soft, a slight smile on her face that looked amused but not at all condescending.

“You aren’t very good at this, are you?”

“Not when it’s a celebrity, like you. And not when I feel like I’ve made a mistake every time I’ve opened my mouth,” Andrei confesses, his own lips quirking in a soft grin.

“That’s actually one of the things I like,” Keely replies, silencing Andrei’s fears but bringing forth more confusion. The question is clearly painted on his face because Keely’s explanation continues. “Do you know how many men try to act all suave and basically lie through their teeth to get close to me? It’s nice to see something genuine – even if you may not have intended it.”

“Glad to know I haven’t messed up that bad.”

“Not at all.”

The initial awkwardness evaporates as fast as mist in the morning sun, the conversation between Keely and Andrei now flowing seamlessly. She asks about his life, details which he gladly offered up and he asks hers, the details she gave a little vaguer. But Andrei found that he didn’t really care.

He knew enough about who she was – a celebrity that probably had every aspect of her life splashed on front pages and over social media, whether she agreed to it or not. He was more than willing to let her tell him what she wanted to. Regardless of what she decided to tell him, he sat, enraptured. Her stories only made him admire her more: her passion, her drive, her unapologetic attitude concerning everything.

“I wish I could be that confident,” he says in reply to her return to the public eye.

“Andrei Svechnikov, all-star hockey player, wishes that he could be more confident?”

“I guess, more off the ice. I know who I am as a hockey player but when I don’t have skates on, I feel… not as bold.”

“Maybe I can help.”

Andrei’s eyebrows once again jump up in a question, every word that falls from this woman’s mouth intriguing him more.

“I’ll ask you some questions, and you respond with the honest truth,” she explains, her eyes sparkling with a sense of mischief that Andrei wanted to uncover.

After a moment of pondering, he responds with a small nod. His acceptance makes Keely smile and she leans back in her chair again, her blue irises staring him down.

“What’s your favorite lunch?”

“Really?” Andrei asks, her first question catching him off-guard once again – another tick mark to add to the mystery of the woman in front of him.

“Have to keep you on your toes.”

“Chicken and pasta.”

“Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs.”

“Favorite thing to do in your free time?”

“Fishing.”

“Person you trust the most?”

“My brother, Evgeni.”

“Girlfriend?”

The question draws Andrei’s attention, his brown eyes connecting with Keely’s blue. He can see the seriousness of the question within them. And, even deeper, the flicking of mistrust lurking in the aquamarine pools. That spark, that glimmer, hits Andrei squarely in the chest. He knew very little about Keely, not even the tabloid version, but that hesitation… it told him that she had been hurt, deeply. And in response, a fire flickered within him, one that vowed to make sure he never gave her a reason to distrust him.

“I don’t have one,” he replies, his voice steady and serious, hoping that the intensity of his feelings was matched by his voice.

Judging by how Keely relaxed back in her chair, it seems as if he got his wish.

“Why’d you come over here, Andrei?”

It was another challenge, another chance for him to be bold and tell the absolute truth. And this time, he didn’t wait for the best moment, didn’t dance around the words. Instead, he took a deep breath, met her gaze, and spoke the truth he was thinking the minute she stepped onto the stage at Scotiabank Arena.

“I think you’re beautiful. And… I’d like to spend a night with you.”

A slow smile twists across Keely’s face, taking in the sight of him sitting in front of her; maybe still a little uncertain but at least solid in his convictions.

“There you go. Confidence,” she says, the words slow and seductive.

There is a brief pause, the air between them thrumming with electricity before Keely breaks the spell, sighing and stretching her arms over her head before glancing down at her empty glass.

“Well, I was planning on going to bed once this drink was gone and it is. So, I guess I’ll head out,” she explains, her voice breezy and casual. She slides off the chair, grabbing her jacket and tossing it over her shoulders.

Andrei watches, a flash of confusion fliting through him as she reaches into her pocket, sliding out a thin card – presumably a credit card. However, that thought is disproved when she boldly takes a hold of his wrist, turning his hand palm-side up and placing the cool plastic into his hand.

“Top floor, room 15C. Don’t keep me waiting too long.” 

Those statements and the cherry of her perfume was what she left him with as she swiftly turns and waltzes out of the hotel bar. Andrei’s eyes stay on her until she is out of sight and only then does he glance down at the card placed in his hand.

Keely had slipped him a copy of her hotel keycard.

The invitation is clear. She was offering the key to her room for him to use if he desired – if he truly wanted the things he said he did. But it was also another challenge for him to be bold and honest and maybe a bit brash.

The decision was entirely his.

And he wasn’t going to say no. He was going to see Keely. He was going to take full advantage of the night and of the opportunity she presented him.

He just needed to wait, just long enough as to not draw suspicion. He was under more of a microscope up here in Toronto than in Raleigh. But Keely had eyes on her no matter where she went. He wasn’t about to bring more drama into her life.

So, for the second time that night, he lingers. He chats to the people around him, give some quotes to the media, does as much as he can to make it seem like this was a normal night during an All-Star Weekend. He pretends that he can’t feel the weight of the keycard in his pocket and the ticking of the time.

Finally, he deems it long enough and, after paying for his drinks and giving the bartender a healthy tip, he extricates himself from the hotel bar. His sneakers barely make a sound as he crosses the plush carpet of the lobby, taking a direct route to the elevator. He is thankful that no one stops him, thankful that the elevator doors seem to open as soon as he presses the up button and thankful that he is alone in the space. Andrei hits the button emblazoned with 15 and watches the numbers on the LED screen rise, flying past the fourth floor (his room) towards his true destination.

The soft ding of the elevator sounds, the doors sliding open with a whoosh and he steps out. There is only one hallway stretching out in front of him, two doors on either side. Andrei steps out slowly, eyes locating the plaques with the room numbers next to each door.

His mind repeats the number that Keely gave him like a mantra, passing one door and then the next before stopping in front of room 15C. He stands in front of the entrance, the wood looking exactly like the doors around him, looking exactly like the door to his own room. But inside…

A myriad of images sprung into Andrei’s head, fantasies of what was waiting for him, each more intoxicating than the last. If there was any hesitation still lingering in his body, it was burned away but the hot flash of need and desire that surged through him. He slips the plain black keycard from his pocket, holding it over the doorknob until the light above turns from red to green. The door handle, cool in his hand, turns and he steps in.

And the sight that awaits him makes him stop in his tracks.

Every image that he had conjured up in his mind was nothing compared to what was now in front of his eyes: Keely, lying in bed, her hair splayed over the pillows, wearing nothing but an oversized band shirt, the hem scrunched up around her waist, and her hands between her open thighs.

Her soft moans hit his ears and Andrei cannot help but stare as her elegant fingers trace over her folds, glistening in the low lamplight of the bedroom. He watches the way her back arches when she presses the pads of her fingers against her clit, a whine emanating from her throat as she gently rubs the bundle of nerves before her hands slips back down. It is her middle and marriage fingers that plunge into her center, her head lolling to the side as she lets out a satisfied sigh.

Andrei feels like he is in a trance, helpless to do anything but let the scene in front of him unfold. His eyes trail up Keely’s body to connect to her face, taking in the bliss so clearly displayed. It isn’t until that moment do her eyelids flutter open, those electrifying blue irises connecting to his frame still lingering in the doorway. A cheeky smile tugs at her lips, even while her hands never cease their movements.

“Are you going to join me or just stand there with the door wide open?”

Her words snap Andrei out of whatever reverie he was in, his body moving at a speed that even he can’t comprehend. The door is kicked shut behind him, the force of it making the wood vibrate on its hinges. Andrei doesn’t seem to notice or even care. Of course he didn’t care. How could he worry about anything else besides the woman in front of him?

There is no hesitation in his body, no uncertainty any more. His hands move to tear his grey t-shirt away from his body, feeling his confidence only grow at the soft moan that falls from Keely’s mouth, her eyes unabashedly raking down his muscular frame. The only response he gives is a small grin, before kicking off his shoe and sinking down to his knees, his eyes now directly focused on the soaked space between her thighs.

He drinks in the sight of her fingers still buried in her folds, like something out of one of his wet dreams or a porno made just for him. He watches as she slips the slender digits from her core, her soft skin glistening with her arousal, acting like a silver webbing between her fingers as she runs them across her cunt.

“Do you need more of an invitation?” Her voice echoes through the room, the words twinged with a tease but also with a desperation that makes Andrei’s dick twitch in his jeans. “You kept me waiting long enough. Gonna make me wait some more?”

She was right, of course. While watching her was surely something he never thought he would experience, it wasn’t as if she was on a screen or miles away, untouchable. She was right there, almost begging for him. Who was he to refuse a superstar?

His body lifts, strong hands wrapping around each ankle, guiding her legs over his broad shoulders. Andrei can hear the whine that vibrates from her throat, her hips lifting as if to entice him further. Her knees hook over the muscle of his shoulders and he allows himself the chance to press a kiss onto the supple skin of her inner thighs.

The heat that emanates from her stokes the fire that burns within him and he slowly descends, wanting to savor every second even though he can hear the way Keely whines, clearly impatient. Finally, finally, he lets his lips connect to her drenched center.

There is nothing in the world that could stop the moan that rumbles from his chest as his tongue makes contact with her slick, the sweetness that pours from her core tasting as heavenly as ambrosia. He hears her satisfied sigh from above, feels one of her hands tangle into this hair as a gentle encouragement for more – a silent request he is all too willing to oblige.

His tongue moves, tracing every crevice, lapping every bit of nectar that floods his tastebuds. He wanted to devour her, wanted to be able to taste her even when this weekend was long over. His mouth rises slowly, finding her clit nestled at the apex of her folds and wraps his lips around it, suckling. The way her fingers tighten in his hair, her hips bucking up is all the confirmation he needs that he’s doing something right and he is more than happy to continue.

One of the hands that had been keeping a tight grip on her upper thigh moves to join his mouth, retracing the places that his tongue had previously been. His fingers circle her entrance, collecting the wetness practically pouring from her before one of them plunges into her core.

Their mutual moan fills the room and Andrei still can’t believe that this isn’t a fantasy. But judging from the way her cunt is clenching around his finger, he knows it’s not. She is warm and wet and real and all those things has Andrei pumping his wrist, coaxing even more of those intoxicating sounds from her mouth.

He’s slow at first, wanting to give her time and as much pleasure as he could. But when Keely raises her hips to meet his hand, he reads her desperation with ease and slides another finger inside. He works her open, each languid thrust met with more of those desperate noises, each buck of her hips just pulling him deeper. His tongue never ceases its movements against her clit, each suckle and flick releasing more of her sweet arousal which he greedily laps up like it was water and he was dying of thirst. His brown eyes watch her, registering which moves makes her head fall back, exposing the pale column of her throat, and which has her body trembling. He wanted to memorize everything – the way she sounds, the way she feels, the way she tastes.

It was only when he gently curled his fingers does her already strangled moans turn staccato gasps, her pussy fluttering around the thick digits. The smile that twists on Andrei’s lips is devilish as he moves again, his lips wrapping around her clit and suckling in time with the movement within her. It only takes three instances of the dual combination for Keely’s orgasm to hit, her body trembling with the force of it, her mouth wide in an almost silent moan.

The sensation of it, of her squeezing his fingers, of her release flooding his mouth makes Andrei groan in kind, his tongue busily working to lap up every drop, not wanting any to go to waste. It is only when he is satisfied with his work does he allow his fingers to slip from her core. His eyes dart up to connect with hers, eyelids heavy with lust as she stares down at him.

“Well,” she says, her voice breathless. “You might not know how to talk to a celebrity but you sure know how to make her come.”

The chuckle that rumbles from his chest at her words melds with her own breathless giggle. Andrei lets a moment pass before he presses his lips against her inner thighs, sliding her legs off from their perch on his shoulders and lifting his body upwards until his frame is hovering over the entirety of her.

“Want to do it again,” he murmurs.

“Confidence,” she replies, echoing her words from earlier, her eyes flashing with the same amount of desire as he was sure was reflected in his own pupils. A sly grin twists on her face. “I like how it looks on you.”

He wants to kiss her. God, does he want to kiss her. That desire had been brewing since he first saw her, but now; with the flush of her cheeks, her hair creating a halo on the pillowcases, the slight sheen of sweat on her skin, her eyes looking up at him… he needed to kiss her.

But before he could even think of leaning down to press his lips against hers, Keely once again surprises him by hooking a leg over his hip, knocking one of his hands out from under him and using his falling momentum to her advantage, successfully flipping him over so it was his back that was now pressed against the hotel sheets.

A giggle falls from Keely at the bewildered expression on Andrei’s face and he gladly lets his initial shock morph into insane wonder at the woman he met only hours ago. Any words that he thought about uttering, any praise that may have fallen from his lips was silenced as Keely peels the cotton of her oversized shirt away from her body, exposing the entirety of her to him.

She was always beautiful but now, sitting naked above him, she was drop-dead gorgeous. She had a great body, that was obvious, but he was sure she knew what she was doing when she got the bejeweled tattoo that stretched across her abdomen and curved around her chest. The green jewels truly seem to glitter and only highlight her breasts even more, enticing him to reach towards her, his fingers tracing the design before moving over the soft skin of her breasts, teasing over the pebbled nipples. She arches to his touch, her hips moving against him and he can’t stifle the moan that falls from him at the friction of her soaked core against his still clothed cock.

“How many times do I have to tell you to fuck me, Andrei?” she questions from above him, her hips grinding against him again. He wants to give in right then and there, her body feeling so good against his already and he wanted to find out how good she would feel around him. But he also wanted her to voice her own desire for him. Not as a hot random stranger that she chose out of a dozen, but him alone.

“Maybe just one more,” he replies, his hands falling from her chest and tracing down the curves of her body. “Beg for it.”

“Oh,” Keely laughs, clearly taken aback by his demand. But that surprised huff turns into a softer more desperate gasp when Andrei grips her hips and deliberately grinds her core against his, the more intense friction against her still sensitive core causing her to shudder.  

“Oh fuck,” she quietly curses, her hands planting onto Andrei’s muscular chest as she attempts to drag herself against him again. But this time, his strong hands hold her in place, denying her. Her blue eyes dart up to him, the pure lust displayed there making his own resolve falter. Until he hears what he had been waiting for fall from her lips.

“Please.”

That single syllable word is all Andrei needs.

His hands fall from Keely’s hips, darting between her thighs to hurriedly undo his jeans. Keely’s soft hands join his, twisting underneath the waistband of his pants and boxers and aiding him in shoving them down his legs, his hard cock bobbing up. Andrei tries not to preen as Keely’s tongue flicks over her lips at the sight before her gaze flits up to meet his again.

There are no words spoken between them, nothing verbally exchanged. Instead, Keely’s palms return to Andrei’s chest, steadying herself before lowering her body. Andrei grips himself, squeezing the base gently, willing himself to not finish the very moment she sinks onto him. His free hand returns to her hip, guiding her down, running the head over her folds a couple of times before aligning with her center.

The sensation of her heat wrapping around his length causes Andrei’s head to fall back, a guttural groan leaving his chest as she sinks lower. The feeling must be just as pleasurable to Keely, her own whispered curses hitting his eardrums as she shifts until their hips are flush against each other.

There is a stillness; no movement but the rise and fall of their chests, no sound but their heavy breathing. Andrei wills his eyes open and reconnects his gaze with Keely. The sight of her above him is a vision, her looking more like an angel appearing in a dream than something real. Hell, part of him still wasn’t 100% sure he wasn’t dreaming.

But when Keely’s hips move, grinding against him, any doubt is erased from his brain. Even in his darkest deepest fantasies, he could never imagine something this good.

It is a dance, a sensual tango. Her hands are poised on his chest and his hands tight against her hips as she moves her core against him, each press of her along his length as sinful as the last. Andrei wants to keep his eyes open, wants to memorize every miniscule detail: the way her hair falls in her face, the roll of her hips, the shadows that are cast across her skin. But it is hard to do anything but lay back and let her ride him, let her take whatever she wanted from him, anything and everything that he could give.

Keely shifts slightly, a gasp falling from her and Andrei picks up on her reaction, thrusting his hips upward to meet the same spot. Another gasp sounds from her and is about to turn into a moan when Andrei sees her bite her lip, stifling the sound even as she desperately chases the sensation once again. One of Andrei’s hands lifts to cup her jaw. The feeling of his calloused skin against her porcelain cheek causes her eyes to open, gazing down at him.

His thumb stretches across her jawline, the tip of it pressing underneath her lip, gently pulling the flesh from between her teeth.

“Want to hear you,” he groans. “Want to hear the pretty sounds you make.”

She laughs, the sound wavering a little as their hips never stop moving against each other.

“Have to save my voice so you and everyone else can hear how pretty I sing,” she attempts to explain.

“You have a whole day. Want to hear how pretty you sound just for me.”

“Just for you?”

The question isn’t meant to be cruel and yet, Andrei can feel the bite of it. He knows, intrinsically, that he is not the only man that Keely has allowed into her bed and – considering their circumstances – he certainly wouldn’t be the last. But he lets that sting fuel him, drive him.

Initially, he wanted to kiss her. Now, he wanted to make sure that she knew no one else could make her feel the way he does.

The hand that was on her cheek descends again, taking time to carefully caress every ridge and dip of her body, paying close attention to the places that make her shudder and her movements on top of him falter. Slowly, almost painstakingly so, his hand returns to her hip, holding her tight and stopping her movements. He gets a small whine from her in response, a whimper that makes his lips curl in a smirk.

“I want to hear how good its feels,” Andrei says, his voice thick and low. “How good I make you feel.”

Keely is about to laugh again – that breathless teasing giggle that Andrei had come to know – but the sound is cut-off as Andrei thrusts his hips up, his thumb stretching to press against her clit. She moans, unabashedly now, the noises she makes crystal clear and as melodic as any song that he had ever heard. Andrei continues his pace and his movements within and against her, his eyes never leaving her, committing the sight into memory, something to get off to once this weekend was over and she was back to being a celebrity on his phone screen and a voice through his radio speakers.

He watches the way her body trembles, feels her nails dig into the muscle of his chest, and hears those beautiful noises falling from her mouth become shaky. He doesn’t stop, not until she is clenching around him, a jumble of curses and moans and – even more exquisitely – the sound of his name falling from her mouth as her orgasm rushes through her. It is maddening, the feeling of her pussy fluttering around him as she comes down.

It takes every modicum of Andrei’s self-control not to come undone as well, his hands gripping her hips so tightly he worries there would be bruises the next day. He can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes deeply, his own eyes closed with a focus that he had only ever displayed on the ice. It is Keely’s soft laugh and the feeling of her lips pressing against his jawline that has him returning to the moment. The feeling of her kissing his skin blissfully distracts him from the sensation of her lifting off him, his still rigid cock slapping against his equally hard stomach.

He groans, his own desperation getting the better of him as his hips lift to chase her but she stills his movements with the grip of her soft hand wrapping around him. It isn’t nearly as good as her cunt but he is too far gone to complain.

“Want me to take care of this for you, all-star?” she whispers into his ear, delivering a slow languid stroke to emphasize her words. Her movements bring forth a moan from his own mouth, as well as a desperate nod of his head. He didn’t care how or what she had planned, he just needed her.

“Now it’s your turn to show me how pretty you sound,” Keely continues, her lips descending to kiss his jawline. And when she starts to slowly pump her hand, Andrei complies.

Even if he wanted to, he could not stop the moans that fell from him, the muttered Russian curses, the way his hips jumped up to meet her hand. She truly had him wrapped around her finger and he didn’t care. All he cared about was her: the feeling of her body pressed against his side, the touch of her hand against his cock, the sensation of her lips sucking hickeys onto his throat.

It is a twist of her hand coupled with a nip of her teeth against his skin that finally has his own orgasm hit, his body stilling as his cum paints his abdomen in thick creamy lines. Keely doesn’t stop her hand until he is spent, a soft hiss coming from his lips at the sensitivity.

She releases his cock, her fingers trailing up his body, collecting his release. Andrei opens his eyes just in time to see her seductively run her fingers over her lips before plunging them into her mouth, moaning at the taste of him on her tongue. He feels his dick twitch with renewed interest, now needing to know how those plush lips would look wrapped around him.

Releasing her fingers with a wet pop, Keely smiles at him, either blissfully unaware of the power she held or happy to wield it as casually as possible. Whatever it may be, she curls back into his side, her head coming to nestle on his shoulder as her legs tangle around his. He stays there with her, his own hand running up and down her side gently, content to bask in the golden glow of the moment.

Eventually, the sensation of dried sweat and slick become uncomfortable and Andrei moves, carefully departing from Keely. He didn’t want to, of course. If it was up to him, he would’ve quit his job to fly around on private jets and be backstage at all her shows if it meant spending more nights with her in his arms. But that wasn’t what this was. He knew that.

“Headed out?” Keely asks, her voice drowsy with a combination of sleep and exhaustion.

“Need to get back to my room. Get some sleep for tomorrow,” he explains.

“Probably for the best,” come her reply, understanding the situation as well as he did. “But you are welcome to use my shower before you leave.”

In his mind, he knew that he would be able to ride the elevator down to his floor in mild discomfort and clean up in the privacy of his own room. But something made him nod in agreement. Perhaps he wanted to spend more time in Keely’s presence, maybe the offer allowed him to look more into her world. Whatever the reason, he walks around the bed to the bathroom and switches on the lights.

He is greeted with the exact same layout as his own bathroom but with some slight differences, things that were distinctively Keely.

The makeup bag spilled open on the counter, the red candy bar shaped perfume bottle, the small ceramic dish that held a necklace and a ring with two hands holding a crowned heart, and a candle that was still burning, releasing the smell of eucalyptus and lavender in the air.

Andrei smiles at the small glimpses of her personality before stepping into the shower, letting the water wash off the remnants of their tryst. He debates using the body wash sitting in the green bottle but defaults to the complimentary bar of soap, cleaning himself before turning off the water.

After drying his skin with the plush bath towel and blowing out the candle on the counter, he returns to the bedroom to find Keely curled up under the white covers, her breath slow and steady as she sleeps. Silently, Andrei moves around the room, picking up his clothes and returning them to his frame. He sits down at the desk to tie his shoes and once again debates whether he should scribble his number down on the pad of paper perched next to him.

He wants to be bold and confident, like Keely liked, but without her gentle smile encouraging him, everything felt like he was walking a tightrope and one wrong misstep could ruin it all. So, he plays it safe. The only thing that he allows himself to indulge a kiss pressed against her temple before he slips out of her hotel room.

~*~*~*~*~

When Andrei walks into the locker room on Saturday, a sigh of relief whooshes from him when he sees Keely, decked out in the yellow of her own All-Star jersey, standing next to Nathan’s stall, listening to him and Sidney talk, a smile on her face.

It had been a little over twenty-four hours since he had left her hotel room and this was the first time he saw her again. She wasn’t around during the Skills Competition the day prior which Andrei found odd considering that the other celebrity captains were wandering around the ice. He had soothed the panicked part of his brain with the rational of her hanging with her family or rehearsing for her performance, instead of immediately assuming it was because of him. But he wouldn’t be certain until he could talk to her again.

He glances in her direction, hoping to catch her eye. Her head eventually turns towards him, their eyes meeting and once again, Andrei’s heart skips a beat when she smiles at him, her eyes bright. It feels like a sign that they would both be able to get through today without it being terribly awkward.

He tries to focus, let his body go through the muscle memory of his pre-game ritual – no different than he does every Carolina Hurricanes game. Occasionally, he still glances in Keely’s direction, watches her mill around and take a few pictures for media, noticing that he hasn’t heard her voice. The answer as to why hits his ear a few moments later – vocal rest for her performance – and a part of him deflates at not being able to hear her cheer or celebrate.

Eventually, everyone makes it to the bench and the first round of the All-Star game starts, Team MacKinnon against Team McDavid. Andrei lets himself be lost in the familiar feeling of the ice gliding beneath his skates, the music of the puck being passed from stick to stick. He only momentarily gets distracted by the smell of a familiar cherry perfume behind him, causing images – images that were entirely inappropriate to be thinking about during a hockey game – to pop into his head. He manages to pull them out of his brain but Team MacKinnon were unable to pull out the win, losing in a shootout to Team McDavid.

He doesn’t let the loss shake him too bad, knowing that it doesn’t mean anything except the inability to win more money – something that he feels he has too much of already. Instead, he lets himself strip back down to the sweatpants and branded hoodie combo that he arrived in, content to sit and watch for the rest of the day.

After Team Matthews overtakes Team Hughes in another shootout, Andrei finds himself wandering onto the ice, a stage now set up in the center and a smaller one to the left. He finds some of the benches that were previously used for the draft pressed against the penalty boxes and takes a seat, joined shortly by some other players like Marner, Swayman, the Hughes brothers, and Wilson.

The lights dim, the cheer from the crowd going up as the bassline emanates from the speakers and Andrei watches as dancers file out before being followed by Keely herself. Gone is the bright yellow of her All-Star jersey, now replaced with a black bodysuit that shimmers under the spotlight, highlighting every curve.

If the world faded when she stepped out onto the stage, it all but vanished completely when she started singing. Andrei leans in, listening, intent on picking up every detail that he could. And what he hears makes his heart ache.

It isn’t the first song that catches his attention (although he would agree that he had never met a girl like her before) but the last three songs that cleared some lingering questions in his mind.

You have more pieces of me than the desert has sand & I have less pieces of you than I can hold in my hand.

You were my everything and all that you did was make me fucking sad.

I’ll play the villain in your life – whatever helps you sleep at night.

He didn’t follow celebrity gossip, didn’t make note social media headlines, but here, right now, it felt like Keely herself was telling him everything: a story of heartbreak and betrayal. It felt as if he could see her for exactly who she was; someone who had every pain inflicted upon them and still carried those feelings with them, despite the front she presented to the world.

Andrei feels like he is cheering the loudest of them all when she strikes her final pose, the spotlights shining down. She smiles to the crowd, giving a small bow and a wave to the stadium around her before turning and heading back down the locker room tunnel.

It takes Andrei a few minutes of wandering through the tunnels of Scotiabank before he finds Keely again, this time leaning against the wall in a nice shirt and casual jeans, a glass of white wine perched in one hand and her phone in the other.

“Hey,” he says, walking those final few paces towards her. The sound of his voice causes her head to lift, a smile appearing on her lips when her eyes land on him.

“Hey, yourself.”

“I, um… I wanted to say that you were really good. Performing, I mean.”

“Oh. So, I wasn’t good Thursday night?” Keely teases, taking another casual sip of her wine, no doubt relishing the sight of Andrei’s cheeks turning pink as those images return easily to his mind.

“No, you were… you were fucking fantastic that night,” he says, watching as Keely’s own smile grows.

The two of them stand there in silence, the space between them feeling as much of a contradiction as their own connection. What did it mean to know someone in such an intimate way but also be so detached from each other in every other possible aspect? The rockstar and the hockey player: a pairing that no one would have guessed.

Andrei hated it – hated the distance between them that would only widen after this weekend. But he didn’t want to lose Keely, even though all logic stated that he should forget about their tryst and not pursue her further. But his desire to have her close overwhelmed his rational mind, which had his next words falling from his lips.

“Listen,” he begins, his voice still a tad uncertain. “I’m not sure what your life looks like right now – I know mine is only going to get busier – but I really enjoyed being with you. Not just in bed but in general. And if you want to connect later, I’ll be available.”

Andrei waits, studying her face and every miniscule expression that passes over her. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t backtrack, doesn’t do anything except let the silence linger between them as Keely thinks. He watches as her blue eyes lift to meet his and for the first time since he spoke to her, he can see a vulnerability glimmer in those sapphire pools, the sight of it making his heart ache.

“Would you wait for me, Andrei?” she asks, her voice quiet and he can feel the weight of that question rest on his shoulders. How many badly had people hurt her? How deep was the betrayal that she experienced that made her this uncertain? Whatever the answer was to those questions, he knew the resounding answer to hers.

“I would.”

Keely’s lips lift in a small smile, clearly able to hear the conviction in his voice.

“Confidence,” she whispers, echoing the words from that first night once again. She takes a sip of her wine and Andrei watches as her demeanor shifts back into the savvy rockstar that he had known. “Well, then… I might take you up on that offer.”

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles brightly. He is content to give her a nod, turning away from her and ready to walk back down the tunnel. But then a thought nags at the back of his brain, yelling at him in the same tone as an annoyingly familiar voice. Andrei spins and returns to stand in front of Keely, an adorably amused but somewhat confused expression on her face.

“I have one last favor to ask you,” he says, reaching into his pocket and fishing out his phone. “Could you make a video for my teammate Seth? He’s a huge fan.”

The sound of her laughter echoing down the hallway at his request makes Andrei smile, slightly chuckling with her.

“Not what I thought you would say but of course. Anything for a fan,” she replies, the bright lilt in her voice matching her laughter. “Seth? That’s his name?”

Andrei nods and holds his phone up towards her, watching through the screen as she places her wine glass down on the ground and turn towards him. A small nod of her head gives him the go-head to start the recording.

“Hi Seth. I heard from someone here at the All-Star game that you were a big fan. It’s wild to think that my music is listened to by professional hockey players and who knows, maybe I have you to thank for getting me to Toronto. Maybe next All-Star game, I’ll see you here.”

Keely ends the video with a wink and even a cheeky kiss blown in the cameras direction before waving goodbye. Andrei stops the recording, saving it to his photos and he feels Keely slide up next to him. His fingers hit the play button and they both watch the video back. Keely hums softly and he looks down at her, an embarrassed grimace on her face.

“That last bit might have been too much,” she explains and Andrei drags the play-bar back, watching the video of Keely’s wink and kiss. And looking at it again, he can see that her eyes are not trained at the camera lens but at the cameraman – him. It makes his heartbeat increase at the sight of her so boldly flirting with him but he also understands her hesitation. Seth would surely notice and ask questions and Andrei did not want… whatever was happening between them, to leak before they even had a chance to discover what it all meant.

“Do you think you could edit it out?”

“Sure,” he replies.  

Andrei is quick to nod his head, even faster to open the editor and cut that small section out of the video. He pauses over the save button, the app asking if he wants to save the new video separately or replace the old one with it. His eyes flick back to Keely, her own blue irises sparkling up at him, seeing his hesitation.

“Mind if I keep that last bit for myself?” he questions. The proposal brings another smile onto Keely’s face and he can almost see the quiet laughter in her eyes.

“Not at all. It was meant for you anyway.”

taglist: @fallinallincurls @laureniray @comphy-and-cozy @smileysvech @pyotrkochetkov @thewintersoldierdisaster

let me know if you want to be tagged in this story or if you want to add yourself to my general taglist, click here!!

[plasticfreckles]

🪶 short comfort rookanis so i dont lose my mind enjoy 🪶

"Rook."

"Hm?" Her drink splashes over the edge of her cup and onto her shirt.

"Are you.. what's wrong? I've called your name out three times now."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good."

"You said this is your favorite singer. Yet you're miles and miles away. Talk to me." The flier advertising her appearance that night was the only reason they lingered so long.

Rook sighs. She takes a sip of her drink and leans back to focus on him.

"You know how, when your mind is left alone with your thoughts for long enough, you just sort of.. start spiraling?"

"Not lately, but I've been there." That his mind hasn't been left alone for a while now, Lucanis doesn't need to say.

"Whe- the Ossuary."

When Rook points that out, it doesn't hurt as much as when others do. Maybe there's an implied compassion from their - not shared, but similar - past.

We like her, idiot. She likes us. That's why it doesn't hurt. Spite pulls at his hair and stomps his foot with how stubborn Lucanis is over this. His scalp starts to burn.

"Before that, too." The singer excuses herself for a drink. "If you'd like to talk about it, there's a lull now."

The weight of all Thedas rests on her, the way she sighs, and it's true.

"I'm just... so deep in it, right now. Should've just sat down and awaited orders, like Viago said. Don't tell him I said that. It'll get to his big head."

"Too late." Rook tracks his eyes tracking the Fletching behind her getting up and leaving so obviously Caterina would send them straight back to the Barracks with the raw recruits.

Rook closes her eyes and - not even sighs, she just exhales, but there's still a lifetime of exhaustion in it.

"Besides," he tries, "How could you have known killing some Antaam and breaking out an author would lead to this? Solas set these events in motion so long ago, one could no longer even see his hands in them if he weren't clinging to the reins like a drowning man to thrown rope."

It doesn't work.

"Had I just kept my head down-"

"Then Solas would've succeeded with that ritual of his, and all Thedas would burn already. This way, we can at least pretend we have a chance at turning the tide."

A pause, as she considers it.

"And we would never have met."

The smile he finally sees on her is small, tired and aching. But it's still a smile. He'll take it.

"Now you're breaking apart my doomclouds."

"I live to serve." She takes a slice of bread out of the basket between them and starts wiping the soup from her bowl.

"You'll live for so much more. Trust me."

With my life, Lucanis thinks.

🪶

thesis anxiety hella kicking so im a lil quiet rn and also im not sure if i like it but I hit barricade at a concert and had a straight up menty b over the general course of my life and three ppl down ppl got engaged mid-song so i need some comfort

@lanafofana this isn't what we talked about but have a tag anyway lmao

rook sighing with closed eyes like the meme of the smoking actor in the blue top that i have no idea who he is or what he does.

[boba-pearl-writes]

Amortentia - 11/8/24 - word count: 613 - @rosekillermicrofic

Evan was not enjoying Potions. 

This wasn’t quite a surprise, as he never enjoyed Potions. Usually, this had to do with him not being able to make Potions as well as Slughorn demonstrated, ending up with him at the end of Slughorn’s judgemental, disappointed looks. He didn’t really care. Barty and Pandora were way more skilled at Potions, and he usually partnered with them anyway.

This time, they were making amortentia- Evan hadn’t done the required reading before the class, but he knew what it was. One of the most powerful love potions in the wizarding world, and not too easy to brew, either. It was supposed to smell like your soulmate or the person you loved most.

Evan had never been really interested in the concept or the meaning of soulmates. In his view, Barty was the only right person for him, the only person he’d felt strongly towards, and not even fate would change that. If fate agreed with him, then… Well, that was alright. 

The only problem was, Barty had refused to partner with him this Potions class partnering with Regulus instead, and Pandora had already partnered with some Gryffindor girl. Evan was happy to leave them to that.

Dorcas wasn’t even in their year. Evan had ended up with Mulciber, something he’d never forgive the rest of them for. It was well known that Mulciber was absolutely helpless at Potions, and, combined with Evan’s lack of affinity towards this class- they were going to end up doing something wrong.

By some miracle, after the last ingredient and the last stir, the potion took on the pearly color it was supposed to take, no thanks to Mulciber, who’d just been chatting with Avery the entire time. The potion looked almost hypnotizing with its silvery color and its swirling smoke. What was the most entrancing about it was its smell. It smelled like the smoke from a blunt, green apple lollies, and something else that could only be described as Barty. He looked over at the person in question and found that he was already staring back.

Their eyes met. Evan sucked in a breath. Barty looked away, a flush of red on his face.

What’d that mean? Could it be…?

Barty didn’t look over at him for the rest of the class. Evan cornered him after class, and Barty tried making several excuses to get away. Evan knew for a fact, though, that they both had a free period.

“What’d you smell in the amortentia?” He asked, getting right to the point. Barty looked down, not meeting his eyes. 

“What’s it matter to you?” Evan frowned. Barty wasn’t this hostile, not to him.

“Barty,” he said, softer this time, and Barty looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I smelled green apple lollies and blunts.” Evan tried to emphasize the smells, tried to get Barty to understand. Barty’s eyes widened and Evan knew that he’d understood. 

“I… I smelled roses… and a small bit of blood,” Barty said. Evan had suspected but hearing it, actually hearing it, was an amazing feeling. 

“So it’s… me?” Barty’s face brightened and he reached for his hand.

“It’s you. It’s always been you,” Barty said, breathlessly. “It’s always been you and me.”

Barty and Evan leaned into each other as one, meeting in the middle for a kiss that, even though it was broken apart by giggles moments later, was unlike anything Evan had ever experienced. 

It was perfect, or, at least, as close to perfect as he could imagine. That was enough. 

They walked back to the Slytherin dorm hand in hand, Potions and studies the furthest thing from their mind. 

[loulovingho]

Part of me thinks this was their way of having a break up (for drama) that wouldn’t really speak negatively to either character (they ruined the overall writing of it however with the biphobia). But you end up feeling bad for both of them because they both want a future with each other but due to miscommunication on both parts they broke up. By making it so no one’s to blame it makes it easier for the audience to root for them to get back together.

Even with the post episode interviews, Tim and Oliver empathize with Tommy by saying that he was protecting his heart and maybe he was hurt in the past. If they do continue with this story in 8b it will imo provide great back story for Tommy and an opportunity for character growth for both. Yes they fumbled the break up with the biphobic writing but I think they did it in a way that has you feeling for both characters and longing (Oliver’s interview on slow burns comes to mind with this break up) for them to get back together. Clearly by the backlash we see that alot of the audience wants them to work this out.

All of this would make so much sense, like so much sense, if it weren’t for those interviews after the episode. Like, they fucked up big time with some of the things said there. I know Tim and Co speak out of their asses more than half the time anyway, but they had to have known that people would be at least a little invested in Tommy by now.

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chapter 3 - Kalais "Rook" Mercar

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

Rook x Lucanis

Summary: The First Warden completely disrespects Rook and an old friend stands up for her. Rook has a nightmare about her past, and Spite of all people comforts her when she wakes in a panic. It's awkward the next morning when the two wake up on top of each other.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Spoilers, cursing, mentions of death, mentions of sickness, implied torture, slavery

A/N: For the heaviness of this one I tried to counterbalance it with some light

Chapter 2 DATV Masterlist Chapter 4

The Shadow Dragons reached out to me and said they were having an issue with Blight and Darkspawn along with the Venatori. Neve and I decided to help, and Lucanis was always down to kill cultist bastards. We cleared the secret passage between the shop and the base, coming upon the shocking revelation that the Venatori and the darkspawn were working together somewhat. Or at the very least, not trying to kill each other.

This was problematic at best, and a catastrophe at worst. If the Gods control the Blight, then they control the Darkspawn, and if the Darkspawn don’t attack the Venatori, then the Venatori follow the gods, and it’s all this big confusing loop of a hierarchy that just means we have more bad guys to kill.

When that was finished, Tarquin thanked us and said he was glad I was back. I didn’t realize I had been so sorely missed.

Our next step was to meet with the First Warden at the Cobbled Swan. The Grey Wardens were the most effective tool against the Blight, so we would be needing their help before this was all said and done.

When we entered and I approached, a dark skinned, bald headed man put his hands on his hips. “I am Jowin Glastrum, First Warden and Supreme Commander of Weisshaupt. I received word of your team’s request for Grey Warden assistance after an incursion of the blight at D’Meta’s Crossing. You’re a Shadow Dragon, I hear. A criminal organization of Tevinter insurgents. I was not surprised to learn that you are wanted for numerous offenses, including theft, murder, and wanton destruction of property.”

“Did you also hear that the Shadow Dragons saved me from slavery?” I crossed my arms, tilting my head. “Or that I got those offenses by wrecking a slavery ring? Theft? You mean rescuing enslaved people. Murder? You mean the Venatory cultists who enslaved those people,” I glared.

“And destruction of property?” He questioned.

“Just felt like it,” I shrugged.

“Fine. All I want to know is how a Minrathous crook unleashed the blight.” His words? Condescending. His tone? Even more so.

I took a deep breath. “We’ve been tracking a mage named Solas. He’s actually several thousand years old. In elven mythology, he’s known as Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, god of lies.”

“That is a number of titles.”

“Well, Fen’harel is elven for Dread Wolf, so that only counts as one. But yeah, you’re not wrong,” I explained. “Anyway, he wanted to tear down the Veil and restore the ancient elven empire. We stopped his ritual.”

“I did not come here to listen to fairy tales. I am here because of the Blight,” he said adamantly.

“Right, but it all ties together! See, when we disrupted the ritual, Solas got trapped in the Fade. But two of the elven gods got out. Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, we think. And they’re blighted,” I told him.

“Why would elven gods be blighted?” He said skeptically.

“The ancient elven gods used the blight. That’s why Solas imprisoned them. The point is that the gods are making the blight worse. D’Meta’s Crossing was just the start. That’s why we need the Grey Wardens,” I explained.

He tilted his head down to me condescendingly as he spoke with a hand on his hip. “I suspected more politicking from the remnants of the Inquisition. I see now that I was wrong.”

“I’m really glad to hear that.”

“It is clear that whatever you did to unleash the blight has corrupted your already weak mind.”

“Okay, wait…”

“You will be taken to Weisshaupt and placed under heavy guard until the danger you caused by unleashing the blight passes.”

My chest seized. “No, please, you can’t do that.” I felt Lucanis shift a step closer to me.

“I assure you, I can,” he said simply.

“I don’t know how much time we have! The gods are doing something with the blight—we need to stop them!” I pleaded.

“Let me tell you something about the blight. It is evil, it is implacable, and above all, it is predictable. The blight has not changed in over a thousand years. The Grey Wardens will defeat it, as they always do. And we will do so without you causing confusion with your deranged conspiracy theories. I suggest you come along quickly.”

I saw the hardness of his eyes, and I knew he would not be assuaged. I took an instinctive step back, bumping Lucanis’s shoulder.

“Adamant Fortress. 9:41 Dragon.” My head whipped around, seeing a familiar face to accompany the friendly voice. Well, friendly to me. “The Grey Wardens attempted to raise an army of demons. Hardly the models of good judgment yourselves, are you?”

“Dorian,” I smiled at him. “It’s good to see you.”

He bowed to me. “And you as well, Kalais. You’re looking well.”

The First Warden cleared his throat. “Everyone knows Warden-Commander Clarel acted alone at Adamant Fortress.”

“Acted alone, you say? Imagine if everyone were to see the letter I discovered where you authorize her actions. I wonder how that might complicate the narrative.” He popped a hip, resting his fist on it.

“Are you prepared to risk the security of the Grey Wardens for this deluded girl?” He questioned.

“You may be surprised to learn that I care very little about the security of the Grey Wardens,” Dorian argued.

The First Warden was silent for a moment, staring down his nose at the two of us. “Stay away from the blight, and do not pester the Grey Wardens with any more of your nonsense.” With one final, pointed glance at Dorian, he left.

Dorian turned to me with a pout. “He seems upset. Was it something I said?”

I grinned. “Your timing is impeccable.”

“A flawless entrance, I’d say.”

“Thanks for the rescue. I don’t think I could’ve survived a Grey Warden prison,” I told him.

“A mutual friend thought you might require some support.”

“Maevaris Tilani? Of the Shadow Dragons?” I asked.

“The very same,” He smiled.

“I think we made an enemy of the First Warden today. Well, more you than me. He just thinks I’m a dangerous idiot.”

He laughed sharply. “Enemy. I’ve ignored greater men. No Grey Warden worth the name sits in a Minrathous lounge, sipping wine. You need the Wardens? Look for the ones out there fighting the Blight. In the meantime, the Shadow Dragons will keep a close watch on the Venatori. Good luck. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.” He stopped to look over his shoulder at me. “Oh, and Kalais. Dangerous you might be, but you’re no idiot. Get out there and show him just how dangerous you can be.”

“You know I will,” I grinned.

“Good,” he said. “Though, do try not to get yourself killed,” he shot back as he left.

“You know Magister Pavus?” Neve asked.

“I do. It’s complicated, and I’d rather not get into it right now. He’s an… old friend, you could say.”

“Old. Lover!” Spite hissed between Lucanis’ teeth.

I blinked before I burst out laughing. “That man is fruitier than a basket of peaches! He is not an old lover.”

Neve snorted, and Lucanis just shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. I didn’t know what kind of argument he was having with Spite in his head.

“Let’s get back to the Lighthouse.”

—-------------------------------------------

I opened the double doors to the Infirmary and Varric looked up at me. “There you are! I haven’t seen much of you lately, and I was getting worried. Everything all right?” He asked. “Wait… that dagger. I’ve seen it before.”

“Solas was using it at the ritual site,” I said. It’s the dagger that stabbed you, of course it looks familiar.

“No, before that. Shit. It can’t be. Look at it, Rook!”

“I’ve been fidgeting with this thing since I picked it up, Varric. I know what it looks like.”

“Remember that story I told you about me and Hawke, Meredith and Orsino? How the trouble started in Kirkwall? On our expedition to the Deep Roads… that’s what we found. That’s what my brother tried to kill us for. An idol made of red lyrium. That sang a song which drove anyone who heard it mad.”

“Are you sure it’s the same thing?” I asked.

“Look at it. It’s changed, but it’s the same size. Same rink at the top. Not to mention: It’s pure lyrium. No one, not even the dwarves in Orzammar, work pure lyrium like that. It’s too dangerous,” he told me.

“If that’s true, if this dagger is the red lyrium idol from your story… how did Solas cleanse it of the blight?” I questioned.

“I have no idea. I can’t believe you found it.”

I heard footsteps behind me, and I turned to see Harding. “Oh! Hey, Rook. I’m… not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No. You look more comfortable with your abilities. How are you?” I asked.

“Things are… weird, but I’m adjusting. I think. That’s not what I came in here for, though.”

“All right, Harding. What’s on your mind?” Varric asked.

“So… the Wardens. I know some. A married couple Varric and I met while we were tracking Solas,” she said.

“I’d almost forgotten about that. I really am getting too old for this shit,” Varric grumbled.

“You think they’ll talk to us? After the First Warden, and everything?” I asked.

“It’s worth a try?” She said. “I can write them and… hope.”

“Okay. Let’s see who’s in our corner,” I said with a smile. Harding nodded and left. I glanced at Varric. “I’ll let you rest.”

“Hey, kid,” he said before I could leave. I turned back to him, raising a brow. “Normally, my advice on befriending abominations would be, “Don’t”. In this case, just keep an eye on him.”

I felt my face flush, and I just bowed my head to him before leaving.

—---------------------------------------

My footsteps were soft as I made my way through the quiet corridors of the safe house, my mind still echoing with Dorian’s parting words. I’d barely seen Lucanis since the encounter with the First Warden, but the comforting smell of brewing coffee led me to the dimly lit kitchen.

Lucanis stood at the counter, carefully pouring hot water over coffee grounds. He looked up as I entered, a hint of surprise in his gaze, which softened almost instantly.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice gentle in the quiet space.

I offered him a tired smile. “It seems sleep and I are sworn enemies these days.”

Lucanis nodded knowingly and held up the mug in his hand. “Coffee?”

“Actually… Can you make me one of those choco-chico things?” 

His expression flickered with amusement. “The cioccolata calda. I should have guessed,” he murmured, turning to reach for a tin of cocoa powder. “I can made that happen.”

“Correct me all you like, I’m not sure it’s ever going to stick,” I laughed. I watched as he rolled his sleeves up, and I caught myself staring at his forearms, trailing over his shoulders and watching his muscled back as he worked.

We fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of the stove’s low flame filling the space between us. I watched his movements, taking in his quiet confidence, the precision of each gesture.

Once he handed me a warm mug, we leaned against the counter together, sipping in companionable silence. Finally, Lucanis turned to me, his eyes searching. “So… Kalais?” He raised a brow. “I had my suspicions, but I’m guessing Rook isn’t your real name.”

I laughed softly, staring down at the rich, dark liquid swirling in my cup. “No, it’s not. Kalais Mercar, that’s who I was—am, I suppose.” I glanced at him with a wry smile. “But Rook’s what Varric called me when we met, and it just stuck.”

The corners of Lucanis’s lips upturned slightly. “Why Rook?”

“I asked him that too, once. He said it was because I never stayed still for long. ‘Like a rook on a chessboard—always moving forward,’ he said. And… well, I liked it,” I explained. “I liked most that it came from him,” I shrugged.

Lucanis’s smile grew. “It suits you. A fitting name for a survivor.” His tone softened as he added, “And a strategist.”

I took another sip, letting the warmth seep through me. It was the first time in ages that I felt a little lighter in someone else’s presence, besides Varric. Lucanis’s gaze shifted, his eyes studying me intently.

“You said something to Neve. About Dorian,” he ventured, curiosity evident in his voice. “That it was… complicated?”

“You mean when Spite accused him of being my old lover?” I grinned, teasingly.

Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose, “Mierda.”

I laughed, squeezing his shoulder lightly, “I’m messing with you.” He just shook his head. I stared off into the distance as though I was capable of seeing the past. “He bought me,” I said. “Dorian did. Me, and a group of others in our household. We were slaves for another house, but Dorian…” I took a steadying breath, recalling those brutal days. “He picked the most capable of us. Bought us, freed us. That’s how I met him—and how I met the Shadow Dragons. He introduced me to the organization.”

Lucanis listened, his eyes dark with understanding, but he stayed silent as I gathered my thoughts.

“It was the first time anyone had ever given me a choice, given me a chance. I barely knew how to breathe without fearing it would draw the wrong kind of attention, but he didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t want me to be anything other than… free.” I shrugged, trying to dislodge the weight of those memories. “The Shadow Dragons offered me a purpose. A way to help others trapped like I was. So I took it.”

The silence that settled between us now was a heavy one, but it was comfortable. There was no pity in his eyes, only a shared understanding, as if he could see something familiar in my story.

“Dorian was the first person to show me that sometimes, you don’t have to run from everyone who offers you a way out. It made it easier to trust Varric,” I finished, my voice quieter as I swirled my drink. “Dorian set me free, and Varric helped me grow.”

Lucanis’s fingers tapped gently against his mug as he spoke. “You’re more than that past, Rook. It shapes us, sure, but it doesn’t define everything,” he offered a small, sincere smile. “You’re not just fighting your past—you’re fighting for a future. And that… that takes courage.” 

He sipped his coffee with an appreciative hum. A soft laugh escaped me as I shook my head. “Coming from you, that means more than you know.”

Lucanis’s gaze held mine for a moment before he looked down, clearing his throat. “Well, someone has to keep you in line. You know, in case you get too reckless,” he smirked. After a moment of silence he looked up at me again, brown eyes soft. “Thank you for sharing that.”

“Of course, I—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. “If you ever need– If you ever want to talk about what you went through in the Ossuary…” My voice trailed off, leaving the offer unspoken.

Our eyes met, a quiet understanding passing between us, forged by shared struggles and a mutual respect that went beyond words. The world outside might have been crumbling, but here, in this quiet moment over coffee and hot chocolate, we were two souls finding a brief respite, a sense of connection that neither of us had anticipated.

—----------------------------------

The sunlight speckled the ground as it filtered through the leaves, casting its warm gaze upon me. I was no older than five again, running through the halls of the magister’s manor. Notes from the piano drifted to my pointed ears from down the hall, and my little feet led me to see who was playing.

It was the Lady of the house, her fingers moving deftly over the keys with grace and precision. I watched her with wide eyes, pushing the door open more, cringing as it creaked. Her head whipped around, but her gaze softened as she saw me.

She beckoned for me, holding her arms out invitingly. Her voice was the sweetest melody I’d ever heard. “Come, little star. Sit by me while I play.”

Carefully, I climbed up onto the bench, and she pulled me into her lap, placing her hands over mine on the keys. Slowly, she taught me what she was playing.

I looked up at her with a wide smile, and she grinned softly at me. “Never forget your beauty, my love,” she said.

In the same second those bright green eyes were looking at me, they blackened, spiderwebbed black veins running through her cheeks and consuming her. Her cheeks became gaunt and her eyes sunk in, dark circles forming beneath them. I screamed, trying to flee only for my back to hit a wall.

I was a teenager now, bringing notes to the magister. The Lady had passed when I was seven. I was too young to remember her name. 

“Your notes, Magister Imarius,” I set the books down on his desk, the room smelling like ink and parchment. 

He looked up, face always one of disgust when facing his disease-ridden slaves. Never mind that we took care of the house and him. I always believed he blamed me for his wife’s death. He never said it, but he never had to.

I felt the harsh tug on my scalp as he gripped me at the base of my hair, pulling me down to spit in my face. I saw the flash of a dagger in my peripheral vision, and then there was a pair of hands on my face, pulling me away.

I met Cole’s gaze, and he frowned. “This memory cannot have you any longer.”

—-------------------------------------

“Rook!” A hand on my shoulder shook me.

I sat straight up, chest heaving. Cold sweat dripped down my neck. I blinked, looking up into glowing purple eyes. “Spite?”

“You. Were dreaming.” Lucanis’s hand came up, a cold finger brushing my cheeks. I rubbed the other, feeling the wetness of my tears. “Why do you cry?” He questioned.

“Just a nightmare. I’m okay,” I smiled at him. “I guess Lucanis fell asleep? What were you doing?” I asked.

“Find. You.” He pointed at me. “Want. To talk.”

I took a shaky breath, the remnants of the dream still lingering like shadows at the edges of my mind. Spite’s eyes, cold and assessing as always, flickered with a strange intensity. He tilted his head, watching me with a kind of curiosity that felt almost… protective.

“Thank you, Spite,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper. The sensation of Imarius’s grip, the bite of his loathing, lingered, but I pushed it down, trying to focus on the present, on the here and now.

Spite’s gaze didn’t waver. “Dreams. Hurt you,” he stated bluntly, not with mockery but with a rare sincerity. “They pull you back.”

I exhaled, glancing away as my fingers twisted in my lap. “Yeah… sometimes they do,” she admitted. “It’s just… echoes of the past. They don’t mean anything. I’ve moved on.” Or I’m trying to at least.

Spite’s eyes narrowed, and he studied me as if he could see through the thin shield I was holding up. “No. You. Break free. But they cling. Rotten shadows.” He pointed a finger at my heart. “Memory can trap. Better to cut it out.”

My lip twitched, almost smiling at his bluntness. “And if I did, what would be left? Those memories… they’re part of me, whether I want them to be or not.”

Spite’s frown deepened, a faint flicker of frustration darkening his face. “No!” He hissed. “You are more than them,” he insisted. “Lucanis… he knows too.” He gestured vaguely, as if struggling with the limitations of this form. “If he won’t. Remind you. I will.”

His words hung in the air between us, and I felt something shift. There was a sense of grounding in his presence. His raw honesty cutting through the fog the nightmare had left behind. I gave him a small, weary nod. “I appreciate that, Lethallin.” I allowed myself a moment to steady myself. “Sometimes… sometimes you’re right. Don’t tell Lucanis I said that.”

His grin nearly split Lucanis’s face in half. “Yes. Good. Now, rest. No more dreams. I’ll be here.”

I managed a grateful smile, letting myself lean back against the cushioned chair in the dining room, reassured by the presence of this strange, fierce ally who’d appeared to guard me against the shadows of my own past.

—-----------------------------------------

I blinked awake slowly, my mind groggy, caught somewhere between lingering dreams and reality. As I shifted, something solid and warm pressed against my shoulder, and I froze. I could feel Lucanis’s steady, rhythmic breathing, his face so close I could see his dark lashes resting against his cheeks.

Oh no.

I was leaning against him, slumped in the worn sofa that sat in the corner of the dining hall. I felt heat rise in my cheeks, but when I shifted again, his eyes fluttered open, hazy and confused.

“Mierda,” he muttered, sitting up too quickly, their shoulders bumping in the process. He blinked, looking as flustered as I felt.

I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say. “Um… good morning?” I eventually managed, my voice barely over a whisper.

Lucanis’s gaze darted away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he mumbled. “Morning. I don’t– How did I get here?” He asked.

“Oh, I had a nightmare, and Spite found me and he wanted to, um… stay?” I twisted my fingers in my lap. “Didn’t mean to… you know…” I trailed off, glancing at him sidelong.

He sat there, cheeks tinged faintly pink, looking at the floor with the same embarrassment I was feeling. He nodded, shifting slightly so there was more space between us, his fingers tapping against his knee. “Of course. Couldn’t just leave you there after…” He trailed off, his hand making a vague gesture that could have meant anything but somehow explained everything.

We sat in silence, both of us searching for words we didn’t have. Finally, I laughed, a sound that came out more nervous than I intended. “Well, good to know you’re a decent pillow.”

He gave me a sidelong glance, a small smirk breaking through his embarrassment. “I’ll keep that in mind if you ever fall asleep in strange places again.” His eyes softened as he added, “Just don’t get used to it.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t keep from grinning. “Oh, please, I’d hate to make it a habit.” I stood, brushing myself off, then hesitated. “But… Thanks, Lucanis. And Spite. Really.”

He looked at me, the last traces of awkwardness replaced by something that could be mistaken for warmth. “Anytime, Rook.”

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed! I know it's not as long, but I was itching to develop Kalais

Let me know if you want to be on the tag list!<3

[keithsfangs]

☆☆ nsfw headcanons

☆ keith's dick is lengthed slightly above-average, with an average sized girth. he doesn't bother with shaving too much, simply because he doesn't see much of a point in it— the hair is just going to grow back, anyway, and he's at least trimmed, so that's good enough for him.

☆ he doesn't mind topping or bottoming, unless he's in a particular mood for one or the other. both ways feel good to him, and as long as they feel good to you, too, he's more than happy to indulge in either.

☆ he isn't the submissive type. he prefers to stay dominant, in control, and fuck, if he isn't stubborn about it. you want him to submit to you? you have to earn it, and he sure as hell isn't gonna make it easy for you. he's bratty, pushing all your buttons until you're riled up just the way he likes.

☆ ("why don't you go ahead and make me, huh?" is one of his favorite things to say to you 😉)

☆ he can go pretty much any way you want. you want it hard and fast? he'll have you begging him to stop and for more at the same time. soft and slow? he'll be as gentle as possible, taking the time to please you, thoroughly admiring you all the while.

☆ he loves marking you up, it almost gets him off as much as the sex itself. scratching you, biting you, whatever— as long as there's clear evidence that you're his (galra are known to be territorial, after all), he's satisfied.

☆ he loves you marking him up, too. the mixed feeling of pain and pleasure as your nails dig or your teeth sink into him... he can never get enough of it, and knowing that they'll leave very visible marks on his pale skin is an added bonus.

☆ it takes him a bit to get used to calling you anything other than "babe"/"baby", and to dirty talk. admittedly, it's an awkward process for the both of you, full of trial and error— though eventually, after he learns what you like and don't like and stops getting in his own head about it, it comes more naturally to him.

☆ you can both agree that the awkward phase was worth it. because, once he's more confident, he's filthy. he gets real close to your ear and calls you any name you want to hear, whispers all the things he wants to do to you/wants you to do to him. he makes sure to throw in whimpers and moans, too, all soft and breathy, knowing exactly how it'll make you feel... basically, once he's vocal, he's vocal.

☆ (he makes the hottest noises ever, by the way. whether he's moaning, groaning, whimpering, whining— he sounds fucking good, and he knows he does, if your reactions are anything to go by... which they are. he definitely uses that knowledge to his advantage 💜)

☆ when it comes to praising or degrading you, he prefers to praise. it's hard for him to speak badly about you whenever you're so perfect in his eyes, and while he knows that the words are just for play, he can't bring himself to say anything too harsh even if you encourage him to. he'd much rather tell you how good you are, how amazing you look, how much he loves you...

☆ ... as for him, well, he's fine with either. as far as he's convinced, you can say almost anything to him and it'll get him going, just because it's you saying it.

☆ when he cums, he cums a lot. it's almost as intimidating as it is hot, and he just loves to make a mess of you with it, whether that's cumming on you or in you.

☆ of course, no matter how intense the two of you go at it, keith always makes sure to give you a gentle kiss when you're both finished. when you're looking at him like that, he just can't help it ♡

maybe i'll add more to this sometime, who knows 🤭