#datv fic

[karinamay]

pathos - chapter 14 is up

Pairing: Lucanis/Rook de Riva AU: modern, ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating Rating: explicit (for eventual smut)

Summary:

Rook has been skating with Viago for as long as she remembers, so when a nasty fall takes him off the ice for the foreseeable future, she figures that’s the end of her career as well. Viago has other plans for his little sister.  Meanwhile, Lucanis sees an opportunity to finally leave the sport altogether when Illario steals his partner away from him, leaving him alone just months shy of the new season. Retiring isn’t quite as easy as he’d hoped though, with Caterina Dellamorte as his coach.  Rook and Lucanis find each other in a reluctant alliance in the race to first place. But can that gold medal really buy off Rook’s guilt? And does Lucanis really want to quit skating when he’s finally finding his joy for the sport again? 

Read chapter 14 on AO3 (In which we start on the bridge and end back on the ice.)

[neve-gallus-girl-detective]

Light My Fire, Chapter One

Media: Dragon Age: The Veilguard

Pairing: Taash/Harding

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Taash and Harding have never experienced anything like this before. It'd be really embarrassing if they weren't on the same page. Thankfully, they are.

Word Count: 4,827

Link on AO3

[littlemourningstarr]

Do You Mourn the Passing of the Hours?

Former Professor Emmrich Volkarin had spent years settled into a quiet life running a small, quint flower shop in Nevarra. He expected that any excitement was far behind him. Enter, Lucanis Dellamorte. Professional assassin. Antivan Crow. A possessed man. A possible bad decision to take in Lucanis after an assassination goes slightly off kilter, and suddenly Emmrich finds his life is full of far more excitement than he'd ever had. But maybe, for the man who had begun to experience the world through a cloudy window of fascination but never truly partaking, the excitement would remind him what it was like to truly be alive again.

Chapter Nine!

Pairing: Emmrich Volkarin x Lucanis Dellamorte, Emmrich Volkarin x Spite, Emmrich Volkarin x Lucanis Dellamorte x Spite

Read below or on AO3!

Tags: tags to be added as we go, modern AU, flower shop AU, demonology AU, former professor Emmrich, still assassin Lucanis, physical hurt/comfort, scent kink, Spite is a little freak, mentioned/discussed past Viago/Lucanis, background Teia/Viago, pinning, slow burn, hand kink, masturbation, background Bellara/Irelin, biting, hand jobs, blow jobs, anal sex, anal fingering, surprise piercing, canon style violence, virgin Lucanis

Emmrich woke to a sweet warmth, tucked against him, as his phone chirped his alarm at him. He lifted an arm, reaching behind him, managing to find the offending technology and snooze his alarm.

Against him, Lucanis stirred, gave a little groan and stretched his legs, pushing his face further against Emmrich's neck. He mumbled something entirely inaudible, and Emmrich had to laugh lightly.

"Come again?"

Lucanis pulled back, looked up at him with sleep heavy eyes. "I'm throwing your phone out the window."

Emmrich laughed again, smoothed back some of Lucanis's hair. He leaned down, kissed Lucanis gently- his heart thudding painfully at how pliant and warm Lucanis's mouth was. He was heavenly, rising from the depths of sleep.

He kissed him again, unable to restrain himself, and Lucanis pushed against his mouth, opened his lips and begged for a deeper kiss. Emmrich cradled his cheek, found he couldn't deny him, tendrils of warm static beginning to spread throughout his body at the feeling of Lucanis's tongue, at the warm plush of his cheeks, the points of his teeth.

Emmrich had such an urge to devour him.

Lucanis made a pleased noise, around Emmrich's tongue, his hands finding his chest, twisting his pajama shirt in his hands. For a moment Emmrich thought a button might give, and he'd feel Lucanis's fiery skin against his own bare flesh.

Emmrich's phone chimed again, and he pulled back, forcing himself to collect himself as he untangled from Lucanis. He sat up- a painful process with Lucanis splayed in his bed, looking up at him, and brushed a hand back through his hair, pushing it from his forehead.

Lucanis smiled at him, over the motion. "You look good less put together."

Emmrich cleared his throat, felt an aching need rising in his groin. The only thing he could do was reach down to give Lucanis's hair one final touch with his fingertips, before he forced himself to rise and leave the bedroom.

Emmrich would admit to no one that his shower felt like ice, but he feared if he was given even a moment of comfort, he'd fall into the memory of Lucanis's mouth and the desires it made roll in his belly. So he took discomfort in order to remain tact.

When he returned to his room, hair wet and slicked back, dressed again in his pajamas, Lucanis was no longer in bed. He took the chance to close the bedroom door and change into his clothes for the day.

Once he'd settled his jewelry into place, he headed back to the bathroom, drying his hair and ensuring it was held back and proper. As he did, the scent of coffee wafted up through the house. It made him smile, felt comforting.

He heard Lucanis on the stairs, as he was finishing up, his shockingly light footsteps as he proceeded down the hallway. Emmrich took a moment to ensure his hair was going to stay in place, then left the bathroom, heading down the hallway.

He found his study door open, Lucanis perched on the edge of his desk, nursing a cup of coffee. Another sat next to him. "Don't worry," Lucanis said, "there's plenty of sugar in it."

Emmrich chuckled, walking into the room and ignoring the cup, reaching up to grip Lucanis's chin firmly in one hand. "I appreciate the sentiment, but you're sweet enough for me."

Color bloomed along Lucanis's cheeks, the bridge of his nose- oh, he was adorable. Emmrich leaned in, pecked his lips gently, before he stepped back and picked up the coffee, taking a tentative sip. It was indeed sweetened enough for him, thickened with cream as well.

Lucanis was watching him, dark eyes taking in every movement, every breath, like he was memorizing Emmrich. He felt like he was burning, under that stare. The fact that he'd had the man beneath him, hands pinned to the pillows, the night prior- it didn't matter that it hadn't ended with clothes abandoned and Emmrich's name as a gasp on Lucanis's tongue, it was still thrilling. It felt like it shouldn't have been, like it was too good.

"Should I bring home a bottle of wine tonight?" Emmrich asked, as Lucanis finished his coffee before he'd even downed half his cup. "I feel like I should still be trying to win you over, after all."

Lucanis choked, reached up to press the back of his hand to his mouth. Emmrich set his cup down then, slotted himself into the space between Lucanis's legs, guided his hand away. When he did Lucanis moved first, closed the gap between them for a proper kiss, the kind that seemed to pick up exactly where they had left off in bed.

Lucanis got his arms around Emmrich, clutched at the back of his sweater, kissed him desperately, as if Emmrich might disappear. It was dizzying, the room beginning to tilt as Emmrich felt his thoughts muddying, his mind starved of blood as it pooled in his groin, his cock giving a heavy throb with need.

He should pull back- but he didn't. The thought felt like blasphemy, and instead Emmrich pushed Lucanis down, so that he sprawled on his back on the desk. Emmrich's notebook and pen clattered to the floor as he leaned over Lucanis, blotted out the light of the room.

Lucanis hooked one leg behind Emmrich's thighs, forcing him to stay close, and Emmrich wanted him. He wanted him in such a way he hadn't wanted anyone, in so many years. He wanted to taste every inch of this man, to watch him fall apart with just his fingertips, and then his tongue, and then-

Emmrich pressed down to his mouth, forced the kiss to be slow but deep, had Lucanis squirming beneath him. He could feel the air buzzing about them, knew Spite was right beneath the surface, not taking over Lucanis but sharing in the sensations.

Gods, he'd kissed the spirit last night, too. But Spite felt like a part of Lucanis now, something that Emmrich had to love as well-

The word had him straightening up, breaking the kiss. Lucanis stared up at him, kiss reddened lips and a heady darkness clinging to his eyes.

Emmrich swallowed the lump in his throat, stepping back when Lucanis unhooked his leg from behind his thighs. "I have to open the shop," he managed, although it felt like a pathetic excuse.

Lucanis sat up slowly, hands splayed on the desk, and only nodded.

"But I'm coming back. Later." Obviously he was. Emmrich wasn't sure what he was saying, or why. He reached up, pinched the bridge of his nose. "I sound like a complete fool."

Lucanis laughed- the sound was rich, made Emmrich feel warm in every bend of his joints and hollows of his bones. "Trust me, I wouldn't sound any better." Emmrich let his hand fall down and Lucanis glanced around the study- he truly hadn't been in here much, since he'd begun staying with Emmrich. Most nights Emmrich gathered whatever he might be researching- which was less and less and each time- and would join him on the couch for the evening.

Lucanis slid off the desk and walked around it, ignored Emmrich's closed laptop, and nodded to a drawer that was slightly ajar. "Oh, that drawer always sticks… wait." Emmrich hurried around the desk, reaching down to jerk it open, remembering why he had opened it in the first place, so many nights ago, before Lucanis had even settled into his home.

Tucked inside were two knives- the wicked blade Lucanis had killed a man with the first day the met, the other thinner, shorter, but rather intricate. The knife that had stabbed him. Emmrich had cleaned them and tucked them away to return, and then had simply forgotten.

"I meant to give them back to you." Lucanis nodded, reaching in and pulling out the knife that had been used against him. In the light the blade gleamed, nearly glittered, the faintest inscription visible. Emmrich hadn't realized when he'd been cleaning it and felt the grooves that it was writing, he had thought the blade may have had some wear and tear. Lucanis ran his thumb over the blade, before he set it down. "Does it say something?"

"Yes." Lucanis folded his arms. "I don't know what." It clearly wasn't in their trade language, and if Lucanis didn't recognize it, Emmrich presumed it wasn't in Antivan, either. The Crow turned, offered Emmrich a small smile. "This will keep Spite and I busy while you're away."

Emmrich nodded, although something in his belly had gone cold. He had a horrendous gnawing in him about this that he couldn't explain- nothing more than a gut feeling, than intuition.

*

Emmrich found himself surprisingly busy, when he'd been in the shop only an hour and had received a large order from the university. He'd gotten orders in the past from the university- various events- but it always felt a bit strange.

He tried not to think what his former colleagues might think of him now.

The order took most of the day to prepare, and required delivery that evening. He sent Lucanis a text that he'd be late that evening- but he would not forget the wine he'd promised.

Getting back a Don't be too late, Spite gets anxious somehow made his heart jump. He wanted to ask about the engraving on the knife they had noticed that morning, but kept getting so wrapped up that it slipped his mind entirely.

The sun was setting as he pulled into the university. The drop off for the array of arrangements was easy enough, near the large auditorium they used for their more popular academic speakers. Emmrich didn't recognize the man on the advertising poster, outside the door.

Was he so removed that he no longer knew who was relevant?

The thought made him uncomfortable, gave him a lost feeling in his chest. He forced himself to swallow it down, as he climbed back into his car, driving across the campus, the opposite direction of the exit.

He parked outside a large building- one that had once hosted his own office. He had endless memories of late nights here, grading papers, sitting with struggling thesis students- even just lost in his own research and musings.

He picked up the planted lily he'd had buckled into the seat next to him and headed inside. The decor hadn't changed much over the years- but that wasn't strange. Universities were known for never being with the times.

He glanced at a directory near the elevator, and smiled when the name he was seeking was exactly where she had last been. The same office. He wondered if it had changed at all.

Emmrich got into the elevator, rode it up a few flights, and then headed down the hallway. Many of the doors were shut, lights off- but he was pleased to see light seeping from underneath her door. He paused, rapped his knuckles against it, and heard a calming, "Come in," in a tone that never once wavered.

Emmrich opened the door, found Myrna leaning over her laptop, typing so quickly the clicks of her keys all bled together. She had a concentrated yet calm look on her face, dark hair pulled back in her ever-sleek ponytail. He couldn't remember a time he had ever seen it down, actually.

She glanced up, and her stoic demeanor faltered, for just a moment. Perfectly lined eyes widened ever so slightly, her lips parting, before she composed herself. "Emmrich?"

"Hello Myrna- I hope it wasn't too rude of me to stop by unannounced." He stepped in and closed the door, walking for her desk and setting the plant on the edge of it. "White lilies were always your favorite."

She smiled, closing her laptop, gesturing to the seat in front of her desk. "Your visits are never rude. Should I be flattered that you still remember?" Emmrich settled down, and Myrna folded her hands, wrists and rings adorned similarly to Emmrich's, leaning said hands on her desk. "It has been a long time."

It had been. Myrna was the last of his former colleagues to drop off from those discussions over coffee and tea. She'd been one of the only people to visit his shop, to reach out for more than his just academic mind.

She had been one of the best friends he'd had, at the university. And he had let the communication lapse, he knew. He hadn't spoken with her in more than a year- he could have sent her an email, dropped a call or text-

But there was something that made him want to pull away from those he knew- the embarrassment of no longer being one of them. Even if Myrna had been in favor of his theories.

"It has." He folded his own hands in his lap. "And I apologize for that. I left far too many of your messages unanswered."

Myrna shrugged a shoulder, the gentlest movement. Every reaction from her was so small it could easily be missed. "You have a life outside the university."

"Not nearly as much as you'd think." Emmrich sighed. "Regardless, I am sorry for letting our friendship slip. And I promise, despite what I am about to ask, that I am not only here because I need something."

A faint smile, a flicker of bemusement in her eyes. Excitement. "Using our connection for your own benefit? Emmrich, I thought more of you." Her tone was slightly teasing- most would miss it, but to Emmrich it was dripping in unspoken laughs. "I jest."

"I know. I haven't forgotten how to read you, my dear."

"Good. What do you need?"

Emmrich took a deep breath. "I've met someone who is dealing with a possession, and wants to sever his ties with the spirit. My issue is that all common knowledge on possession often ends in the death of the host themselves, and certainly the spirit attached. I don't believe either want that."

"Either?" Myrna pushed her chair back, stood up. "You've spoken to the host?"

"Oh he is very much present. He and the spirit are coexisting currently." Myrna stared at him, and Emmrich added, "I've never seen such a case."

"No. None of us have." She walked around the desk, her heels clicking on the floor, and leaned against it, folding her arms. Myrna was one to prefer to stand when she was thinking. Sitting was too idly for her, but pacing would have been far too much emotion and reaction.

Instead there was the gentle tap of her fingers against her own arm.

"I'm just curious if there have been any additional developments academically on the topic. Any new theories that could be worth exploring."

Myrna thought for a moment. "Yes, some. I can get you the information. But, Emmrich…" she paused, long enough for one more tap of her fingers, "this is exceptional. A case study like this would be of exceeding interest to the community. To your place here in academia."

She didn't need to spell it out- Emmrich had known, since he'd first realized what was going on with Lucanis. The man could easily be his ticket back into proper academic standing. He could return to the world he had devoted most of his life to- and he could further argue his own theories on spirit disposition in a world different than it had been ten years prior.

But… "I'm sorry Myrna," he offered with a small, sad smile, "but this isn't a case study. The gentleman is… dear to me. I have no desire to publish papers about him as if he was a nameless test subject. I simply want to help."

There was a long stretch of silence- not even the tap of Myrna's fingers broke it. But finally, she gave him a small smile. "Smitten, professor?"

Oh, what was the use of hiding it? "Very much so."

She nodded. "I never expected to see a day where you loved someone more than knowledge." Emmrich opened his mouth to argue loved was a strong word, but Myrna was already pushing off her desk, heading back around it. "I will send you all of the recent papers on possession theory- I assume you still enjoy physical copies as well? If you have a few minutes I can print them for you."

"Oh, you know me too well." Emmrich stood up as Myrna opened her laptop again, walking around her office. It had changed somewhat- new books on display, yes- but mostly it remained the same.

He paused at a display of bones on the wall- shards from various creatures that had once been theorized to make spirit communication easier. Or considered suitable bait to draw a spirit out for study. Disproved, yes, but still widely kept as fun ideas for entertainment purposes.

"Myrna?"

"Hmm?"

"Are staff still allowed access to the bone library?"

She glanced up, noting where he was in the office. "Yes, it has not changed. Although there are many younger staff members and students who do not see the historical art and importance of them."

Emmrich nodded. "In that case, I have a second favor to ask you."

*

Emmrich pulled up his driveway, noting it was far later than he had expected. He texted Lucanis when he'd left the university at least- told him he'd pick up a bottle of port and then be home.

The lights were on in his home- the lower level stark against the very dark outdoors. His porch light was on, which he had not left on that morning- and he smiled to himself at the subtle thoughtfulness.

He got out of the car, walked around it to open the passenger side door and collect both the wine and the heavy folder he'd left Myrna's office with. He'd have plenty of reading to do in the upcoming days.

He shut the door, his mind already very much leaving the idea of reading behind. He had been replaying the feeling of Lucanis's lips against his own in the back of his mind all day, and while he did not want to come on too strong, he very much intended to kiss the man upon first sight.

He was only a few steps from the car when he heard a conglomerate of noises- the rush of air that came with someone jumping, a grunt upon impact, and the sound of a body thudding into the ground.

He turned, just to see a flurry of motion. It was so quick he couldn't make sense of it, but he clearly heard, "Emmrich move!"

He jumped back, as the shadows took shape- Lucanis, who had yelled to him, being thrown off a man's back. The man stood up as Lucanis skidded across the ground, reaching into his pocket and grimacing against the sound of glass breaking.

Emmrich swore he could smell blood in the air-

Blood magic.

He dropped the bottle of wine and his folder, fisting his keys between his fingers as the man lifted his bloody hand from his pocket. He was speaking, not words Emmrich recognized, but it didn't matter.

He ran at the man, attempted to punch him square in the chest. The man grabbed his hand, didn't seem to care when the keys punctured into his palm, and tossed Emmrich aside with a strength that was simply inhuman. Channeled, from something.

Emmrich hit the ground with his breath rushing out of him, just to see Lucanis back up, rushing the man, shoulder down. He barreled into him, knocking him to the ground, the air smelling electric, like ozone suddenly.

Spite.

Before the spirit could fully take root, the man yelled something, a barked word, and Lucanis slumped for a moment, as if the energy had been sucked from him. It was enough time for him to be shoved off the man, roll a few feet away.

The man was up, taking no time to kneel over Lucanis, reaching into his jacket. Emmrich scrambled his hands along the ground, found the bottle of wine which had rolled from the driveway into the grass, and grasped it by its neck. He pushed himself up, time feeling as if it slowed as the man freed a knife from within his jacket and attempted to stab it down into Lucanis's chest.

Lucanis had his hands up and around the stranger's wrists, was pushing with all his might against the downward motion.

Emmrich ran, lifted the bottle, and with a grunt of effort, brought it down into the back of the stranger's skull. The glass shattered, the overly sweet, syrupy wine drenching the man's neck and shoulders, down along his back, as he lurched forward. The single moment of reprieve was enough for Lucanis to get his knee up into the man's gut, before he pushed him off.

The stranger rolled onto the grass, and Lucanis was quick to pluck the knife from his hand, straddle his body, and embed the blade into his chest in a single, fluid motion. The man gasped, and Lucanis twisted the blade in his chest, teeth bared and eyes seeming to glow, despite the fact that they were still near black- as if just a hint of Spite was creeping through.

Emmrich stood, panting, some of his hair falling against his forehead. He watched as Lucanis let go of the knife and stood up, reaching up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, studying the dying- no, no, already dead- man for a moment.

Then he stepped over the body, turned, and ran to Emmrich. He got his hands on Emmrich's face, cradled his jaw, his eyes dark and wild and terrified.

"Are you alright?"

Emmrich nodded, shaken. He couldn't recall a time where he'd ever been attacked.

Lucanis got his arms around Emmrich, pulled him into an embrace, holding onto him tightly. It lasted for only seconds, but it was enough to make Emmrich sink back into himself.

"Give me your keys," Lucanis said, as he stepped back- only one step. He was still close. Emmrich handed them to Lucanis without question. "Go inside. Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone- not even for me."

"What are you-"

"Making a body disappear." He moved for the car, opening the back door, and Emmrich felt stupid when he asked,

"Shouldn't be call the authorities?" Lucanis shot a look back at him- and , yes, quite right, not a good idea. There was another death on Lucanis's hands. One that Emmrich would be looked at as an accomplice for.

Lovely.

Emmrich grabbed the folder off the ground, heading for the door and opening it. He all but tossed the folder towards the stairs, frowned when he noticed Lucanis's boots still tucked away neatly with his shoes. He grabbed them, turned around to see Lucanis had stripped the man of his jacket, pulled the knife was from his chest, and was hoisting him into the backseat of Emmrich's car.

Emmrich walked over, strides long and quick, as Lucanis straightened up, and pressed the boots to his chest. "Are you in just your bloody socks?"

The Crow only shrugged a shoulder, but did lean against the car to shove them on. Emmrich glanced back at the house- and noticed a window from the living room was open.

And recalled the rush of air, the sound of someone jumping.

"Did you jump out the window?" His voice was rising, alarm lacing his voice. Lucanis straightened, then moved back to Emmrich, looking as if he wanted to wrap his arms around him and never let go.

"Spite sensed something," he offered, as he reached out, took his hand, traced one of the fine bones there. "Inside," he said, his voice breaking as he added, "please."

Emmrich took a single breath, but nodded. Lucanis dropped his hand and he turned, heading back into the house. He pulled the door shut and locked it, watched when Lucanis climbed into the car and pulled away- headlights off, the car barely a ghost in the dark, inky night.

Emmrich walked briskly to the living room, pulling shut and latching the open window. The chill from outside had already crept in, and he shivered. He pulled his phone from his pocket, frantically typing out a message to Bellara, wanting to ensure she was safe. He hadn't seen her that day with the large order from the college and the young woman needing to spend part of her evening prepping for her thesis defense.

Once done, he gathered up the folder and the mess of papers that had flung out of it, taking them upstairs and leaving them on the desk in his study. He went into the bathroom, flicked the light on, looked at himself in the mirror.

His hair was no longer swept back- much of it had come free of its hold, dusting his forehead. And along his jaw there was a single red smear- from when Lucanis had held his face.

He turned on the tap, scrubbed at his face until the blood was gone. Water dripped from his rings when he turned the faucet off, the chain of events beginning to sink in.

Someone had attacked him. Him. Why? He couldn't fathom anyone ever finding enough issue with any of his former work to care to such an extent.

No, he couldn't have been the point. The point had to be Lucanis. He left the bathroom light on and headed down the stairs, going straight for the door. He unlocked it, threw it open, and rushed out into the night- knowing he was completely ignoring Lucanis's one request.

In the grass with the remains of the broken wine bottle was the knife the man had used. Emmrich picked it up by the handle- which still held a hint of warmth, from Lucanis's hands- and rushed back inside, shutting and re-locking the door. He bounded up the stairs, back to the bathroom, turning the sink back on and shoving the knife under the water stream. Blood splashed along the white porcelain sink, before it diluted to pink, as Emmrich shifted the blade, trying to wash all of the blood from it.

Once it was clean, he turned off the water and pressed it fingers along the flat of the blade. In the harsh bathroom light he could see the etching in the metal, could feel it under his fingertips. He hurried out, barely remembering to turn the light off, and went for his study.

He hit the light and went for his desk, opening the drawer that had held the original knife from when he'd met Lucanis, and finding it empty. He set the knife on the desk and hurried out, nearly storming into the room Lucanis had been sleeping in, previously.

He hated to step into a space designated for the other man- privacy was important- but he didn't hesitate to flick on the light head for the knife, the moment he saw it, set on the dresser.

Back to his study, and he was comparing the two. They were different sizes- the one from the previous night was a thinner blade, the handle set with a few glimmering red stones. The one from only moments ago was heavier, had a subtle curve to it, the handle felt like bone.

But the inscription��� it wasn't the same. But Emmrich saw characters that matched- the same language, at least. Most likely.

He collapsed into his desk chair, both knives on the desk now, and tipped his head back, exhaling. He scrubbed his hands over his face, tapped his foot- realized in the rush he'd never bothered to remove his shoes.

He heard the sound of Manfred, jumping up onto the desk. He straightened up, noted the cat was watching him, tail flicking, his stare expectant.

"Quite right Manfred," Emmrich mumbled, mostly to himself. "It's no use to not have my head on straight. I just need to get a hold of myself." He reached out, gently scratched Manfred's chin, smiled as the cat began to purr. "Everyone has someone have a go at their life at least once, right?"

The look Manfred gave him did make him think the cat disagreed. Strongly.

Once he had calmed himself, Emmrich removed his shoes, took the time to store them back downstairs properly, before he went about turning off the lights that had been left on, through out the first floor.

Then he waited in the living room, Manfred taking up a space on his lap in the arm chair.

He wasn't sure how long Lucanis was gone- but eventually as the night drew on, Emmrich heard the low rumble of his car, returning. And then the click of keys, in the door, as locks were undone.

He was standing before the door was fully opened.

Lucanis stepped in, barely had it shut behind him, before Emmrich was leaving the living room, hurrying into the entrance way and reaching for him, holding his face gently and noting that Lucanis looked exhausted. "You're alright?" he asked, much as Lucanis had, moments after the attack.

The Crow nodded, let his eyes fall shut for just a second, moving in closer to Emmrich. "You're thinking of asking me."

"Come again?"

Lucanis opened his eyes. "You're thinking of asking me what I did with the body."

Emmrich cleared his throat. "It had crossed my mind…"

Lucanis pulled from his touch, turned and re-locked the door. He removed his boots, before saying. "It's handled. That's all you should know." He paused, before he added, with a hint of a smile. "I promise you won't need to deep clean your car."

"Oh, let us thank the Maker for small miracles." Emmrich's voice was thick with sarcasm- and unexpectedly, Lucanis laughed. The sound had Emmrich smiling. "You should come upstairs- I have the man's knife."

"You what?"

Emmrich ignored the question, turning and heading for the stairs. Lucanis followed close behind him, into his study, as Emmrich walked to the desk, nodded to both blades he'd left out. "I cleaned it off so I could examine it better- the inscription is quite similar to the one used on you previously. Not the same, mind you, but I do believe they're the same language."

"You went outside, after I told you to lock yourself inside, just to get the knife."

"Well, yes."

"Mierda." Lucanis reached up, pinched the bridge of his nose. "What if there was someone else out there, waiting?"

Emmrich folded his hands together. "Would you have left if you thought the man wasn't alone?" Lucanis's hand fell away from his face and he simply stared. "Your silence is answer enough."

"I should be so annoyed with you right now." Lucanis moved closer, got his hands on Emmrich's waist- held on, as he had, once in the kitchen- but firmer, without the threat of pulling away. "But I'm not."

Emmrich is safe.

Spite, spoken separate from Lucanis but so close. The spirit must be resting inside him.

"I am quite safe Spite. I believe we all are, for the moment." He placed his hands on Lucanis's chest, splayed them, could feel the slightly elevated beat of his heart against one palm.

"But what if you hadn't been?" Lucanis's voice was soft, pulling from a constricting throat. Emmrich opened his mouth to answer- but had nothing. He pinched his lips together as Lucanis added, "What if we had been slower, what if one thing had been different?"

He pulled Emmrich closer, so Emmrich was forced to slide his hands up over his shoulders. Their chests pressed tight together, Lucanis's hands locking at the small of Emmrich's back.

"I think," Lucanis admitted, "I might have gone mad." As he spoke, his eyes flashed- for a moment shining amethyst, Spite's subtle agreement.

"Theoretical only," Emmrich said, as he got a hand in Lucanis's hair, tangled the thick, dark locks around his fingers. "I am quite fine." And added, after a moment of pause, in a lower voice, "You can check if you like."

Lucanis surged forward, pressed his mouth to Emmrich's. The kiss was desperate, felt as if Lucanis wanted to get himself under Emmrich's skin. The older man didn't mind- he nipped playfully at Lucanis's lip, pulled at his hair to help angle him so he could kiss the Crow deeper.

Lucanis urged him back a step, and Emmrich bumped into his desk. He heard one of the knives slide slightly at the movement, before he was too distracted by Lucanis's tongue pressing along his to even care.

Lucanis slid a hand under his sweater, splayed it on his bare back. Emmrich shivered- Lucanis's skin was burning in such a perfect way. His Crow pulled back, panting softly, as Emmrich's other hand not in his hair skimmed down his side, plucked at one of his belt loops.

"There are much more comfortable places for this," he offered, "if you're willing."

Lucanis hesitated for just a moment, before he nodded. He pulled from Emmrich's touch, took a step back so that Emmrich wasn't pinned to the desk. The older man took his hand, led him from the study towards his bedroom.

He didn't bother with the light- had Lucanis barely past the door before he was tugging the younger man in for another kiss. Lucanis melted against his mouth, the eagerness still there as his hands roamed Emmrich's chest, fisted in his sweater. Lucanis was pushed tight to him, and Emmrich slipped a leg between his thighs, lost his breath as he felt the very obvious shape of the younger man's cock, pressing against him.

Lucanis whined into the kiss, pulling back, still panting, his hips rolling slightly against Emmrich's thigh. Emmrich gently tugged at the hem of his shirt, and Lucanis leaned back enough that he could grasp it, pull it up over his head and lose it in the dark of the room.

Emmrich felt his throat going tight, eyes darting to Lucanis's chest, taking in firm muscle, dark skin, the dark hair along his pecs. Gods, why was he so beautiful?

Emmrich took his hands, turned them both so that Lucanis, with only one step back, bumped against the edge of the bed. He leaned into Lucanis's neck, kissed his pulse point, the other man tipping his head, offering his neck as a gift.

Emmrich's deft fingers slipped between them, worked at Lucanis's fly as he kissed the length of his neck, before moving to his ear, pinching his earlobe between his teeth. Lucanis openly shivered, as Emmrich pulled the zipper of his pants down. He slipped a hand in, cupped Lucanis through his underwear, had the other man biting his lip, pushing against his hand. The heat alone coming off Lucanis could have left Emmrich delirious.

"What do you want, darling?"

Lucanis opened his mouth to speak, but simply swallowed down a needy noise as Emmrich continued to fondle him, the younger man's cock twitching through the fabric of his underwear with every beat of his heart. Emmrich leaned back, just enough to see Lucanis- his face was flushed, his dark eyes seeming so large, so sure and yet lost.

Lucanis licked his lips, managed in a voice that broke over only a single word. "You."

Emmrich made a feral noise, a rumble from his chest that he didn't even recognize, as he grasped at the waistband of Lucanis's underwear, tugging at them along with his pants. The Crow covered Emmrich's hands with his own, helping to push his clothing down, until it was pooled around his ankles and Emmrich was gently guiding him back, onto the bed.

He took the time to cup the back of Lucanis's head as he settled, ensure he was resting on the pillows. The man looked at him with adoring eyes, this endless dark that could have swallowed Emmrich whole and kept him locked away for an eternity.

It would have been a lovely way to go.

Emmrich's hand moved to Lucanis's shoulder, skimmed over his chest- fingers playing at his chest hair, following it down to his belly. Fingertips brushed his navel, before following the trail of dark hair to his groin- the whole while Lucanis was chewing at his lower lip, breathing hard. Emmrich was used to excitement in his partners- even if it had been quite a while- but Lucanis seemed to be raw desire and need, unrestrained and responding to every feather touch as if it had been his first.

Emmrich made a point to avoid his cock- instead let his fingertips dance towards his thighs, so he could marvel at how soft the skin of Lucanis's inner thigh was.

He had the urge to feel it between his teeth.

Before he could do more than register the thought, Lucanis reached up, wound his arms around Emmrich's neck and pulled him down, kissing him again. Emmrich nearly fell onto him, his hand having to move from Lucanis's thigh to brace on the bed, as Lucanis kissed his mouth until it was tingling, buzzing.

"You're wearing too much," the Crow managed between kisses. The bluntness of it had Emmrich pulling from the kiss, laughing as he tipped his forehead against Lucanis's.

"How very rude of me." He pulled away, carefully removing his sweater and folding it quickly, setting it on his bedside table. Lucanis pushed himself up so he was sitting, was openly staring at Emmrich.

For a moment, the older man felt a twinge of embarrassment, running through him, with the way Lucanis seemed to be so thoroughly studying him. He felt utterly drab compared to the naked man in his bed- where Lucanis had toned, lean muscle, Emmrich was slim, fine bones under pale skin with a light layer of fat and muscle. Lucanis looked like a god, and Emmrich-

Emmrich felt like a weather-worn statue, smooth and devoid of the details that made one breathtaking.

But Lucanis was looking at him with unbridled lust, eyes devouring every inch of skin, like Emmrich was in fact the god himself. And when Lucanis whispered, "more," eyes flicking down Emmrich's torso to the waist of his pants, the strange embarrassment and fear washed away.

Emmrich felt like he was the most handsome man in the world, under Lucanis's gaze.

He shed the rest of his clothing, before he climbed onto the bed, directly into Lucanis's lap. He straddled his thighs, one hand slipping between them, letting his eyes finally dart down to Lucanis's groin.

His cock was hard, rigid against his belly, leaving a smear of precum against his skin. He could see his cockhead was flushed, as it poked out form his foreskin- and when he wrapped his long fingers around his shaft, gods he felt so heavy, thick.

Lucanis tipped his head back, exhaling, fingers shaking as he gripped at the blanket beneath him. Emmrich stroked down slowly, pulling his foreskin back- the single movement causing a rush of precum to soak against Lucanis's happy trail.

Emmrich's own cock was hard, but he utterly ignored it. He was far too enraptured in the way Lucanis simply felt in his hand- and add in the little noises the man made as he began stroking slowly- it could have short circuited his mind, his entire being.

He leaned in, his other hand cupping the back of Lucanis's head, holding him steady so he could kiss him slowly. Lucanis broke to it, whimpered against Emmrich's mouth, his hands leaving the bed and grasping at the man's slim waist, holding on with bruising force.

Emmrich hoped it would bruise. It would be a lovely reminder in the morning.

He got Lucanis's lip between his teeth, tugged on it as he felt precum trickling over his fingers. "You," he whispered, "my boy, are simply soaked. Do you always get this wet?"

The flush to Lucanis's cheeks was so dark it would have been alarming, if Emmrich hadn't felt the way his cock pulsed. "You can't just say that," he mumbled, and Emmrich moved to kiss his jaw, Lucanis's beard tickling him slightly.

"Oh but I can, and I did. You left the question unanswered…"

"Does a gentleman ask that?"

Emmrich glanced at Lucanis- caught a playful glint in his eyes, the teasing tone to his voice. "I can assure you," he whispered, moving to breath directly into Lucanis's ear as he stroked faster, "I'm a gentleman- but there is no place for a gentleman between the sheets, darling."

Lucanis shivered, hips rocking up, head tipping back. Emmrich kept his head cradled in his hand to help support it, the man's breathing coming faster now. He moved back to Lucanis's neck, nipped at the warm skin, savored the salt of his sweat, his thumb rubbing up over Lucanis's frenulum, along his cockhead, smearing the pulse of precum from his slit. Lucanis groaned, squeezed his eyes shut- and then with a broken, rattled noise, his body went tight, stiff. Emmrich felt the rush of cum as his lover found release, splashing up against his thumb, running down Lucanis's shaft, over his fingers, his rings.

Lucanis was panting, as Emmrich stroked him through the orgasm, whispered little sweet nothings into his neck. He clutched tighter to the older man's waist, and Emmrich wondered what it would feel like for Lucanis to snap his very bones, bare handed.

There was a crackle to the air, and Emmrich lifted his head, caught a glimpse of amethyst between Lucanis's thick, dark lashes. The man blinked and it was gone- but it was obvious that Spite was inside him, reeling at each feeling Lucanis experienced.

Emmrich paused his hand, leaned back enough that he could lift it. Lucanis's cum clung to his fingers, his palm- and gods, he wanted to know what this man's very marrow tasted like.

He brought his hand to his mouth, ran his tongue up the side, gathering a large trail of cum, until his tongue brushed one of his rings. The bitterness burst over his tongue, salty, yet so alluring. Lucanis watched with blown eyes, before he was pulling Emmrich to him by his waist, taking his mouth as if he was dying and this was his last moment with Emmrich.

Emmrich gasped into it, surprised at the sudden movement, as Lucanis fell back onto the bed, Emmrich hunched over him. His hand pressed to Lucanis's chest out of instinct, leaving smears of cum in his chest hair as Lucanis bucked his hips up, warm skin pressing tight to Emmrich's erection.

"Can I…" Lucanis started, as Emmrich's cock dragged against his thigh.

Emmrich smiled, playfully nipped at his lip. "Not yet," he whispered, "I'm not as virile as you are, dearest. And we're not done…"

He let himself lay out between Lucanis's legs, mouthed down his chest, tongue gathering up some of the mess he'd left behind. Lucanis squirmed, arching when Emmrich let his tongue roll over one of his nipples.

"Is this alright?" Emmrich asked, kissing the bud gently. Lucanis swallowed thickly, managed a nod, and Emmrich smiled before he sucked at it gently, let his tongue roll over it as it hardened in his mouth. Lucanis bucked again- and oh, his cock was definitely still somewhat hard, refusing to calm as Emmrich continued to touch him. It slid against Emmrich's, had Emmrich grunting into Lucanis's chest. He moved to the other nipple, worrying it with the points of his teeth, as Lucanis got his hands in Emmrich's hair, undoing what little proper control there was to the strands.

Emmrich squirmed a hand between them, slid his palm over Lucanis's cock, cradled his balls for a moment to enjoy the rush of breath that left him, before his fingers slipped further, along the sensitive flesh past his balls. Lucanis bucked, a sharp of intake breath shattering the room, as Emmrich's fingers pressed against his hole, teasing it lightly.

"If this is too much," Emmrich whispered, pausing to kiss the center of the man below him's chest, "tell me. I have so many things I could do to you, my boy."

Lucanis bit his lip, didn't answer- and after a moment, when Emmrich began to withdraw, his eyes glossed over purple, before shining.

And Spite, clearly through Lucanis's mouth, "No. More. Give him. More. Give us. More."

Emmrich traced his hole, but kept the touch feather light. "Spite, I need to hear it from Lucanis as well."

Lucanis blinked, his eyes returning to their blown blackfire, and he nodded- seemed unable to form the words. Emmrich pulled away despite this- and Lucanis whined, reached for him as the man settled up on his knees, leaning over the bed.

"I'm not stopping," Emmrich promised, "not unless you ask me to." Lucanis nodded, released his hold on Emmrich's wrist, and he reached for his bedside table, pulling it open and reaching in, fingers grasping a rather full bottle.

He leaned back, set the bottle on the bed, and chose to rub his hands up along the insides of Lucanis's thighs. The skin felt like burning silk, unmarred, unscarred- and Emmrich paused, pressed his thumb against where he knew Lucanis's femoral artery would be- could feel his heart beat as his blood pumped with a fury beneath the skin.

"To feel you between my teeth…" he whispered to himself, not even realizing he had spoken- not until Lucanis groaned, spread his legs further, a whispered please. Emmrich dragged his eyes up to him- "A promise for another night," he offered, his heart stilling for a moment at the thought of other nights.

That this could be something.

He gently guided Lucanis to bend one of his legs, dig his heel into the bed. The other he pushed wide until he feared discomfort for his lover. Then, with Lucanis watching, he carefully removed the rings from one of his hands, leaning over him to pile them on the bedside table.

When he returned, he grabbed the bottle of lube, opening it and pouring an overly generous amount onto his fingers. He thought to ask Lucanis how he preferred this- would he like Emmrich to go slow, did he adapt easily to the feeling of being penetrated-

But Lucanis was just staring at him in awe, wonder, desire, pure rapture, and the words died on his tongue. He reached down, slipped his hand so his fingers could push between Lucanis's ass, trace his asshole and spread the wetness of his fingers along it.

Emmrich reached out with his other hand, splayed it on Lucanis's belly. "Inhale," he whispered, and the man did. "Exhale." As Lucanis did, Emmrich slipped a finger inside him. The breath ended in a choked whine, a gasp of shock, and Lucanis went tight around Emmrich in the first instant. Emmrich rubbed his thumb along his belly, teased the hair leading to his groin. "You're alright. Am I hurting you?"

"No." Lucanis swallowed, relaxed slightly. Emmrich moved his finger slowly, thrusting it lazily, studied Lucanis's face for discomfort. It melted quickly as he began to squirm, hips rocking, only mostly held down by the hand on his abdomen. He tipped his head back, let out a moan- and as he did, Emmrich slipped a second in. Lucanis gasped, a broken mierda leaving his lips, as his hands scrambled along the bed, searching for purchase.

Emmrich bent over him, pressed a kiss to the hollow of his ribs as Lucanis sucked in a breath. Smiling against his warm skin, Emmrich curled his fingers, taking not even another breath to find that sweet spot inside Lucanis- the moment he pressed to it Lucanis dug his shoulders into the bed, arching so forcefully he jarred Emmrich, nearly set him off balance, as he gave a sharp yet pleased cry.

Emmrich positively grinned to himself, mouthing up Lucanis's chest, continued to push at the spot. "Alright still?"

Lucanis choked, tried to lift his head- but the way Emmrich drummed his fingers inside him had him simply tossing it back. Emmrich could handle him wordless, so long as he remained easy to read.

He moved to thrusting his fingers, wanting to ensure Lucanis was comfortable. As he did the man seemed to regain some sense of his body, one hand planted firmly on the mattress as he pushed himself up, grabbed for Emmrich with the other and dragged him in for a kiss.

It was mostly Lucanis panting against his mouth, but Emmrich didn't mind. Especially when he caught the scent of ozone, and then Spite, through Lucanis's mouth, a broken yes, the sort of sound he didn't know the spirit could make.

"I can add another," he offered, "if it would make you more comfortable."

Lucanis shook his head, the flush on his cheeks running down his neck, leaving him looking thoroughly fucked out already. Emmrich moved to kiss his cheek, affectionately, before he pulled back. He gently pushed Lucanis back onto his back, watched him squirm into the pillows, as he pulled his fingers from his body.

Emmrich reached for the lube, pouring more onto his palm, before leaving it in the blankets as he stroked himself slowly. It took every ounce of control not to thrust into his fist- his body was wound tight, buzzing- but he wanted every second he could have, inside Lucanis.

Lucanis, who was watching him, lips parted, eyes intent on the movement of Emmrich's hand, studying his cock. Emmrich felt a flood of self consciousness again, hells it really had been too long since he'd been with anyone-

"Is that…" Lucanis trailed off, and Emmrich glanced down, before he simply laughed. He bared his cock in a way that Lucanis could clearly see his piercing- a curved golden rod through his urethra, the balls of the jewelry pressed flush to his pale skin, one just beneath his cockhead.

Perhaps he should have mentioned that…

Before he could speak at all, Lucanis was sitting up, reaching for him, wrapping his own fist around his overly slick cock, so he could roll his thumb over the piercing, watching with rapt attention. Emmrich bit his lip to stifle a groan, trying hard not to thrust desperately into Lucanis's hand.

He had to force himself to reach for Lucanis's shoulder, gently push him back. "Careful," he whispered, "or this will be over far too soon."

Lucanis rolled his thumb along the piercing one last time, before he stretched back out, spreading his thighs wider. There was a fresh smear of precum on his belly.

Emmrich shuffled closer, his still bejeweled hand rubbing along Lucanis's thigh, as the other held his cock steady. He slid the head against Lucanis's hole, heard him exhale in anticipation- and took that moment to slide inside.

Emmrich bowed his head, groaning, the feeling of Lucanis's muscles making just enough room for him causing the room to spin. His body was hot, his insides like the burning silk of his thighs, making Emmrich so dizzy he squeezed Lucanis's thigh in his hand.

He paused when he had Lucanis's ass nestled up to his pelvis. The man was panting lightly already- but a glance at his cock had Emmrich smirking playfully. He was fully hard again.

He reached with his bare hand, ran his palm up over his balls and teased them, before wrapping it around his cock, stroking him slowly. He felt Lucanis relax around him, mind distracted by the sensation of Emmrich's hand.

He leaned over him, hair falling against his forehead, tickling the shells of his ears, catching Lucanis's wild stare. "You're alright," Emmrich whispered, softly.

Lucanis licked his lips. "I think I'm going mad." At that he shifted the leg Emmrich wasn't holding, hooked it behind his legs, forced Emmrich to push even deeper. Lucanis groaned, head tipping back, eyelids fluttering. "It's so…"

He paused, as Emmrich rolled his thumb over his cockhead.

"Good." His eyes flashed under those lashes again, and Spite's voice echoed him, "so good."

Emmrich smiled, released his cock so he could plant a hand on the bed to steady himself, easing his hips back before thrusting into Lucanis. His lover arched, reached for Emmrich's shoulders, hands scrambling over them, onto his back. Emmrich felt his blunt nails dig in as he thrust, threatening to leave little crescent indents in his pale skin.

Emmrich felt choked, with each thrust, Lucanis's body a sort of heaven he hadn't been prepared for. And the way he was clutching at him, squirming beneath him? Looking at him with huge, blown eyes-

Emmrich kissed him, tore at his mouth with tongue and teeth in a way that was very much not gentleman-like. And Lucanis went tight around him, kissed him back in kind, dragged his nails down Emmrich's back so the older man was hissing into his mouth.

He was so torn, between kissing Lucanis and wanting to see him. After a nip to the younger man's tongue, Emmrich pulled back, arched back up again, got both his hands on Lucanis's thighs and held them open. Each movement tore a noise from his Crow's throat- a whimper, a whine, even a plea for more. He thrust harder, watched the way Lucanis's back bowed, the glorious jut of muscle and bone as his body contorted in bliss.

His own body was aching, his spine a static, seething mess. His belly and balls ached, his entire pelvis tight- but he would not come before Lucanis. Maker and dead gods, on his honor he would not.

"Lucanis," he breathed, panting now himself. The man looked at him, and Emmrich offered a hand. Lucanis took it, and Emmrich guided the hand to the man's cock, urging him to take himself in hand. Lucanis did, Emmrich's hand around his, as the older man guided him to stroke himself. Lucanis bucked his hips up into their combined fist, before driving himself down onto Emmrich, causing Emmrich to see white in the corners of his vision.

Lucanis cried out when Emmrich squeezed his hand, tightening the pressure around him. His dark lashes were wet, lips swollen from all of Emmrich's kisses, each drag of his teeth, and gods he looked beautiful.

Emmrich released his hold on Lucanis's hand, moved to grasp at his thighs and push at them, bending Lucanis slightly so he could get deeper inside him. Lucanis cried out Emmrich's name, and for a single moment Emmrich swore he was going to come, every muscle in his body going taut at the sheer desperate and yet worshiping sound of his name on Lucanis's lips.

He bit his cheek until he tasted iron, and the near bliss pushed back down.

"Lucanis," he managed, the man's name feeling like a prayer. His Crow beneath him was panting heavily, chest heaving with each breath, little noises escaping that gorgeous mouth with each thrust, each stroke of his fist. "Darling, it's alright." Emmrich jerked him back over his cock. "Let go."

Lucanis cried out, arching his back off the bed, his body clenching at Emmrich's cock as his own spurted a thick line of cum over his belly, onto his chest. Emmrich watched, utterly enraptured, swearing he had never seen a partner look so divine when they reached their release. Lucanis seemed completely unreal.

The younger man hadn't even relaxed around him when Emmrich felt his own pleasure cresting- and he groaned Lucanis's name, hung his head as he buried himself as deep as he could get in his body and finally came. The rush of sheer bliss left him breathless, his entire body humming with ecstasy. Lucanis gave a little groan over the feeling, and Emmrich dared to bow over him, seek out his mouth. Lucanis got his arms up around his neck, held on desperately as Emmrich kissed him, the two still interconnected. The kiss was hard but almost lazy- Emmrich simply wanting to have every inch of himself in contact with Lucanis.

When the angle finally caused his spine to ache too much, Emmrich pulled away, gently easing back. Lucanis bit his lip, swallowed down a hiss of breath as Emmrich left his body. Carefully, Emmrich maneuvered over Lucanis, stretched out alongside him, reaching for his cheek so he could cradle it.

His thumb rubbed over a damp streak on his cheek, and Emmrich leaned in, kissed the corner of Lucanis's eye, tongue darting to taste the salt of his euphoric tears. When he pulled back, he moved to kiss the bridge of his nose. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Lucanis managed a single shake of his head. "I don't think I'm inside my body," he admitted, and Emmrich chuckled.

"So it was alright, I take it?"

Lucanis grinned then. He pulled Emmrich in for another quick kiss, before he admitted, "The understatement of a lifetime, Emmrich. Mierda, I didn't know it would be that good…" Emmrich arched a brow, slightly confused, and Lucanis fell back to the pillows, stared up at the ceiling. After a moment of hesitation, he whispered, "I'd never…" he reached a hand up, waved it in the air, gesturing to them.

Emmrich choked. He'd hadn't realized- he hadn't even considered- "I hadn't realized…" He paused, before simply blurting out, "You're gorgeous. I just assumed you'd had an array of former lovers."

Lucanis chuckled at that, carefully rolling onto his side, so he could face Emmrich. "Only one," he admitted, "and he and I never got very far." He paused, then added, "My friend, Viago- it seemed every time he and I managed to get close Illario would interrupt."

Emmrich had to laugh at that. "Your cousin has awful timing."

"You have no idea. I half expected him to jump out of your closet while you were…" he trailed off, cleared his throat, and whispered while pointedly not looking into Emmrich's eyes, "…fucking me…"

Emmrich felt a shiver run down his spine. He pulled Lucanis closer, kissed his hair. "I am most grateful he did not. Now, if you say that again…"

"That you fucked me?"

Emmrich groaned. "Yes- that. Keep saying it and I'll have to do it again, my dear."

Lucanis perked up then, asking, "Can you?" before it was Spite who came through.

"Yes! Again. More!"

Emmrich laughed, before he paused for a moment. With a playful smile, he eased Lucanis back onto his back, carefully climbing over his leg and settling down between his legs.

"I'd need a bit more of a reprieve before I could do that," Emmrich admitted, as he grabbed the lube and poured more onto his bare fingers. "But I can most definitely make up for that."

He slipped his now slick fingers beneath Lucanis, felt little resistance as he slipped two inside him. He was still wet from being fucked, lube and cum mingling and making him feel heavenly debouched around Emmrich's fingers.

Emmrich turned, kissed Lucanis's thigh, as his lover writhed, groaning with each pump of his fingers. His mouth ghosted over the skin he had so badly wanted to bite earlier- and Emmrich gave in, dug his teeth into flesh, hard enough to leave imprints but not quite hard enough to break skin.

Lucanis howled, his body clenching around Emmrich's fingers. And then, clearly Spite, growled out, "Yes, yes! Break us, bleed us!"

Emmrich shuddered, digging his hips into the bed. Gods, maybe he wouldn't need to wait that long to take Lucanis again. He pulled off the flesh that had to be throbbing now, kissed it affectionately, before he leaned over Lucanis's pelvis, dragged his tongue up along his cock as it rested on his belly.

Lucanis choked, couldn't even finish Emmrich's name as the man took his cockhead into his mouth, toying at it with his tongue. He pressed his fingers up against Lucanis's prostate, massaging it firmly, and Lucanis squirmed, shoulders digging into the bed, hips rocking so his cock slipped deeper into Emmrich's mouth.

Emmrich took it with ease- out of practice he may have been, but he always enjoyed a lover using his mouth. His body hadn't forgotten how to relax his jaw, keep his throat at ease as Lucanis fucked his jaw with utter abandon. Emmrich's free hand rubbed the tender spot he had bitten, applying pressure occasionally and loving how Lucanis whined for him.

He dragged his tongue up along the underside of Lucanis's shaft, his mouth salty with precum, as he dared to push a third finger into him. When he did Lucanis gasped, body tensing, and he spilled over Emmrich's tongue, against his throat. He swallowed as best as he could, but gods, Lucanis filled his mouth anyway, until Emmrich was pulling off, swallowing thickly and gasping for breath, lips shiny and flushed, slightly swollen.

He pulled his fingers from Lucanis, crawled over him, accepted the kiss his Crow so eagerly gave him- Lucanis licking his own come from his mouth, groaning as Emmrich's tongue pushed at his own. "I assure you," Emmrich whispered, as he pushed Lucanis's legs apart more with one of his thighs. "The second time is far better than the first."

And the way Lucanis smiled told Emmrich he would indeed be proving that tonight. Not that he minded in the slightest- a sleepless night sounded like perfection, in that moment.

[wabart]

Arbiter / Headhunter

to go along with what I'm writing

[girlwithadragonheart]

hey i’m obsessed with lucanis (and spite) as well! I’m wondering if you would be interested in a mourn watcher elf rook x lucanis and have it be the week (or weeks i can’t remember) of rook being trapped in solas’ regret prison. i feel like spite would be pissed and confused as to why rook is missing! thank you and best wishes :)))

Lights Out

Pairing: GN!Rook x Lucanis (x Spite)

Summary: Rook is gone. Lucanis is grieving. Spite is restless.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Really depressing shit, spoilers obviously

A/N: I’m sorry this isn’t longer! I felt like dragging it out too much takes away from the visceral gut punch it is.

DATV Masterlist

Death was all Lucanis had ever known.

It clung to him like a shadow, a constant presence in his life as a Crow. It was his trade, his art, and his curse. The blood he spilled lined his pockets but left scars on his soul, marks he carried with him even when he tried to move beyond the life he once embraced. But death had always been something controlled. Until now.

Rook was gone. You were gone.

He stood in the doorway to your room, once petrified by the thought of how it reflected the Ossuary, now only drawn to what was left of your presence. His hands flexed at his sides, his chest feeling hollow.

The night was heavy with silence, the Lighthouse mourning the loss of its leader. Spite stirred uneasily in the recesses of his mind, his voice a low growl that rippled with confusion. “Where. Is. Rook?” The demon hissed, each word sharp as one of his daggers.

Lucanis didn’t respond immediately. He had no answer, and the truth stung worse than any wound.

Spite pressed on, his voice gaining a harsh edge. “Where. Is. Rook?!”

Lucanis could feel Spite’s frustration growing as he was ignored. Your absence was a gaping void, a wound that bled frustration and fear and loss. There was nothing he could do. The Fade was something so far out of his understanding, even with the demon possessing him. Still, he’d spent days searching, combing every lead, every thread of information he could grasp, only to find himself standing here, fists clenched in futile rage.

“Lucanis!” Spite snarled.

All he heard was you screaming his name as you were pulled into the Fade. He relived that moment every time he closed his eyes. What could he have done different? You had survived against impossible odds, and he had gotten his second shot at Ghilan’nain, somehow killing her. That high was quickly dashed as he watched your wide eyes, saw you reaching for him, screaming for him as you were dragged out of his reach.

“They’re gone, Spite,” Lucanis whispered, barely audible. 

“Where?” He demanded, pushing against the boundaries of Lucanis’s mind as though searching for you.

“I don’t know,” Lucanis’s voice was ragged as he huffed, taking a step further into your room and closing the door behind him. He ran a hand through his already-mussed hair. “They’re gone,” he repeated.

The faint scent of Nevarran spices drifted around the room, and the lingering smell of your oils. The things you had on a day to day basis haunted him. The Nevarran urns around the room and hastily scribbled notes on Elven architecture and the runes you’d found during the group’s travels. 

Lucanis didn’t have the heart to go any further in the room, his back pressed firmly against the door. His chest was tight, and he was finding it almost impossible to breathe, but all he wanted was to drink in your scent as long as it lingered. It was all he had left of you.

He had fought his way through countless battles, defied impossible odds, endured the Ossuary, and survived Ghilan’nain’s wrath, but none of it mattered now. The one light in his life had been extinguished. Every breath hit him like a blow to the chest, the tangible reminder of your presence that made his breath hitch. Every object in this room screamed your name, echoing in the silence that now filled the space.

Lucanis pressed harder back against the door, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. He forced himself forward, gripping the edge of the chaise lounge as he sat down heavily. His head fell into his hands as the weight of his grief threatened to crush him. He had dared to hope. After years of blood and shadows, he had begun to believe he could have something more---someone more. And now, that hope lay in ruins.

Spite stirred uneasily in the recesses of his mind, his presence a simmering heat that was neither comforting nor intrusive. The demon was quiet at first, an uncharacteristic stillness that only deepened the ache in Lucanis’s chest.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the walls pressing closer as the grief threatened to suffocate him. He reached out, almost without thinking, and picked up one of the notes you had left on the desk. The parchment was worn, the ink smudged in places, but your handwriting was unmistakable. His thumb traced the curves of your letters, his hands trembling as he clutched the note like a lifeline.

“You were my freedom,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. Tears blurred his vision, spilling over to streak down his face. “The only thing that made all of this worth it.”

Spite’s presence shifted, his usual arrogance subdued by something almost… mournful. “Rook…” the demon murmured, his voice a low growl that trembled at the edges.

Lucanis’s grip on the note tightened, his teeth clenched as guilt and rage swirled within him. “I failed them,” he hissed,his voice trembling with self-loathing. “I should have done more. I should have saved them.”

Spite didn’t argue. Lucanis wasn’t sure he was listening at all. The demon was restless, his silence heavy, a shared grief that settled over them both. “Rook.” Spite said again, pushing against Lucanis’s skull. He wouldn’t settle. He couldn’t. Spite wouldn’t stop moving, stop searching, looking through Lucanis, looking through the room, searching for his Rook.

“Spite…” Lucanis said wearily. “Spite, they’re gone,” he repeated, his voice cracking.

“Rook!” Spite pounded against Lucanis’s mind, screaming as though it would do anything to bring you back.

“Spite, enough!” Lucanis yelled finally, hands tangling in his hair. “Rook is gone! Gone! The one good thing---” His voice broke, and he couldn’t finish. The anguish in his chest was too much, a wound that refused to heal.

Lucanis pressed the note against his chest, his shoulders shaking as he fought to contain the sobs threatening to escape. For a long moment, he simply sat there, the silence of the room broken only by his ragged breaths. The scent of you lingered, faint but persistent, wrapping around him like a ghostly embrace.

Spite shifted again, his presence like a smoldering ember in the back of Lucanis’s mind. “Lucanis…” the demon growled quietly.

Lucanis’s hands stilled, his breath catching. “I know…” he whispered. “I know.”

You were gone.

And he didn’t know if you could come back.

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

A/N: I'm not crying, you're crying ;-;

Let me know if you want to be on the Lucanis Tag List <3

Tag List: @cirillabelle

[ode-to-fury]

Other Plans for the Evening

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook

Summary: Scene after the Illario fight, but the way I would have written it. It's not that deep or different, but I think it's better. My Rook but mostly I wasn't specific.

Disclaimer: Whoo first Lucanis fic! I'm still trying to find the DA companions' voices so you might have to bear with me a little bit. This has been in my brain since the MOMENT he said "I have other plans for the evening". I tried to make him that weird mix of awkward and smooth so lmk if I did that or if I need to work on it. Might come back and edit.

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"You came back here just for coffee?"

Rook's voice startled him out of his thoughts.

When he looked up at her, his heart gave a lurch, the same lurch it had given every other time he'd laid eyes on her.

Her hair was damp and sligtly wavy from her bath, still, and she wore leather trousers and a shirt. It was difficult to see in the dim firelight, but he knew the blue of the shirt would be reflected in her eyes, twinkling above the bemused grin she was giving him.

"What, the stuff in that gigantic villa wasn't good enough for you?"

She folded her arms across her chest, eyebrows raised and dimples clearly visible as she grinned down at him. Mercifully, Spite was being quiet for once. He idly wondered if demons ever got tired, or overwhelmed after a long day. Something to ask Emmrich about, perhaps.

"It's better if I make it myself," he said, not quite managing to smile back at her, despite the lightness that smile brought to his chest.

"And besides, I wanted some quiet."

He hated that her smile melted slightly, her shoulders tightening ever so slightly. He doubted anyone else would have noticed, but he did.

"So," she said, "First Talon?"

"First Talon," he said, and if he was honest with himself, it did not fit right in his mouth.

"I still cannot believe Caterina did that."

Lucanis is the new First Talon. His decision stands.

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly, but her fingers tensed where they rested on her arm.

"Does that mean you're leaving?"

Ah.

He almost grinned.

"No," he said simply. "We have a contract. Besides, Caterina might have named me First Talon, but there's no stopping her from giving all the orders."

This time her smile was wider, and she tilted her head to the side so her hair shifted, glinting golden in the firelight. He ached to run his fingers through it.

"You know," she said, her eyes twinkling with laughter again, "You could have said, 'Of course not. I would never leave with you still here.'

Her Antivan accent was good. Too good. It made his chest feel tight whenever she pretended to be him. He grinned back at her despite himself.

"I would never leave with you still here," he said. "You'll have me for as long as I can put off the Crows."

He saw her brow furrow slightly, but she hid it quickly.

Before he could let his nerves interfere, he stood up, setting his half empty cup down on the table as he did.

"I may have had another reason for leaving the party early," he said, letting his voice drop slightly. He saw her eyes narrow, but then she gave him a crooked grin.

"Besides coffee, you mean?"

He walked past her, to the open space between the dining table and the door, and held out his hand to her.

"Dance with me," he said softly.

It was the first time he'd seen her truly taken aback. To his delight, her mouth even dropped slightly open.

"Dance with you?" She asked, as if he'd just asked her to jump into the Fade.

"What?" He asked.

"There's no music. Also, I told you," she said, shoulders tensing again, "I'm a terrible dancer."

She had. Technically she'd told all of them.

You'd have to get me drunk first, I'm afraid, it's mortifying otherwise. I got told I have about four left feet.

"You did," he said, still holding out his hand. "But you also said you loved to dance."

She tilted her head to the side, almost pleading.

"It's only me," he said softly.

"That's what's worrying me," she said, almost too quiet for him to hear, and he remembered that this was as new to her as it was to him.

What would a first kiss taste like?

Like hope.

She held back for a moment longer, then hesitantly, she placed her fingers in his hand.

They were warm, and her callouses scraped against his own as she allowed him to pull her close to him. His heart thumped in his chest, as if it was trying to get to her.

"I don't know how to do this," she said, and he knew she wasn't only talking about the dancing.

"Like this," he said, curling his left hand around her right, and placing the other one on his shoulder.

"Your elbow has to stay up," he said seriously, lifting said elbow so it was almost in line with her shoulder before dropping his hand to her waist. "Caterina would smack me with a cane if I got it wrong."

"If you try and smack me with a cane..." she started, leaving the threat unfinished.

"I couldn't find one," he said. She tried to hide a grin, but her dimples gave her away, and suddenly those hours with Caterina and her cane seemed worth it to him.

"Now," he said, "step back with your right foot."

She did, looking at her feet, and he followed, relishing the warmth of her hand on his shoulder, the way his hand fit perfectly on her waist.

"Back and to the left with the other."

She did so, and he followed.

"Now bring your feet together, and do the same with the other foot."

They went slowly, and he enjoyed watching the crease between her eyebrows as she concentrated.

Gently, he let go of her waist so he could tilt her face up to his own.

"You should look your partner in the eyes," he said, aware that his voice had dropped lower, but not really caring, "Not where you are going to step."

"And if I step wrong?" She asked, her voice slightly breathy. It felt like soft fingers tracing their way down his spine.

"Trust me to guide you," he replied, his hand going back to her waist.

The corner of her mouth curled up ever so slightly.

"Alright," she said. "I trust you."

As they moved slowly through the room, the firelight caught her eyes and hair, gilding her in gold and taking his breath from him. In fact, breathing felt suddenly like a very big effort.

"What is it?" She asked quietly, almost as if she was scared he would run if she spoke too loudly. He wasn't too certain he wouldn't.

"You are so beautiful," he said, before he could think about it too much, though his voice was markedly less smooth than it had been.

Her eyes, her beautiful, sparkling eyes, widened slightly.

"Really?" She asked.

"Would I ever lie to you?"

She smiled. It was small and soft this time.

"No one's ever called me that before," she whispered.

"Good," he managed to whisper back. "I would have to kill them."

And she laughed. By the blood of the Maker, she laughed and every terrible moment up until just then seemed as though it had a purpose.

"There's that smile," he said, when her laughter died down.

"Yours too," she replied, still grinning happily at him.

"Thank you, Rook," he found himself saying.

"You don't need to thank me."

She leaned in slightly, mischief in her eyes.

"For you, it's on the house."

His stomach tightened slightly when she did the accent, but he tried his best to ignore it.

"Did Illario hurt you?" He asked. "I'll skin him if he did."

She touched the scratch on her neck from Illario's, thankfully unpoisoned, blade.

"A scratch," she said dissmissively. "He hurt my pride more than anything else."

They moved for a few seconds in silence while he waited for her to ask the obvious next question.

"Do you regret..."

"Giving him a chance?"

He'd been thinking about it since they had left Villa Dellamorte.

Didn't you tell me he was basically your brother and your closest childhood friend?

"No," he said. "You were right. He's family."

Family. The word tasted sour in his mouth.

"I didn't even suspect him," he said. "When the Venatori caught me on the boat in Tevinter, it never even crossed my mind."

Almost without meaning to, he brought her right hand to his heart, his fingers tightening over hers. She lay her head on his shoulder as he pulled her closer, a solid weight against him. A comfort, for the first time in his life.

"He's better than I thought," he said, absently resting his cheek against her head. Her hair smelled of lightning, and a faint, almost unnoticeable trace of honey. "Maybe there is hope for him yet."

She snorted a soft laugh through her nose, making him grin. It vanished quickly, though.

"But this wasn't a mercy. Being watched by all the Crows, with their knives out? He will never live down being the Traitor Crow, brought down in front of everyone. There is nowhere he can run."

"I was surprised you listened to me," she said. He felt her breath tickle his neck, involuntarily clutched her closer against him.

"So was I," he said. "But... I don't have a lot to lose. What there is... Caterina, this team... you, even my idiot cousin. I'm not giving that up."

She stopped moving, lifting her head up to look at him. She wore the softest smile he'd ever seen on her face.

"What's that look?"

"You have a big heart," she said softly, "For an assassin."

He tried to look away at the tone of her voice, at the emotion in it, but she gently turned his face toward her again.

"That's not a bad thing," she said.

"If it brought me here," he said, taking her hand again and kissing it on a whim, "To this moment with you, then it cannot be a bad thing. I just... I cannot believe he would do all of this, only to be First Talon."

She frowned up at him.

"He said you didn't want to be First Talon."

"I don't. But how am I supposed to trust him with it now? How is anyone? The funny thing is, he might have finally proven he has the abillity for it."

"Right before getting humilliated in front of everyone," she said, grinning slightly.

"Exactly."

He sighed, though it came out as more of a frustrated growl.

"Fucking Illario."

"Hey," she said, gently reaching up and smoothing out the crease between his brows. The gesture made his chest ache.

"We'll work it out," she said softly. "Together. But for now... "

He took her hand again, holding it to his chest so she could feel his heartbeat.

"Just be here with me," she said. "Just for a little while."

"I can do that," he said. "For a little while."

She smiled, and he could see the day was starting to get to her, the tiredness starting to reach her eyes.

"Rook..." he started, not sure what he was going to say, but needing to say something before his chest caved in on itsself. She cut him off before he could.

"Shhhh," she said gently, kissing him for a long moment before laying her head back on his shoulder. He forgot, sometimes, that he could kiss her. Usually, Spite was there to remind him, with enthusiasm. It scared him, how much he ached to feel her lips against his own.

"Don't ruin it."

So he held her close, and kissed her forehead, and later he let her fall asleep on his lap in the chair, savouring the way she held on to his hand even in sleep, and finally letting his fingers run through her hair, softer than silk against his skin.

[flightlessangelwings]

Beautifully Undone

Emmrich Volkarin x Rook (gender neutral)

Word count- 1.3k

Warnings- smut (18+ ONLY!), fingering, praise, romance, established relationship, porn without plot, no description of Rook so you can imagine whatever you want!

Notes- Dedicated to my darling @ollypopwrites who has been fueling thoughts of our beloved necromancer! It's so nice to send filth back and forth again! Please do check out her fics too cause they're hot and fantastic!! And I purposefully made this gender neutral so this can be enjoyed by everyone (I romanced Emmrich with a trans woman Rook) but you can picture whatever you wish! Enjoy!!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date. I also post on AO3 under the same name

~ 

“Darling, your beauty would make even the strongest of men weep,” Emmrich purred as he slipped his last ring off his finger and placed it beside Rook.

“Do I see tears in your eyes, Emmrich?” Rook smirked.

“Quite surely,” he replied as he reached for his gold band on his wrist.

“Wait,” Rook grabbed his hand, stopping him, “Leave those on.”

Emmrich’s eyes trailed up to meet Rook’s gaze. The sincere look he found there made his heart swell, “As you wish, darling,” his tone dropped, “You know I could never deny you anything you wanted, my dearest.”

Rook’s skin warmed as a soft sigh escaped, “Emmrich…”

He had Rook stripped naked and seated on his desk, legs spread open and his rings laid out on either side. Emmrich remained fully clothed, the only flash of skin was the top buttons undone at Rook's insistence, wanting to see more of him. The glimmer of gold framed Rook’s figure perfectly, and the necromancer had to take a step back and admire the sight on his desk.

“Beautiful, darling,” he muttered as he took in a sharp breath at the way Rook looked at him.

“Come here,” Rook reached for him.

A chuckle emitted from Emmrich’s throat as he complied, leaning forward into his love’s embrace and crashing their lips together. He swallowed the moan Rook let out as they tasted each other. A rush of heat of his own pulsed through his body, making his pants strain with the ever growing and ever insatiated need for Rook.

“Mmm,” Emmrich groaned into the kiss as his hands roamed all over Rook’s body. He studied every dip and curve, memorizing every inch of his love. He huffed with amusement as his tongue tangled with Rook’s and he found a particularly sensitive spot. “I could never get enough of you, my darling.”

Rook’s mind spun already just from his kiss. And Emmrich’s touch was almost intoxicating, “Neither can I, Emmrich,” Rook mumbled as he moved down to nibble on a sensitive spot of the neck. 

“Decadently sweet, my darling,” Emmrich murmured against Rook’s skin as he licked at the tight muscle on the base of the neck, making Rook mewl. 

Rook clung to Emmrich’s shoulders, tugging at his shirt and wrinkling the fine fabric. But Emmrich didn’t care, in fact he hardly noticed as his mind was consumed with his lover. It was only when Rook’s hand made its way to his hair and gave the greys a tug that he groaned.

“Emmrich…” Rook sighed as tender hands caressed up and down.

“I have you, darling,” he gave Rook one last kiss before he broke away to admire the sight before him once again. 

“And you always will,” Rook replied without a hint of doubt or hesitation.

The necromancer hummed as his eyes trailed down his beloved’s body. His hands followed his gaze, starting at Rook’s jaw. Cupping it gently to kiss Rook again, Emmrich ran his hands down to pinch at Rook’s nipples, and he delighted in the reaction that pulled. He gently massaged Rook’s chest for a moment before he adjusted his posture, holding onto his love by the hip with one arm while the other snaked in between the legs.

“Rook.”

“Please, Emmrich,” Rook all but begged, “You can’t stop now.”

His eyes darkened as he cupped between Rook’s legs, feeling the arousal that built up there. “Dearest,” he whispered as he carefully pushed a finger inside.

Rook’s mouth dropped open and eyes shut. All Rook could do was pant as Emmrich quickly added a second finger. The connection was a feeling unlike anything else Rook had ever felt before, and it caused a flutter within Rook’s chest.

“Maker,” Emmrich gasped as Rook’s warmth enveloped his fingers.

“Move, Emmrich… Please.”

He placed a tender kiss on the lips before he rested his forehead against Rook’s. He groaned, feeling his cock strain as his fingers slowly pumped in and out of his love. The sounds that came from Rook’s mouth were tantalizing, and it only spurred him on more. Encouraged with every moan and cry, Emmrich moved a little faster, savoring every little sound he heard.

But there was another sound that added more to the moment: his bracelets. The way they clanged and chimed with every thrust of his arm harmonized with Rook’s moans perfectly. And it was beautiful music to the necromancer’s ears. He grinned against his love as he realized this was what Rook intended all along... Clever. 

“Darling…”

Rook’s eyes blinked open and were met with Emmrich’s loving gaze. A deep sigh warmed their faces as Rook’s heart skipped a beat. But, just as Rook was about to say something witty in response, Emmrich’s fingers found just the right spot deep inside. “Oh!” Rook cried out, “Emm…”

“That’s it’ darling,” he purred as he pumped his fingers in and out, slowly and reply, feeling every soft spot inside of Rook, “Show me, love,” he murmured as his voice went hoarse from his own strain, “Show me how beautiful you are when you come undone.”

All Rook could do was cry out in ecstasy as the room spun. With every thrust of Emmrich’s long fingers, coming undone became closer and closer. Waves of pleasure crashed through Rook as tingles erupted all over. Heat rose between the two lovers as Emmrich murmured soft praises in Rook’s ear as he thrust his fingers as deep as he could reach. 

“Emmrich…” Rook moaned as a climax quickly built up inside.

“Come, darling. I’m here to catch you.”

His voice was that final push that sent Rook tumbling over the edge. Emmrich’s fingers hooked inside, stroking that sweet spot deep inside of Rook over and over again as screams of pleasure echoed in the room. Rook’s legs trembled on either side of his slender body. Leaning on him for support, Rook’s orgasm made the room feel like it was on fire and inside a tornado at the same time. It was overwhelming pleasure in the best way possible, and Rook knew it was something that could only have come from Emmrich. His expert touch mixed with his unwavering adoration was the perfect formula to make Rook come completely undone. And Rook would have it no other way.

As tears started to form in the corners of Rook’s eyes, Emmrich knew it was time to back off. For now at least. He slowed his movements, coaxing just that last bit of climax from Rook’s body before he stilled his fingers inside. Every little moan and whimper went right to his core as he felt the sticky evidence of Rook’s release on his palm.

Rook was a mess, and had never looked more beautiful to Emmrich.

“Exquisite, my dearest,” he hummed in Rook’s ear before kissing it.

The only response Rook had was a breathy laugh. A gasp then escaped Rook’s throat as Emmrich slowly pulled his fingers out, his bracelets jingling slightly at the careful movement. Immediately, his arms wrapped around Rook and held on tightly. He placed a series of light kisses on the side of his love’s head, his lips lingering on the temple for just a moment longer.

“Emmrich…” Rook breathed before kissing the necromancer deeply.

“Darling,” he whispered between tender kisses.

Rook’s hands landed on Emmrich’s chest, gently trying to push him back. But, Rook found him unmoveable. Breaking away from the kiss, Rook questioned, “Emmrich?”

“Darling,” Emmrich smirked as he kissed Rook’s forehead, “You didn’t believe I was finished with you just yet, did you?” his voice dropped as he dropped to his knees before Rook, looking up with a fire in his eyes, “My love, we are just getting started.” 

[starlsen]

A Scar's Caress

Fem!Rook x Emmrich Volkarin ✶ Lots of fluff followed by smutty goodness ✶ NSFW ✶ 6.1k words

Read on AO3

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It had been quite some time since the whole team had been able to gather at the dining table to enjoy a good meal together. Tonight, Lucanis had insisted that everyone make themselves available, because it had been far too long since any of them had taken a real break – especially Rook. She’d be the last one to admit she needed to take it slow, but was never one to turn down a plate of Lucanis’ signature paella, particularly when washed down with a glass of Antivan Red.

“That was amazing, Lucanis.” Harding sighed as she sat back in her chair, hands on her stomach. “I’m stuffed.”

“I told you to save room for dessert,” Lucanis said indignantly, hands on his hips. “I baked a pie.”

“Oh,” Her cheeks flushed. “Right. I knew that.” Lucanis raised a brow and she smiled sheepishly. “I’m not that stuffed.”

Rook’s mouth turned up with amusement as she cleared away the last of the plates and grabbed another bottle of wine, setting about topping up everyone’s drinks. Conversation had flowed easily throughout dinner as she and her companions exchanged stories, cracked jokes and enjoyed just… being. She felt lighter than she had in a while, finally able to set everything aside and pretend for just a couple of hours that nothing outside of these walls existed. That the weight of the world didn’t rest on the shoulders of everyone in this room.

“Thank you, darling.” Emmrich said as she poured more wine into his goblet, offering her a dazzling smile as she did so. She returned the gesture, affectionately brushing her knuckle under his chin before turning her attention to Taash and Davrin who, by all accounts, were now engaging in a heated debate about scars.

“That's nothing,” Taash snorted. “It's kinda precious, actually.”

“Precious?” Davrin repeated incredulously. “You think a scar I got from taking down a hurlock is precious?” Taash shrugged.

“Sure. Why not?” Davrin baulked at dragon hunter, before turning to Rook for support as she topped up his wine.

“Are you hearing this?”

Rook snorted. “Yes.” Davrin waited, brows raised.

“And?” He pressed when Rook didn't elaborate, and she pressed her lips together in an effort to suppress her amusement, shrugging casually.

“I'm with Taash on this one.” Taash smirked, folding their arms across their chest, and sat back in their seat.

“Told ya.” They said, and Davrin sighed heavily.

“Why are we talking about Davrin’s adorable scar, anyway?” Rook asked, setting the bottle down and returning to her seat beside Emmrich. The Grey Warden rolled his eyes.

“It’s the story that counts.” Taash said, turning back to Davrin. “Yes, it’s very cool that you took down a hurlock with a bunch of cracked ribs, or whatever. But the scar itself is…” They paused.

“Kind of pretty?” Rook offered, much to Davrin’s chagrin, and Taash snorted.

“Alright,” He said flatly, turning pointedly towards Rook. “I think it's time we ask our fearless leader.” Her friends snickered at the nickname they'd started throwing around within the last couple of weeks, to which Rook rolled her eyes as she brought her goblet to her lips. “I bet you’ve got some adorable stories of your own.” She arched her brow as she sipped her wine, and considered him for a moment.

“I think we should hear from Emmrich next,” She said, offering the man at her side a sweet smile, to which he chuckled and sat back in his chair.

“Oh, I don’t know,” He clasped his hands together in that way that made Rook’s heart soar. “I’m quite sure my scars don’t come with stories to rival the excitement of any of yours.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Professor.” Bellara said earnestly, her eyes shining. “All the things you’ve done in your career? I bet you have some amazing stories to share.”

“Well,” He mused. “There was an unfortunate mishap when I was a much younger, considerably less experienced necromancer.” He sighed, a note of nostalgia in his eyes. “You see, as members of the Mourn Watch, it is commonplace to raise skeletons in order to carry out work within the Grand Necropolis. And, being hungry for ambition and driven by my determination to prove my worth,” He balled his fists in front of himself to emphasise his words. “I attempted to raise a skeleton before I was ready.” Rook’s brows rose in surprise, though her lips curled into a smile.

“So what happened?” She asked, and he turned his gaze to her, smiling bashfully.

“Its coordination was frightfully misaligned.” He said, and Rook’s eyes widened as Emmrich placed a finger on his left pectoral, dragging a diagonal line across to his sternum. “Thankfully, I was able to get out of the way,” He paused and chuckled. “Well, mostly.”

“That’s a great story!” Bellara exclaimed. “I told you!”

“That’s so messed up.” Taash grumbled.

“Not bad.” Neve said, and Emmrich held his hands up.

“That’s it from me, I’m afraid.” Rook watched as he sat back in his chair and lifted his goblet to his lips, taking a sip of wine. His eyes met her own and her heart fluttered, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“That was pretty good,” Davrin said, pulling Rook’s attention away from Emmrich. “So I’m willing to bet, as a fellow necromancer, you have something good, too.” She shrugged nonchalantly, sitting back in her chair.

“I don’t know, almost getting axed by a skeleton sounds pretty hard to beat.” Emmrich tutted from her side and she flashed him a grin.

“Come on, Rook.” Lucanis said from across the table.

“Alright, alright,” She said, all eyes on her, and sighed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want them to know about her scars, necessarily; she supposed, more than anything, her hesitancy came from never having actually told another living soul about them. She’d never told anyone how she got them. Never let anyone see them.

“You don’t have to share, if you don’t want to.” Harding said, and Rook blinked, looking over to find her friend smiling, and tried not to think about the scar on her forehead – or how and why she got it, all those months ago.

“It’s okay,” Rook said and cleared her throat, sitting up a little straighter. “Much like my esteemed colleague here,” She gestured to Emmrich. “I also attempted magic far above my station when I was way too young and way too hot-headed to realise how stupid it was.” Emmrich scoffed, and their friends laughed. “No offence.” She added, touching his arm, to which he rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless.

“Alright.” Taash paused. “So… a spell went wrong, or what?”

“Something like that.”

“Where is it?” Davrin asked. “The scar, I mean.”

“Right here,” Rook said, pointing to her sternum. “All the way down to around… here.” She gestured down to below her knee. The table fell quiet, then, and she could feel Emmrich’s eyes burning into her. Taash let out a low whistle.

“Mierda,” Lucanis said quietly, and Rook shifted in her seat.

“Damn,” Davrin laughed, turning to Taash. “Now I see why you think mine are adorable.” Rook grinned as the others joined in his mirth.

“I stand by what I said.” Taash drawled, and laughter filled the dining table once more. “Who’s next?”

She was thankful for the diversion away from herself and knocked back the rest of her wine, all too aware of the man at her side, that his eyes were still fixed on her. She set down her cup and turned her attention to him to find him watching her thoughtfully, his brow slightly furrowed.

“What?” She asked, and he lowered his voice.

“I had no idea.” He said, glancing down at her body before bringing his gaze back to her own. “Darling, what happened?” She smiled, leaning in until her lips brushed the shell of his ear.

“Come to my room later and I’ll tell you,” She purred. “Maybe I’ll even show you.” She sat back in her chair and his brows shot up, eyes slightly wide, before clearing his throat and reaching for his wine once more. She flashed him a wicked grin and he chuckled, relaxing somewhat and shaking his head.

The truth was that while she’d dodged having to explain the details of the incident to her companions, she’d realised relatively quickly after meeting him that Emmrich was likely to be the only person she could share it with. He understood her in a way that nobody else could, and often seemed to know her better than she knew herself. And now, many months later, he was so much more than just a fellow necromancer, companion or friend. What they shared was… simply put, utterly magical, and they’d formed a bond that she knew could survive anything.

Not only that, but it had become increasingly difficult to ignore the way he made her feel, to ignore the all consuming desire that overwhelmed her senses whenever he was near – which was, incidentally, almost every single day. The alluring, dazzling and devastatingly charming gentleman had assured her they’d take things slow, to allow their relationship to progress organically; the only problem was that she wanted to take things further. Much, much further, and was confident that Emmrich was just as ready as she was.

There had been a handful of occasions in recent weeks in which she’d almost gone through with it, but as soon as it came to taking off her clothes, she’d freeze. She’d spent so much of her life hiding her scars that it felt alien to do otherwise. It had been almost a week since the last time she’d allowed herself to get carried away in the heat of the moment, driven by lust to throw caution to the wind; she’d been in his quarters and had become painfully aroused just listening to him read a passage from a book. She’d climbed into his lap, her kisses bruising and feverish, and he’d held her close and kissed her back with equal fervour, his broad hands roaming her body. Yes, Emmrich was definitely just as ready as she was.

And her scars were the only thing holding her back.

She’d remained wholly distracted for the rest of the evening, unable to think about anything other than getting Emmrich behind closed doors. And so, by the time they’d all decided to call it a night, she was all too happy to loop her arm through his and lead him away from the dining hall. She listened as he gushed over Lucanis’ skills in the kitchen, his appreciation for a delightful meal, and how exhilarating it was to share a story from his youth. As they reached the threshold of Emmrich’s quarters, he paused and turned to face her, a softness in his eyes as he took her hands in his own.

“Rook,” He said gently, and she hummed. “You know there is absolutely no pressure for our relationship to move forward, don’t you?” He ran his thumbs across her knuckles. “None whatsoever.” Gods, her heart ached with the affection she felt for him. She offered him a small smile and stepped into him, leaning up on the tips of her toes to press her lips to his. The kiss lingered for a few moments before she sank onto the balls of her feet and took a few steps backwards, towards her own quarters, letting go of his hands as she did so.

“Are you coming?” Is all she said, and after a moment, the corner of his lips turned up as he gestured for her to lead the way and followed in her stead. She tried to shake her nerves as she led him to her room, reminding herself how badly she wants, needs, this. She headed for the small meditation table before the expansive fish tank that filled the far wall, watching the candle flames flicker as Emmrich closed the doors behind them.

She listened to the steady, even stride of his approaching footsteps, and hovered a hand over the candles, the heat from the flames licking her fingertips. He was at her side, then, and she took another moment to admire the way the candles shone a fiery glow over her palm, the fish tank casting an icy blue hue across the back of her hand.

“I've never shared myself with anyone, not entirely.” She said into the peaceful calm of her room. “I've never known anyone that made me want to, y'know?” She pulled her hand away from the flames, turning to face where Emmrich stood, shoulders squared and hands clasped in front of himself, and nodded.

He was absolutely beautiful. The light of the fish tank cast his side in glorious aqua blue, his eyes appearing more green than hazel, contrasting with the warm shadows on his other side, candles all around them; and while dazzling was usually her go-to word to describe Emmrich, right now, it felt as though there were no words that would do him justice. His beauty, his kindness, his everything.

“But then I met you.” She said, and his eyes were so kind and earnest and caused an ache deep in her heart. “And those nights in the memorial gardens, you shared so much of yourself with me. Made me realise we were more alike than I ever realised.” His eyes dropped to the floor for just a moment, almost bashfully, the smallest smile tugging on his lips when he brought his gaze back to her own.

“You introduced me to your parents,” She continued. “You have no idea what that meant to me, Emmrich.” His eyes softened, chest rising as he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose. “You make me want to share everything with you.” He closed the space between them.

“If you are ready,” He said, tucking her long, lavender hair behind her pointed ears. “Then it would be an honour, my darling.” He brushed his knuckles along her jaw, and her throat tightened, her heart beating a little faster again. She leaned into his touch, lifting a hand to his chest, to the scar she now knew lay underneath. She glanced down at herself, then raised her chin to meet his gaze once more.

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours?” She hoped the playful tone in her words would take the edge off the nerves pooling in her gut, and Emmrich let out a breathy chuckle. He said nothing, at first; just smiled down at her, his eyes warm and safe and kind, always so kind. She raised her eyebrows just slightly, and then his lips were on her forehead in a gentle kiss.

“Very well.” He took a short step back from her as he unclipped the gold chain across his waistcoat, and Rook watched his fingers intently as they worked their way down, one button after the other. Watched as they pulled the waistcoat over his shoulders and set it down neatly on the chaise lounge. Watched as they unfastened his belt, the sound of leather sliding along soft calluses as it unwound from his hips. Watched as they slipped into luxurious red, unravelling the silken sash around his midriff. His usual gold cuff and leather glove were absent from his ensemble today, and she marvelled at how beautiful his hands really were; soft and warm and purposeful, bedecked in the finest jewellery.

She could watch those hands at work for an eternity.

As he unclasped the dainty skull pinning his collar together, she tugged at the bottom of his shirt, untucking it from his trousers, and his lips turned up slightly. Heat rose in her cheeks as he began unfastening the buttons of his shirt, slowly exposing his neck, clavicle, and sternum. She worked from the bottom until their fingers met, knuckles brushing, and she inhaled deeply through her nose as he slipped the shirt over his shoulders, revealing his broad chest, the gold bangles on his forearm chiming as he removed his shirt completely and dropped it on top of his other clothes.

Emmrich had always cut a very fine figure; his tailored clothes made no secret of his slender frame, but Rook hadn’t expected his shoulders, his chest, to be quite so broad. She followed the lines of his frame as it dipped in at his waist, his soft and slightly toned abdomen, and finally observed the scar running from his left pectoral to his sternum.

She brought her hands to his chest, tracing the line of the scar with her fingertips, and goosebumps flooded his skin under her featherlight touch. She hesitated for just a moment when he tensed, before he visibly relaxed and let out a breath. She could feel the heat crawling from her cheeks to the tips of her pointed ears as she touched him, her pulse racing, while he remained wholly still, hands once again clasped in his usual composure.

He was beautiful.

“Emmrich,” His name was barely above a whisper, and she finally looked up to meet his gaze, finding him watching her, a vulnerability in his eyes and something akin to uncertainty. She returned her attention to his chest and leaned in to press a soft, chaste kiss to his scar.

“I know that I am not exactly,” He paused, and she looked up at him. “Well, you know.” She tilted her head to the side and he huffed, his cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink as he averted his gaze. “I'm no Davrin or Lucanis, let's say.”

Her brows came together, then, and she reached for him, taking his cheek in her hand and gently bringing his gaze back to her own.

“Emmrich,” She said, taking one of his hands and lifting it to her chest. “Do you feel that?” He glanced down to where she was firmly holding his palm over her racing heart, his lips parting ever so slightly, and hazel met violet once more. She smiled.

“That's what you do to me.” She said, and he chuckled bashfully. Her smile widened to a toothy grin, and added, “Among other things.” Emmrich laughed heartily, then, the pink in his cheeks turning a little darker, and she giggled, feeling the familiar ache begin to stir between her legs.

“You are beautiful.” She said as their mirth eased, and his throat bobbed as she took his other hand to her chest, guiding his fingers to the buttons on her shirt. “I want you to see me, too.” She tugged the bottom of her shirt from where it had been tucked lazily into the waistband of her pants, before letting her arms return to her side.

“Are you sure, darling?” He asked, and she nodded, taking a breath to steady her racing heart. He held her gaze for a moment longer before leaning down to brush his lips over her temple, and began unfastening the buttons. She closed her eyes and leaned into his kiss, the flush in her cheeks deepening, and gazed up into gorgeous hazel when he pulled back.

Though her racing heart wasn't because of her desires for the man before her alone, or the anticipation of what she knew was going to happen tonight – no, her heart was racing because she was finally letting someone in. Because she finally felt safe enough, finally had the desire to be truly intimate with someone, finally wanted to show someone the reminder of just how close she had come to dying; a fact that had utterly terrified her and shamed her as a member of the Mourn Watch.

But after Emmrich had confided in her about his own fears, she’d realised she’d found a true companion in him. And now, bearing themselves to one another, she knew she’d found her twin flame, her soul’s calling, and at long last was ready. Truly ready.

His fingers had reached the bottom of her shirt and he paused. She nodded, and he slowly pushed her shirt over her shoulders and she let it fall to the floor, and his eyes dropped to her naked torso. Her heart was pounding by now, and Emmrich's lips parted, his eyes darting across the expanse of her scars. Her breaths came a little shorter, a little faster, and she inhaled deeply through her nose and let it out slowly, willing her heart to slow down, willing for him to say something.

He lifted his hands, and she held her breath as he gently brushed her hair back over her shoulders, letting the long, lavender locks cascade down her back, and stepped back slightly.

“It was lightning magic,” She said, and Emmrich glanced at her before returning his gaze to her abdomen. “I mean-” She snorted nervously and gestured to them. “Obviously.” He reached for her, trailing his fingers over the lines branching across her body, disappearing underneath her pants.

The magic had entered her body just below her hip, the lightning forking up and down as it surged and left scorched skin in its wake. Jagged lines spread up and around her ribs, across her abdomen to her sternum and breasts; it branched down her thigh, coiling itself around her leg to her shin. The scars remained a deep, dusky pink, though they had healed many years ago.

“Rook,” He said quietly, his brow pinched together. She took a breath.

“They run almost the entire length of my body,” She said, and with trembling fingers, reached for the button on her pants. He placed his hands over her own, halting her, and swallowed hard when he knelt before her; he unfastened the button, pulled down the zip, and carefully tugged them down her thighs. She held onto his shoulders as she lifted one leg at a time so he could remove her pants completely, leaving her clad only in her undergarments.

He remained on his knees, his eyes roaming her body as he asked, “What happened?”

“The magic was beyond my abilities at the time,” She said. “I was tired of being told I wasn’t ready, that I couldn’t do it. I was so sure they were wrong, that I could prove them wrong, so…” She sighed. “I performed the spell in my quarters and I couldn’t contain it. I struck myself by accident.” She paused as her voice wavered. “And, uh,” She cleared her throat, blinking away the tears in her eyes. “It almost killed me.”

Emmrich's eyes shot up, then, and she could feel his gaze burning into her as she focused on the candles across the room, willing herself to calm, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“I was terrified.” She admitted. “And I couldn’t tell anyone because what good is a necromancer whose greatest fear is dying?” Emmrich sighed, and she looked down at him, his brows drawn and such sadness in his eyes. She brushed her knuckles along his cheek. “But then… I met you.”

“Darling,” He said gently, so agonisingly gently, as he leaned into her touch. “I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn't,” She said. “Nobody does. I've never…” She trailed off, and he tilted his head to the side.

“You've never told anyone?” He asked, and she shook her head.

“No,” She said, and his frown deepened slightly, before lowering his gaze once more to her scars. Then, he leaned in, and she inhaled sharply when he pressed a kiss to her abdomen.

“They are beautiful, Rook.” He said firmly, and placed another kiss on her hip. “You are beautiful.”

Her cheeks were blazing now, and she chuckled, threading her fingers through his hair.

“Oh, I don't know about that.” She said, and he looked up at her, his expression entirely too serious, and rose to his feet once more. She almost shrank back from the intensity of his gaze, and he took her face in his hands, cradling her jaw, his touch so tender she could have cried.

“I see you.” He said, and she swallowed hard as her throat tightened, tears threatening to fill her glistening eyes. “You are the most beautiful young woman I have ever laid my eyes upon,” He spoke so gently, so earnestly, and she sighed as she leaned into his touch.

“And,” He added, leaning in to brush his lips over hers. “There are none in this world more fortunate than I.”

She had never truly grasped what it could mean to be swept off her feet, but when his mouth met hers in a kiss so dizzying that it stole her breath and left her knees unsteady beneath her, she wondered if this was what it felt like. Her eyes slipped shut as she melted into him, chest-to-chest, their hearts beating wildly as one, hands cradling each other’s faces as though they couldn’t be close enough.

Lips fused in a slow, tender kiss, they moved back towards the chaise lounge. Rook reached blindly for the frame as Emmrich set a knee on the seat, sliding a hand down to her waist and around the small of her back as she found purchase at last and laid back, his body warm as he settled between her legs and leaned over her.

He trailed his lips along her jaw and down the length of her neck, his kisses gentle and unhurried and Gods, she was breathless as he reached her collarbone. The warmth of his breath left her skin tingling as his lips caressed her breast, then her sternum, and her heart all but soared out of her chest upon realising that he was slowly, and very deliberately, tracing the branches of her scars.

She couldn’t look away. Her chest rose and fell, watching as he took his time, eyes roaming across her skin, as though he was taking such care of where to place his lips next, worshipping her body with his mouth. She gently ran her fingers through his hair, sighing softly through parted lips as he kissed her stomach, then paused as he glanced down at her undergarments. His gaze met her own in silent question, his eyes softening when her answer came in the form of a single nod, and sat back on his knees as she lifted her hips to allow him to remove her underwear.

She blushed furiously when the corner of his mouth tugged into a deeply alluring smile, and he leaned down to press a kiss to her stomach, then her hip, before shifting further back on the seat and nuzzling the inside of her thigh with his nose, his lips barely brushing her skin, his eyes fixed on her own. By the Gods, the darkness in his lustful gaze sent a thrill running straight through her. He tucked his shoulders under her thighs, running his hands along her hips, and she gasped when he dipped between her legs and ran the flat of his tongue over her slit.

It was as though every nerve ending in her body was centred entirely within her sex, a feeling she could have only ever dreamed of; Emmrich worked his lips and tongue like a man starved, leaving her thighs trembling, chest tightening, toes curling. Every cell in her body was on fire, arousal pulsing through her, and she was breathless as she tipped her head back, her senses overwhelmed because his tongue, Gods, his tongue; warm and wet, gliding through her soaking folds, over and over, yes, yes-

“Emmrich,” She moaned, arching her back, and he slid a jewelled hand from her hip to her abdomen, his palm flat against her skin. She wasn’t going to last, not like this, the familiar feeling already beginning to swell deep within her core. She clutched his hand tightly, writhing against him, and cried out when he planted his mouth over her clit and began gently sucking, expertly rolling his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. He groaned into her sex, the sound vibrating through her as he gripped her fingers that were closed over his own. She ached for release, was ready to beg for it, when the pressure building between her legs erupted with a final sweep of his tongue and she gasped sharply, her mouth falling open, her entire body tensing and trembling as her orgasm sent lightning surging from her core.

He slowed his tongue to gentle rolls as she rode out her high, his eyes fixed on her writhing body, marvelling at the way she moved and how utterly breathtaking she truly was - especially like this. Her moans gave way to breathy whimpers as her grip on his hand slackened, and with a satisfied chuckle, he turned to press his lips to the inside of her thigh and shifted to lean his forearms either side of her hips. He watched her chest rise and fall as she caught her breath and, admittedly feeling a touch smug, couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his mouth at the sight of her flushed cheeks.

“Are you alright, darling?” He asked. It was all she could do to nod, because she was infinitely better than alright; she’d never been made to feel the way he made her feel, had never experienced pleasure quite like that before, and certainly never dreamed Emmrich could do that with his mouth. She hummed when she felt his lips on her hip, trailing kisses along the forked branches of her scars across her abdomen and breasts.

“Amazing,” She sighed, and he huffed a laugh before his lips found her neck once more as he settled between her legs. Feeling his hardness pressing against her, she let out a breath and guided his face back to hers, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss. She moaned as she tasted herself on his tongue, running her hands down his chest and already feeling so dizzy with the way he was kissing her, his lips moving so easily, so expertly, with her own. Her fingers found the waistband of his trousers, and she pulled back from the kiss just slightly as she tugged at them.

“Take these off.” She whispered against his lips, and he nuzzled her nose with his own before nodding, brushing a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth and making quick work of kicking off his boots and removing the last of his clothing. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach as their eyes met and he leaned over her once more, hooking an arm underneath her shoulder to slide his fingers along her neck, threading them in her hair, gripping her thigh around his waist with the other.

She cradled his jaw in her hands and stroked her thumbs across his cheeks, her heart racing and his eyes searched her own, seeking permission. She answered with a buck of her hips and he laughed breathlessly, the sound curling around her heart and spreading warmth through her chest. He turned into her hand to press a kiss to her palm, returning his gaze to hers for a moment before leaning his forehead against hers as he slowly pushed himself into her slick heat. She gasped, body tensing, her brows coming together as heat flooded to her cheeks because Gods, he felt amazing inside her.

His breath was hot on her lips as he waited, stroking her thigh with his thumb, hardly able to believe he was tangled up with her; Rook, the most courageous and dangerously breathtaking woman he’d ever known – and she wanted him. He pressed a sweet kiss to the tip of her nose, then her lips, and she relaxed, offering him a smile that could shatter the world as she nodded for him to keep going. Affection blossomed in his chest at the gesture, and he closed the space between them to press his lips to hers as he pulled his hips back and sank into her again, a low moan rumbling in the back of his throat.

And that sound drove her wild. She whimpered, parting her lips to kiss him again, and when his tongue swept in to caress her own, she moaned and wound her arms around his neck. He began rolling his hips into hers, his movements masterful, as though he'd spent an eternity making love to her. It felt so right. Their bodies fit together and moved perfectly, as one - and finally, for the first time in her life, Rook felt whole. Complete.

She broke the kiss to look into his eyes, her brow pinched and mouth open as she gasped with every delectable roll of his hips into hers. He'd never looked more beautiful than he did in that moment; pieces of his usually pristine hair hung over his forehead, his eyes dark with lust, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. A fire ignited within her, unfathomably powerful and burning exceptionally bright; she'd never felt this feeling before, but greeted it like a long lost piece of herself as she welcomed it - and Emmrich - into her heart.

“I love you,” She whispered, and something changed in his eyes, a recognition, an understanding, and he smiled; wide and bright and absolutely breathtaking.

He chuckled breathlessly and nuzzled her nose with his own as he said, “And I love you, my darling.”

She returned his smile, a joyous giggle escaping her lips, and gasped sharply when he thrust his hips into hers, harder now, and her eyes slipped shut as she tipped her head back and moaned. Emmrich buried his face in the crook of her neck, his moans low and deep, and she was sure it was the most beautiful and holy sound she'd ever heard. She wound her arms around his waist and up his back, her fingers digging into the skin below his shoulder blades, clinging desperately as a familiar feeling began coiling around her core, twisting and tightening and building and building, an intense pressure mounting, her entire body tensing and trembling.

“Emmrich,” She whimpered, and he removed his hand from where it had been buried in her hair to clutch the arm of the chaise lounge, gripping her thigh tightly with the other, practically growling into her neck as he drove his hips into her, harder, faster. She tightened around him, her mouth falling open and arched her back, the air forced from her lungs as her orgasm slammed into her with the staggering force of a hurricane. She gasped sharply into his shoulder, crying out and making a sound she was sure she'd never made before, and with that, Emmrich moaned loudly, his movements stuttering, thrusting hard and haphazardly as he came.

The pleasure was utterly blinding, her heart thundering and chest heaving, leaving her on the verge of feeling delirious. She pulled back to nudge his temple with her nose, words failing her, and he slowly lifted his face from her neck, eyes dazed and half-lidded. He glanced at her mouth before leaning down to kiss her, their breaths heavy as their lips parted and came together again, slowly and tenderly, as his hips slowed altogether.

She brought a hand from his back to cradle his cheek, and he pulled back just enough to find her gaze as she brushed her thumb over his top lip and smiled. He quickly returned the gesture, and she couldn’t help the giggle that followed, feeling utterly giddy for arguably the first time in her life. He chuckled, capturing her lips in a single, lingering kiss before pulling his hips back and all but collapsing on her chest.

She brushed his hair back as he closed his eyes, absentmindedly trailing his fingers up and down the length of her arm with a contented hum. She wasn’t sure how long they laid like that, tangled up in each other until their breaths became slow and even, their hearts beating as one; but after a short while, she looked down at him and smiled as she continued to smooth back his hair.

“The dishevelled look rather suits you, y'know.” She said after a few moments, and he snorted.

“Never.” He said with a sigh. “A gentleman is anything but.” Rook grinned.

“I had no idea gentlemen could fuck like that.” She quipped, and Emmrich barked a laugh, shifting to look up at her as he leaned his forearms either side of her hips.

“Darling, I can do much more than that.” He said, his voice dangerously low. She bit her lip, her smile bright and wicked.

“Oh?” He hummed. “Tell me more.” She said, and his tongue darted over his bottom lip before he raised a brow.

“I'd rather show you, my dear.” She laughed, patting his shoulder and closed her eyes, lying her head back.

“Give me a few minutes and I'll be good to go.” Her smile remained as he chuckled, and she felt his lips as he pressed a kiss to the scars between her breasts.

“I may need slightly longer to recover.” He mused. “But I will gladly do this again,” He kissed further down her abdomen. “And again,” Another kiss. “And again.” She hummed happily.

“Sounds good to me.”

[casino-lights]

so illario was in the final battle

and this was supposed to be a drabble, but I cannot be trusted to write Illario and Lidia succinctly. TW for a semi graphic description of wounds - I can't tell if it's not really that bad or if I just think the human body is neat so I'm marking that down anyway. no death or descriptions of the wounds being inflicted, though; this is fully set post-battle. the endgame spoilers are fairly mild though - just the location of the final fight.

if you saw my WIP Wednesday, this is what that snippet was from! I hope you enjoy it as much as these two enjoy arguing with each other. thank you for reading!

The dried blood matting half of Lidia’s bangs down against her split scalp didn’t bother her nearly as much as it bothered Teia. She fussed over her gently, blotting a damp rag against Lidia’s head and tutting like a disappointed mother.

“This is what happens,” she scolded between soft pats. “You always run ahead, and you always draw attention, and you always get yourself hurt.”

Absentmindedly, Lidia replied, “I usually work alone.”

“Yes, and this is why.”

“Mm.” The only sign she felt pain was a series of rapid blinks when Teia pressed against a particularly painful cut.

“If you would stop looking around, I’d be done faster.”

Lidia turned her head back toward Teia. “Is it still bleeding?”

“Not that I can see.”

She rose to her feet and brushed the dust of fallen Minrathous buildings off her thighs. “Then I’ll live.”

Teia gave up quickly. She was no one’s parent, no matter how much she cared. “Suit yourself. But Lidia?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve done immensely well. Not just here - since Lucanis’ return as well. House Dellamorte is lucky to have you.”

She smiled thinly. “We’re all just Crows today, Teia.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Speaking of Lucanis…”

Teia nodded her head in the direction of the raucous cheering and the gathered crowd surrounding a few figures climbing down from the rooftop where the final confrontation had taken place. They both saw the flash of a purple jacket at the same time, and a wave of relief washed over them as they shared a look.

“Vi is back a ways, checking the fallen for ours so we can arrange the funerals,” Teia continued softly. “Since you’re upright, could you see to them as well?”

“Of course. Tell Lucanis not to worry about us and just take care of himself if you get a chance to talk to him.”

Teia nodded, and Lidia turned away. She hugged her cape around herself like a blanket as she snaked her way through what was left of the Minrathous streets, hopping over and ducking under various bits of debris that cluttered the city. She caught a few of her fellow Crows out of the corners of her eyes as she passed - most bloodied, bruised, and limping, but alive - and they all shared reassuring smiles with her once they noticed her. We lived, said their grins. We won, and we lived.

She saw Viago leaning against a mostly-intact building, heaving a deep sigh, and she called out to him. He lifted his eyes to her as she approached, but his lips were pulled down into a scowl.

Quietly, Lidia asked, “Is it that bad?”

“We lost just over twenty,” he answered, voice low and solemn. “Not as many as I expected, but… less than ideal. Most were fledgelings, but there’s a small handful of master assassins.”

She felt a selfish desire to ask anyone I know? but stifled it. “Do you need anything? A hand with the bodies? A cart?”

“A cart,” he agreed with a nod. “Though I don’t know if we could get one to the eluvian with the state of Minrathous. We might have to carry them through on stretchers.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. “Which means we’d need able-bodied volunteers, a relatively clear path back to the mirror, enough stretchers to make for less back-and-forth, a cart waiting in the Crossroads…”

“Maybe we can ask Lucanis if he knows a clearer route?” Lidia suggested softly.

He blinked, then sighed with relief. “You saw him?”

“Teia and I. He looks alright. Reasonably unharmed.”

He nodded again, more slowly this time. “It's nice to have some good news, at least.”

Lidia looked past Viago, into the building, and saw rows and rows of white linens draped over bodies. A cold, sick feeling gawed at her stomach as she counted them, and she wondered how many more would succumb to their injuries or simply hadn’t yet been found.

Another fear gripped her, too. She scanned the bodies again, making note of the taller ones. From the shoes she could see, none looked more distinctive than the regular steel-tipped Crow boots. Though some were burned beyond recognition. She felt guilty, searching for just one body among the two dozen lying before her, and guiltier still that she was looking for him at all. 

But she hadn’t seen him with the other Crows. He should have been with Teia, or Lucanis, or even here pestering Viago endlessly. She shouldn’t care. He didn’t deserve it. But she asked anyway.

“Viago–”

“I don’t know.”

“I didn’t even ask yet.”

“No, but you have that look on your face.” Viago sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know where Illario is. Teia saw him last.”

Lidia frowned. “She didn’t mention anything to me, and I was just with her.”

He pulled a hand down his face before pausing to smooth down his beard. “I did not see him among the dead, if that’s what you’re asking, but I have no idea where else he would be right now.”

“Well, he isn’t with Teia, and he isn’t with Lucanis, where he was supposed to be.” 

She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see a pair of Crows carrying the mangled corpse of one of their fellows into the building. Viago sighed again and raked his fingers back through his hair. 

“Dammit. One of Teia’s fledgelings.”

Lidia looked back at him, horrified. “I thought you told them not to come!”

“We did,” he answered, voice pained and eyes closed. “But you of all people should know that doesn’t stop them from wanting to prove themselves.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, steeling himself to write another name on his list. After a moment of silence and a nod at the two Crows as they left the building, he sighed again and said, “Go home, Lidia. We’ve been sending the ones who can walk back to the Diamond for now to care for the ones who can’t.”

“Teia told me to help you.”

“And you can help me by going home,” Viago snapped. “And tell them to put a cart in the Crossroads. And station some people with it in case we need them to carry stretchers through the streets.”

She frowned, but gave a single nod of understanding before turning away. They were all Crows today. And she knew better than to question an order from a Talon.

She was welcomed by the warmth of Trevisan air once the cool, watery feeling of the eluvian faded. For just a moment, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, drinking in the flurry of scents that always filled the Cantori Diamond. The smells of spices, wine, and smoke wafted up from the casino floor, but the familiar chatter and laughter was replaced by eerie quiet, broken up only by the occasional groan or cry of pain.

Lidia’s eyes darted toward a flash of purple and she called out, stopping Chance in his tracks. He leaned back, peering at her curiously from around the corner, but smiled warmly as she approached. 

“Lidia! You made it back.” He touched her shoulder gently before bowing with a flourish. “Welcome home, my lady.”

She returned the expression as best she could despite her headache and festering worry. “Thank you. The Fifth Talon would like a cart prepared in the Crossroads outside the Minrathous eluvian along with some strong, uninjured Crows who can carry bodies back on stretchers if need be.” 

“It will be done. Any other requests?”

She glanced around, but saw no one else nearby. “I heard some of our wounded came through. Where are they now?”

“Using the card tables as extra beds,” he answered before frowning as he smoothed his moustache. “We’ve already lost three, and one more seems to be on his way out. The healers who stayed are all busy, and everyone else went to Minrathous. It’s… going to get better soon. I’m certain. Your arrival can only herald better tidings.”

Again, Lidia bit her tongue to keep herself from asking if the dead were known to her. Instead, she simply nodded to signal her understanding and left. 

As she descended the many flights of stairs separating the rafters from the casino floor, her brow furrowed as her concern compounded on itself. Every step felt heavier as she ran over the names and faces of her favorite Crows in her mind. Lucanis, Teia, Viago, and Chance were safe. Jacobus stayed behind in Treviso after Lidia begged him to - their argument consisted of shouting and frustrated tears, but ended with several forehead kisses and a warm, loving hug once he finally agreed to stay. But the others? Heir, Dolores, Cazi, Valerian? 

Illario?

She hated herself for worrying about him the most. He had not earned back that space in her head, and yet he’d stolen it again. He occupied her thoughts in various stages of injury, and images of him maimed or charred or exsanguinated flashed through her mind. With everything he put her through, everything he lied about, she knew she should be savoring the idea of him dead somewhere in Minrathous. But it haunted her, the thought of never seeing him again. It ached like a stone with sharp edges lodged in her chest.

I should’ve left Treviso entirely, she thought bitterly as she rounded the corner of the final stairwell.

The floor of the Diamond opened up before her, and she sighed at the state of it. About half of the card tables had wounded Crows perched on them - several with especially nasty-looking injuries - and a corner of the room was sectioned off with makeshift dividers. A few trails of blood - droplets, drag marks, or both - meandered off toward different tables. It would take days to get this place functional again. 

Overlapping voices from various healers and patients filled the room. Most were voices she recognized, and she felt a wave of relief as they registered one by one. And as one of them filtered in, her head turned immediately toward the sound.

“I know, quite heroic,” said Illario with a soft groan. “Maybe someday the heroism will outweigh the stupidity.”

Lidia spotted him on a table, shirtless and wrapped in bandages, with his hair swept over one shoulder and a healer tending to his right side. He moved sluggishly and only when told, but his posture was still straight and his voice was still clear. He looked… decent.

She chided herself again for being so worried. Of course Illario was fine. Of course he made it with only minor injuries. Why wouldn’t he? He always had demonic luck. Why worry about him, Illario the traitor, Illario the liar, Illario the cheater, heartbreaker, manipulator–

“Lidia?”

She looked back at him at the sound of his voice, realizing her fingernails were starting to dig into her palms. She grabbed a stray coin off an empty card table and turned it over a few times in her hand as she made her way toward Illario.

He smiled at her approach, winced as he turned too far, and gave a slightly smaller and surprisingly sheepish grin when she reached his side. “Stay right there,” he said, holding out his unbandaged arm. “That’s always been my good side.”

Lidia rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t possibly say hello, or ask me how I am, or ask after Lucanis, could you? Do you even care?”

“I–” He hissed sharply and cursed as the healer pried something off his skin with a sticky sound. He leaned forward at the same time Lidia did, blocking her view of whatever was removed from him, and flashed another forced half-smile. “Of course I care, but I trust your delightful bluntness. I’m certain you would have told me the second you saw me if he was dead. I’m also certain you would look like you’ve been crying.”

She scowled and crossed her arms, angrily spinning the coin between her thumb and forefinger. “You’re a bastard.”

“I’m not, strictly speaking, but I never did get to know my father as well as I would have liked, so I’ll give you–” He cut himself off with another wince as the healer removed another piece from him. Once more, Lidia leaned forward to look, and once more, Illario intercepted her, this time by reaching for her arm.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, pulling away from him.

He let his hand fall back to the table. “If there’s one thing I can say about you, it’s that you never gave me mixed signals. I always know exactly where I stand. I love this about you - have I mentioned that?”

“You have. A pity I can’t say the same about you.”

Before he could respond, his head surged backwards and he let out a pained cry as the healer unwound one of the bandages on his arm.

“Apologies,” the healer muttered, “but now that the debriding is done, I need to replace these compresses and apply the rest.”

“Sure,” Illario groaned through his teeth. “You’re the expert.”

Lidia took her opportunity and shifted her stance to see the extent of his injuries. She couldn’t stifle a small gasp, which seemed to hurt him more than anything else.

A splotchy pink burn blossomed across most of his right forearm and about half his bicep, and it continued across the corresponding side of his torso. For the briefest of seconds, he turned his head to look at her fully, eyes wide and pleading, as he inadvertently revealed the connecting burn across the right side of his jawline and down his neck. The moment passed, and he lowered his face and sighed quietly.

Raw, red, sticky-looking flesh was visible in a few places, and as the healer set a small bowl on the table to free his hands, Lidia finally saw its contents: a small pile of dead, mottled tissue. How long had Illario been here, having his skin peeled off piece by blistered piece? Most of the burns looked deep enough to go past the pain, but in some places they were angry and crimson, shining as if wet. 

The healer covered them one by one with bandages soaked in a healing solution as Illario tried to be still. “I told you that was my good side,” he muttered, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Lidia tucked the coin into her pocket and hoisted herself up onto the table beside him, legs kicking off the edge. “So… what happened?”

His eyes fell to the uninjured hand he had resting in his lap. “Magefire.” His voice sounded low, unenthusiastic - a far cry from the initial charm he laid on so thickly. “But this lovely gentleman here–” he motioned lightly toward the healer– “has assured me the wounds are not fatal. Just scarring. You’re crushed, I’m sure.”

Her headache throbbed dully, reminding her not to take his bait tonight. Instead, she said, “I’m just surprised you got hit at all. You’ve always been the luckiest bastard in Antiva.”

“Well, this time, I left Antiva.”

“Which you have done before, and you know what I meant anyway, idiot.”

He shrugged with his good arm, still refusing to meet her eyes. “Lucanis and I were cornered, and I stood in front of him. Foolish thing to do, I know. But I suppose I was trying to make up for something he would probably tell me not to worry about anyway. He was fine last time I saw him, if you’re concerned.”

“I’m not. Unless he tripped over something during his victory march, he’s alive and well…” She trailed off as she looked him over again. His right arm injured, mostly on the outside; his right side burnt while the left half of his body remained untouched; only the lower right corner of his jaw and cheek scorched… he shoved Lucanis behind him with his left arm and shielded his eyes with his right.

“Then I’m sure he’ll give me a stern talking-to for trying to protect him in the first place,” Illario said wearily, finally glancing up to her. “Who knows, maybe all I really achieved was making the First Talon look weak in front of the others.”

“Or making yourself look even more pathetic.”

“Which would just be impressive at this rate, no?” He breathed a soft, humorless laugh. “Illario Dellamorte, the Crow who lost all his dignity in record time. They’ll sing about my failures someday.”

As the healer left to attend to another patient, Lidia touched Illario’s leg, the weight of her hand pleasant and warm on his shin. “If nothing else, it was brave.”

He gave an indecisive tilt of his head. “It was also stupid.”

“More than one thing can be true.”

He gave a wan smile. “Lucanis probably would have been fine if he hadn’t been babysitting me in the first place.”

“Knowing him, he fought harder with you next to him.”

He studied her face, his eyes searching hers for a moment. “You’ve blood on you,” he said, nodding toward her hairline. “Your own?”

“I’m alright.”

“That’s not the answer to my question.”

She rolled her eyes. “It is mine, but I’m still alright.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Venatori.”

When she did not continue, he deadpanned, “The picture you’ve painted so far is vivid.”

“Don’t vex me, Illario.”

“Am I not allowed to ask for details? To be concerned for you?”

She glared at him. “Now you’re concerned about me?”

“One concussion makes another more likely,” he reminded her in that insufferably knowing tone of his. “And I would hate for my hard work in facilitating your recovery from that first one to go to waste.”

“Yes, but whose fault was my first concussion?”

Indignantly, he flattened his hand against his chest. “I accept no responsibility for the actions of previous targets.”

“But said previous target would have been asleep if it wasn’t for you playing hero.”

“Must we always revisit that night?”

“You brought it up!” Her head ached as she raised her voice, and she massaged her tender scalp gently as she closed her eyes.

His teasing smirk faded to a soft frown, but he replaced it with a subtle smile before joking, “And here I had hoped you would be kinder to me now that you’ve seen the extent of my injuries.”

“Not a chance. My skin is still crawling from being this close to you,” she answered while making no attempt to move farther away.

He arched a brow smugly. “Well, I suppose, as you said, more than one thing can be true.”

“I am… glad… you made it,” she managed reluctantly. “I was looking for you among our dead.”

“Hoping to see me with my skull split, were you?”

Her hand slid up and his uninjured one met her halfway. They locked gently at his side. “You would deserve it, but… no. I was hoping I wouldn’t see your boots.”

“Oh? And I would have thought you’d only know me by my gloves.”

I would know any part of you, her mind brought forth. She blanketed the thought and tucked it away to be scolded later.

“I suppose I’ll be escorted back to the villa and left there to recover,” Illario mused aloud when she didn’t answer his quip. “I wonder if it’ll be too much to ask for Caterina to let me stay in my own room again. And I’m sure Viago will be just as thrilled as you are that I survived.”

“He’s busy. I’ll take you.”

He sighed fondly - if a touch sadly - and stroked her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “Do you remember the last time you took my care upon yourself? I don’t suppose you’ll be making me pastina this time.”

Lucanis’ wake. She made a hot meal every day and shared it with Illario in silence as they sat in his bed and he stared into the fireplace. At the time, she had no way of knowing that his grief was doubled by guilt and only compounded by her kindness. She did not regret it, not even now, and that frustrated her more than anything else.

She hopped off the table and pulled lightly on his arm. “On your feet, Dellamorte. Come on.”

He swung his legs over the side of the table and winced. “Where are we going?”

“Home. I’m not letting you take up space in the Diamond when others may need it more.”

“I won’t argue with the promise of a more comfortable seat,” he responded with a grimace as he rose to his feet. Looking down at their hands, still entwined between them, he added, “Though we could stop for coffee on the way…”

“The owners of Café Pietra could be lying under rubble in Minrathous right now.”

“...So, no?”

“No.”

She pulled him out the Diamond’s front door and they started the long walk back to Villa Dellamorte. Out of habit, Illario walked at her side so she was safely between him and the buildings. She pretended not to notice, but heat rose in her cheeks all the same.

At a side street, she directed him to turn, and when he gave her that quizzical where are you taking me look, she explained, “We have to stop at the market.” 

“For what?”

“Pastina, idiot,” she said pointedly, as if it should have been obvious.

He smiled and leaned against her, further entangling their arms. “I don’t deserve you, cara mia.”

She glared at him sideways. “No, you don’t. And don’t call me that. Lucanis would be cross with me if I let his brother starve, that’s all this is.”

Neither of them knew if that really was the extent of it. But for once, he neither questioned nor corrected her. 

She held his hand the whole way home, and they sat in silence as they shared a bowl of pastina on his bed. For a night, that could be enough.

[mumms-the-word]

Deep Past the Heart

Characters: Emmrich Volkarin x Rook (You) Summary: (Spoilers ahead!) You have accompanied Emmrich to his final test before lichdom. You stand in a cold Necropolis vault as he walks away from you toward possible eternity, knowing he will die the moment he crosses the threshold. The only thing you can do now is wait. Wait and hope that if he returns to you, when he returns, he will still be the man you have fallen so desperately in love with. Nothing is certain but death. Love...that is a different question entirely. A/N: I think this is my first official Veilguard fic? And it's angst haha classic. Anyways, I have mixed feelings about Emmrich's Lich route but the cutscene where he becomes a lich has stuck with me as one of the most beautifully choreographed moments in the whole game, so I couldn't resist writing the scene from a more focused, anxious Rook's perspective. Enjoy! Read it on AO3 here!

I am come to be judged by the dead.

They are the last living words on his lips. The last words of a man who will be dead soon, one way or another. Nine syllables formed on an eloquent tongue, breathed forth with warm air from healthy lungs. In mere moments, those lungs, that tongue, those lips will grow still, and never move again.

It isn’t his time to die. But it’s the time he has chosen, and now that the words are out of his mouth, you know there is no turning back.

His words echo faintly in the vaulted chamber you stand in, soft reverberations you will never get back. You want to reach out and catch them, just one word, maybe two, and hold them fluttering and whisper-thin against your chest until you have absorbed them. The last vestiges of his voice, perfectly preserved in your heart. Just in case you never hear that voice again.

Or if you do, it will be altered beyond recognition.

It’s strange. You’ve spent the last several weeks doing all that you can to save lives—freeing slaves, fighting ghosts, slaying dragons, eradicating darkspawn, stopping enemies before they can hurt anyone else. And yet here you stand hundreds of feet below the surface in a spacious, isolated crypt, bidding farewell to your lover as he faces the end of his life. 

You make no moves to stop him, despite your every instinct screaming that you can, you could, you should . But you don’t. Because this is what he wants.

Emmrich Volkarin, your beloved, is steps away from death, standing at the threshold of a chamber that will steal his life from him and present him with one final test. If he succeeds, he will become a lich, a powerful undead mage that will stand outside of time, a being both paradoxically within and beyond your reach and understanding. His life’s work, completed with his death. But if he fails…

It is death, either way. You both know it. The best you can hope for now is not that he will survive…but that he will transcend . If he does, then he achieves undeath. Lichdom. Forever.

A vast leap , he had once said. Flesh cast aside for bone. Returned, immortal, for all time. 

You wonder if you’ve made a mistake. Not for encouraging him to take this path, but perhaps for coming with him. 

His kiss is still on your lips, the warmth of it fast fading in the chill of this Necropolis vault. You wish, suddenly, that you had placed your fingertips at the base of his throat or against his chest when you kissed, cherishing the final beats of his too-soft heart, the fluttering of his pulse as it thrums beneath his skin. Or that you had inhaled deeply of his carefully cultivated scent, expensive cologne, soap, and pomade, scents he may soon abandon after death when his new form no longer requires them.

You glance at the Lich Lords above, their cold veilfire eyes glowing in the sockets of their bleach-white skulls. Cold, barren, still.

Dead.

That is what he will become…but only if he passes the final test.

Too late you wish you had paid more attention to the elements that made up your lover’s living, mortal self. Already you feel the finer details slipping from your grasp. The exact shades of gold and green in his hazel eyes. Where the last stubborn dark strands of his hair melt into the gray and white. The tones of his quiet laughter when something amuses him. The press of his lips on your knuckles when he kisses your hand.

There will be no more of any of that, either way. Already you miss those things. Ache for them.

Why is it so much harder for you to let go of him, than for him to let go of life?

Your time together has been cruelly short. You arrived too late, he walked toward death too early, and the world never settled long enough for the two of you to find any real time together. You want to kiss him again, but you know better than to move. Because if a single thing goes awry…

The doors swing open, spilling out a brilliant white light so bright it’s painful to stare into, but Emmrich doesn’t falter. Aside from a single flex of his hands, you see no evidence of hesitation or fear.

And yet you still wonder. 

How fast does his heart beat in his chest, as if defying him to stop it? Is every nerve alight within him, desperate to soak in each last sensation, the chill on his skin, the prickle of gooseflesh at the back of his neck, the brush of fabric, the creak of leather, the jingle of chains? Are there tremors in his fingers that you cannot see? Is he terrified, or at peace with this decision?

You hope he is at peace. Even as your hands clench at your sides and your ears start to ring with the stress of watching him step forward into eternity, knowing he will die, he will inevitably die, he will certainly die , you hope he, at least, has no more of the terror that has plagued him since childhood.

It’s the only way you’ll see him again.

You have to let him go. You curl your toes inside your boots as if to anchor your feet directly down into the stone beneath you. You hold your breath to keep from using your voice. You cannot stop him. You cannot intervene.

But dammit, it’s hard .

Every step he takes is another step away from you. Another step closer to death. You have prepared for this. Sat in his study, curled up by the fireplace, watching him review scrolls about the rituals, watching him practice his glamor. You’ve seen the way his eyes grew distant at the daunting trial before him, taking him to a place where you couldn’t reach him…and the way his eyes drifted around his study, looking for a figure you both know will never return to brighten the Lighthouse again. You prepared your goodbye …and your welcome back… and your final goodbyes if it all went wrong. You thought you had steeled yourself to the fact that he might not return at all.

But now the moment is here. 

Every step is like a death knell, the chime of a clock striking midnight. The sound of his boot heels on the worn paving stones rings in your head like the peeling of chantry bells, ten, eleven…twelve. 

Silence.

He stops and turns to face you. The light of the chamber beyond is too bright, too harsh, a wash of milky white fog and light that silhouettes him until he is a singular shape in black. You search for his eyes, desperate to read his thoughts, or perhaps to memorize that particular shade of hazel you took too much for granted, but his every feature melts into shadow.

You look anyway, mastering your expression for him just in case he is watching you too. You will not look anxious. You will not look like you have even a shred of doubt. He will come back. He will come back. You hang onto the thought like a lifeline, and you watch, unwilling to look away for a single instant.

This is your last view of him alive. One way or another, he has to die. You’re prepared to walk his undeath with him, but you want to soak in this last living sight. Just in case.

Come back to me as yourself, Emmrich. Please.

Myrna and Vorgoth join him in the illuminated chamber and the doors begin to swing closed. You stare. You stare and you study and you will your feet to stay planted to the smooth stone floor and you look for a single glimpse of his eyes—

And you see that they are closed.

Your breath catches. You feel your heart start to crack, his name bubbling up from your chest into your throat, ready to be spoken, whispered, shouted, but you cannot let it escape. You swallow your voice as the doors shut with an echoing clang, a single note of devastating finality. 

Then…the silence of the grave.

—————

You stand as still as stone, imagining yourself as steady and cold as the carved marble and granite figures that line the vault. But your traitorous heart beats wildly in your chest, reminding you with every heartbeat that you are the last living thing in that room. You are the wrong thing here in this vault of silence, stone, and stillness. The audacious lover who dared to invade this sanctum of undeath and sully it with your mere presence.

You dare not invade any further. Emmrich is beyond your reach now. All you can do is wait.

You can feel the eyes of the Lich Lords upon you, veilfire glowing green and blue in their hollow eye sockets. Challenger of the gods , they called you. Volkarin’s beloved . You wonder if you are the first lover to stand at a lich candidate’s side to see them off for the final sifting of the soul. 

You wonder if you are the only lover who plans to stick around after lichdom has been achieved. Until death takes you, that is. You, but not him.

You know they are not there to judge you, and yet their faces remain fixed forward toward you, not the chamber beyond. You begin to feel as though you are as much a part of this final test as whatever it happening in the chamber beyond. Do the Lich Lords see you, truly, as they gaze out over the vault? Or do they see Emmrich’s soul, his thoughts, his memories instead?

Do they find you there among them? Is it better or worse if they do?

You know you’ll get no answers from the Lich Lords so you don’t ask. Which leaves you once again waiting. Listening. Hoping. 

Time crawls forward, impossible to track. Down here, deep beneath the earth, every light is artificial and cold, every chamber eternally lit by magical flame. It’s only the flickering of the torches and braziers that tell you that time hasn’t stopped altogether. 

And still you wait. It’s all you can do.

You breathe out, gently clouding the air. When did it get so cold? Or had it always been this cold in the Necropolis, and you never noticed it before? You rub your arms subconsciously, seeking warmth, but your hands do little to help.

What kept the chill at bay before? Was it Emmrich’s presence at your side, his hand eventually slipping into yours, that kept you warm among these patina green and slate gray halls? Or had he cast subtle spells over you, a bubble of warmth to carry you through the Necropolis, his mind on your comfort over his duty as a Mourn Watcher? Perhaps the chill had always been there, but you were too busy basking in the kindness of his hazel eyes and the soothing cadence of his voice to notice.

What happens now that those eyes, that voice, may be gone forever? 

You turn away from the Lich Lords and pace a slow circuit around the stone table. Over your head, the colossal sculpture of three crowned skulls looms like an omen, a second set of judges over the living and the dead. No matter where you turn, the hollow eyes of skulls peer down over you, reminding you of the inevitable. Now that Emmrich is in the chamber beyond, the only thing coming out of that room is a dead man.

How much of Emmrich will be left?

You strain your ears to catch any sound from the chamber beyond. The windows behind the Lich Lords appear open, letting in some of the white light, and yet you hear nothing. Even the crackle of the veilfire around you is muted and low. 

How much time has passed? Mere moments, or has it been an hour already? More than an hour?

You close your eyes briefly, your thoughts a silent prayer, the same as you prayed before. Come back to me as yourself, Emmrich. Please.

It’s the same thing you told him just before he walked away. One last plea, pulled from the depths of your heart, uttered before you could think twice about the words. And in return, he had smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners the way they always do—always did.  

I will, my darling. I promise.

A promise. One you hope—you know he intends to keep. Yet you know that even if he does come back, he will come back different. Everything will be different. His appearance, his senses, his feelings. He warned you of that just days ago.

Lichdom is a transformation of body and soul. A change in how I sense and feel. And I will still feel, but—

But he will feel differently. You know that. He does too. At this point, change is unavoidable, but how he will change…that is less certain. What will he lose, even as he gains eternity and power?

You recall his soft musing words the day you picked flowers together in the memorial gardens, when you asked if he would still be able to enjoy the flowers if he became a lich. He had answered simply, an academic’s thoughtful reply, but you caught the hesitant sadness in his voice at the end all the same.

I can’t say if the flowers would still hold their bloom for me. 

But what about you? For him to lose his sense of smell is one thing, but to lose a measure of his heart…

You can still picture the flower he once picked for you, the thin stem in your hand, the white petals luminescent in the light of the gardens. The scent has long faded from memory, but the magic of it is burned forever in your mind from when he transformed the soft petals into glittering motes of light. You, in the bloom of your life, basked in the glow of his magic, melting beneath him as he pressed you gently into the stone of the memorial and kissed you for the first time. That was the moment you realized you loved him, alive or undead.

So is it selfish to long for, even mourn what you have already lost of him? For you have lost something . The moment he stepped into that chamber, you lost something. You can feel it, hollow in your gut, even though you can’t name it. If he survives this last test, you will gain something back, but even so…is it selfish that you already miss him as he was in life?

Is it too early to mourn, knowing he was a dead man the moment he uttered those words at the chamber doors?

I am come to be judged by the dead.

You know he is more than his appearance, more than the skin and muscle and sinew that makes up his living body, more than that common, fleshy muscle in his chest that pumps blood through his veins but to which everyone attributes the deepest of mortal feeling and desire. Even when that heart grows still, he will surely still love you, you remind yourself. He had all but promised before he left your side. 

Hadn’t he?

If anything should perchance go wrong… My dearest heart. You are the most magnificent thing to ever happen to me.

You stop. You realize now.

This is why he didn’t look back.

You are a temptation. His last tether to this mortal world. If he had looked back, he might have wavered. Decades of his life’s work, lost at a single glance.

If he had looked back, you would have almost certainly lost him for good. 

You pause at the start of your circuit again, turning to face the chamber doors, your heart racing. Does he think of you now? In his mind’s eye, do you exist as the path back home, a marker for his soul to return to his new lich body, or has he cast you aside, unwilling to let you become his final weakness? Have you ruined it all simply by being there?

You were the one to reach out when he first stepped away. The one who held him by the arm, desperate for another few seconds with him, a final kiss, a last embrace. I love you , you whispered as his lips left yours, a confession you should have said days ago. 

I love you too, my darling.

What if that final kiss, that simple confession, has doomed him? You think of Johanna Hezenkoss, the failed lich, her body slowly shriveling on her skeletal frame, eyes burning with veilfire inside a withered face. Wrong. Half-undead. Stagnant, yet decaying.

Is that the fate you sealed for Emmrich with your kiss?

Suddenly you would give anything, a measure of your strength, your power, your own lifeblood, to ensure that he passes through the Lich Lords’ final sifting of the soul to successfully enter lichdom. You want nothing more than to see him again, no matter what vessel his soul is housed in. Was it not ultimately his soul that you fell in love with? Time is a thief that would rob you both of vitality, strength, and beauty no matter how you attempt to slow it down, but the soul is eternal. Or so everyone says.

All you want now is his soul with you again, rather than passing on to the Fade, or wherever it is souls go when they die. 

Please, Emmrich , you beg silently. Come back.

Perhaps the Lich Lords or the spirits of the Fade will hear your silent prayers, drawn in by your deepest desire, since the silent gods are no longer listening and may not even exist. If the spirits sense your hope, perhaps they can intervene on your behalf, driven by the strength of your wish to lead Emmrich’s soul back again if he needs the help. 

But no, you must have faith in him. That is what he needs from you now. You clench your fists at your sides, determined to mold your anxiety and desperation into faith instead. You can do this, Emmrich. Death won’t keep us apart. You won’t let it. 

A light clamor draws your attention back to the chamber—the sound of the latch unbolting. The doors are about to open. The wait is over. 

The judges’ verdict is set. The scales have been weighed, the soul measured, and judgment passed.

Emmrich is dead. 

—————

Your blood pounds in your ears, a steady roar that drowns out everything else as the heavy doors groan open. You force yourself to watch, willing your eyes to adjust faster to the white light that spills forth. You have to see. You have to know. Death or undeath? A lifeless corpse or an eternal lich?

Come back to me, my love. Come back.

Vorgoth emerges first, a ceremonial knife in his gloved and bangled hands. Wet, red blood drips, fresh and lurid, from the black and gold blade. Emmrich’s blood, dripping down onto the Necropolis floor, each drop glittering ruby red in the light before it splashes dark and black on the stone. Vorgoth sheathes the blade, tucking it inside the depths of his cloak, his task complete.

Then Myrna appears, promenading forth with an urn cradled in her hands, a canopic jar with a lid carved in the shape of a skull. A thin trickle of blood trails down from the seam between jar and lid. You dare not wonder what lays inside, what part of your beloved Emmrich they carved away to preserve inside that funerary urn. The mere sight of it makes your stomach twist.

Did it hurt? What they had done to him? Were his final living moments spent in pain as cold metal carved through his flesh? The thought leaves you ill, your knees weak. But no, the Mourn Watch are not inhumane. Myrna and Vorgoth respect Emmrich. He calls them friends. Surely his death had been as painless as they could make it. You have to believe it, or else the world around you will tilt out of focus and leave you crumpled on the floor, and you cannot let Emmrich see you like that. 

At last Myrna steps aside, leaving your view into the chamber unhindered. To your relief, there is no lifeless corpse crumpled on the ground. Instead, a figure stands where Emmrich stood. With a shift, it begins to walk forward.

At first it’s no more than a silhouette to match the Lich Lords above. A dark, shadowed figure with a crown of spikes and eyes glowing with veilfire. A lich at long last. But is it–is he your Emmrich?

As he draws nearer, out of the white light, more details emerge. Glimmers of gold, the rustling whisper of grave linen, the thick drape of black crape fabric. The doors close behind him and the silhouette melts away to reveal him in all his undead glory, standing regal in black and gold.

For one terrifying moment, you don’t recognize him. His skull could be anyone’s skull. There is nothing left of the hazel gold or green in his gaze. The heart you yearned to capture, the one he once said beats for you and no other, now no longer beats in his chest at all. It is missing, along with every other organ, his gold-reinforced ribcage left open and hollow. He is a walking skeleton now, draped in rich armor and finery, brimming with new power. 

You can’t look away. He has to be in there somewhere. You take an unsteady step forward as he draws slowly nearer to you, searching the polished bone surface of his skull beneath his golden helm for something you can recognize as Emmrich Volkarin. Your beloved.

“Emmrich?” you whisper. Your heart is a drumbeat in your chest, tempo allegro , relentlessly pounding in your ears until you’re almost dizzy from the rush. Please be in there. Please.

He stops and you can sense his gaze, harder to track now that it’s all veilfire, moving away from you to the room around you. His jaw unhinges and though he no longer has a tongue, his voice emerges from somewhere within him, like a spirit speaking from the beyond.

“I see so much more clearly now,” he says. Your breath hitches as you recognize the tones and timbre of his voice. It has an otherworldly echo now, but it’s his . “The deeper eddies of the Fade. The pulse of the Necropolis.”

You can sense the new power he has gained. Magic shifts around him as though he is draped in more than metal and fabric. As if he stands with one foot in the physical world and the other in the Fade. Even his voice sounds like it begins in another plane and is carried forth over a vast distance.

You can’t help but feel awed. You stand before an immortal being now. Yet, unlike when you stood before Solas, Elgar’nan, or Ghilan’nain, there is no fear or wariness in your heart. This is not some cold, unfeeling god. This is Emmrich Volkarin.

You feel his gaze settle on you as he continues, his voice full of wonder. “I have been through blood and darkness, and I have emerged into light.”

You breathe for the first time in several seconds, your lungs shuddering at the sudden cold air. Relief floods into you, even as a smaller part of you aches to think how painful this last test was for him—what trials of blood, what depths of darkness had he endured to earn this gift of immortality? But those trials are in the past now. What matters is not that he experienced them, but that he endured and emerged victorious.

He has returned to you.

You wet your dry lips, the question on your tongue tasting metallic from fear, but you have to ask. You have to know. “Emmrich, now that you’re…do you still feel…” 

You can’t put the whole question into words. He is here, but he is changed. How much? How deeply?

“Oh,” he says, and his voice is like a lovestruck sigh from the depths of his soul, breath simulated by tone alone. “My love.”

This time, his words wrap around you, sinking into your skin and settling deep within you. It’s the feeling of returning home, of a world made right again. It’s the thrilling sensation of a loving whisper on your bare skin, a promise of devotion and a song of praise, the tenor of his soft voice perfected by the subtle, echoing embellishments of his new magic. You nearly weep for the love you can sense conveyed in so simple a phrase.

It’s really him. And he is really yours. 

It’s all he has to say to convince you.

“Come,” he says. “Walk the gardens with me.”

He offers you his hand, now wrapped tightly with grave linen down to the tips of his fingers. You recognize the rings he wears as his usual jewelry, and the sight of something familiar calms your still-settling heart even further. Without hesitation, you take his hand and let him lead you out of the vault.

You can feel the shape and rigidity of bone beneath the linen, but his touch is gentle as he folds his hand around yours, matching your pace as you venture out into the Necropolis proper. Each step you take with your hand in his quiets your lingering doubts. His measured strides are the same as they were in life, the pressure of his touch no different from when he had muscles and tendons to control them. Even his presence at your side beats back the chill of the Necropolis just the way it had when you journeyed with him earlier. 

Everything is as it was in life, simply made more by the aura of magic that follows him. The moment the two of you reach the gardens, your steps crunching the gravel of the cemetery paths, you feel him relax at your side. You wonder what he sees now, now that his eyes have been opened, his spirit awakened to the subtle movements and patterns of the Fade. Where you see veilfire torches and the carefully tended blooms of the cemetery flowers, the cool air broken here and there by the playful twirl of a glowing wisp, what does he see?

You think of that moment in the Lighthouse weeks ago, when he took your hand and placed it on a skull, instructing you to breathe, to focus while he spoke a solemn incantation, the weight of his hand covering yours. When you opened your eyes, you could see the currents of the Fade in motion—glimmers of light fluttering through the air, ribbons of color weaving in and out of sight, and blue and green wisps dancing playfully high overhead, or lingering serenely around the two of you. Is that what he sees now? Brighter, richer ribbons of light, glittering notes of magic, twirling wisps, even spirits walking the grounds? Does he see beyond the Veil, two worlds overlapping, mixing together in a sympathy of color and light, or simply what bits and scraps are strong enough to push through, eager to brush against the physical world? You wish you could see. You wish you could share in the vision with him.

“It’s…beautiful,” he murmurs. You look up, studying his new profile. It will take some getting used to, but it doesn’t frighten or disturb you. When he turns his face toward you, you can feel the warmth of his gaze again, even though there is nothing left of the hazel eyes you once fell in love with. “To think, I can share this first glimpse of wonder with you, my darling. It makes this moment all the sweeter.”

If he were still capable of tears, you know he’d be weepy right now. He always did get philosophical around flowers. And it’s you knowing that, sensing it in his voice, that dispels the last of your doubts. You squeeze the bones of his hand and whisper, “I knew you’d come back to me.”

His next words are confirmation and promise, reassurance and affirmation, his affection as clear and warm as it was in life, even despite the new echo. It is confident, certain, and tender, and as before, it settles somewhere deep past the heart, where nothing can ever take it away from you again.

“Always, my love.”

[karinamay]

pathos - chapter 15 is up

Pairing: Lucanis/Rook de Riva

AU: modern, ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating

Rating: explicit (for eventual smut)

Summary:

Rook has been skating with Viago for as long as she remembers, so when a nasty fall takes him off the ice for the foreseeable future, she figures that’s the end of her career as well. Viago has other plans for his little sister.

Meanwhile, Lucanis sees an opportunity to finally leave the sport altogether when Illario steals his partner away from him, leaving him alone just months shy of the new season. Retiring isn’t quite as easy as he’d hoped though, with Caterina Dellamorte as his coach.

Rook and Lucanis find each other in a reluctant alliance in the race to first place. But can that gold medal really buy off Rook’s guilt? And does Lucanis really want to quit skating when he’s finally finding his joy for the sport again?

Read chapter 15 on AO3 (In which Rook and Lucanis take a well-deserved break.)

[artistic-bepp]

Ok but like a fic where Lich! Emmrich lost Rook to the fade and Rook was never able to escape the prison until hundreds of years later. Some young promising Mournwatcher was trying to tap into the fade just for funnsies or something and here comes Rook, disheveled and battleworn, stumbling out of the rift. They've been in there for so long they think this is another trick of the fade, even after the Mournwatcher is all like "I've seen you before!" and leads them to the gardens where a statue has been built for them. Their grave and memorial. Exhausted Rook accepts this new trick of the fade, thankful it wasn't their old companions blaming them or Solas taunting them again, and chills around the Necropolis.

It didn't take long for the excited buzzing that an old hero had returned from that fade to reach the Lich's of the Necropolis, meaning Emmrich would immediately go around looking for this hero, the died out spark of hope igniting once again. And then he finds his lover, back from the grave. He can tell immediately that the fade changed them, not just mentally but also physically. They aren't fully human/elf/qunari/dwarven anymore, their spirit is connected to the fade in a way he's never seen. And then they have a very tearful reunion as Rook realizes that this isn't the fade, they're really out and they have Emmrich once more.

Maybe Solas brought down the fade, maybe with the help of the Inquisitor Morrigan was able to convince Solas not to. Idk, it'd be up to whoever wrote the fic, I'm just sprouting ideas.

[neve-gallus-girl-detective]

The Ink and Quill, A Veilguard Fic

Media: Dragon Age: The Veilguard

Pairing: Neve/Bellara

Rating: Teen

Summary: Neve takes Bellara to her favorite bar in Docktown

Word Count: 1,918

Link on AO3

Day One of Dragon Age Femslash February 2025

[ofcrowsanddragons]

Davrin/Rook concept, a Crow Rook in the "Thrill of the Chase" stage has been taking Lucanis and Davrin out on missions together after Weisshaupt.

Davrin and Lucanis are sniping at each other, occasionally in earnestness as they try to understand what the fuck their ally's life is. Lucanis is asking pointed questions about the blight and how Davrin feels about eventually dying to it. Rude, Lucanis, when Davrin is still dealing with the idea of not throwing his life away against the biggest, baddest monster at his first possible opportunity.

Rook is mostly content to let them dig in each other's sore spots until they've figured each other out.

It's getting concerning, though, as Davrin peppers the master assassin with questions. "How do you sleep at night? You'll kill literally anyone for money? No, but you'll just accept that your Talon is right when they say someone deserves to die?" Like men at arms don't do exactly the same thing under a lord.

Rook calls for a break when they recognize the feeling of resentment creeping into their gut.

"Lucanis, can you give us a minute?"

Rook catches a flash of understanding and maybe guilt on the assassin's face before he nods and makes an appropriate excuse. He retreats some distance away, staying just in sight and setting up as a lookout.

"Davrin—" Rook starts.

"I'm not going to apologize to Lucanis for not trusting him," Davrin says, firm. He could take the break to clean the muck out of his weapons and armour, but Davrin generally eschews distractions when there's something important at stake, and he's good at sensing when that is.

"I am going to leave that between you and him," says Rook. No one is going to just get over Weisshaupt, Rook thinks but doesn't say, and the assassin and monster hunter have chosen to blame each other over the mess out of a mixture of genuine suspicion and veiled defensiveness. "But Davrin, do you have anything to ask me?"

He looks at them in that cautious way he might use to assess a monster's nest.

Rook tries humour. "Am I a raging insomniac myself or do I sleep like a baby?" the mask cracks. "Do I trust my Talon when he says someone deserves to die?"

Davrin sighs and approaches them, reaching across and touching the back of his gauntlet to the outside of Rook's arm. "It's not like that."

"I'm an assassin, Davrin," Rook says, catching his eye and holding it, steady. "I'm not telling you not to ask these questions. I think you should." Rook catches his hand with their own and squeezes lightly.

"You're not like him," Davrin insists.

"I'm not possessed and I haven't rid the world of enough high-profile blood mages to get a title out of it," Rook says lightly, "But you haven't asked what kind of bloody work I've had to enact myself, on less deserving people."

Rook lets his hand go and Davrin steps away.

"Keep asking, Davrin. You need to know what kind of people we are."

[wabart]

(FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!)

The demon was a flurry of rabid scrambling and flares of violet light. He rounded back to where Illario still lay on the floor, gathering himself. Octavian stood in his path, a weeping cut spread horizontally across one cheek; Lucanis's lucky wyvern-tooth blade was in his grasp, having been stolen from Spite's hand. He tossed it aside with a clatter that echoed against the walls.

"Move!" Spite barked, wings stretching wide to beat at the air. He remained in a hunched stance, prepared to rush the man the moment he didn't get his way. "Zara! Was! Ours!"

[girlwithadragonheart]

A Court of Crows and Rooks

Rook x Lucanis

Requested by @cirillabelle

Summary: What happens when the First Talon of the Crows requests you by name for a job? All eyes are on you and the Demon of Vyrantium as you take to the floor of a Trevisian Masquerade.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Assassination, creepy man

A/N: This was so fun to write! I hope you enjoy <3

DATV Masterlist

The note arrived with the scent of lavender and the heavy, unmistakable wax seal of the First Talon. You didn’t touch it at first. It sat there on the table, pristine and foreboding, as if opening it might unleash something you can’t take back. The address was what unsettled you most. Not “Veilguard Operative.” Not “Agent.” Just your name.

Rook De Riva.

It was signed in the slightly shaky, swooped script that you knew was Caterina’s handwriting.

You had sent for Teia as soon as it had arrived, needing the moral support before you could even open it.

“Congratulations,” Teia says, leaning over your shoulder with that sharp grin of hers. “The First Talon doesn’t call for just anyone. You got her attention.”

You scoff, pushing the note toward her. “If it’s so special, you read it. This is clearly a job for a Talon, not… me.”

“Don’t be a coward,” she teases, snatching it up before you can protest. Her eyes flick across the elegant Antivan script. “Well, well. Looks like you’re going to a masquerade.”

Your stomach twists. “A what?”

“A masquerade. You know, dancing, intrigue, a den of vipers dressed in silk and lace.” Teia folds the letter neatly and presses it back into your hands. “And you’ll need to dress the part.”

You glance down at your worn leathers, the daggers strapped securely to your thighs. “This is the part.”

“Not this time,” Teia says, already calling for an attendant. “You’re going to look stunning. “Deadly, but stunning.”

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

The mirror feels like an enemy, but you can’t tear your eyes away.

The gown Teia had commissioned fit like a second skin, the dark blue silk pooling around your feet like shadows. When it caught the light, the fabric sparkled like stars at midnight, just enough to look expensive without being gaudy. The dress was skin tight with a deep V cut to accentuate your chest and curves. There was a high slit, nearly up to your hip on one side. The hem was embroidered with silver vines, adding a touch of elegance you’ve never thought to claim.

The mask, silver filigree laced with Sapphires, hid enough of your face to make you feel anonymous, though it left plenty of room for scrutiny.

You don’t recognize yourself, staring in the mirror. Your lips have been colored with a seductive burgundy, making them look fuller than you thought possible.

“That’s the point,” Teia says, grinning as she adjusts the mask on your face. “They’ll never see you coming.”

When you step into the main room where the others wait, silence falls. Teia’s grin widens as she steps back to admire her work. Viago gives an approving nod, already slipping into his own role for the mission.

Lucanis is the last to react.

He stands near the door, and for a long moment, he just looks at you, his expression unreadable.

“You are not going alone,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I’m going with you.” His voice is steady, leaving no room for argument. “For your protection.”

“I don’t need--”

“Yes. You do.” He steps closer, towering, but not intimidating. There’s something resolute in his tone, something that makes you pause. “I won’t let you walk into that room full of snakes alone.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that.

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

The ballroom is overwhelming the moment you step inside.

Golden chandeliers hang high above, casting a warm glow over the sea of silk and satin. The air is thick with perfume and intrigue, every masked figure playing a part in a grand, dangerous game.

You glance up, seeing Lucanis crouched in the rafters in his leathers. He gives you a subtle nod, and you tear your eyes away, trying not to draw attention as you head inside. Head high, don’t let them smell your fear.

A dance begins soon after your arrival, the music shifting to a lively rhythm. Teia and Viago have already melted into the crowd, leaving you feeling exposed.

Your eyes scan the room slowly, your hands folded delicately in front of your midsection as you gaze at the onlookers. Many sets of eyes are on you; you can feel the weight of them as you walk. Men and women rake their eyes over your form, some practically drooling.

A heavy-set magister with a leering smile---appears before you. His gaze lingers a little too long on your figure as he extends a hand.

“My dear, may I have this dance?”

Your stomach twists, but you force a smile, placing your hand in his. “Of course.”

The dance is a careful game. You keep your movements precise, your steps measured, all while his hand slides lower than it should and his grip tightens.

“So,” he says, his tone dripping with false charm, “you must be new to this sort of thing.”

“I get by,” you reply coolly, resisting the urge to yank his hand away.

He chuckles, leaning in closer. “Perhaps we could---”

Before he can finish, a shadow looms behind you.

Lucanis, now dressed in formal attire with a sleek black mask, steps in smoothly, his hand covering his heart as he bows slightly. “My apologies, I couldn’t help but notice your beauty among these dogs. May I have this dance, my Lady?”

The magister hesitates, his gaze flicking to Lucanis before he forces a tight smile. “Of course.”

You let out a quiet breath as Lucanis guides you away, his hand steady against your back. “I had it handled,” you mutter, though your heart is still racing.

You take a moment to study the crow---his dark Antivan suit tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders and thin waist. His mask is simpler than yours, a sleek black piece that lets his brown eyes show through. Lucanis glances down at you, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. “You shouldn't have to.”

The music slows, and the couples around you draw closer together. Lucanis doesn’t let go, his hand still firm at your waist. His other hand takes yours, his touch warmer than you expect.

“You’re blending in better than I thought,” he murmurs, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You smirk faintly. “Part of the job, right?” Your gaze holds his, but your smirk falters. “Lucanis, you look…” Your voice trails off.

“Clean!” Spite hisses through his teeth.

You can’t help the slight laugh that bubbles from your chest, tight with anxiousness. “Nice,” you say. “Handsome.”

His lips twitch in the ghost of a smile, but his eyes remain sharp, scanning the room even as you move together in time with the music. His focus is unshakable, though his grip on you doesn’t waver.

“You’re staring,” you tease lightly, trying to break the tension.

“I’m watching,” he corrects, his tone steady but quieter now.

You move as one, each step drawing you closer to the center of the room. Your heart pounds in your chest, but you keep your face neutral, aware of the eyes watching you. As the song draws to a close, Lucanis dips you low. The motion is fluid, practiced, but as he holds you there, his grip tightens just slightly.

You’re close enough to feel his breath against your lips, his chocolate eyes locked on yours. For a moment, the rest of the room falls away.

Then he pulls you upright, the spell broken as quickly as it was cast. “Focus,” he says gruffly, releasing your hand.

You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to steady your breathing. “I am focused.”

Lucanis doesn’t reply, but the faintest flicker of a smile crosses his face before he steps back, the mission pulling him away once more.

It isn’t over yet, but your breath catches as you watch Lucanis slip into the crowd. For a man so popular, he disappears like smoke, weaving through the throng of silk and secrets with a grace you hadn’t quite been able to appreciate until now.

Your heart still pounds, the echo of his lips leaving your skin warm and your mind foggy. Shaking it off, you glance around, searching for Teia or Viago. They’re somewhere in this sea of masks, playing their parts as flawlessly as always. You envy their ease.

Lucanis’s words echo in your mind. Focus.

Easier said than done.

By the time the next dance begins, you’ve managed to slip into a rhythm. The first few exchanges were tense---too tense---but now you move with calculated grace, careful to keep your face neutral and your voice light. The target is watching you again, his lecherous gaze sweeping over you as you pass by.

You force yourself to smile, to keep your movements slow and deliberate. If he thinks you’re easy prey, all the better. A pretty, oblivious smile and doe eyes was all it took to entrap a man like him.

“Careful,” a familiar voice murmurs in your ear, and you nearly jump.

Lucanis is at your side again, his broad frame cutting an imposing figure even in formal attire. He doesn’t look at you, his eyes scanning the crowd, but his presence is a relief you hadn’t realized you needed.

“I thought you were blending in,” you say quietly, keeping your voice steady as you turn slightly toward him.

His lips twitch in the barest hint of amusement. “You’re drawing too much attention.”

You arch a brow. “Isn’t that the point?”

His eyes rove over you, following the dips and curves of your skin and exposed flesh. “Not all of it is friendly.”

You glance past him, noticing a pair of masked figures watching you from across the room. Their posture is relaxed, but there’s something about the way their heads tilt toward each other, their whispers concealed behind their masks, that sets you on edge.

Lucanis follows your gaze, his expression hardening. “Stay close.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, his hand brushing yours as he steps closer. The touch is light, barely there, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

When the music shifts again, Lucanis offers his hand. His posture is formal, the gesture deliberate, as if daring you to challenge him.

You hesitate for only a moment before placing your hand in his. His grip is firm but careful, his touch steady as he leads you onto the floor.

The eyes of the room are on you, everyone else dancing branching out to give you space. You can feel it, but Lucanis’s focus never wavers. He’s calm, confident, and entirely unbothered by the attention.

The music kicks up, and he spins you, pulling your back to his chest, one hand splayed over your stomach, the other guiding you by the hand. The steps are simple at first, the kind you’ve practiced a dozen times in training. But Lucanis moves with an elegance that makes it feel effortless, guiding you with a confidence that’s hard to ignore.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you murmur, your voice just loud enough for him to hear.

“I’m full of surprises,” he replies, his voice smooth and low, his beard tickling your ear as he speaks right into it.

A second later, you’re spinning away from him, his grip on your hand warm and firm as it pulls you back, clutching you close. His touch is like fire, burning through your skin straight to your soul. You let out a breath, trying to keep up with his steps.

“You’re good at this,” you admit reluctantly, your hand covering his on your stomach.

He doesn’t reply right away, but you can feel his eyes studying you intently. “You’re better than you think.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and for a moment, you falter. His grip tightens, steadying you before you can fumble.

“Focus,” he says softly, the word almost teasing now.

You roll your eyes, but a quiet laugh escapes you. “I am focused.”

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

The target watches you from the edge of the room, his expression unreadable behind his mask. You’re acutely aware of his gaze, of the way he lingers a little too long, as if trying to decide whether to approach again.

Lucanis notices too. His hand shifts slightly, his fingers brushing against the small of your back in a subtle but protective gesture. He leans down to your ear, murmuring so only you can hear. “Get him to the balcony. This ends soon.”

You nodded subtly, and Lucanis disappeared into the crowd again. Immediately, you missed his warmth. The absence of Lucanis felt like stepping into shadow after basking in sunlight. Without him at your side, the weight of the room seemed to press in on you. You let out a steadying breath, forcing yourself to relax into the role you needed to play.

The target was still watching, his gaze lingering on you like a spider waiting for its web to tremble. You met his stare with a coy tilt of your head, your lips curving into a faint, inviting smile. Slowly, you began to weave through the crowd, your steps deliberate, drawing him in like a moth to flame.

He took the bait. His hulking form detached from the edge of the ballroom, his movements smooth but predatory. The mask obscured his features, but his posture screamed arrogance. He thought he’d won already.

You led him toward the open doors leading to the balcony, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you stepped outside. The space was quieter, the music and chatter from inside muffled. Stars sparkled overhead, their light glinting off the silver trim of your gown.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” he began, his voice thick and dripping with false charm, “you’ve captured the attention of the entire room tonight.”

You turned to face him, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “And yours, it seems.”

“Of course.” He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing the soft glow of the lanterns. “A beauty like you doesn’t go unnoticed. Though I must admit, I’ve been curious about who you truly are beneath that mask.”

His hand reached for it, but you stepped back with a playful laugh, keeping the distance just enough to leave him wanting. “Now, where would the fun be if I gave away all my secrets?”

He chuckled, but there was an edge to it, a hunger. “Perhaps I can persuade you.”

The air shifted, the predatory undertone in his voice setting your teeth on edge. You glanced toward the shadows near the balcony’s edge where you knew Lucanis would be watching. The target was close now, too close. His hand grazed your arm, and your pulse quickened---not with fear, but with the need to act.

“You’re quite bold,” you said, your voice light but firm as you stepped back again, toward the railing. “And here I thought Tevinter men were supposed to be more subtle with their charms.”

The target smirked, following you like a hound to prey. “We are, but I’ve always found boldness more… rewarding.”

His hands grabbed your hips, sliding lower as he pulled you into him. You hummed, your hands splaying out over the railing behind you. The cool stone was solid beneath your palm, grounding you. 

“And what is to be your reward tonight?” You asked coyly. 

He smirked. “Oh, my dear. The reward is you.” He leaned in, flashing his teeth in a predatory smile. Your hand slipped to the dagger hidden on your thigh. As he went for your neck with his lips, you went for his with the blade. Your touch was light with your free hand, tilting your head as though to allow him access. Before he could taste your flesh, your dagger sunk into his skin. 

Blood splattered across your cheeks, matching the darkness of your painted lips. The magister tried to cry out, but gurgled as blood filled his throat. You stepped out from under him, watching his body tumble over the side of the balcony.

“Ta ta, darling. So sorry, I must’ve slipped. A shame you couldn’t catch me.” You smirked, hearing a dull thud from the ground below.

A hand started to slip around your waist, and you turned, pinning them to the wall with a dagger to their throat. Lucanis’s lips upturned. You pulled the blade away, sheathing it back under your dress.

“That was exquisite, Rook,” Lucanis said. “For all of Viago’s complaining, he was right about one thing.” His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you close to mutter in your ear. “You make a wonderful Crow.” He pulled back to look at you.

“Lucanis, you’re staring again,” you flushed from head to toe under his gaze.

“Perhaps I’m simply watching. It’s hard not to with such a beautiful woman before me,” his lips turned up, chocolate eyes appraising you.

“Who knew the Demon of Vyrantium was a flirt,” you teased.

“Ah, no, you seem to have mistaken me for Illario.”

“Just shut up and kiss me.” Your hand fists in the collar of his formal sirt, pulling him toward you.

Your lips meet, and Lucanis pulls you close, one hand on the small of your back, the other gripping your hip. You hear the music swell inside, fireworks going up into the air and exploding, bathing the gardens below in warm light. Lucanis leans over you, bending you backward, your hands gripping his shoulders as he holds you up.

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

A/N: Let me know if you want to be on the Lucanis tag list!

Have a good day/night!