#Emmrook: Push and Pull

[razildor]

A Close Call - A Emmrook Fanfic

I'm finally done with the cock warming fic! I will now go lay on the floor for 5 to 10 business days.

This idea came from both my mind and this ask from @heylittleriotact who fuelled it even more. Thank you! I love you but damn my brain hurts now.💚

Huge thanks to @holdingontojupiter for dealing with my rambles and helping to look it over. Means a lot!💚

And thank you to everyone who has left wonderful comments and reblogs on the WIPs. I wouldn't have done this without your kind words. 💚

Read on AO3

Rating: E

M/F

Pairing: Rook/Emmrich Volkarin

Words: 5,735

A taste under the cut

The words danced on the page as Emmrich breathes deeply, pen slightly shaking in his hand, trying to concentrate on the notes he’s taken on Solas’ dagger. Yet the air in the room is far too warm, or is it just him? He grumbles under his breath, unbuttoning his high collar, thankful he took his vest off earlier, leaving it on the back of his chair. Wiping the sheen of sweat on his brow with the back of his gilded hand, the Mage’s eyes catch the culprit of his problem looking up at him from over the rim of his reading glasses. Eyes dark from desire, cock sitting snuggly down her throat. Sitting so pretty for him under his desk, her head leaning on his thigh and hands resting on the back of Emmrch’s legs.

How long has Rook been under his desk now? For sometime, he thinks, yet he wasn’t keeping track. All he recalls is Rook coming in asking if they could do something to make her forget about fighting gods and saving the world for a time. He agreed of course, wanting to do anything to help his darling Rook relax. Especially her idea of keeping his cock warm.

Emmrich is thankful he sent Manfred to go play with Assan. Emmrich isn’t too sure if he could form a convincing lie to his Ward as to why he is sweating as if he is in the Hissing Wastes. Or to why Rook is under his desk.

The sudden tightness around his cock draws him back into the moment. A gasp leaves his lips. A hand reaches out to grip the armrest of the chair, letting out a shuddering breath, slowly looking down at Rook with a stern look, whose eyes sparkly with mischief back up at him.

“That was mean, darling.”

[lavenderprose]

Emmrook Short: Rooftop Interlude

~~~

ALRIGHT well this scene doesn't fit the narrative of the fic the way I thought it would. Currently gnashing my teeth and trying to fit it in elsewhere. I'll just throw it up here in case it ends up being left on the cutting room floor. Have at it.

Emmrook | Explicit | Semi-Public shenanigans ahead

They are in Treviso, the coffee is strong and the stars are beautiful. Rook watches with an open, laughing mouth as Emmrich hangs from a zipwire and, embarrassingly, screams with both exhilaration and horror as he flies above the glass-calm surface of a dark canal.

When his feet touch on the ground, his knees immediately buckle, though they don’t hit the pavement. Rook jumps forward and angles her shoulder against his chest. His arms go reflexively around her and she laughs and laughs as his nose crashes into the top of her head. She smells of honeysuckle and sweat.

“Whoa,” she says, stumbling only a little under his greater height and weight. She pulls back just far enough to meet his eyes, grinning as she says, “Hey, you did it! It gets easier every time.”

“Oh!” he says, panting, voice gone just slightly hoarse from the hollering. “That was…oh my, that was—quite something, I’ve never—” He straightens up, laughs, swipes a hand through his hair. Rook doesn’t move away, and he’s distantly aware that she probably should—the area they’re standing in isn’t necessarily public, frequented as it is almost exclusively by Crows using the vast rooftop system to move about the city clandestinely. That said, it isn’t necessarily private either. One could easily misinterpret the sight of them standing here, panting and wrapped around each other.

Still, Rook doesn’t move. Her hands find their way up his back, curled over the angle of his shoulder blades, and Emmrich can almost feel every movement of her fingers, every creak of her joints even through the thick fabric of his greatcoat.

“Lucanis went ahead,” she says, and flicks her fringe away from her face with a small, neat movement of her head. Emmrich watches as her mouth opens, her eyelashes flutter, and her tongue wets the length of her top lip. “He was—um, worried Viago would get upset if we left him waiting too long. Also, Spite was getting antsy.”

“Ah,” Emmrich breathes. “Well, forgive me the time I delayed us. I consider myself quite athletic, mind you, but overcoming one’s dread at the idea of zipping through the air—that’s quite something else!” He barks out another laugh, because it’s the only thing he can think to do.

“You did great,” Rook says again, and shifts against him in such a way that her hip collides with the front of his trousers. It’s purely accidental, and wouldn’t affect him in the slightest under normal circumstances—he’s more than capable of controlling himself, even with the feelings she inspires in him. There is, however, a great deal of adrenalin still coursing through him, and when her body presses to his—and one of her hands finds his chest.

“I am so sorry,” he gasps, taking a full step back. He’s embarrassed, flaming with it, and unfortunately it does nothing to ease his problem. There’s a wire crossed there—he’s never taken the time to examine it.

A moue of surprise curls onto her face. “That’s—alright. No, really, it’s fine—” She makes a grab for his hand as he takes another step back, and the grip she tugs on him with is shockingly strong. When he brings himself to look closely at her face, pushing past the mortification, he finds a sheen over her eyes and a high, pink blush blooming across her cheeks. She sucks her lip into her mouth. “Um. Here—”

She pulls him away from the ledge by which they are still, bizarrely, standing. There is a very narrow crevasse between the rooftops of two buildings, less than two full feet in width, and it’s into this crevasse that she leads him. They keep going until the moonlight almost doesn’t hit them anymore, illuminating only the silky top of her tonic-lightened hair and the metal notions on her gear.

Once sufficiently deep for her liking, she turns and pushes him into a wall. He’s panting, exhilarated and just a little alarmed, and she whispers, “Emmrich. Tell me, um. Tell me to stop, and I will.” Then her small hand reaches down his front, finds the outline of his erection, and tenderly caresses the throbbing head of his cock.

“Oh,” Emmrich whimpers, head clonking back against the brick wall. All ideals of propriety he’s ever been taught demand that he tells her to stop—that he politely rebuff her advance, initiate an encounter properly, privately, or else give himself over to the silent longing that is his lot in life. He knows he should, and yet cannot bring himself to; he is weak, weak for her, and she is beautiful, warm and offering herself to him like a wrapped gift. The weight of her hand, her sweet breath against his neck—he can only welcome them.

“Sh, sh,” she whispers. “You feel good. Is that—do you like—”

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, that’s—” He sighs, squeezes his eyes shut. “Please, Rook—please.”

Rook gasps against the crook of his neck, wet and hot, then she’s gone. His head spins as he processes her absence, and then her hands find him again—from below, and he looks down. Amber pools, so deep he could sink into them and never surface, examine him from hip-level. Her fingers are frantic, fumbling at the buckles and ties between the air and his flesh.

Emmrich Volkarin, who is far enough into his second half-century of life that he should know better, and still young enough that the world often manages to surprise him, stutters out a single word of protest—Rook, simply her name—and then can’t bring himself to finish the thought.

“I want to,” she says instantly, clearly aware of his train of thought. “Maker, I want you in my mouth. Let me suck your cock.”

“Okay,” he squeaks. “Okay—yes—that—Rook, darling, that button is a clip—"

He is stunned, overcome and so deeply aroused that he thinks his head might just pop clean off. Rook, who seems to know this, fixes him with a look of utter desire and he knows that whatever is driving her to do this, it isn’t something he needs to save her from. He joins her fumbling and, together, they free him from his clothes. The sight of his purpled, wet cockhead next to her comely face is utterly obscene, and it almost undoes him before he has the privilege of sinking into the heat of her mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells her, as she taps his cock on her chin.

“So are you,” says Rook, speaking directly to and possibly about his penis, but he can’t really hold it against her. He’s been known to appreciate the presence of a hard cock in his face, as well. The thought startles a chuckle out of him as she inches closer, settling into the task she’s chosen.

She shifts from her squat to kneel on his boots, keeping her knees out of the alley refuse, and his toes flex against the sweet, heavy burden of her weight as she takes him. Her tongue is clever, slick, twirling underneath the glans. Her eyes stay open and somehow, against all odds, his do too. Her lips are red, a perfect pucker around the veined shaft of his cock. Emmrich has always enjoyed congress in all its forms, giving and receiving, but the act of oral pleasure has always filled him with a particular mixture of shame and desire. Something about the baseness of it, the inherent submission of kneeling before someone and servicing them.

Rook doesn’t seem to do it as an act of submission, or even particularly an act of service. She gives fellatio selfishly, if that’s even a thing. Genuinely appears to enjoy it nearly as much as him; groaning around him, pressing forward until her nose is buried in the still-dark hair at the root of his cock, and fluttering her eyelids as if he can bring her to her own ecstasy simply by fucking her mouth. It would be a lie to say he hasn’t thought about this—Maker, he has, and he’ll be judged for that someday. He’s also thought about his hands on her breasts, the curve of her ass in his lap, and the way she might taste. They aren’t thoughts he’s ashamed of, necessarily, because he would never breathe a word of them to her unsolicited. He’s red-blooded, she is beautiful, and it has felt for at least some short time now that they were hurtling towards this inevitably. Nevertheless, it’s shocking that it would happen now.

He considers himself a sexual being, deeply enjoys the act of it as both a source of intimacy and relief, and seeks it out when he desires it. It has, however, been a long time since he had the time or inclination to do so. She brings him to the brink quickly, and he can hardly breathe to signal to her his impending release.

“Rook,” he gasps, a hand clutching onto the nearest part of her—which, unfortunately, is her hair. He grips a handful of it far harder than he intends to. She groans encouragingly, hands spidering up to grasp at the backs of his thighs, and he bites savagely into his gloved hand as he spills onto her tongue.

She leans over and spits, which is one of the grosser things he’s ever found erotic, and then asks, “Do you have a handkerchief?” Her voice is quiet, now with the subtlest rasp. He immediately pulls out his handkerchief and offers it in trembling fingers.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, wiping her mouth. She tucks him back into his trousers, reverse-engineering the complicated arrangement of his buckles with only a little guidance, and then briefly rests her forehead against his stomach. His toes are beginning to go numb under her weight—a minor and extremely bearable pittance.

“Are you alright, darling?” he asks, curling a finger under her chin.

“Mm-hm.” Rook tilts her head up, eyes still closed, and presses a lingering kiss to his thumb. It reminds him that they have yet to so much as kiss, despite the taste of him now lingering in her mouth. “I’m so turned on I don’t think I’ll be able to walk straight. Give me a second.”

“Ah,” Emmrich murmurs. She giggles. “If you desire some assistance in that regard, I would gladly offer it.”

“No time,” she sighs. “We were supposed to be at the Diamond ten minutes ago. Spite will know what we’ve been doing, and I’m sure he’ll tell Lucanis.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure,” Emmrich says, resting his head back against the wall. The stars are just visible between the eaves of the two roofs almost meeting each other overhead. They seem almost audible in their brightness. “Spite is more likely to smell the alley than the sex. We’ll tell him you fell in a gutter.”

“Oh, I’ve been in the gutter alright,” Rook mutters against his hip, and they share another giggle.

The meeting with the Talons is awkward. Their delayed arrival had, indeed, aggravated Viago de Riva—though Emmrich has it on good authority that this is by no means an impossible feat. Lucanis, too, fixes them with a vaguely disgruntled look. Emmrich returns it, not missing the flash of purple on the edges of Lucanis’ pupils, and can only hope that a steady, reproachful look is enough to dissuade Spite from inserting himself into the conversation. Despite his assurances to Rook, Emmrich doesn’t yet know enough about Spite to be absolutely assured that Lucanis’ demon counterpart won’t smell Rook’s breath and immediately take it upon himself to announce his knowledge of their liaison.

This, thankfully, never comes to be. Teia is predominantly amused by their obvious dishevelment, and Viago is still grateful enough to Rook for Treviso’s rescue that he lets any observations of his own pass largely unmentioned. Lucanis only says one thing as they pass through the Eluvian.

“…on your own time next time, okay?” Emmrich hears, as Rook and Lucanis emerge through the mirror behind him. He also hears Rook’s huffed laugh.

“Sure.”

Spite, emerging at last through Lucanis’ throat: “Rook. Your breath. Smells like co—”

“Ah,” Emmrich snaps, prim, because Spite responds well to firm guidelines. Misguided spirits are, after all, something of Emmrich’s specialty.

“Ugh!” Spite snaps, before fading back into obscurity behind Lucanis’ eyes.

“Well,” sighs Lucanis, rubbing his neck. “This has been…fun. I’m going home.”

Rook lets him stomp ahead through the strange brush of the Crossroads, giggling under her breath, and Emmrich ignores the stark sting of mortification on the back of his neck. When the tails of Lucanis’ cape are swaying a satisfactory ways in the distance, Emmrich slants his gaze towards her and mutters, “I think you’re amused by this, my dear.”

“They were going to find out anyway,” she sighs, and shakes a hand through her hair, falling badly now out of its pins. It’s been most of an entire day since she put them in. She pockets them as they come loose until, after a moment, her hair falls over her shoulders in a sleek, pin-straight waterfall. The shadows of her black roots are only just beginning to surface at her scalp. “We’re all living on top of each other. It’s like the Novice Watcher’s dorms all over again.”

“It was a rather, um, effective way to ensure our relationship becomes common knowledge,” Emmrich murmurs, hands twisting together as they meander after Lucanis’ rapidly retreating form. “There are Crows in Vyrantium who I’m sure will know by the end of the week. And with Spite knowing, it’s only a matter of time before—”

“I’m giving it ‘til Thursday,” Rook says, it currently being Tuesday.

“Mmm. That’s generous.”

“Emmrich.” She stops, hands buried in the pockets of her Watcher’s apron, and waits for him to wheel to face her. She’s frowning and seems to be actively engaged in the act of making herself smaller, like she’s bracing for a blow. “We don’t have to…if that was too much, just let me know. I’m not made of glass. I’ve been rejected before.”

“That,” he says, stern, “is far from what is happening here.” The idea of rejecting her after the gift of her attentions in the alley, as unwise as they may have been, makes him see red. Someone, somewhere, must have made her feel so utterly worthless at some point. Someone left her to think that her body could be taken for granted and her sexuality scorned. He should hope that individual never crosses his path on a dark night.

It’s only the intensity of his voice that seems to keep her from pursuing that line of thought. She shifts nervously, a sort of girlish uncertainty about her, and she says, “This is kind of how I am. Impulsive. I don’t always make great decisions. You should know that before this goes any further.

“Rook,” sighs Emmrich, and he closes in to grip her hands. “Do you honestly think that my sexual experiences are limited to dark bedrooms? Quite the opposite. It’s rather flattering to me that you witnessed my floundering and still desired me at all afterwards, let alone right that very moment.”

“Well.” Rook, posture loosening at last, slides her arms around his neck. “It was very sexy floundering.”

“Point being,” Emmrich murmurs, lips against the tip of her ear, “I greatly enjoyed the experience. I’ll admit to being somewhat…embarrassed, but that isn’t necessarily an undesirable consequence for something of this nature. Not for…a man such as myself.”

He waits for the meaning of his words to reach her, and that delicious shame drifts down his back when her eyes widen. “Oh. Oh.”

He clears his throat. “Yes. So, darling, you did nothing wrong…aside from make us tardy for the meeting with the Talons. I do so abhor tardiness.”

“Right. So, next time, work time into the schedule for the rooftop blowjob.”

“Congress under the stars can be so romantic,” Emmrich sighs elaborately, and he knows her confidence is done faltering when she laughs.

He wants to touch her, to feel the promised arousal between her thighs. He thinks about it on a loop as they walk back to the Lighthouse, but she begs off when they arrive.

“I’ll fall asleep on you,” she threatens.

“Not a distasteful thought,” he murmurs, hands low on her hips. He imagines easing her to sleep with swipes of his tongue—a gentle orgasm leading to a deep, dreamless slumber.

He feels her shiver. “I want to. I wish…but I have so much on my mind. Viago is concerned about Antaam movements, Davrin and I need to go speak to Antoine and Evka as soon as possible. I need to think. I need…” She sighs, rolls her eyes. “I think I need to talk to Solas.”

Of course. He’s allowed himself to forget, however briefly, that the Dread Wolf still quite literally occupies her mind. Her slumber is never truly her own, never private. He wishes now, as he often has, that they had met in the Necropolis, before the world took it upon itself to attempt to end for the third time in as many decades. Or else that he could insulated her from the burdens of her station, at least long enough for more than a furtive rooftop fuck.

When they part at the bottom of the stairs to her room, it’s almost unbearable to watch her go.

“Rook,” he says, before she opens the door. She turns to look over her shoulder, and he says, “If you need me—”

“I do,” she says, and disappears.

[guacamolleee]

Hey! Your prompts are lovely For thedasevent maybe Emmrook?

“I know you said you didn’t want to be late, but you look amazing, and I’m trying not to kiss you senseless right now,”

Thanks for the prompt!! For @thedasweekend

Set post-Veilguard. 627 words

“Ready, darling?” Emmrich pushed open the bedroom door with his hip, fingers on his cuff, smoothing it down.

“Ugh.” Rook sat by the vanity, attempting to pin her hair into some semblance of order, tucking errant strands into one hand, the other holding a golden clip trying to bunch it together — and failing. Her hair fell back down in waves. “Give me another minute.”

He glanced at his pocket watch — fifteen minutes if they were to get to the party on time, another soiree in Rook's honor, plucky castoff turned darling hero, the nobility suddenly so eager to shake hands with the godkiller that saved the world. Much was to be said about the Mourn Watch's abilities to rub elbows with the nobility, leveraging both her and Emmrich's status to their advantage. Though, he supposed he couldn't complain too loudly — research grants weren't funded themselves after all.

But that was neither here nor there, and he stepped toward Rook, flicking her hair behind her as she turned to face him.

“Do we have to go?” she complained.

“Alas, we must, my love.”

She pouted and batted her eyes at him. “No way I could… convince you, perhaps?”

He laughed, running a hand through her hair, Rook leaning into him as he scratched her scalp. “I am not the one you must convince.”

She grumbled, burying her nose into his stomach, almost certainly crumpling his dress shirt, lipstick rubbing into the fabric. He only smiled.

“Turn around.”

“Hm?”

She looked up at him, and he made a circling motion. “Turn around,” he repeated.

She complied, facing the mirror, their eyes meeting.

He plucked the clip from her hand, a pretty thing, made of gold and shaped like a single bloom of shroud’s kiss, the drops of black diamonds in the center shining in the lamplight. A gift from him to her. His heart warmed.

Emmrich gathered half her hair, combing through it with his fingers, twisting the sides, then clipping it together. He pulled a few strands free to frame her face.

She looked so lovely — the furrow between her brows as she watched him intently, the blush sweeping across her cheeks. It was all too easy to become distracted by the way her dress draped down her shoulders, flowing into billowing sleeves, framing long fingers covered in rings. Her back was open, a familiar constellation of freckles dotting it and begging to be connected.

Emmrich leaned and ran a hand down Rook’s exposed back, fingers dipping into the curve of her hip, slipping just beneath the fabric of her dress.

“Emmrich…” Her breath hitched, legs crossing.

“You are so beautiful, darling.” His voice was low, a spark of heat just beneath. She shivered beneath him. “You will be the talk of the night.”

Rook snorted, an inelegant sound yet so charming. “I'm sure we will be if we don’t hurry up.”

He pulled away and looked at his pocket watch again.

Ten minutes.

“In a hurry, my dear?” He pressed his hand between her shoulder blades and Rook gave a low moan.

There was a lot they could do in ten minutes.

He knelt beside her, cupping her cheeks and turning her head toward him, noses brushing. He could smell her perfume, vanilla and lilacs up his nose, desire curling in his belly.

They were at risk of turning unfashionably late — but that was a risk Emmrich was willing to take.

Let them wait, he thought, there were more important matters to attend to — like soft lips, and the taste of Rook's lipstick, or the throaty moan she gave him when his tongue licked at the seam of her mouth.

And if they took another hour to become presentable again, well, Myrna would certainly forgive them… eventually.

[keyofmgy]

wip wednesday

this is so rough of a draft it's ridiculous, but I'm currently attemtping to temporarily conquer my executive dysfunction demons enough to put some Emmrook smut out into the world. post-Memorial Gardens date with inexperienced Rook and down-horrendously-bad Emmrich. I'm gonna go throw up now

I do ask that you at least avoid putting pressure on that stiff left wrist, Emmrich had said to Rook during their dinner in the Memorial Gardens, and he was thinking about it again now, as he watched her all but limp into the Lighthouse’s dining hall. She’d gone to the Anderfels with Davrin and Harding earlier, to help clear out some of the blight surrounding Lavendel. By the look of her, the work had gone beyond merely destroying boils and tentacles. Something heavy-hitting. Hopefully nothing worse than a particularly large specimen of darkspawn. Hopefully no more than one. But he doubted it. He sincerely doubted it. “Darling,” he said in greeting, setting his teacup down on the dining table. Rook shot him a weary but warm smile – the open affection in it still new enough that the sight shot a tingle of a thrill up Emmrich’s spine – but didn’t break her stride as she headed directly for the pot-bellied stove in the far corner of the room. “Hey, Emmrich. All quiet here?” “Of course.” He kept watching her, mentally cataloguing what he saw: the slumped set of her shoulders, the stiff line of her back, the leg she was resting a disproportionate amount of weight on. Responsibility exacts a toll on the body. “Are you all right?” “Yeah.” There was the sound of metal on stoneware, and hot water being poured over tea leaves. Then Rook turned around to face him, blowing out a long sigh, carefully cradling the twin to his own teacup in her hands. “Just a little sore. We got jumped by some darkspawn – nothing we couldn’t handle, though.” She grinned. “Evka can pull some serious moves with that hammer.” Emmrich instinctively smiled back (how could he not?) though he wasn’t quite feeling it; not only was Rook definitely favoring the one leg, she was also still favoring her left wrist. Even more so than she had been at dinner, in fact. But before he could open his mouth to say anything, she was pushing away from the stove, already on the move again, though she did make a detour to briefly rest her forehead against his. Probably, she was hoping to forestall any protest he might make about her needing to take the time to slow down and rest, and damn if it didn’t work perfectly. In that moment his senses were overwhelmed by the rush prompted by even that barest of physical contact – the hint of warmth where they touched, the tickle of her hair against his skin, the knowledge that if he tilted his face upwards just so he could kiss her (and she would allow it). The almost-sour drop of sensation from his chest to his gut when he made the split-second decision to deny himself that pleasure.  We can move slowly, he’d also said to Rook, and he had meant it. No matter that she made him feel like the absolute worst example of a besotted fool, like a horribly naive schoolboy after the high of a first kiss even: eager yet terrified and clumsy but wanting more all at the same time. No, he was the older, more experienced party in this wholly unexpected relationship, and he had a responsibility to Rook to conduct himself like it. He had to set an example. She deserved nothing less than a gentleman who would respect and cherish her – and if she ever settled for less, later in her life, it would be through no failing of his. (Of course Rook would have more lovers, after him. Emmrich wasn’t so idealistic as to believe himself her one and only. That blush of first love would pass, and she would move on. Surely she would never give any serious thought to binding herself to a middle-aged professor with delusions of grandeur, not when she was still so young. But oh, how he would treasure her while it lasted.) “I know what you’re going to say,” she murmured, and he couldn’t help the small intake of breath at the tenor of her voice. “But I’ve got some letters to write and send off. They can’t wait. I’ll rest soon. I promise.”

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Close Your Eyes and Take a Breath

I wrote a short piece for my sister’s Mourn Watcher Rook- Osla and Emmrich for day 1 of veilguard appreciation week! Really hoping I’ll be able to upload something for every day. Enjoy some hurt comfort Emmrook.

Set sometime before tearstone island but after locking in the romance

Content warning for blood and gore (only temporarily) story under the cut

Emmrich was staring at his hands, there was blood on them. There was too much blood on them, too warm, too fresh, too red and he could feel the bile rising in his throat. He had to know, had to look. He finally tore his eyes from the sight and they locked on the form twisted on the ground. And he could have sworn his heart had stopped. Rook lay facing away, her hair flung wildly as though she’d been dropped there from a great height, rag dolled with limbs haphazardly placed.

His own injuries pulled painfully as he all but threw himself to his knees beside Osla, hands trembling as he rolled her over carefully, trying to assess the damages.

“Rook, darling?” His voice catching in his throat as he tried to remain calm. But she only drooped there in his arms, wounds gouged into gaping holes, eyes open and glazed. Emmrich could hear a keening rasping noise, somewhere distantly realizing it was coming from him as his brain locked up,

No, no, no, Rook had been fighting- he’d heard her winning. This couldn’t be real, she had been laughing at their success.

But the blood was still seeping out of her and onto him and his shaking hands were hovering over the many holes, depleted mana fizzling his hands green as he desperately tried to push a healing spell out.

But the light quickly faded and the tears began. Emmrich tried to scoop her up, to pull her close while his heart broke and tears trekked down his face but his fingers kept slipping and he found he couldn’t grasp her, like the wisps fluttering in the fade.

Emmrich eyes shot open, confusion making the tall ceiling and surrounding bookcases an unknown space for his slowly adjusting eyes. Tears still streamed down his face and his breath was still coming in short gasps but he recognized his room in the lighthouse.

A nightmare.

He almost breathed a sigh of relief but even that caught in his throat and he reached beside him, searching for Osla’s small warm form, needing reassurance it was in fact just a dream. But his fingers brushed only empty air and he shot up in bed, her half cold and empty. Throat tightening he glanced around wildly, maybe she’d moved to one of the armchairs nearby?

But the room was quiet and dark and there was no sign of her. Cold fear clutched his heart and he scanned the room trying to find any trace of her, she’d been injured in the fight he’d remembered-

but she hadn’t-

she couldn’t have-

He was out of bed and searching, trying to hold back the sobs as his head spun from lack of proper oxygen.

He was almost tripping over himself as he rounded the staircase and he was positive he was going to faint or throw up or both as a sudden swell of relief flooded his system like a broken dam at the sight of Osla, awkwardly curled up on the stairs, Manfred sitting with her like she’d been reading to him before drifting off.

The skeleton chattered as he glanced up at the mage appearing to be trying to hold very still, most likely for Osla’s sake as she was leaning on his shoulder bone.

She was there. She was well and whole and not gorged through from blasts of errant magic. It had truly been a nightmare. She didn’t even look uncomfortable there on the steps, her injuries healed with no trace left for the naked eye to see.

Take a breath, he all but chanted to himself in his mind, close your eyes and take a breath in and out. Like all his breathing exercises taught.

He repeated it until he could slowly feel his heart beat returning to a normal healthy rate. He stared at her there, sleeping peacefully and his gaze tightened, his lips thinning.

No one would take her, this wouldn’t happen again, he swore to the cold eyes of every dead in the necropolis he would protect her the next time and every time after.

[heylittleriotact]

🕯️ THE RITUAL HAS BEEN COMPLETED AND I AM SUMMONED BY @emmg 🕯️

WIP ✨WHATEVER✨

I have a lot of Emmrook things in mind that I want to write (I made a list!), but I only have one brain and one dominant hand for writing, so I’m just dawdling away at my leisure.

Currently I’m working on my take on a scene that would take place directly following the end of the game because BioWare hates us and decided we don’t need any closure for our Rooks or their love interest aside from some vague ‘live, laugh, love’ bullshit epilogue slide.

Rook works their fucking ass off the entire game and is basically the emotional sponge for everyone else’s issues, pushing themselves beyond what’s healthy to see their goals through. Emmrich remarks on it on at least two separate occasions, so I think my Rook would probably find herself in a position within hours of everything concluding where her body and her mind just stand on the brakes and say, “Nope! We’re done! We cannot and will not do any more things until you take some time to recuperate!”

And who’s going to make sure that happens in the most romantic, wholesome, and slightly stern but sexy way?

Emmrich, of course 🤍

Also, I’m reverse uno-ing @emmg because I want to know what you’re cooking. LET ME INNNNNN.

I’m also tagging @allofthebarks because she said she has things she wants to write but the writing just isn’t coming, so comfort yourself in my clumsy, unedited WIP and just write A Thing. Dooooo it!!!

Veilguard End Game Spoilers Under The Cut

Cheering and accolades followed them through the ruined streets of Minrathous, and Amina took the time to ensure that no waiting hand was left unshaken, no hug went unreturned, and no condolence went unoffered. It took them nearly two hours to make their way to a damaged but still structurally sound estate secured for them by the Shadow Dragons but as far as she was concerned, it was time well spent.

As the ornate doors of the manor closed behind them and the cacophony of their victory was muffled, Amina took two steps into the manor, bent at the waist, and splattered the floor with the contents of her stomach.

Emmrich was on her in an instant, holding her long black hair aside with one hand and stroking comforting circles on her back with another.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Taash demanded, taking a step forward. Her voice was distant - drowned out by the screeching whine in Amina’s ears.

She felt her legs wobble and give way, her armoured knees colliding roughly with the ground as she threw out a hand to steady herself, not caring that it landed right in her sick: everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too… real. It felt like she was being driven out of her own body like a wayward spirit, her essence clinging desperately to whatever it could hold onto to tether her here.

Just as distantly, Amina could hear Emmrich respond to Taash but his words were lost on her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and lurched clumsily to her feet.

“Harding - I need to go to her mother—“ Her voice broke: she hadn’t had time. None of them had had time to tell her mother about Harding’s death before Elgar’nan forced their hand.

She clenched her teeth at the sensation of hot tears cutting through the accumulation of grime and gore and sweat on her face, snarling defiantly through the deluge of agony crashing through her… breaking her from the inside.

There’s still work to be done…

She was pulling away from Emmrich, her course uncharted but steadfast: she needed to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as she was doing something… as long as she was helping. But no matter how she pulled and tugged, he wouldn’t let her go: lithe as Emmrich was, he wasn’t weak by any stretch.

With some effort he managed to put himself in front of her, gold rings clinking against silverite where he gripped her shoulders before pulling her tight against him.

“Breathe, darling.” He instructed, enshrouding her diminutive frame in his own. “I need you to breathe… can you do that for me?”

She managed an anguished sob in reply but nothing more: any attempt to draw breath was met with unforgiving resistance as her airways slammed shut in seeming rebellion of life itself.

Arrangements need to be made - things need to be taken care of, and I’m the only one left to take care of them.

No. First I need to breathe.

“I’ve got you: you’re safe with me.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes clenched shut and she forced a thin, ragged inhalation into her lungs.

“Well done, darling.” Emmrich encouraged, ever calm, ever heartening. “Now let’s try for another one, shall we? I’ll do it with you. Let out your breath on the count of three: one… two… three…”

She felt Emmrich contract against her as he slowly exhaled with her. None of this was new to her: Nevarran breathing techniques were required learning for Watchers. Claustrophobia could present unpredictably, and if one found themselves turned around or overwhelmed in the Necropolis, being able to stay calm was vital to survival.

“Perfect. Now another breath in…” He waited while Amina drew another shaky breath then loosened his hold on her to gently cup her cheek. Within moments she could feel the familiar soothing tingle of Emmrich’s magic coursing intimately through her, seeping through her nervous system and providing some relief.

“Emmrich,” she rasped, clutching at his chest. “I… I need to—“

“Do absolutely nothing.” He interjected sternly, his voice absent of any playful familiarity or scholarly flair, though it softened almost reflexively as he continued. “You’ve overextended yourself, Amina. You’ve been overextended for some time, but you pushed through to see this to the end - and you have - but my love, you can’t evade the reality of what you’ve been through indefinitely… you need to rest and take time to come to terms with things.” He drew his thumb over her cheek, speaking to her like she was the only person in the room.

“But—“

“All that needs to be attended will be seen to: Lace’s mother will be informed of her sacrifice in an appropriate manner, and the… actions of the Inquisitor will be communicated to the south.” He hung on the word ‘actions’ seemingly unsure of its accuracy but ultimately too focused on Amina to care.

She opened her mouth to argue, but likely having anticipated this from her, Emmrich spoke first.

“You’ve done so much and helped so many without asking for anything in return… please let me be the one to help you in your moment of need?”

His eyes searched hers, soft and pleading, and she studied the face of the man she loved: each pleasing curve and angle that she had committed to memory etched on her heart. The crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and the creases around his familiar mouth spoke of years of smiles offered to comfort and soothe.

He was filthy too, and his hair was limp and disheveled, strands of it hanging into his face… but oh Maker how she loved him…

“I love you…” He whispered for her ears alone, his lips ghosting over hers. “And I so look forward to reminding you of that fact every day for the rest of our lives… so let me begin now: let me take care of you.”

[silshinobii]

Sugar and Spores - A Sugar Baby Emmrook Fic

So I have hopped onto the sugar baby Rook train, and it is taking me far, far away. I haven't written anything like this before but already have 10k words put down so it's full steam ahead. Below the break is a little taste of the chapter I am currently writing - I have only read a few other fics with this theme and thought I'd throw in my own attempt. This is also the first proper go I am making at writing smut/ spicier content - so you can imagine my brain is utterly muddled.

The foyer was loud with the sounds of the them - the kisses wet, hungry as his tongue licked into the depths her mouth. It was all she could hear as she felt him bend her further backwards, held up purely by the subtle strength of his arms - she hung there, like a puppet on a string as he swallowed every little gasp and needy moan that escaped her.

The hand on her waist tightened, the press of his fingers hard as they dug in to soft flesh hidden beneath her dress. She thought she might drown in him.

She felt the pull on her hair as he tilted her head back further and gasped, breaking away from his mouth as she desperately sucked in a breath - she heard him moan as he attempted to chase her mouth with his, her lashes fluttering at the overwhelming warmth of him as he finally moved them. She let him guide her, his hold on her firm as they stepped across the foyer - she couldn’t help the small cry that slipped from her lips when her back hit the wall. The hand that had been wrapped in her hair pressed against the wall beside her head as he crowded over her, caging her against him as his forehead dropped to rest against hers.

They both stood there, breathing heavily, as the dim light of the foyer curled around them - Rook could feel the tension in his muscles as he pushed her harder against the wall. The pressure of his body against hers made her toes curl as she tipped her head up to meet his next kiss with an enthusiasm that surprised them both.

It was pure desperation as she let him set the pace, let him devour her as he groaned against her lips. Finally he pulled back, just barely, but enough for him see the bruised, swollen flesh of her lips and the flush across her cheeks that sank down below the high collar of her dress. Rook felt herself melt under his gaze and almost giggled when she heard him pant lightly as his lips brushed over hers.

“You are such a good girl.”

Oh, those words. Never would she have dreamed that her body would react so strongly to a phrase like that - from any other man it would have been condescending, manipulative, mocking. But as they spilled from his lips it had her shuddering against him, her fingers pulling at the fabric of his shirt again.

“I would very much like to take you upstairs, my dear.” He pressed the words into her mouth as he licked at the softness of her lips. “The only suitable location for this is my bed.”

A pleased expression flickered across his face when her mouth chased his after he pulled away to let her breath - he felt the flutter of her breath across his face as she looked up at him, eyes wide as she stood there, dazed.

“I think I’d let you have me here on the floor.”

Emmrich laughed, the sound vibrating where their chests were pressed together. The hand that propped him up on the wall moved, coming to rest against her ribs, the other mirroring as it moved up from the dip of her waist. “As evocative an image as that is, I’d rather have you spread across my sheets.” <3

[plethomacademia]

EMMROOK KISS OUT OF ANGER I BEG!!!!!!

... This turned out to be 1185 words, the kiss happens in the first like 100 words and the rest is an argument, sigh. Clara/Emmrich, not explicit in the least:

It is late when Clara finally makes her way to see Emmrich, much later than she had intended. There was just so much to do after their last mission, then she had to find something to eat, then she got caught up in reading all her missives. She raps on the door before opening it.

A zip of pleasure lights up her spine when she sees him standing by his desk. He looks up at her, his eyes lit by the fire. She approaches him, the zip turning into a zing, tickling down to her fingertips and back up to her scalp. Emmrich turns toward her as she approaches and the zing solidifies and settles, hot and heavy in her belly as she stops just in front of him, the buttons of their shirts nearly touching.

Clara closes her eyes and pushes up on her toes to kiss him in greeting. She feels his arms go around her and then she is pulled. “Oh!” she says right before she stumbles against him, his mouth coming down hard against hers. Her hands claw at his shoulders at first, just to keep herself from falling. After a moment, she slides them up to his neck. His skin is hot under her fingers and she feels that heat shoot from her arms to her heart to that marble of awareness in her middle. She gasps as it is set ablaze.

She can still count on her fingers the number of times they have made love, and it would only take the addition of one foot’s worth of toes to count the number of times they have kissed. Each time has been different, but this was —

Clara turns her head until her lips are freed. “Emmrich,” she says. When his lips move to her jaw, she tries again. “Darling, wait -- Emmrich, stop, please.”

She feels him stiffen. His kisses cease as he stands back to his full height and she finds herself already missing them. She opens her eyes and looks up at his face.

“You’re upset about something,” she says. When he starts to speak, she shakes her head. “No, I recognize this look. You’re angry.”

Emmrich sighs. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously something. You’ve never —“ She fumbles on her words, not sure of how to describe what had just happened. It wasn’t as if she was against it exactly, just the thought of what might have happened if she had let him keep going made her feel like the weight of her arousal might take her to the floor — But still. “Did something happen?”

His eyebrows raise. “Did something ha — Clara, are you serious?”

She tries to step out of his arms but he has her locked into place. Instead, she pulls her head back further, trying to see him more clearly. After a moment of his eyes burning into her — because they are, they are burning oh he is furious — she clears her throat. “Yes?” she tries. When his lips thin, he continues. “I’m sorry, Emmrich, but I can’t think of anything that could have upset you like this. What’s happened?”

“Earlier today! In the wetlands!”

She thinks back. They had gone to bring something to the Wardens earlier today, then head out to check on something for them outside of Lavendel. It had been her, Emmrich, and Davrin, because she liked to work with Emmrich and it made sense that Davrin come along in case any Warden-y things popped up. But it had been so routine, nothing about the day stuck out as something he could be angry over.

Emmrich stills, bringing her out of her head. “Darling, do you really not remember? You were injured, you hit your head.”

“Ohhh,” she says. “Right, the blight explosion that knocked me down.”

“And the hurlock that plowed you over!” he adds. “You were down in the muck and not moving. I had to run to your side. You could have been killed!”

“But it was fine. I just had the wind knocked out of me —“

“And a head wound!” He puts his hand to her temple. She has not washed her hair and she can feel the dried blood under his fingers.

“A cut,” she corrects. “A cut that you healed yourself.” Clara blinks up at him. “Emmrich, have you been brooding about this in here since we got back?”

“Of course not,” he says. “I took a walk to clear my head. While doing that, I stopped to talk with Davrin about the situation.”

“… To talk to Davrin about what exactly?” she asks.

“About his role in our expeditions, naturally” He ignores Clara’s sigh. “Accidents happen, of course, but he is our expert in holding the attention of enemies. You are a mage, Clara, you should not be taking direct hit from a hurlock if someone like Davrin is also on the field.”

“Right,” she says. “And you said this to him?”

He is quiet for a moment. His hand moves from where she had been injured to cup the side of her face. “I said a version of it,” he finally says.

“Emmrich.” She sees a flicker of regret pass over his face. “You watched me taunt a god with a dagger in Weisshaupt. Today was nothing compared to that.”

“That was different,” he says. Before she can press, he puts his thumb over her lower lip. “Our situation was different.”

Clara presses a kiss against the pad of his thumb. She watches as his eyes search her face, quick saccades that he likely does not perceive but she does, his attempt to take her in at such a close distance, to consume her with her eyes. She feels a new zip, this time straight to her core.

“I didn’t love you then,” he says. His eyes settle now, hold her own, and she feels the weight again, the heaviness that threatens to knock her down, just like that hurlock had earlier. She flexes her fingers against his neck to hold herself up.

“You could have been killed,” he says again, this time almost a whisper. “And then where would we have been, Clara Ingellvar?”

His thumb slips away and she smiles. “Well, I think I would be dead in this scenario,” she says.

“That is not funny, Clara.”

“No,” she says. “It’s not funny, I know. But that’s our situation, Emmrich. At least until the job is done.”

He stoops his head. She feels his lips against her forehead. The zing is a lightning bolt now, crackling throughout her nervous system, but she holds still as his lips press a kiss against her skin. He holds his lips there afterward and she feels them moves as he speaks. “It is unbearable to think about.”

“Then let’s not think about it anymore tonight,” she says. “I’ll smooth things over with Davrin in the morning.”

For the first time since she approached him that evening, Emmrich lets her go. “He was actually quite understanding,” he says as he offers her his hand. “I think he understood my perspective on the matter.”

“I’m sure he did, darling,” she says. She does not say that he likely understands Emmrich's perspective better than either of them would like.

[thequeenofthewinter]

Because Emmrook should fuck nasty and emotionally in the depths of the Necropolis. @starfleetteddybear made me do it. (Maybe if some of you throw things at me, I'll write more. My brain could only muster these 500 for right now.)

The taste of wine is still on his tongue, and if he allowed it, Iris would drown herself in it. Vaguely, she wonders if she isn’t gone already.

How did this even start?

Soft pants echo through the chambers of the Deep Necropolis, the etchings of a sculpture scraping lightly against her back as Emmrich fucks her furiously against it. Any other time, he would exercise caution—patience—with her, make love to her softly and sweetly while whispering the most delicious words in her ear until she comes apart.

What has gotten into him? 

“Dearest?” He breaks their messy kiss, yet his hands run everywhere—up her thighs, down her breasts, and then finally finding a home against her swollen clit. 

What if he is drowning too? Shouldn’t she be the one to save him?

One of her hands reaches up to cup his cheek as she throws her head back to rest against the wall, a string of half-thought out syllables spilling from her lips. Her words only egg him on, and he pushes into her deeper.

“Iris?” Emmrich places his hand at the back of her head to tilt it down and look at him again. Her pupils are blown wide, black pools swallowing their normal forest green.

“Hm.” It’s the only sound she can make as her body is on fire, warm clay molded and shaped in any way he chooses. She would do anything he wants, be anything he asks if he would only say the words. 

“What have you done to me?” His hips continue to meet hers in a punishing pace, and he doesn’t know how long he can hold on. Every moment he rises higher and higher, chasing his pleasure and waiting for the inevitable crash that will follow where he will lose himself in her.

“I love you.” Iris’ hands reach out to pull him closer to her, legs wrapping around him tighter as she arches against him.

For once, he has no verbal response for her, his thoughts too scrambled, too broken, as he tries to take more and more from her. All his life he had searched for love, acceptance, and affection, someone to return even a small piece of what he would give to them, and she has done that and so much more. Iris has put him back together again—made him whole. 

Tears begin to run down his cheeks, emotion overwhelming him, and he only buries himself deeper. There is no sweeter music than the sound of his name on her lips, and he would do anything to keep it.

“Marry me, Iris.” His tone is desperate, half-choked, and when she doesn’t say anything, he feels his blood run cold. Did he mess it up again? Expose his feelings too soon?

Gently, the pad of her thumb swipes against his cheekbones, quelling his outpour of emotions. “Nothing would give me more pleasure, my heart, than for you to call me your wife.

[razildor]

Smoke - Emmrook Fanfic

Finally got this one done yay! Enjoy Emmrich and Rook share a smoke together, amongst other things.

Huge thanks to @holdingontojupiter for helping look through this and listening to me ramble, and even more for encouraging me when I deleted like 2k worth of the fic to rewrite it lmao. This one was such a pain as it kept running away from me but I got there in the end.

Title: Smoke

Series: Push and Pull

Rating: E

Category: F/M

Words: 4,634

On AO3

Tags and preview under the cut.

Tags: Cock warming, Smoking, Overstimulation, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Riding, Squirting and Vaginal Ejaculation, Rough Sex, Soft Dom Emmrich Volkarin, Brat Tamer Emmrich Volkarin, Brat Rook, Established Relationship, Spanking, Shameless Smut, Dom/sub, Aftercare

The room is peaceful, the fire keeping the air warm enough for the two inhabitants that currently sit in a plush armchair in front of it. A small contented sigh leaves Rook as she snuggles deeper into Emmrich's neck, fingers idly playing with the skull collar pin that keeps the Mage’s high collar closed. The odd noise of papers rustling keeps her from dozing into a light sleep. A hand covered in gold rings reflecting in the firelight ever so slowly trails down the woman's naked spine, making her shiver with delight. The same hand comes to rest on a soft ass cheek, squeezing it slightly, as Emmrich glances over the rim of his glasses down at her.

“You make it difficult to work, my heart.”

Rook huffs into the man’s neck, grinning as she squeezes around his cock that sits snugly inside her. “I’m not to blame for your idea, Emmrich.”

Emmrich inhales sharply, the hand on her ass squeezing tighter. His head tilts back to rest on the chair, taking three deep breaths to keep himself from coming within her at that moment. Both of them are strung tightly with need, having been sat in such a position for a long stretch of time. It’s true that having her sit naked with his cock inside her was his idea, keeping him warm until he was done going over some notes that Vorgoth sent his way. Then once done to give Rook the attention she deserves by fucking her over the nearest surface he could find, be it the desk or against the bookshelves.

Yet he finds himself taking longer than normal. Each shift from Rook, a shameless squeeze here, a small moan into ear there, sends his mind to a screeching halt, losing the spot in the notes, having to re-read the same word over and over again, none of it truly making any sense no matter how hard he tries. His hands are shaking when writing down words he doesn’t even recall, crossing out misspelled words, trying again yet misspelling again, splotches of ink on the paper- He will have to draft up the letter again after this.

“Rook, behave if you please.”

Rook only smirks into his neck without a word. Very likely plotting something in that brilliant mind of hers. Emmrich thinks, before going back to writing something on the paper. 

The pen drops from his hand with a small clatter onto the floor at the feeling of Rook running her tongue slowly up his jaw. His eyes slowly roll back as he tilts his head more for her. He is unaware that deft fingers are unclipping the collar pin, placing it gently on the small table next to them. After pulling the high collar apart to run her lips down his neck, clever fingers once again slowly undo his shirt to stroke down through the dusting of hair on his chest, one hand coming to rest over his beating heart..

“I-I did say I would be done soon, darling.” Emmrich stutters, hand gripping the arm of the chair tightly as he tries to keep himself under control to some degree, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose threatening to slip off it due to sweat.

“Hm, you said that an hour ago.” Rook mutters into his neck before placing a mark there that made him gasp sharply and another gasp from a second mark done by Rook’s mouth.

[woundedsoul12]

Bringing the lyric game back to you!! :)

"You push and pull me, I don't hurt at all." — Perfect Celebrity (Lady Gaga)

Ok I'm not really sure how these two are connected (I actually couldn't think of anything at first). But like the more I marinated on the Lyrics and the song this just... came to me. So I hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for the ask!

Pairing is Emmrook. My Marina de Riva and Emmrich. This isn't Canon to their universe at all but it was fun

Emmrich was shocked when the urgent letter came from Treviso courtesy of the now Second Talon. It had been some years since the defeat of the Evanuris. Since he had lost contact with the Crows. Since his love had told him despite the depth of her devotion, she could never forgive him. 

He made his choice. Lichdom. Forsaking their son. Any future sons. Dooming her to one day walk the Fade without him at her side. 

A fate she could not accept. A pain she could not endure. Politiest of smiles as she cupped his cheek. A whispered ‘Te amo, mi amor’ and then she was gone. 

But despite the years, he answered the call within hours as he navigated the familiar pathways of the Crossroads. Time and space meant naught if Marina needed him. And he was to Viago's door before supper as he rapped his knuckles against the smooth surface. 

“I see you were able to crawl out of your casket today,” said the Talon with narrowed eyes as he swung the door open to greet his guest. Emmrich almost smiling as he realized some things, such as Viago disapproving of his love with Rook, would never change. 

“I prefer the term coffin,” he quipped back as he stepped inside the de Riva manor. “But enough of the pleasantries. You mentioned it was urgent and about Marina, but not what has happened.”

There was a curious absence of his little love beside her adopted father. A feeling of dread tingling in the back of his mind that he was trying to ignore. Some innate sixth sense that he really hoped was wrong as Viago sighed with the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“It will be easier to show you,” he said as he motioned for Emmrich to follow him. Their path eventually leading to a room at the back of the manor. A place that was burned into his memory. Where Marina had once snuck him in as he protested. She had wanted to claim him in her own bed. Her naughtiness fueled even more by how angry Vi would be if he caught them. 

A bed she now laid in. Halo of hair around her as her normally tanned skin was pale as the lilies he once picked for her. Eyes closed as if sleeping, but her chest was unnaturally still. And one easy pull of his magic told him what his heart already knew. His Rook, his darling Marina, was gone. 

A rustle from his side caught his attention as a gloved hand came to his shoulder. Clasping him in a way he never thought would happen. A rough voice with raw emotion as the Crow pleaded with the Necromancer. 

“You can fix this, yes?”

[sunny374940]

Reflection Ruesday

Rules: Go through your writing, art, gifs, etc. that you started but never finished and find something you love. Brush it up a bit if you want and share it. Tag me and use the tag Reflection Ruesday.

Hello, @pavuslavellan, it took me very very long, but I finally got around to doing this. Thank you for the tag, dear, it was very fun <3

So I dug out a little emmrook piece that's been sitting in my wips for way too long. Rook and Emmrich take their daughter Elanora for a vacation. They're having fun.

The first day of their stay at the Rivaini coast had gone rather marvelously. This was the first time Elanora had seen the sea and she was enchanted. Manfred had been before, but he was no less excited, standing on the beach and bobbing his head in time with the coming waves. He did like observing them. Rook and Ellie spent much time digging around in the sand and splashing in the waves, dragging Emmrich with them to get absolutely soaked when Rook toppled him over in the shallows, only for a wave to catch him and throw him out onto the sand. The look of utter glee on Rook’s face when he saw Emmrich splayed there like a very dishevelled starfish didn’t allow Emmrich to even try being annoyed. He had to keep reminding his darlings to come rest in the shade, but he could not blame them for forgetting. They were so endearingly enthusiastic about every sea creature and shell they found, bringing him interestingly shaped pieces of rock to have him announce his verdict on their coloring. Having the time to just enjoy life’s simple pleasures with his family truly was splendid. Evening came and they’d decided to sleep on the beach. Or, Rook decided for them, but Emmrich was all too happy to acquiesce, when he saw his delight at the prospect. And Ellie of course wished to stay as long as possible. Those sand castles were not about to build themselves, it seemed. They got a campfire going and at long last even Ellie’s ever curious eyes grew tired and Emmrich laid her down to sleep in the hammock they brought for her. Manfred sat in the sand next to the hammock, pushing it gently to make Ellie swing. And Rook and Emmrich fell asleep on a blanket, watching the moon rise in the dark sky.  “Emmrich. Emmrich! Wake up!” He sat up, blinking sleep away from his eyes. Rook sounded urgent, but they didn't seem to be in danger. He was pulling Emmrich up and he was so beautiful in the firelight that all remains of tiredness left Emmrich at once. He could forgive the rude awakening, if it was followed by his husband looking like this. “Look! The sea’s glowing, that's so awesome!“ Emmrich followed his pointing finger and saw that the sea was glowing. The whole of it was an ethereal blue glow, glimmering softly with the movement of the waves. Rook picked Ellie up from her hammock, carrying her to the shoreline. Emmrich went after them and they stopped right at the edge of the water, taking in the sight. There were thousands of tiny cephalopods just below the surface, setting the sea ablaze with a fluorescent blue light, and the full moon was hanging high in the sky, completing the image of wondrous beauty. Manfred was hissing in excitement and Ellie woke up, staring wide-eyed at the sea. “What is it?” she asked. She was rubbing her eyes, still half asleep and so very adorable. “These are firefly squid, my dear girl. They are bioluminescent cephalopods, which means that-” She yawned the biggest yawn Emmrich had ever seen her perform and he suspected that it wasn't mere tiredness that caused it. “What?” she asked, giving him that confused frown she shared with Rook whenever they were confronted with something they didn't immediately understand. He sighed. “They are glowy squid.” “They're pretty,” Ellie said, and indeed they were, though not as pretty as the light reflected in her eyes.

So, tagging my dear friends, if you feel like doing this <3 @lavender-tea-fling, @spinfins, @mercars-musings, @redheadsramblings, @starfleetteddybear, @notyourmamasdeerbat

[officialnostradamus]

WIP Word Game

I was tagged in this fun game by the lovely @crowtoed (thank you, you're all so sweet!) and I am super excited to get to my word, Detail.

I have, however, been on the road all day and not had much chance to write so I thought, as a tide over, I'd share that in the last posted chapter of my fic, I did this! It was a little writing challenge for myself and (#spoiler alert) the moment was introducing a fairly important character going forward and his theme. (It is long, sorry, it wasn't written with the Tumblr format in mind 😅.)

"I know you."

Icy fingers were tender on the crest of Rook’s shoulder. Gentle, as they slid down his arm, tracing a familiar path he couldn’t quite place. The edges of the world were fuzzy and the air he pulled into his lungs thick and just as cold. In front of him, the figure was a vague outline, a broad chest wrapped in cream linens. Who was it?

“Knowing won’t make a difference,” came a whisper, with no voice. It was a sudden brush of understanding, words moving through his mind, plucking out the right sounds, and he shook his head.

“No,” he answered. The sound of his own voice was as muffled and hazy as the rest of the world. It took more effort than it should have to force his head down, to watch that frigid touch fall to rest in the crook of his elbow. Rings adorned each long finger, stacks of spiralling silver and amethyst stones, the metal was no colder than flesh. “How did you know what I was thinking?” A laugh tickled his thoughts, sweet and breathy, still silent.

“Our thoughts have always aligned. Even when you push me away.” Fingers curled around Rook’s arm now, clutching. Did he need to get away? “Your mind is such a dear wonder to me, a shattered constellation of want and need.” The form pressed closer, Rook could feel the weight of a presence, not quite touching but he couldn’t move. His body was stiff, heavy with unforgiving cold. “And hurt. Why have you always let yourself hurt?”

“What are you talking about?” Rook demanded, sharp enough it scraped against the blurry cocoon of the world and abruptly, the skin against his own was so cold it burned. There was a familiarity to his anger, to the clenching in his stomach. Had they had this argument before?

“You’re doing it right now,” the voiceless words impressed upon him. Seeping from his thoughts and down his spine, into his throat, crystallizing in his lungs so he couldn’t speak further. “Fighting me when I only offer solace. When all I’ve ever offered is protection.” The presence bent around him, the gesture intended to soothe and the ghost of frozen lips pressed to his temple, easing the ice from his chest. “What makes you think this time will be different? Do you think that they will be different?”

One word, they, struck a spark, emblazoning intention in his thoughts. A flash of memory, Neve, Lucanis, and Bellara by the kitchen, workshopping a recipe. Near the fire, a large tome was spread in front of Emmrich and Harding leaned over it as he helped her identify a magical plant growing in her space, both of them bathed in a warm glow. Across the room, Davrin and Taash polished their weapons. Assan and Manfred sat on the floor between them, heads cocked in unison, watching as Davrin’s sword caught the light. Despite the chaos that had brought them together, they did seem comfortable there, together.

“Unless, after all this time…oh, do you think that you will be different, dear one?” Another laugh followed like a breath in his mind, chilling.

As always, Falling Fearless | EmmRook, M/M, Eventual E on Ao3 🤎

[tuffgreg]

36… emmrich/merrick… emmerrick…..

36. …to give up control. thank you!!

(cw for recreational drug use because i approached this prompt a little like an mc escher staircase)

emmrook + a kiss to give up control + rated m + 817 words

“You’re sure?” 

There’s a pleasant rasp to Emmrich’s voice when he says it, as pleasant as the flush to his cheeks and the soft, heavy-lidded look in his eyes. He’s got one hand on Merrick’s waist as Merrick straddles him, thumb pressing into his belly. When Merrick leans back a little to take in the full picture of Emmrich, relaxed on the couch with his hair feathering over his forehead, Emmrich’s hand creeps higher, following the way Merrick’s shirt rides up on his stomach when he stretches. 

Emmrich’s other hand rests on Merrick’s thigh, wisps of sweet-smelling smoke skirting over his skin from the neatly-rolled little cigarette balanced in his clever fingers. 

Merrick settles himself a little more firmly on Emmrich’s thighs, pushing his arms up over his head as much to enjoy the way it pulls at his spine as it is to feel Emmrich’s tender touch edge just a little higher under the soft fabric of his sleeveless top. “Are you sure?” He arches an eyebrow and drops his hands to Emmrich’s stomach, walking his fingers along the mostly-undone buttons of his shirt. “You remember the gingerwort incident.” 

“Yes, well,” Emmrich says dryly. “My brewing has improved considerably since your first encounter with it, Merrick, and elfroot is another matter entirely –” 

It’s a little unfair, but he thinks they both like it when he plays a little unfair sometimes. Merrick doesn’t quite pout, but he furrows his brow a little, eyes soft and sweet. “Do you not want to?” 

He lets his ears droop and slumps in Emmrich’s lap. Scoots a little farther up his thighs so his shorts ride a little higher. Toys absently with the top button of Emmrich’s trousers, the way he does with a loose button on his own shirt when he’s preoccupied. Merrick feels Emmrich tense under him and watches his throat bob as he swallows hard. 

“We don’t have to,” Merrick sighs, even as he brushes his fingers to Emmrich’s hand on his thigh. “I just thought it would be fun, you know. If you showed me.” 

Emmrich watches him for a long moment, a wry smile starting to play at the corners of his mouth – the fond expression he gets when he’s so terribly close to giving Merrick what he’s wheedling for. “Safer for you to indulge with me than fumble about on your own, I suppose,” he hums, a hint of put-upon condescension in his voice that makes Merrick squirm a little in Emmrich’s lap; Emmrich’s fingers dig a little tighter into his skin in return, tracing over his ribs. “You trust me to take care of you, my darling?”

He lifts the elfroot to his lips, almost; Merrick enjoys the sight of him like this, a little loose limbed and messy. 

Merrick enjoys it enough that he leans to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Emmrich’s mouth. “Of course,” he teases, nudging his hands just beneath the front panels of Emmrich’s shirt. “You’re the expert here, Professor.” 

Emmrich snorts in amusement even as he takes a hit but Merrick feels his fingers dig in again, flexing restlessly. The hand Emmrich has on his stomach comes up to tangle in Merrick’s hair, cradling him, and Merrick leans into it as he watches the purse of Emmrich’s lips and slight hollow of his cheeks with keen anticipation. 

A beat, and Emmrich draws him in to slot their mouths together. It’s hard to resist the urge to kiss him properly, but Merrick parts his lips and takes a steady breath in as Emmrich exhales warm smoke into his mouth. It burns a little pulling in – not as bad as the hookahs he and a pair of fledglings had tried when they’d snuck out for a jaunt at the docks, years ago – and Merrick struggles against the urge to cough as Emmrich presses his thumb briefly against Merrick’s lips. 

“Hold for just a moment, dearest,” he murmurs, before sliding his thumb over Merrick’s cheek instead. Merrick exhales in a startled huff, tendrils of smoke hanging between them and seeming to cling to the lovely, haunting planes of Emmrich’s face. 

Merrick licks his lips. It feels like he’s eaten something rich, something clinging to the insides of his mouth, and he feels pleasantly fuzzy though he suspects that has more to do with the way Emmrich is looking at him than anything else. “I did good?” 

“A quick study, as you often are.” Emmrich sighs, drawing him back in for a proper kiss, tongue teasing into Merrick’s mouth to chase the taste of smoke. He sinks further into the couch as Merrick leans into him and lets Merrick pluck the elfroot from his fingers to try to reciprocate. “Perhaps one day you’ll teach me how you’ve managed to bewitch me so thoroughly.” 

“You make me sound like I’m scheming,” Merrick retorts, smiling against Emmrich’s lips. “Sometimes I just think you indulge me.”

[mojo-bro-tho]

So- I’ve been writing an Emmrook fic. I haven’t posted fanfic in literal years and made a new blog just to do it (still debating if I want to actually post the full thing chapters I’m literally like 40k deep at this point and it’s a problem) BUT I thought it might be fun to share something I cooked up because I’m a firm believer that sometimes you just have to have a panic attack and that’s just that. So below will be a snippet of my F! Warden Rook Lenore having a moment as a result of Weisshaupt and Emmrich is there to do what he can!

“You have listened to everyone else’s terror at seeing what happened but your own. You insist far too much on shouldering the burden alone.” He began, closing the door behind him.

“I told you, I don’t have time for this.” She muttered under her breath.

“Time for what? For yourself? That isn’t how it works, Rook. If you don’t take the time, the body will do it for you.” It wasn’t a reprimand, it was a fact. He kept his tone even, spoken slow in hopes that it might somehow sink deeper into her thoughts. She still did not look up. He wished she would.

“I can handle this.” She responded plainly.

“I believe you’re forgetting who stood next to you for every step of Weisshaupt. I’m well aware that you can.”

That got her attention. That earlier look of annoyance melted into confusion, peering up at him through disheveled bangs. He had kept his distance from her, allowing himself to practically meld into the doorway without touching it. She was some feet away. He would not push her, he would not take a step further into the threshold to invade the space she had naturally put between them.

“Then why are you here?” She asked quietly. It sounded as if she was asking herself that rather than him directly.

“Every leader still needs a confidant. Someone who may lend an ear with the knowledge that they won’t see you as any lesser. Someone who cares and accepts the faltering but does not look away or turn their back.”

Emmrich’s words swirled around her as though they were a warm embrace. Her mind was alight and she felt incredibly conflicted. She recalled what Solas had said to her, about her team rallying behind her resolve. But she trusted Emmrich a great deal. His kindness seemed boundless, and he truly did care. As she searched his calm demeanor, she saw the perfected face of someone who did not wish to take pity.

“Every leader, huh? I don’t know about that.”

“Even the vilest of nobility have earned themselves the listening ears of those equally loathsome. If they have the privilege to share in hardship, you deserve far more.” Emmrich replied, his grip on his stave tightening. “Besides, you are aware of my fondness for you. Call it a selfish desire if that helps you sleep at night.”

Lenore took a single step closer. Her legs were far too stiff for it really, she felt like she was dragging the weight of hundreds of bodies behind her. It came out as more of a stumble than a stride and Emmrich once again fought the urge to reach for her. This had to be on her terms, he must not force it on her. A murmured grunt disguised as a chuckle escaped her.

“What does a confidant do exactly? Just listen?” She wondered.

“And offer advice, when wanted or needed. An advisor solely for that person they trust so deeply.” He answered. She took another step.

“That helps? That’s it? Sounds too easy.” Her head craned low, needing to watch her feet to take another step.

“When that is all that’s needed, yes.” He said gently.

Lenore’s knees buckled. The sway of her body pushed her further towards him. The cracks in her demeanor were widening by the second while the distance closed. As if a dam at the verge of bursting, Lenore found herself unable to truly halt her momentum. Shoulders hunched and back feeling pulled down. Emmrich’s own body stiffened as her lowered forehead found a spot just below the center of his chest. Her left arm extended and again met the door behind his back. Fingers sprawled and tensed like a twitching spider. Her body did not shake but the uneven vibrations of her exhale gave her away.

“Do confidants keep it a secret?” Her voice trembled.

“They speak not a word to any soul.” As he spoke, her right hand clutched at the front of his vest.

“Not even to me. Never again.”

“So long as that is what you desire.” He assured her.

That was the final straw. Emmrich’s back met the door with all the weight Lenore could press into him. The desperate cling for body heat just to prove she was not dead herself. That was hard through a silverite breastplate and every inch of her body covered in thick fabric and leather aside from her face.

No tears fell from her eyes, but a sound rumbled into Emmrich’s chest. A sound between a painful wail and the softest of gasps, like all the wind had been knocked from her lungs. Weisshaupt mattered to her, being a Warden mattered to her, all those lives, even the ones she had never met, they mattered. There were plenty left who could understand it. Davrin, Antoine, Evka. Logically she knew she could go to them and wallow in each other’s company. But Lenore would not allow herself that pleasure, not since she realized the First Warden had put all his faith in her only to lose it all. What right did she have to sorrow when so much was on the line? When they were all suffering just as much and yet were already moving.

Emmrich held no such obligations in her mind. Held no bias to the source of her pain other than having seen her own passion for her work. Maybe she could have broken in front of anyone, but she didn’t think so. He held a special place for his empathy towards her, for his unwillingness to yield to her stubborn resolve. Trusted her to find her way again, even if that required a moment of stumbling like a fool.

She could hardly breathe anymore. Every echo of her need to scream found a safe place to rest inside Emmrich’s rib cage. Her arms could not decide whether to pull him closer or to push herself away. She was melting and rigid, being torn apart and spun back together. The repeatedly rolling tide of torment that shifted every bit of the tainted rubble that made up her form.

She did not process what Emmrich did right away. His stave swiftly abandoned, clanging against the corner of the wall and instead his hands became full of her. Rather than her melding into his hold, he upheld her. One arm bent past her waist, up her spine, and firmly pinned her to him. His other hand went to the back of her neck. Two fingers wove into her hair while the rest wrapped around the base.

He was stronger than what he appeared, easily able to lift her frame to straighten her fumbling legs. The achingly mindless gasps for air shifted until he could feel them reverberate against his collarbone. An ever mournful howl that threatened his sensibilities. A pain he knew she needed to feel no matter how devastating it was to either of them. Controlled catharsis that he must endure for her.

“You must breathe, Dear.” He commanded in a whisper she could not truly hear.

The poor thing was beyond guiding words. She must or else he feared the panic may begin to slow the air to her brain. As gently as he could manage, Emmrich took control of her head, turning it to the side and pressing her ear against his chest all the while searching for the pulse on her neck. With tender care he lowered their bodies to the ground, afraid that she might collapse on herself.

Clinging even more fiercely, she crumbled into him and fell into the space between his legs while still pressed to hear his heartbeat. What a pathetic sight she would think herself to be if she could think at all. The pumping of blood thrummed in her skull. The hunger for closeness endlessly burned in her throat. The hand on her back perfectly memorized the bend in her vertebrae and sweetly caressed where the burdening weight was found inside her. She could not feel the difference in herself, but he could.

“That’s it. Just breathe. You are safe. I’m right here.” He mused into her open ear. “Just you and I. You are free to feel. Do not bind yourself to it, not with me.”

“I… I can’t…” Her words felt choking on a self strangled esophagus.

“Yes, you can. Just listen closely. Listen to what your body needs. Hear the sounds of mine. Allow them to sync.” Emmrich slowly rocked her back and forth, bringing forth the rhythms of steady breath so that it may resonate throughout her tissue. And in feathering, twisting whispers came a string of sounds Emmrich could not have understood fully at that time.

“Ir Abelas!” The syllables crushed helplessly in her neck. “Ma halani! Mir lin him banalhan!”

Emmrich recognized the words themselves as Elven, he did not know she could speak it. He made light taps against her spine with the tips of his fingers. Keeping a tempo that he rocked her to while trying to ease her hyperventilating. From their position, he could no longer see her face. But he felt her eyelashes blink against his neck and that told him she was keeping her eyes open.

Lenore sputtered a dry cough, her body making an attempt to force air back into her body by releasing what little she had to begin with. A large gasp wrought havoc on her jaw, feeling it stiffen while free from her gritted teeth. Emmrich would not be deterred by the sudden change, that was normal. He knew all of this was normal no matter how terrible.

The body always had its way in the end even if that meant destroying itself in the process. He would not allow it. He dreaded the thought of if he had allowed her to wait any longer to intervene. Just how much worse it would have been if no one had bothered to check on her at all.

Thoughts of fresh sickness across projects he would later have to rewrite came to mind. His own experiences lent him well to understanding the consequences all too well. Lonesome and fearful would always be far worse than together and broken. He was relieved to see that very experience aided her well. Silence filled the vacancy of her mouth and warm, shallow breath heated the skin beneath his collared shirt.

“There you are…” He whispered into her hair. “Can you hear me, Rook?”

Emmrich found a weak nod of her head, forehead rounding past the crook of his neck. Her mouth felt dry. Lips tired and throat yearning for the peace of stillness. Everything hurt, everything was numb, and yet there was warmth. The unmistakable heat of another breathing being. He breathed a sigh of relief that she felt scatter across her scalp.

“Good, listen to me closely… You are safe here. You are not alone. Count in your mind the taps you feel, can you do that for me?” He asked. She nodded again, eyes fluttering closed to focus. One, two, three, four. “Now start again.” One, two, three, four. “Again.”

[stillsimpingforaymeric]

After publishing my first Emmrook fanfic (shameless self-plug, pardon me), here's an angsty WIP to make everything worse:

[...] 

“Promise me you won’t think I’ve gone insane.” Her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, projecting enough dried up, scabbed over pain that Emmrich’s arm froze a hair’s breadth before the potion. Slowly, he lowered it. “Darling”, he started, filling the two syllables with enough love to counterbalance whatever was pulling her under. “You know I would ne-”

“I’ve been seeing Varric.”, she blurted out, too impatient to wait or perhaps already deciding that she would rather he think her insane than not speak to him. “I-I thought he was alive, the whole time.” Rook’s voice died on the last word and she did not meet his eyes. She could not. 

Half a dozen thoughts ran through Emmrich’s head at the same tempo, coming together in some unholy cacophony of panic. But just as swiftly, there was the part of him that knew how to seal the tomb back up, to turn into the unmoving statue his love needed him to be right now. He took a careful step towards her. 

“Is he in the room with us right now?”

Rook sobbed, laughed and begged him all at once, in one, pathetic sound that echoed through his laboratory. “Please, Emmrich. You have to take me seriously.”

He breached the gap between them, shushed her and put his fingers under her chin, gently. “I swear to you that I am.” Emmrich inclined his head until she lifted her eyes towards him, though she was flinching like she was looking into the sun. “But if I am to help you, I must know what I can of the symptoms you experienced, including how they started and how they continue to present themselves.” 

Rook shook her head as much as she could in his grasp, which he loosened now that he was satisfied that she understood, fingers simply lingering along her jawline, keeping the tenuous thread of their touch alive. “It… I think it stopped, I hope it stopped. I haven’t seen him since-... not since I got back.” She swallowed, tears shining in her eyes, which appeared all the bigger and brighter to him, a shade of amber reflecting the light of the fireplace in utter perfection. He could not get distracted by her now.  

“But he was everywhere, he… he used to give these pep talks and-...” 

She sobbed again, laughed again, brows drawing together in an anger he had never seen before, a thousand blades turned inwards.

“It was just me, wasn’t it? Standing in the infirmary, talking to myself? Sitting in the kitchen, comforting myself?! I-” “If you had acted out to such a degree”, Emmrich interjected. “We would have noticed.”

She barrelled past him, blind and furious. 

“I was so maker-damned sure it wasn’t blood magic. Neve clocked it the moment I started talking about Solas and I defended him. I knew it wasn’t-... but he just made me think that, didn’t he? I was a puppet the whole fucking time.” 

Rook pushed herself off the stone, pacing like a caged animal. “He’s been dead the whole time and we just- we never talked about it? Did he make me forget anytime we mentioned him? How much did he alter, how much of the past months actually happened?” She stopped in front of the fireplace, turning around to Emmrich a final time with a look on her face that spelled Help Me. “How… how do I know what was real?” 

Emmrich did not follow her, did not pursue her or back her into the corner she tried to hide in. 

Instead, he extended both arms.

In a few strides, she was pressed against him, face buried in his chest and arms wrapped around his waist and rib cage, wherever she could reach, fingers buried in the fabric of his vest. It was close to hurting, ignorant of her Warden strength and he did not care a fig, right now. He brought his own arms down, one gently carding through her hair, the thumb of the other rubbing small, soothing circles into her back. 

“Bellara really did bring you to the Necropolis”, he began to list, keeping his voice steady. He could not shatter now. 

“We met. You were an incorrigible flirt.” 

Half hiccup, half snicker against his breastbone. 

“Though you’d swear you were not trying to and I believe you. You still drew me in, in so many ways I shan’t repeat tonight. I cannot imagine Solas making those up.

I really did bring you to the memorial gardens. We most certainly kissed that night. I could not have taken down Johanna without you.”

He listened for her breathing and was relieved to hear it had slowed down. 

“You called Manfred our son and nearly sent me to an early grave with that small jest. And on the eve of battle I still…” Here, Emmrich needed to take his own steadying breath, shame rising up his throat like gall. “And on the eve of battle, I still, for some ungodly reason, needed to quarrel over nothing but my own fears. If Solas made that up, well…

He writes worse romances than Master Tethras ever did.”

[...]