#this is an amina thirst post | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heylittleriotact · 14 days ago

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Ｍａｓｓａｇｅ(ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2/2)

Manipulation of tissue in the course of preparation of the body

Chapter 1 here

Though perhaps he was of the sort that got a thrill from the act of undressing her. Yes… that seemed like something a man who freely boasted about his familiarity with the finer points of anatomy would be keen on: savouring the textures of different fabrics as his fingers grazed over them, pulling gently here, tugging gently there to methodically flay her clothing from her body as if it were her skin and she was his newest, most recently deceased patient: she required preparation so that her bones, still and silent, could be put to use housing an eager spirit, and he was not at all unfamiliar with the process of unmaking someone.

He would gladly aid her in this capacity.

The honour would be all his.

The second and final part of my piece detailing Emmrich and Amina's first time sleeping together. It's time for the main event. Batten down your panties 🩲

Rating: Explicit

Under the cut or on ao3

As it turned out there was actually a nightcap involved.

Emmrich’s mysterious bed dwelled in a hidden bedchamber in the laboratory behind one of the many bookcases lining the walls and down a curving set of stairs that split into two chambers: one emerged into a warmly lit cavern of sorts, spacious yet cozy, and the other Amina could only assume was space set aside for Manfred - his own room. She thought it very sweet that Emmrich saw fit to give Manfred a space to call his own. She knew perfectly well that wisps didn’t sleep, so she had no idea what the sentient skeleton did with any time he spent alone - she made a point of asking Emmrich another time.

The entire space was composed of the stone foundations of the island the Lighthouse stood on, and despite the rustic implication of a bedroom in a cave, Emmrich’s room was actually quite homey: the bed itself was on a raised section of stone, and ancient but pristine rugs covered the floor, overlapping in places, each of them rich, bright colours of magenta, turquoise, or marigold. The bar was set against the far wall and boasted a humble assortment of spirits and liqueurs which included the extremely expensive absinthe Emmrich had prepared for her, demonstrating a ritual involving cold water and sugar that proved his alchemical hobbies extended even into his drinking preferences. She took a sip of it and continued to politely snoop around the room while Emmrich excused himself to make sure Manfred was settled in for the night.

The room was illuminated by the soft glow of candles perched on various outcroppings and recesses within the stone walls. The cavern was humid and warm, but the air felt fresh and clean, free of the heavy stagnant quality air tended to take on in a cave.

More bookshelves framed either side of the bed, with side tables built into the base of them. On the side of the bed that Emmrich obviously favoured, Amina could make out the shape of a pair of spectacles and a book on the side table.

She stepped up onto the raised platform of stone and wandered over to the table, the sound of her shoes muted by the soft carpet beneath her feet.

She gently moved the rectangular gold framed spectacles aside and picked up the book, flipped it and read the cover, her eyebrows raising. “Oh my…”

It was a collection of erotic poetry with a gold embossed depiction of a couple - their genders unclear, entwining passionately - splashed across the cloth bound cover.

She tutted and set down her absinthe, leafing through a few pages and feeling her pulse quicken at the thought of Emmrich reposed in the bed on any given night, naked except for the gold spectacles perched halfway down the bridge of his nose, holding the book in one hand, stroking his cock feverishly with the other, his chest heaving, each breath rapid and desperate and sharp, teetering on a soft whimper or moan as he indulged in the exceptionally vulgar verses until he spilled himself over his own belly, his seed catching the wavering candlelight and shimmering prettily against his skin and the wispy hair that grew on him.

She let out a low expletive and shut the book, replacing it on the side table and picking up her absinthe to drink some of the intensely herbal spirit in an attempt to jar herself back to reality. Her hand ghosted over the front of her skirt, and she palmed her crotch as if to temporarily placate the burning need between her thighs. Where was he? How long could it possibly take to say goodnight to Manfred and make sure he understood he was not to wander into Emmrich’s room under any circumstances tonight?

She wondered if she should spend this time making herself ready for him: she supposed she could undress and arrange herself on the bed so that when he entered the room again the first thing he’d see was her nude form, spread out for him like a feast more sumptuous than the dinner they’d just had, wearing only the network of scars that spanned her flesh like a topographical encyclopedia of injuries… and those adorable spectacles, of course. She’d sip from the glass of absinthe in her fingertips and haughtily ask if he came around this place often, and he would think her so cavalier and witty and irresistibly attractive that he’d shed his clothes and take her with desperate need marking every one of his movements.

He would gladly aid her in this capacity.

The honour would be all his.

She made a sound low in her throat at the thought, wandered over to the small table in the corner with a shaving mirror on a stand, a small hickory box she supposed contained a razor, brush, soap, and strop; a basin and a towel, and a variety of small bottles - six or seven in total. Further inspection revealed they were all different perfumes and colognes.

She removed the cap from one and sniffed the atomizer, instantly recognizing the scent that filled her nostrils as one that he wore earlier that week: earthy and grounded with notes of vetiver and petrichor. Replacing the lid and setting down the bottle of amber liquid she picked up another and smelled it too: wet clay, the sweet tang of decaying leaves, dark oily patchouli…

Her mouth watered - this was what he was wearing tonight, the evocative scent mixing with his own natural aroma in a complimentary way that had made it hard to focus all evening…

She let out a startled yelp when a long fingered hand slipped over her front, splaying across her abdomen as she felt the presence of someone much taller than her press close to her back. Hot breath played over her ear as he stooped down, causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end as Emmrich chuckled and said, “There you are. I was worried I’d lost you.”

“Lost me?” She set down the bottle and turned in his arms, facing him now and standing up on her tiptoes to rub the side of her nose against his, her own hands wandering around his narrow waist. “I think you’re stuck with me, Volkarin. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

One hand came up to card through the hair at the nape of her neck, his fingers winding between strands, combing through them as he regarded her affectionately, though desire still smoldered in his moss-coloured eyes. The other dallied over the concave curve of her lower back and came to rest cupping a handful of her muscular rear and drawing her hips flush against him where she could feel evidence of his arousal stirring again.

“Not in the slightest, Ms. Ingellvar.” He purred, squeezing her ass.

She shivered at his words and felt her fingers curl tighter into the fabric of his waistcoat as she felt his broad palm against her behind, fingers kneading the ample flesh there while his lips trailed over her cheek, then her jaw, then he imparted just enough tension to the handful of hair in his hand to urge her chin towards the ceiling, allowing him access to the thin, hot skin of her throat.

She couldn’t help but gasp as he licked her neck, sucking and kissing up the length of it. A pained little sound slipped past her lips and her hand flew to the back of his head, twining into his own hair when his teeth grazed her and he sucked hard against the skin above her carotid artery. The feeling was warm and wet, a sensation that was both pleasure and pain as capillaries buckled and gave way to the suction, flooding her dermis with the minute quantities of blood that would present like a tattooed clump of alpine betony against a backdrop of spring snow - richly mauve, prickling when the air caressed it…

She groaned, her knees going weak, his name slipping past her lips and suffusing through the cavern, a pleading whisper urging him to peel back layers of her flesh and muscle and bury himself inside the gleaming ruby treasure within.

Responding to the need in her voice, he parted from her neck and guided her away from the corner table, walking them back towards the raised section of stone where the bed was, kissing her, caressing her, stroking her cheek with his thumb as though she was the only thing in the world that mattered then.

“Darling…” he studied her with his round, perceptive eyes, hand stilling over the centre of her chest where her heart hammered against her ribcage like a frantic wisp trapped in a bottle. “We don’t have to… if you would rather wait—“

He would want to make sure she didn’t feel pressured, wouldn’t he?

Her hero.

She reached up between them and unclipped his collar pin with a deft twist of her fingers, her eyes never leaving his.

“I don’t want to wait. I’ve waited for what feels like a lifetime already: I want to make love to you right this minute.” She walked him backwards until the edge of the bed met the backs of his knees and he was forced to sit, hands hovering over Amina’s hips as she stood between his long longs. She guided those hands to the bottle green satin of her blouse, closing his fingers around it and guiding his wrists upwards with her index fingers hooked under them so that the hem of the garment slipped free from her waistband.

Bangles slipped one by one down his willowy arms, chiming softly as one hand wandered underneath the blouse, exploring the expanse of scarred but soft skin over hard muscle, tracing the shape of the costal cartilage that defined the boundaries of her rib cage, protecting the precious organs that lay beneath it.

She watched his hands rove over her; took in the expression of reverent longing on his face as his mouth parted and he stared up at her. His tongue darted over his lips to wet them before he spoke, his voice rough with lust. “If that is your desire, dearest, I am happy to oblige.”

“Oblige?” She repeated, running her fingernails through his hair, following the patterns of the gray dispersing and mingling into black like the thick, impermeable mists that hung around the obelisks and headstones in the gardens. One hand started slipping the small buttons at the side of her skirt loose, the other found her ass again and resumed squeezing and massaging. “What about you? Forget about everyone else’s needs for a fucking minute and tell me: what do you want, Emmrich Volkarin?” She tipped his face up, her fingers on his chin.

He freed the last button and pulled the skirt down over the swell of her ass, letting it slide to the ground where it pooled at her feet. He filled his hands with her bare cheeks, lifting them, feeling the weight and heat of them. He dipped his head and she could feel his hot breath through the thin material of the silky black thong she was wearing, her breath hitching as his nose buried into the cleft just above her throbbing clit and he inhaled deeply, filling himself with the scent of her need. He lingered there for a moment, then looked back up at her, eyes dark with lust.

“I want you, darling. Every inch of you…” His hands travelled to the waistband of the lacy little thong and he hooked his fingers under it, working it from under the garter belt that held up her stockings, sliding the sodden bit of fabric down, peeling it away from her dripping sex and down her thighs until he relinquished his hold on it and it joined the skirt. He parted her slightly, thumbs nestling softly into her dark hair, and smiled besottedly at the glint of gold that greeted him at the peak of her thighs. “I want to steal the air from your lungs and make your lovely legs shake...” He lowered his mouth again and feathered his searing tongue over the shape of the open hoop adorning her anatomy, urging a low whine from her as her hips jolted in his hands. “I must admit that I’ve often found myself wondering if your grave dowry was of the intimate sort…” he nuzzled against the soft thatch of hair and inhaled again, emitting a satisfied sigh as Amina’s mind swam, adrift in a sea of touch and awe that she was finally here - finally this close to him… and about to get closer still.

“Indulge your curiosity…” She managed to prompt with a coy smile. “Find the rest of it.”

His head snapped up and a lascivious smile that made her stomach flip-flop spread over his face. His hands found the backs of her thighs and he pulled her down onto his lap, her legs on either side of his hips, her slick core pressed against the bulging front of his pants. She rolled her hips against him and let her shoes clatter to the ground, his fingernails digging into soft flesh as he let out a low growl and then claimed her mouth with his, tongue sweeping brazenly past her lips to collide with hers enthusiastically as she opened wide and returned his fervor.

He held her in his lap, his free hand diving under her blouse to squeeze a handful of breast, the warmth of his touch muted by the expensive lacy brassiere she wore underneath.

Unsatisfied by this impediment, Amina wrenched her hands from Emmrich and hooked her thumbs into the bottom of her blouse and yanked it up unceremoniously over her head, no longer caring whether she appeared poised or elegant. Emmrich’s fingers found the clasp at the back of the brassiere and it slackened as he crushed his face into her breasts, laving his tongue over her skin, practically tearing the cups free of her chest and down her arms so she could shed it completely.

He laughed - a high pitched, giddy titter that went straight to her cunt - and thumbed the ends of the gold barbells flanking her erect nipples before clamping his mouth over one and sucking hard, tongue flitting over her stiffened peak while he continued playing with the other one.

Her back arched and she rutted against him again, keening at his hands and mouth all over her; his cock between her legs. She reached between them and gripped him through his pants, feeling his readiness as she stroked him through too many layers of clothing.

She rolled onto the bed, dragging him with her, wrapping her legs around his waist and scrambling at the buttons of his waistcoat while she explored his mouth with a ferocity that suggested she hadn’t just sat through an entire six course meal. She managed to get all the buttons undone without ripping a single one off, and immediately set into the absurd quantity of buttons on his shirt next - why did he need so many damn buttons anyway?

Laughing breathlessly, he pulled away from her to take a breath, rocking back on his knees and holding out a warding finger when she launched forward to follow him.

“Wait,” he panted, looming above her, tracing soothing circles on her thigh with one hand, his normally perfectly coiffed hair an absolute tumble of wayward strands and dishevelled angles: he looked so wonderfully undone with his hair a mess, his prim waistcoat thrown open, and his collar pin askew, clinging to his shirt with little more than wishes and prayers at this point. His mouth was curved in a crooked, slightly daft grin, and his fingers abandoned her thigh to settle between her legs, running up the length of her slit and massaging her slick into her engorged clit as he began deftly undoing buttons with his other hand, observing her with an expression of maddeningly inhibited curiosity when she threw back her head and uttered a deep moan, her hips bucking into his hand, her knees clamping against his sides.

“Fuuuu– Emmrich!” She cried, fingers and toes curling tightly into the blanket beneath her hips rose off the bed and he toyed with her clit, teasing her piercing with the edge of his thumb; rubbing, stroking, softly pinching her blushing bud, and brushing his fingertips along her innermost lips like they were the fragile petals of a delicate flower - all while methodically undoing the buttons of his shirt and finally reprieving his macabre collar pin of its duties. He slipped her leg over her shoulder as he stretched over the bed to deposit the accoutrement on the side table - on top of the book of poetry.

Drawing back, he kissed the inside of her knee, echoing her laughter when the coarse hairs of his moustache tickled her sensitive skin through her stockings and she writhed in his hands. He manipulated her leg, bending her knee and kissing down her shin, rubbing his cheek against the meat of her calf, his strong, nimble fingers finding the arch of her foot. He slipped a single finger into her desperate core and held the bottom of her painstakingly pedicured foot to the side of his face, leaning into it as another finger joined the first and he languidly worked them in and out of her, still sitting back on his knees, his shirt open, his eyes glazed.

“You’ve no idea how often I’ve thought about this, darling,” he huffed, the bridge of his nose flushed pink, and Amina couldn’t take her eyes off his tented trousers.

“I think I do,” she breathed, reaching for him, her fingertips caressing the damp spot on the front of his pants.

He treated her to another ribald grin - where were these coming from? They were so… dirty. So decidedly un-Emmrich, and they drove excited shivers up her spine. He shrugged his shirt off, relinquishing his contact with her for long enough to slip the sleeves down over his many bracelets and bangles and drape it carefully over the footboard of the bed - an act that had Amina clenching her eyes shut and stifling a giggle - Maker forbid his expensive Orlesian-cut shirt ended up in a wrinkled pile on the floor for a night…

He turned back to her, naked from the waist up now, looking nonplussed at the specter of laughter on her face, “What?” He asked, the corners of his mouth drooping as his smile disappeared as quickly as Assan on bath day: she thought he was laughing at him.

“Oh,” she pushed herself up on her elbows a little. “Nothing, love.”

He cocked his head to the side inquisitively and Amina snagged his left hand, now desperate to move on, pressing his fingertips to her lips, tasting herself on them. “I see I’m not the only one who keeps my grave dowry close to my person.”

She was referring to his nipples that were equally as gilded as hers, and didn’t leave room for him to reply as she started gently but systematically pulling rings off his fingers with the same mindful care she would use when removing jewelry from the deceased before she bathed and embalmed them.

“I want to be with you as you are,” she explained coquettishly when he arched a brow at her audaciously helping herself to his jewelry. “Without all of… this.” She lifted a stack of bangles on his wrist and let them fall back down, their metallic settling punctuating her point. “I didn’t fall for Emmrich Volkarin’s gold.”

Silence fell for the first time in a while as she collected his rings in her hand, plucking them from his branch-like fingers and palming them with the same delicate touch she used to handle the cherries that she harvested from the tree that grew behind Reda’s house when she was a child.

“You are…” he breathed, looking at her with an expression on his handsome face that was difficult to read.

“Bizarrely hung up on ritual and meaning? Yes. You’ll find that to be quite a maddeningly common trait among Watchers, in case you weren’t aware,” she quipped, and her fingers paused over his left pinky and the grand looking ruby ring that occupied it - his Father’s, a gift to young Emmrich before he died - she knew that much. Then she relieved him of that too, marking the dark stain revealed in the ring’s absence for only a moment before he whisked his hand away and hid it behind her thigh, extending his other hand to her now, wordlessly bidding her to continue.

She finished stripping him of his gold and jewels, depositing handfuls of rings and bracelets and bangles on the side table, the book of erotic poetry now buried under a small fortune, and then she set to work on his trousers which had lingered for far too long.

First went the cummerbund, slipping through her fingers as she untied it, the soft ‘fwip, fwip’ of the sleek material filling the silence that had fallen again. It joined his shirt on the footboard, and as she stretched under his arm to put it there she notched her waist against his and let him fondle her ass and thighs and cunt some more before she planted her ass back on the bed and finally freed his delightfully hard cock, taking him in her hand and stroking him experimentally, nibbling on her lower lip as he knelt before her on the bed, shuddering at her ministrations.

“Darling…” he whispered, eyes lidded, jaw slack as he watched her slowly, sensually jerk him off. Now that his arousal was now out in the open, his own scent filled the air: clean, masculine musk and the aphrodisiac tang of arousal collided with her nose and she swallowed the buildup of saliva that flooded her mouth.

His cock was lovely: as elegant and distinguished as the rest of him, surrounded by a mantle of clearly tended hair that matched the hither and thither shades of black and gray on his head, his pulse thrummed strongly against her fingers, the skin of his shaft velvet smooth over his hardness. She gently worked his foreskin down to reveal his shapely, leaking head, as rosy and ripe as any cherry at the peak of its season.

“No grave gold here?” she pouted, working her thumb over his slit, spreading the slick moisture that had beaded there over his blushing crown - an act which caused him to draw a sharp breath through his clenching teeth.

“I did… at one time…” he exhaled, voice wavering as his eyes flicked back down to resume watching her movements. “But I did away with it years ago...”

“Shame,” she tutted, jerking her head to the side. “Bet your pierced cock was a majestic sight indeed…” her cheeks heated and panic struck her. “Not… not that it’s not now.”

Shut up, Amina, shut up and just fuck him.

But Emmrich only chuckled deep in his throat and pulled himself from her hand, stretching out over her and dwarfing her with his lanky stature as he pressed a soothing kiss to the blossoming love bite on her neck and finished shedding disrobing from his place between her thighs.

“Years spent in ruthlessly discriminating academic circles have granted me the virtue of a thick skin, dearest,” he purred into her ear, catching her lobe with his teeth and uttering a pleased sound at the gasp he wrought from her. His chest met hers and she was at the mercy of his skin against hers, enshrouding her; capturing her - binding her the same way he bound spirits to vacant bone.

She might have babbled something in response as her hips arced into his, searching for the heat of his cock to relieve the burning need between her thighs, but then his lips found hers again and he kissed her with a sweetness and depth that drove words from her brain and air from her lungs.

And then he was gone, sitting back on his haunches again, so far away as his fingers danced along the oversensitive flesh of her inner thigh and he drew her towards him over the bedspread with an easy yank, lining her hips up with his, their thighs connected.

Cock in hand, he dragged himself slowly through her folds, collecting her pooling slick and massaging her engorged clit with his tip, humming sumptuously as Amina squirmed, her clit slip-sliding against the most sensitive part of him.

He dipped just inside of her entrance and back out again, and her fingernails dug into his abdomen.

“Please…” she pleaded. “Please Emmrich…”

He acquiesced with a gentle kiss, pressing his hips to hers, pushing inside of her slowly, almost hesitantly, drawing back before thrusting forward again, stretching her, his elated groan joining hers as his he breached her fully and her walls flexed and clenched around him, their heat finally joining, their connection at last made complete.

She exhaled a ragged breath as her thighs tightened against his ribcage and he delved further, his thumb sweeping a strand of hair from her face as he cradled her head in his arm, his nose brushing hers as he lowered his mouth and whispered against her lips, “Is this all right?”

“Yes…” she panted, “… ohhh Emmrich… please don’t stop…” She felt the smoothness of his back under her fingers as they travelled downwards, and squeezed his pert ass in her hands, encouraging his thrusts as he moved inside of her, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he fucked into her and uttered soft gasps and the sweetest nothings she’d ever heard into her ear for a time before his movements ceased abruptly, and she could feel his heart racing against hers.

“Ah— oh.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, long and smooth - grounding: Nevarran breathing techniques. “Darling, I’m… I’m ashamed to say it, but I’m not going to last much longer… you feel entirely divine, and it’s been some time since I’ve—”

Her heart flooded with affection for him as her Reaper’s gift kicked in and she felt his emotional state change abruptly as his aura shifted: he felt embarrassed. Inadequate. Pathetic.

“Hey,” she cupped his cheek with her hand and dragged his eyes back to hers, then treated him to an understanding smile. “That’s one hell of a compliment.” She undulated against him, urging him on.

“Amina…”

“Will you cum for me, Emmrich?”

He let out a soft whine and his eyelids fluttered slightly at her words.

“Yes,” he whispered, his thrusts resuming, his steady rhythm returning as the sound of skin on skin filled the cavern again. “I daresay I would do nearly anything for you…” he kissed her again, their tongues entwining as they tasted, licked and sucked.

She locked herself against him, riding him from the mattress, meeting his thrusts and feeling his hips buck sloppily and shudder as his climax drew near - hers was not far behind: each movement dragged his cock over that place inside of her that made her thighs quake and tremble against his sides.

“Unnngh!” His eyes went wide, then shut tightly. He gasped her name like he’d been immersed in a tub of freezing water and cupped her jaw in his hand, his eyes opening again to hold her gaze as his hips arched against hers once, twice, and she felt the telltale heat expanding through her from the inside out as he spilled his hot seed deep within her.

It was more than enough to send her hurtling over the edge as well, so over the edge she went, groaning in soul-scraping ecstasy as she tightened around his twitching length, crushing him to her chest as she cried out his name followed by a babbled stream of blissed out expletives. Her vision went white and she clenched so hard around him he was almost forced out of her, but he drove his hips forward and remained in place, covering her throat in soft, encouraging kisses as he murmured quiet praises into her ear as she tensed and writhed under him.

“Ohhh, good girl…” he cooed as they rode out the dwindling waves of their release, and Amina whimpered, feeling her heart leap into her throat at those words, so sinfully spoken from his flushed, kiss-swollen lips…

She smoothed the hair at the nape of his neck as they collapsed together, quaking and trembling, sweat-slicked and reeking of sex.

Emmrich’s fingers found themselves winding through her stormy black hair where it spilled over the pillow, and he did not let go as he rolled off of her to stretch out beside her, pulling her tight against him, his wet, softening cock squashed against her slightly shaking thigh. He kissed the crown of her head and held both of her hands in his as he hugged her to him.

“I’ve had a wonderful evening with you, dearest Amina,” he said, his voice dripping with all the familiarity and intimate cadence one would anticipate from a lover.

“I’ve had a wonderful evening with you as well, Emmrich.” She kissed the back of his naked hand, her mind hazy, her heart achingly full of affection for the man tangled up with her. “Here’s to many, many more.”

They rested for a time, peacefully dozing in each other’s arms, but neither seemed capable of staying asleep for long - the exhilaration of their joining was too fresh; too real.

A couple of hours later, Amina awoke to see Emmrich sleepily regarding her from his pillow, a strand of her long hair still twirled around his fingers, her name on his lips. Moments later, those very lips wandered down her belly and between her legs, and he lazily licked his leaking seed from her, bringing her to the softest, coziest orgasm she’d ever had with his fingers splayed over her lower belly and his tongue deep inside her.

They fucked again after that, and then one more time before sleep properly found them and they drifted off in the early hours of dawn, entwined and undeniably in love.

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heylittleriotact · 2 months ago

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⚰ＷＩＰＷＨＥＮＥＶＥＲ⚰

I've been tagged by @xxnashiraxx and love seeing their work pop up on my dash - thank you <3

The Soup du Jour is... smut! Plotless, pointless, porntacular, horny Emmrook smut.

We've got praise kinks, we've got flashing, we've got grinding, we've got trying-to-distract-this-poor-man-from-his-work, we've got Rook biting off more than she can chew when Emmrich calls her bluff. It is in this piece that I am (ultimately) going to make good on my threat of Emmrich reciting erotic poetry intimately into Rook's ear while he makes deeply passionate love to her, because that idea has lived rent-free in my head for days now and I need to manifest it. But first I need Rook to be a brat, and for Emmrich to... deal with that.

I was having doubts about this one because I am forever afraid of writing OOC, but honestly I'm just trying to chuck it in the fuck it bucket and have fun.

Tagging: @preciouslittlebhaalbae (you have TIME now MWAHAHAHA), @allofthebarks (don't hold out on me), @emmg (I know you're cooking 👀)

Under the cut because it is ✨EXPLICIT✨

𝒱𝒾𝓈𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃:

A funeral event where the prepared body of the deceased is reposed in the casket (open or closed) so that mourners may pay their respects, say their goodbyes, and grieve communally prior to the formal funeral service.

She knew exactly what she was doing when she pulled on the flimsy little camisole. She had very specific plans in mind when she slipped into the thin leggings that she knew were just a little too tight. There was a distinct reason she had chosen to completely forgo underthings.

She tied her thick hair into a low bun at the base of her skull so her neck was clearly visible… as was the somewhat faded love bite from their previous encounter - the one that made Lace turn beetroot when she laid eyes on it at breakfast. The one that prompted Taash to reach over the table with a congratulatory high five. Emmrich had coughed awkwardly and subtly adjusted his own collar, clearly hoping the marks Amina had left on his neck in return were concealed.

She padded barefoot down the hallway to the laboratory, stomach fluttering and turning on itself in a not unpleasant way with the sheer anticipation of being in his proximity again. She couldn’t help but be drawn to him - his immense gravity could not be ignored; her need to be near him was insistent. She put little stock in the novelty of fate before Emmrich, but there was no doubt in her mind that there must have been some sort of cosmic ruling in which they were unwittingly sentenced by the stars to find one another. Her belly smouldered at the thought of such a thing… of such belonging.

She knocked gently on the door. “It’s me - may I come in?”

She didn’t have to wait for an answer, nor did she have to turn the knob herself: she heard a chair scuff over the flagstone, the muffled jingle of gold - a sound that set her heart racing more often than not these days - and the door was flung open. Emmrich stood in the threshold, beaming affectionately down at her.

“Of course, darling.” He took her hand and pulled her into the room, reaching over her shoulder to shut the door once she was inside. She might have been embarrassed that the sound of the lock clicking behind her made her breath catch solely due to its implication, but she was having a hard time feeling much of anything but barely restrained lust for the man in front of her.

He drew her in close with an arm around her waist, still holding her hand between them, massaging her palm with his thumb as he bowed his head to kiss her sweetly. Her knees went weak when his lips met hers and his familiar scent filled her nose, rendering her brain incapable of anything other than inwardly chanting the same base sentiment over and over for as long as the kiss lasted: Home! Home! Home! Home! You’re home!

He straightened and looked at her, smiling as though he hadn’t heard the hungry little moan that had slipped from her, nor perceived the way she’d pressed as much of her body against him as she could during their embrace. “How are you today?” He asked, genuinely interested - as always. He knew. Surely he knew that she was positively bursting with need for him.

“Fine,” she breathed, returning the smile, watching as he started back towards the desk that was covered with books, inkpots, and parchment. “I’m well, thank you. Just thought I’d come say hello, see what you’re up to.”

He pulled a chair over to the opposite side of the desk for her to sit on. She opted to remain standing instead, her eyes flitted over the pages of drying ink spread over the desk.

“More letters home?” She waited until he was settled in his chair again, the quill back in his hand, and she bent at the waist to take a closer look at a recent anatomical drawing he’d completed. She could feel the cozy heat of the laboratory caress the exposed peaks of her breasts as the insubstantial shirt draped downward, offering a generous eyeful to anyone who might be sitting directly across from her.

Her eyes flicked up from the drawing when Emmrich didn’t answer right away, a clever smile pulling at the corners of her mouth when she caught him red-handed; his eyes locked on the dainty swell of her breasts.

He came to his senses when he felt her eyes on him and he comprehended the coquettish smirk on her face. “Yes.” He licked his lips. “Yes. Maintaining alliships and channels of communication is vital as we draw closer to our confrontation with the gods.” He swallowed and smiled again as Amina straightened and rounded the desk, settling against the wood on his side now.

“A fine plan,” she concurred, leaning back on her hands, her very visible nipples more or less eye level for the handsome academic to admire. “I hope I’m not distracting you: it’s so rare that I get a few hours to just relax these days.” She made a bit of a show of tilting her chin up and slowly rolling her head from side to side, stretching out the muscles of her neck and making sure Emmrich could see the soft plum-tinted bloom of colour he’d imparted on her skin as he sent her over the edge with his name on her lips, buried to the hilt between her legs as she clenched hard around him, her fingers curled tightly in his soft, thick hair. ‘You are incredible, darling,’ he had sighed against her tingling skin afterwards when they were little more than a tangled, panting heap of limbs. It had taken a good hour after that before she could walk again…

Amina squirmed against the desk a little at the thought, aware of the burgeoning wetness that was accumulating at the juncture of her thighs.

Somehow Emmrich managed to maintain the discipline required to look back at the letter he was working on, his lips curling quaintly. “Not at all, my dear - quite the contrary in fact: I’m so glad that you’re finally taking some time to look after yourself.” He dipped the quill, tapped it once, twice, and then brought it to the paper.

She observed him in silence until he seemingly made peace with the fact that she was not going to sit on the chair he’d brought over for her, and instead pushed his own back slightly, pulling her down onto his lap where she perched gleefully, having gotten what she wanted.

“I must concede that you are somewhat distracting, so I will need your assistance in proofreading these before they’re sent out - I do have an academic reputation to maintain, regardless of the beautiful woman on my knee.”

“Is that so?” Amina purred, nuzzling into his neck, her lips barely ghosting over his skin that smelled organic and clean - crisp soap and freshly cut sage… a lingering hint of pipe tobacco and expensive brandy.

Oh yes, she was going to be one hell of a distraction…

“She sounds like a real piece of work, this woman. It’s a marvel that you get anything done at all with her around.” She tilted her hips ever so slightly. Not enough for it to be claimed that she was trying to get a rise out of him, but enough so that the fingernails of his left hand dug into her side a little where he gripped her. A pleased smile took her lips at the feeling of him against her, already half hard: he could pretend to be aloof and composed all he liked, but she knew that there was only one possible outcome for this encounter.

“I was just having a similar thought, as it turns out,” he murmured, breath catching slightly when Amina ground against him more deliberately this time. “She’s cornered me in my laboratory no fewer than three times this week, you see: my productivity has utterly plummeted.”

The way he whispered those words, his voice so sinful and cunning…

“Oh dear…” Amina tutted. “Well we can’t have that now, can we?” She moved to slide from his lap, fully prepared to at least pretend that she cared a whit about Emmrich’s ‘productivity’ of late.

He held her fast though, keeping her on his lap with his hands and arms, and the sheer fact of his existence alone. She rewarded him with a satisfied hum and another agonizingly slow roll of her hips, suspecting that she was probably beginning to soak through her thin pants.

His hand dropped from her waist to her thigh and he palmed the expanse of hard muscle there, dragging his fingers towards her hip as he leaned forward and his hot breath washed over the sensitive shell of her ear, driving a small gasp from her as she flinched in his grasp: he had not been idly boasting during that dinner date about his anatomical prowess.

“I fear I wouldn’t have it any other way…” he confided, those artful, nimble fingers of his straying to her waistband and slipping beneath it. He sharply inhaled through his teeth and uttered a soft ‘oh’ when he found her waiting for him, slick and needy. There was a slight tremor in his voice when he said, “She is intoxicating, you see…”

She moaned encouragingly as he swirled a finger through her, clearly enjoying the experience of her arousal alone: she could distinctly feel his hardness against her rear now.

Oh how she longed to ravish him - ride him to completion on this very chair, or on the floor perhaps. Maybe against one of the many bookshelves that lined the room - they had dallied against one the week before, her leg hitched up around his thin waist, pulling him deeper as he set a pace that stole her breath from her lungs and hit angles that caused her to see stars.

Or she could bend over the railing of the balcony upstairs and feign interest in the curious nature of their environs while he slammed into her over and over again, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips…

Of course there had been the rather awkward instance a few days earlier where Manfred had wandered in on them both in a state of partial undress: Emmrich’s waistcoat hanging open, Amina dragging her hands through his hair, her own shirt piled in a careless heap on the floor nearby and Emmrich’s hand down her pants as she tried to kick off her high-heeled lilac slippers without removing her lips from his skin. Manfred had launched himself between the two of them with a consternated hiss, clearly interpreting their entanglement to mean they were fighting instead of well… the other thing. The following day, Emmrich gave his first in a series of many lectures to Manfred about the birds and the bees - and reiterated the invaluable virtue of always knocking before entering a room that might have someone else in it.

She was snapped from her musing at the sublime sensation of Emmrich’s finger dragging along the ridges of her walls as he slid the digit inside of her. She let out a small gasp at the intrusion and reflexively clenched around it, hips rocking against his once more.

“... but I really must finish these letters.” There was a playful, coy edge to his voice as he slowly withdrew his finger and slowly pushed it back in. “This striking woman of mine will need to exercise patience today, it seems…”

Something about being his striking woman in particular sent a jolt of arousal straight through her very soul. She could feel the cool metal of his rings against her feverish skin as he cupped her sex, his thumb brushing almost tauntingly over her aching clit.

“Please, Emmrich…” she whined, arching up into his touch, making her need plain.

The demonstration of manners earned her a second finger, but her lover did not deviate from his task as he leaned forward, dipped the quill, and began to write once more. “In good time, my precious love,” he soothed. “Try to relax for the time being - I shan’t take long.”

“It feels so good though…”

“That’s wonderful, darling - I want you to feel good.”

She fell silent, the wind in the sails of her desire to argue stilling as she let her head fall against the back of the chair and closed her eyes, allowing herself to exist in the moment - holding on tight to every emphatic response of her nervous system as Emmrich touched her with a capable familiarity that suggested he’d touched her a thousand times before; the erotic symphony of the quill scratching over the parchment mingled with the sound of his fingers moving within her… her breathy moans… his many bangles shifting gently with each purposeful gesture…

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured eventually - she had lost track of time - kissing her shoulder before returning to the letter. He had to be nearly done, hadn’t he? “So good for me… my sweet Amina…”

She whimpered at his words - the reverent praise tolling something deep within her that was starved and lonely. She writhed on his thigh as he placed tender kisses all over her cheek and crooked his fingers, stroking that euphoric place inside of her that made cognizant thought impossible and made her thighs tremble like she’d been in the training hall all day. He took her apart slowly, casually… effortlessly, and before long she was fluttering around him, cheeks and lips flushed a delicate pink, staring down an orgasm that was about to be everyone in the building’s business - she could feel it: the deep fire in her belly roiling and twisting on itself, going taut, so tense and eager that one more touch could snap it, yielding the most decadent release…

And then he was gone, the absence of his touch keenly felt as her walls flexed and tensed around the sudden nothingness.

She glowered at him, though her stomach flip-flopped enthusiastically as she watched him taste her on his slender fingers with a dignified poise she should have expected. “That was cruel.”

“Is it cruel to strive to linger in a garden of untold majesty forever, even knowing forever is unobtainable?” He stroked those same fingers gently over her lips and she caught the tip of one between her teeth, flicking the very tip of her tongue over the fleshy pad of it. “I want to savour you, my dear.” He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her scent. “Let me take my time.”

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heylittleriotact · 1 month ago

Text

💐WIP WEDNESD-ENEVER 💐

@emmg asked for a WIP so here's a chunky one. It's also spicy. Under the cut for length.

I wanted to elaborate on what I imagined Emmrich and Rook banging in a coffin was like. So....

Pairing: Emmrich x Female Rook

Rating: Explicit

Casket Spray:

A large, ornate floral arrangement that sits on top of the casket. It is usually the centrepiece of the funeral flower display.

“What I said the night we had that argument…” she trailed off, not sure what else to say. Was it stupid? Obviously. She knew that even before she got unceremoniously thrown into Solas’ prison in the Dread Wolf’s place. Was it upsetting? Very - for both of them. Reiterating that now would be pointless. “It feels like it was just yesterday for me, but it was over a fortnight for you.” She squeezed Emmrich’s hand tighter and sidled even closer to him on the stair that they were occupying in a quiet corner of the Necropolis.

It wasn’t that she was afraid that at any moment she might be dragged away from him again - this time for good, except, well… that was actually exactly what she was afraid of.

“Thank you for not giving up on me.”

That was the sentiment she ended up settling on. Thin and somewhat trite, even to her own ears - she had little doubt that he could see through it too. She might as well have told him it wasn’t his fault.

She just hoped he understood that she wasn’t solely referring to rescuing her from the Fade.

And… there it was - that smile: effortless and comforting by virtue of its existence alone.

His cheeks were once again clean-shaven (Amina’s gentle suggestion that maybe he should give the beard a chance was politely rebuffed), and his hair was washed and neatly coiffed as usual. One would never guess by looking at him now that only a few hours earlier he looked like a man on the very brink of insanity.

Over her.

Over a few poorly chosen words uttered out of fear and pain. Over being plunged into the sudden reality that those might have been the last words exchanged between them.

Something deep within her stirred at the knowledge that he had been so undone by what had happened at Tearstone Island. If she’d had any doubts that his affections towards her were genuine, they were long gone. There were no lengths that he wouldn’t have gone to in order to retrieve her from that prison, and as flattering as that fact was, she was grateful that Emmrich had not ultimately been called to challenge his definition of what was ‘right’ in this scenario…

People probably wouldn’t have understood…

People probably wouldn’t have liked it.

And he was nothing if not palatable, right? What with his deliberate togetherness that he presented to the world: a reassurance in and of itself.

Take that away though…

Watchers were indeed oath-sworn caregivers of the living and the dead, but their approachable, kind nature was of a deliberate sort designed specifically to foster trust. Beneath that compassionate altruism, they were fundamentally guardians and protectors… and they were capable of staggering violence. One only had to consider the damage Johanna nearly caused to understand that a Watcher willing to operate outside the boundaries of their oath was dangerous.

Her beloved Emmrich was no different in that respect, though she was probably one of the few who knew it.

And still he had made a point earlier of talking her down from naming Solas as a ruined spirit and vowing to destroy him for his betrayal and cruel manipulation…

She wasn’t sure if this section of the Necropolis was particularly drafty this evening, but she felt the small hairs on her arms raise slightly and forced her mind away from such thoughts.

Instead, she thought about how much she loved him. The way his eyes glittered cleverly in the light of the veilfire, and the soft shape of his lips. He was looking at her like she was the center of the universe, and she knew that she didn’t want to go anywhere without him for the rest of her days: she wanted to see his face in the morning when she opened her eyes, and when each day was done, she wanted the last thing she tasted to be those soft, slightly pouting lips.

She’d see to it that he never felt alone or unwanted again: she would want him always.

She wanted to come back here to the Necropolis when all was said and done and make a home with him and Manfred. The three of them would be so happy together.

And… oh.

Her breath caught as a new thought stole into her mind.

In time - if they desired it - she could cease imbibing the weekly tonic she’d taken for so many years to ensure her monthly cycle. His seed would quicken within her and they would create a child borne of their loving union - blood magic in its purest and most literal form: a legacy crafted of their own flesh. And Manfred would make such a fine big brother with a little sibling to dote on…

Her stomach flip-flopped as arousal curled up through the very marrow of her bones and set a fire deep within her belly. Of course when she was young she’d thought she’d like to be a mother one day, but she’d given up on genuinely putting any thought to such an aspiration years earlier: she never thought she’d find someone who’d truly want her.

Now Elgar’nan and Solas were the only ones in the way of such a future. It was so close she could practically taste it…

She swallowed roughly, feeling her heart hammering away in her breast as the future unveiled itself in Emmrich’s eyes and she burned for him with an imminent need to be united with him utterly.

They might die tomorrow, after all…

“Amina? Are you alright, darling? You look as though you’re a million miles away.” He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she nuzzled into his hand.

“I’m sorry, love.” She dragged herself back to reality with a smile. “I’m listening.”

“I was just saying how relieved I am that you’re safe.”

And he was. He really, really was. Amina suspected he had been counting each of her breaths since she tumbled out of the Fade; kept an eye on the steady thrum of her carotid artery when he could glimpse it just for the visual reminder that she had a pulse and was in fact alive and not just a figment of his grief addled imagination the way Varric had been for her.

“I did have someone to come back to.” She took his hand and stood.

She gently pulled Emmrich to his feet too and rocked up onto her toes, rising through her knees – up into her hips… lengthening her spine until she could press her lips to his, kissing him and putting all of her devotion and love and fear and sorrow into it along with all of her hunger and yearning.

When she drew back, the sight of that hunger reflected back at her drove a small gasp from her - it wasn’t an exclamation of surprise, but rather the sound one might make when they find themselves suddenly breathless upon viewing a deeply moving piece of art.

He had apartments in the upper levels of the Necropolis - as did she - but when one considered their surroundings – this quiet, esoteric corner of the wing and the privacy that had clearly been paid for; the fact that this was an owned but unoccupied plot… and the individual it belonged to was suddenly kissing her again – his intent was clear.

Her fingers twisted into his soft hair and a sumptuous moan rumbled through from him at her touch. Her jaw slackened and his tongue swept past her lips with a desperation that would have shocked her if she hadn’t been privy to the knowledge that he thought she might be dead for the past two weeks.

Then he was walking her back, back, back, and she offered no resistance, feeling herself bump up against the raised stone sarcophagus in the center of the room. She didn’t need to remove her lips from Emmrich’s to spare a look, nor did she need to remove her hands from his to spare a touch: she knew that the stone wasn’t humble lime - none of the monuments in this section were: they were all at least marble or high-grade granite. She’d stared at the classic, hexagonal shape of the sarcophagus while he was telling her about Hope and Devotion, and as he talked her down from her determination to destroy Solas for his betrayal. She’d stared at it for long enough this evening to mark it as a monument hewn of coveted blue granite from the Anderfels. It had to have cost a fortune – interesting for a man so terrified of his eventual death to sink so much gold into it, she had thought at one point.

She captured his lower lip between her teeth as she leaned against that monument and posed a wordless question as she bit down gently: Are we really doing this, love?

He whined in response as she worried at his lip, soothing the sting of her bite, his slender long-fingered hand slipping around her waist and splaying across her lower back to bring himself close and erase any space between them.

The familiar and welcome sensation of his hardening length pressed against her in spellbound and equally silent answer: If it pleases you, dearest.

Every day it seemed he found a new way to surprise her. She shivered at the thought of how many other surprises might await them…

It wasn’t that they both knew that this section - regardless of how serene it was - was ultimately open to the public and anybody could happen by them at any time, though that had its own ribald appeal…

No, it was for the very fact that Emmrich I-Choose-My-Words-Carefully Volkarin did nothing accidentally and left no room for coincidence when his actions were called into question. He was just as aware as Amina that a comfortable feather bed in a warm apartment complete with a crackling fire, expensive Orlesian massage oils, and a selection of the finest wines were all things they could have within minutes should they desire them - all they needed to do was take the lift a hundred-odd levels up, and that was that.

But he wanted this.

After all, what could possibly be more sacred than making love in your eternal resting place on the eve of the end of the world?

So she shimmied up and seated herself on the edge of the sarcophagus, her legs parting so he could slot himself between them. She could feel the slickness between her thighs clinging to her underthings as she ran her hands over him, dragging his coat down his long arms.

“I love you, Emmrich.”

The words were still so new to her tongue and her ears, but it felt like her heart had been beating to the rhythm of them for her entire life.

“And I love you, my darling, precious Amina.” He shrugged out of the coat and draped it over the side of the cold stone.

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing you say that,” she grinned against his skin, kissing up his neck - tasting the slight saltiness of him and the tang of his cologne. She nibbled at his earlobe and he tensed against her, another pained little gasp slipping past his lips.

Unable to bear it anymore, she gathered him to her, wrapping her legs around his waist in a fluid movement that sent them both tumbling backwards into the soft velvet lining of the sarcophagus - it was surprisingly soft: quilted and down-filled. There was even a pillow at the head end - a proper one with a silk slip trimmed with scalloped lace, also probably down-filled… not one of those dreadful thin ones filled with wood shavings that offered little to no support for the reposed decedent when it came to the purpose of viewing them.

Indeed Emmrich appeared to have spared no expense when it came to the question of quality and craftsmanship of his final resting place - or was it more accurately theirs now? Destined to be put to use sooner rather than later depending on the outcome of tomorrow?

Most married couples shared the space of an owned crypt but each had their own sarcophagus or niche based on what they could afford. But as Amina’s lungs filled with oxygen, and her rib cage expanded, and she and Emmrich suffused into the cramped space, filling it completely with their bodies and limbs, she decided that the existence of things like space and stone between them for eternity simply wouldn’t do.

No, whichever one of them went first would rest in gentle repose in this exact spot, patiently waiting until the day when the heavy gilded lid was slid aside and a second set of remains were introduced, lovingly deposited and tucked in alongside the other: a cold, rigored hand posed with experienced fingers would lovingly cradle a dry, waxy chin; a leg would be positioned delicately over a fragile lower torso, bony fingers artfully arranged to look almost like it lovingly stroked the recently embalmed flesh of a thigh that would maintain its weight and mass for a few years at least.

Their heads would be gently maneuvered - a chin tucked down here, a jaw tipped up there - to create an enduring tableau of the memory of this exact moment and the reverent, passionate kisses she was tracing along his mandibular foramen: an eternal embrace in which the passing of time was inconsequential when compared to the irrefutable and immortal permanence of their affection.

A yearning sound escaped her, urged on by the adoring vulgarities and soft praises Emmrich was whispering into her ear as they writhed against each other in the too-small space, his fingertips digging into the curve her ass, guiding her movements to help her rut needily against his thigh, each roll of her hips sending a wave of blissful sensation through her aching core.

She managed to free a hand and wriggle it down between them so she could palm his straining cock through his pants, feeling a hot wet spot against the fleshy base of her thumb where it passed over him - exhilarating evidence of his mounting anticipation.

“Your cock is perfect,” she whispered. “Beautiful… made for me...”

Emmrich’s response was a ragged groan and her hips pushed the flat of her palm against him through the fabric of his trousers as she bent her other wrist somewhat awkwardly to start coaxing his collar pin free.

Undressing in the limited space was easier said than done, but something about the obligation of their proximity caused the pooling heat in her belly to intensify with every huff of breath that skittered over her face and neck as they both twisted and groped in the tomb-light, tempering genuine attempts to gain purchase on things like buttons and clasps and ties with exploratory, wandering touches that lingered, caressed, and teased. Lips and tongues dragged over freshly revealed swaths of skin, trailing oaths and tender promises in their wake: sacred incantations that invoked the ancient magic that was responsible for the existence of this place to begin with.

Amina managed to dislodge herself from between Emmrich and the wall of the sarcophagus, and used her newly found mobility to straddle his lap: her legs might fall asleep if she stayed like this for long, but the angle it provided her allowed her to deftly finish unfastening his waistcoat and shirt.

“This shirt has about two dozen too many buttons,” she complained breathlessly as he finished with the last of the many moonstone fastenings, and Emmrich sat up to slip free of the clothing in question.

“I can’t help but notice that their presence didn’t slow you down terribly, dearest.” He regarded her with a lascivious smile as the sleeves of the shirt slid down over his numerous bracelets: it was a filthy expression that only she was privileged to bear witness to - one of lidded eyes and swollen lips quirked in a decidedly smug countenance… the perfectly combed moustache in disarray. Almost a sneer… so vastly different than the compassionate, kind face he presented to the world. It called to something absolutely feral within her – it drove her wild when he looked at her like that, and with his torso now bare and his hair slightly mussed just the way she liked it…

She managed to exercise enough patience to allow him to strip away her own shirt before returning to her self-assumed duty to taste every inch of him that she could reach. Her hips pressed against his from her place atop him, and she closed her mouth over a nipple, lingering in place for a moment to suck gently and flick the delicate gold hoop there with the tip of her tongue. She caught it with her teeth too and ever so gently tugged on it, earning a stammered exclamation from Emmrich before she began trailing kisses downward over the warm flesh of his abdomen, seeking his ribs with her lips, counting each one in her mind as she descended: five, six, seven… onto the false ones – a silly name really – eight, nine, and ten…

Her fingers curled into the layers of expensive red silk at his waist and she looked up at him then with lust-darkened eyes.

“Lay back,” she ordered, her voice a sensual husk that was not remotely lacking the authoritative cadence of a Reaper who was accustomed to being obeyed when she issued instructions to anyone this far down in the crypts.

So lay back he did, and Amina made short work of any fabrics and fasteners, freeing him into her waiting hand.

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heylittleriotact · 16 days ago

Text

Ｍａｓｓａｇｅ(ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1/2)

Manipulation of tissue in the course of preparation of the body

“Forgive me if I come across as overly familiar, dear, but I feel I must ask: are you nervous?” Her eyes darted from his, looked at his hands, his wine glass, his own half-finished salad - anywhere but at him. “I… I uh…” Andraste’s ashes, she felt like a dull-minded idiot whenever she opened her mouth around him.

My sensual take on Rook's dinner date with Emmrich, and how it lead to them sleeping together for the first time.

Rating: Explicit

Under the cut or on ao3

Neve was right - I should have worn the old shoes…

She shifted her knee upward slightly and pressed the ball of her foot into the ground, freeing her right heel from stiff new leather and hiding her grimace of relief behind the rim of her wine glass as she wriggled her somewhat crushed toes now that they weren’t crammed together, fighting for space in the narrow toe box.

There were a perfectly good pair of well broken in heels sitting in her wardrobe back at the Lighthouse that would have been more than acceptable to wear to dinner with Emmrich, but no, she just had to go to Dock Town earlier in the day with Neve who had all but insisted she buy herself something nice for the occasion…

‘Not saying you don’t know how to clean up - I know you Watchers are a well put together bunch, but I don’t know… maybe you’ll have a nicer evening if you’re not sitting across from Emmrich wearing the same clothes you wear to make funeral arrangements with people?‘

‘I’m almost certain he’ll be sitting across from me wearing the same clothes he wears to make funeral arrangements with people,’ Amina had pointed out, and Neve laughed.

‘How sure are you about that? I’d put my money on him showing up in the most formal, four-piece ensemble he owns if it helps his chances of getting you into bed tonight.’

She had a point - but not about sex. Amina knew perfectly well that weeks and weeks of burning tension shrouded under the polite mantle of collegial professionalism had become increasingly difficult to ignore now that they were… well - now that they were… together. That shoe was going to have to drop sooner rather than later, unless…She wrinkled her nose at the very thought: Unless he was the sort to take a courtship so seriously that abstinence from intimate activities was expected until she shared his name…

But no… surely not. Not judging by the way his hands wandered confidently around her waist and his lips eagerly roamed her neck when he kissed her against the Lovers’ Grave.

Be that as it may, she still didn’t want to overdress for the occasion - how embarrassing would that be? How oblivious?

Her face reddened at the imagined awkwardness of waiting for Emmrich at the eluvian, dressed in a lavish floor-skimming evening gown and gloves, her mass of sleek black hair time-consumingly plaited and pinned up to emphasize the small amount of grave gold that she owned, retrieved from its dusty velvet-lined box for the first time in years because she never had occasion - nor the desire - to actually wear any of it, unlike her gentlemanly new companion who clanged and clattered around everywhere he went like a sentient drawer of silverware.

He’d inevitably appear, descending the stairs from the library wearing what he wore every day - that well-loved waistcoat, a crisp clean shirt, and his favoured combed Druffalo wool trousers. He’d look as handsome as always, and not at all underdressed for a romantic dinner in the

Necropolis, and his eyes would widen at the spectacle of her dressed like she was heading off for cocktails with the King of Ferelden. The corners of his mouth would twitch and he’d clear his throat in a polite attempt to stifle his laughter.

At her.

At how absolutely stupid she looked.

‘It’s dinner - not a setup for a marriage proposal, Neve.’

‘If you say so, but if there’s a cummerbund involved, you owe me five gold.’

‘He wears a cummerbund every day,’ she sighed, turning and pulling open the door to one of the many clothing boutiques populating the market district.

‘I thought it was a sash.’

‘Don’t let him hear you say that unless you want an hour long oration on the particulars of ‘a gentleman’s wardrobe.’’

At the sound of the bell over the door tinkling, the boutique owner appeared from behind a rack of angular Tevene formal gowns.

She wiped her clammy palms on her pants - shit she was bad at this. She always had been. She hadn’t even been on a dinner date in what… three years?

And now she was sitting across from him, as predicted, wearing the stiff deepstalker leather shoes she’d purchased in a state of utter panic at the shop, along with a plunging, emerald green satin blouse that Neve insisted she leave with, and a new fishtail skirt that she admittedly quite liked: it was a woven fabric, mid-length, pinstriped in black and a rich chocolate brown. The ruffled hem was arranged with thin laces that lended the article a rather pretty bustled look that she thought nicely accentuated the curve of her rear. Disaster of an evening or not, that skirt was going to become a frequently worn item.

And as for the prospect of sleeping together…

She tipped back her glass again. Found it empty.

Dammit.

“Allow me.”

She looked up from the empty crystal goblet to see Emmrich’s hand reaching over the table, waiting patiently for her to pass him the glass. The warm light of the candles on the table between them contrasted with the cool light of the veilfire lanterns and the subtle, ever shifting glow of the wisps that floated lazily around them, drawn to curiously observe the spectacle of the two courting Watchers taking their dinner in the Memorial Gardens.

He had indeed dressed as she predicted: put together, poised… perfect. A man who looked like he was always prepared to hold court at a lectern, soothe a wayward spirit, or arrange a romantic meal complete with an embossed menu with gilded corners.

He was so untouchable, so lofty and distinguished, yet there was an aspect of him that she still couldn’t quite place - perhaps she hadn’t known him long enough yet. Perhaps their relationship was still too new and he’d not seen fit to reveal such parts of himself to her for fear that she would flee. Whatever it was dwelled deep beneath that veneer of perfection, shrouded so well from view that it simply begat speculation.

Was he some sort of deviant? Was this all a facade to disguise a self-serving, narcissistic monster who would eventually wear her down and rob her of her personhood as he claimed her and reduced her to little more than a pretty possession to wear on his arm to fancy parties?

Maybe this was just how he operated: luring in vulnerable and attractive partners until he bored of them and left them for someone more interesting?

Was he a priggish asshole and this was a finely honed act that had worked well for his purposes until he no longer had need to maintain it?

There had to be a reason why a man as genuine and kind as this hadn’t been snatched up decades earlier.

There had to be some literal or figurative skeleton lurking in his closet, and once she tore open the doors and shed light on it, she suspected would step back and place her hands on her hips as she surveyed the stinking desiccated corpse of Truth with a grim and knowing smile, simultaneously satisfied and despondent that she had finally confirmed that Emmrich Volkarin was in fact too good to be true, just as she knew he’d be.

‘Ah yes, there it is,’ she’d say with the nonchalance of someone who’d just found a missing earring stuck behind a cushion, utterly unsurprised and proud of herself for seeing through him and catching onto his game before he could do any real damage. Then she’d gently close the doors of the closet and leave, and he would never hear from her again.

But until such time…

Her scarlet lips parted in a smile and she extended her hand, slipping the delicate crystal stem into his fingers, not drawing back when they made contact, her fingertips brushing over over his own and lingering for perhaps a moment longer than they needed to before they parted and he refilled her glass, the steady ‘glug, glug’ of the wine filling the silence between them.

He passed it back to her and she said thank you, and this time it was his fingers that lingered - like he had been waiting for some sort of unspoken permission to touch her.

Heat pooled in her belly, and she pressed her thighs together, letting her other heel slip from its shoe, praying he couldn’t see the flush that was heating her cheeks under the rouge that she wore on them. She drank from the glass and set it down gently, returning to the stunningly arranged blood orange salad on the plate before her, collecting a few pine nuts on her fork before skewering a mouthful of greens as silence fell between them again.

Fuck - this was just as awkward as she thought it would be - he was probably regretting suggesting this in the first place…

“What do you make of the wine?”

Oh good, they were going to make small talk about what they were drinking: one of the most blatant indications that a date was going terribly.

“It’s nice. Refresh me on its origin?”

He set down his fork and held up his own glass to the candlelight, swirling the semi-translucent garnet vintage and watching it recede down the sides, observing its legs discerningly. “Quite enigmous, truth be told: an entire crate of bottles was left sitting outside the main gate of the Necropolis over a decade ago with no note, no shipping manifest, each bottle containing this same wine - Adirondack Red, according to the label, bottled on well… a date that falls outside the format of any Chantry, Tevinter, or Elven calendars going back to the beginning of dated history.” He angled the glass and dipped his nose into the bowl, nostrils flaring slightly as he took in the fragrance of the wine. He took a sip, letting it roll over his tongue before smiling pleasantly at Amina. “Could it be the mystery of it that makes it taste so scintillating, or does it stand on its own merit?”

“Mhmm…” Amina breathed, realizing she hadn’t blinked in over a minute - she’d been tracking Emmrich’s every move with a gaze that was nothing short of predatory… hungry. The heat that simmered deep in her core flared and sparked, embers of its existence rising up through her like molten sap spitting from a piece of burning pine. “Merit…”

He set the glass down, folding his long fingered hands together in front of him to lean forward slightly, his expression soft and inquisitive.

“Forgive me if I come across as overly familiar, dear, but I feel I must ask: are you nervous?”

Her eyes darted from his, looked at his hands, his wine glass, his own half-finished salad - anywhere but at him. “I… I uh…”

Andraste’s ashes, she felt like a dull-minded idiot whenever she opened her mouth around him.

His hand found hers on her side of the table, covering it and imparting a gentle squeeze.

“I’m… yes. Yes, I suppose I am.” she finally admitted, staring at his hand on hers, still unable to meet his eyes.

“So am I.”

That did it.

His thumb danced over her skin, sending welcome jolts of sensation up her arm. She dared to lift her gaze to find him regarding her with a look of understanding affection, his moustache quirked slightly, following the curve of his soft smile. “Does that put your mind somewhat at ease?”

“Yes, actually,” she managed, her voice wavering slightly. “Thank you, Emmrich.”

“Think nothing of it, darling.” He lifted her hand over the table and pressed his lips against the backs of her fingers. “Do try to enjoy yourself - tonight is only for us: there is no expectation, nor misplaced assumption… not on my part, at least.”

He was right: it wasn’t that he was telling her to pretend she was having a nice time for the benefit of his ego. He truly did want her to relax, loosen up, and just… be.

“It’s been uh… quite awhile since I’ve spent time with someone like this. I think I’ve forgotten how.” Despite the self-deprecating statement she felt some of the tension in her shoulders release as Emmrich set her hand back down on the table, and she felt safe enough to laugh a little.

His own chuckle of amusement joined hers and he sat back and picked up his fork again. “I daresay I find myself in a similar predicament, dear Rook, but I can’t think of better company in which to reacquaint myself with such things.”

Maker’s breath he’s smooth…

They finished their salad and the remaining courses with much more ease, conversation flowing as effortlessly between them as it had since Amina started taking him up on his daily invitations to tea instead of diligently avoiding him as she had in those early days in the Lighthouse.

They covered the standard array of dinner date conversation topics: favourite colours, exactly how long it had been since either of them had been in a relationship, and what attracted them to each other in the first place. It was predictable, typical fare that neither tread too far into the realms of disclosing any damning personal flaws, nor deflected enough to draw suspicion that the other was being deliberately obfuscating.

Normally Amina loathed this brand of superficial small talk - it really didn’t tell one much about a person - nothing important, at any rate. But perhaps it was the Adirondack wine, heady and rich, curiously rife with something that could only be described as magic. Or it could have been the way she kept catching faint whiffs of his fresh, mossy cologne when he waved his hands through the air as he spoke, but as traditionally banal as the topics were, she found herself hanging onto his every word: watching the shape his mouth made as he enunciated certain vowels and consonants, savouring the charming lilt of his tone and how she could nearly pinpoint the exact place in his chest from which his voice resonated…

Then of course there was the food itself: a varied and inspired spread that incorporated an exotic bevy of ingredients that Amina knew to be aphrodisiac in nature: figs and pomegranates, saffron, and spicy peppers that were sweet on her tongue but left her lips tingling, blood-flushed, and tantalizingly swollen.

There was no overlooking the sensual tone of the menu, each course arranged like art on the plate; each morsel designed to arouse and stimulate all five of the senses: it was a meal designed to impress - and to seduce: to make plain his desire for her in the form of an elegant, sophisticated proposition.

Yet here they were, well into dessert (a sinful dark chocolate gateau that was decadent and rich, but didn’t leave her feeling overfull) still trading surface based small talk and polite compliments: they might as well have been at the annual Wintersend Ball put on for all the Watchers, surrounded by colleagues and apprentices.

It was frustrating to say the least: her arousal had made itself known over the course of the evening; blood rushing to her sex, engorging her as she shifted in her chair, bare upper thighs damp as Emmrich prattled on about flowers.

Amina set her fork lengthways across her bare plate and dabbed at the corners of her lips with her napkin before neatly folding it and placing it atop the plate as well. “That was delicious.”

Emmrich finished the last bite of his gateau as well and his fork hovered over his plate as his eyes locked on her mouth and he leaned forward, “You’ve got… there’s a bit of chocolate still–” he laughed - not the cruel, jeering laugh she imagined earlier, but one of charmed endearment - and tapped the left corner of his mouth, “-here.”

Amina probed her tongue around the corner in question, “There?”

It was Emmrich’s turn to look bashful, blushing slightly as he shook his head and lifted a hand towards her, pausing midway to ask, “May I?” She nodded and his thumb found the corner of her mouth, delicately sweeping up the chocolate in question.

He had been about to draw back, pleased that the offending confectionary had been satisfactorily dealt with, but Amina - having spent months dancing around this man, and having officially tired of it as of this moment - caught his wrist and drew his thumb across her lower lip, parting her mouth just enough to lick the bittersweet smudge from his fingertip, smiling when his eyes widened slightly at her audacity as she gently dragged the pad of his thumb over her bottom teeth.

“So chivalrous,” she noted, a hush to her voice that could no longer be attributed to nerves.

He reddened further, swallowed, and managed to take his hand back, promptly scooping up the dregs of his wine as he retreated back to his side of the table. His other hand, Amina observed, had vanished under the table for a fleeting moment and was accompanied by a slight shifting in his seat that did absolutely nothing to quell her very active imagination.

He was nervous, the fact made abundantly clear now that she was actively flirting with him instead of staying within the safe, unthreatening confines of civilized conversation that he was most comfortable in.

He wanted to bed her. He wanted to take that next massive step forward in their relationship. Why else would he have used his sway to have the Gardens cordoned off for the night just for them? Why else would he have conceptualized a culinary experience so blatantly steeped in raw erotic overtones? She knew Emmrich well enough by now to know that he didn’t make oblivious mistakes when it came to romantic gestures.

She was more than willing to partake in his flesh if he was keen on hers, so why the hesitance?

Clumsy silence reigned once more as a skeletal servant cleared away their dessert plates and placed a stemmed cordial glass filled with an opaque daffodil coloured liqueur in front of each of them.

Knowing full well what it was, Amina plucked the delicate glass from the table with fingers that were deceptively gentle despite the scarred, gnarled state of them. “What have we here?” She asked Emmrich as the servant shuffled away.

“Antivan Limón - a vivacious digestif that rounds out a fine meal quite nicely.” He lifted his own between his thumb and forefinger, immediately appearing relieved to be talking about drinks again.

She sipped it, savouring the bright, tart flavour as it pirouetted over her taste buds like a crisp summer breeze: light and vivacious indeed. “Mmmm… it is lovely.” She lowered the glass but didn’t set it down, softly tapping her lacquered fingernails against the patterned crystal. She looked up at Emmrich and treated him to the same soft, kind smile he’d shown her earlier. “Forgive me if I come off as overly familiar, Emmrich, but I feel I must ask: are you nervous?”

The cordial glass wobbled in his hand at her words and he used the other to steady it before putting it down on the table where it would be safe.

“I suppose I am,” he admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards at the familiarity of this conversation.

“So am I,” she quipped, and she leaned over the table to place a soft kiss on his heated cheek, then the quaint line of his smile, etched into his skin from so many years of the kindness and compassion that he gave so freely; then the corner of his mouth. Then she kissed him fully, her tongue feathering past her lips to taste the summery limón that clung to his. He parted for her and she slipped into his mouth, caressing his tongue with her own for only the barest moment before pulling away and sinking back down into her chair. “Does that put your mind somewhat at ease?”

“It does,” he breathed, looking bemused, evidently not yet trusting himself to pick up the cordial glass again. Instead, he studied her, his rich hazel eyes taking in every detail of her hair, her face, and her bare shoulders. “You look truly ravishing tonight, dear.”

Emboldened, Amina smoothed the front of the low cut satin blouse with one hand, pushing her shoulders back and her chest out. “You mentioned that when we met at the eluvian earlier, but I don’t mind hearing it again.”

The wine. It had to be the wine. And now the limón which was considerably stronger was making its way through her bloodstream too, and perhaps she should stop now before she made a complete fool of herself, but…

“What do you think of my shoes? I bought them just for tonight.” She slammed her heels back down into the shoes in question and lifted her feet under the table, depositing them tidily into Emmrich’s lap, causing him to jump with such abruptness that the table shifted and the candles wobbled, “Sorry,” she demurred, reaching out to steady a candlestick to keep it from falling over.

He looked down at the shiny, midnight blue shoes in his lap, the pointed toes catching veilfire and wisplight, his mouth wonderfully agape.

“They’re… they’re lovely, dear…” He rasped, his hands disappearing from the surface of the table to softly caress the leather against his fingers, curling them around the sides of her feet and tracing the shape of the expensive shoes, finding the silken texture of her stockings as they wandered towards her ankles. Something changed in his expression then - like he’d woken up and come to his senses. She half expected him to shove her feet off of him and admonish her for her lack of decorum. Instead he looked up at her, his eyes burning with passion. “But they’re hurting you.”

“They’re not,” she lied, tossing back another sip of limón.

“My valiant, stalwart Reaper,” he tutted. “You do our order credit with your devotion, don’t you?” His hands curved beneath her ankles and his thumbs hooked under the pitch of the shoes, popping them free from her soles. “You concealed your discomfort admirably until we were two thirds of our way through the Vault of The Beloved.”

She flicked her hair, maintaining nonchalance even though every one of his calculated touches filled her with a ravenous need for more - for all of him - as much as he would give her. “That’s ridiculous. This is hardly my first time wearing shoes in this style.”

“Oh I’ve seen you traipse around the Lighthouse in shoes like these often enough…” he murmured, his fingers and palms still roving over her feet and ankles tenderly. Had the candles just dimmed slightly? “...and I consider myself to be quite capable of discerning the difference between your comfortable stride, and your belaboured one: I am familiar with the finer points of anatomy.”

Oh. Well that was certainly a response. A response that was… dripping with entendre?

“Been watching me, have you, love?” Her eyebrow raised, her heart made itself comfortable somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.

“I can’t help myself, you see, though I have tried to compose myself and observe you with the deference you deserve…” He tugged the shoes fully from her feet and set them on the ground next to him, enfolding her tiny, pedicured toes in his large, warm hands. “But try as I may, I see glimpses of you in nearly everything I perceive of late: your smile fades through beams of dusty sunlight; a verdant gaze regards me from every living thing in Harding’s greenhouse… I fear I am bewitched, darling Amina, yet the eye does not go wanting when it has the privilege of looking upon you. If I am indeed under your spell, it is surely the happiest curse in existence.”

His thumbs curved into the balls of her feet, cradling her arch and working slow circles into the tense, cramped joints as she took in his words - played them over in her mind… lived in them.

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting him to say, but it… it wasn’t that.

“Emmrich…” she sighed, taking another mouthful of limón and letting her head fall back. The stupid shoes were agony, but his fingers were rapidly undoing the damage they’d done.

“They are stunning shoes, for what it’s worth.” He gathered her right foot in both his hands and began languidly massaging, “But you needn’t sacrifice your comfort in an effort to impress - I assure you: you’ve already accomplished that.”

Unable to help herself anymore at his words, her left foot dallied, stretched, and found what it was looking for - the growing bulge in his pants, pinned against his thigh. She curled her toes against it, marking the catch of Emmrich’s breath and the flutter of his eyelids as she felt him under her toes, her heart beating faster, mouth going dry, touching for the first time this aspect of his anatomy that she had so often fantasized about late at night in her room, her own fingers moving inside her as she fucked herself to climax imagining they were his hard, hot cock pounding into her instead.

It was her favourite thing to think about recently.

“Is this alright?” She asked, watching his throat bob; watching his eyes glass over and then darken with lust.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice straining as he watched her continue rubbing her petite, stocking-clad foot against his hard, clothed cock under the table. “Oh… darling, yes…”

Amina swallowed the last of her limón and set the glass on the table, tugging her right foot from Emmrich’s hand and softly caressing his cock with both feet now. “Don’t worry about me, Emmrich: I knew exactly what I was getting into when I selected those shoes.”

His fingers clasped over her toes again and stroked her feet over his length, his hips arcing subtly into her soles. “I had rather been hoping we might get to know one another better tonight, but I must say: I didn’t anticipate dessert taking this turn,” he murmured, something even more sinful than the chocolate gateau dwelling in his smile.

“Would you like me to stop?” She meant it: she wanted him to enjoy himself, not feel uncomfortable.

“Of course not–”

She traced the shape of him with her flawless feet again, coaxing a soft hiss from him.

“But we should–”

“- get out of here?” She finished for him. “Indulge in a nightcap back at the Lighthouse?”

Neither of them were inexperienced in this arena: they both knew that ‘a nightcap’ consisted of Emmrich burying himself to the hilt between her legs, and both of them finally finding the release they craved after what felt like an eternity of yearning for one another.

“That sounds like a marvelous idea, dear.” He nodded tightly, threw back his entire glass of limón in a single go, and slipped Amina’s shoes back on her feet before standing, the front of his pants visibly straining as he swept around to her side of the table and pulled her chair away from the table - gentlemanly even in his haste to leave this place.

Amina rose to her feet with Emmrich’s hand and twined her fingers between his as he began to lead her from the table, snagging their coats from the nearby coat rack and draping them over his forearm, concealing his arousal from anyone they might might pass by on their route back to the eluvian.

She managed not to limp the distance to the doors of the garden, and before they left the gardens behind, Amina halted and squeezed his hand. “Wait - before we go: this was beautiful,” she looked over her shoulder at the candlelit table, now empty. “It was the most thoughtful, heartfelt dinner anyone’s ever arranged for me, and…” she saw some of the urgency leave his face: his brows softened, his jaw relaxed. “Emmrich… I’m… I’m so glad I met you.”

And she stood on her toes and curled her fingers around the back of his neck, bringing her lips to his in a bruising kiss that caused him to rock back half a step, throwing his free hand back to catch himself before they tumbled backwards into a hedge from the momentum.

When he was sure he steadied himself, he leaned forward into the kiss, carding his fingers through her silky hair, returning her enthusiasm with a muffled groan as he licked into her mouth, tasting her lips and her tongue, feeling the smoothness of her teeth and the warm, wet heat of her.

He pulled away, pupils blown wide, cradling her jaw in his hand as he looked down at her, a thin strand of saliva still connecting them both. “And I you, my sweet Amina,” he breathed. “I only regret that it took so long for us to find one another.”

“Oh I fully intend on making up for lost time,” she purred, gently adjusting his treasured collar pin, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth. “Don’t you worry about that.” Her fingers drifted from the pin to his jaw, feeling the realness of him against her flesh. “What I am concerned about is a matter of logistics: where, my handsome suitor, do you propose we enjoy our nightcap?”

Surely he had a bed. She’d never actually asked, but it would be lunacy for him to pack Manfred through the eluvian, back to the Necropolis and up the lift a few dozen levels to his apartment every night… wouldn’t it? There was no way he slept in his armchair or at his desk - not when she’d seen the slow, tentative way he’d unfold from a sitting position sometimes, and heard the brittle cracking of his poor knees as they straightened, worn ligaments and tendons protesting.

She was thirty-six and her knees weren’t in much better condition due to the physical demands of her vocation: she could sympathize, and for that reason, she knew if he didn’t have a bed, he most definitely would have made it everybody’s problem by now.

Oh no, he had a bed, and tonight she was going to learn where in the damned Lighthouse it was, and then she was going to fuck him in it until he couldn’t think straight.

He shouldered the door open, and guided her over the threshold before him, taking care to close the heavy slate doors behind him before turning to her, his eyes glinting. “As it turns out, I do in fact have a bed, darling - did you assume I slept in the laboratory, standing upright like a horse?”

“Of course not: that would be silly.”

“Tremendously,” he concurred, his moustache twitching with a wry smile the instant before he swept one arm around her shoulders, the other behind her knees.

“Hey–!” She warbled out, startled at this new development, and her feet left the ground as he scooped her up, cradling her to his chest, the coats still draped over his forearm.

“You didn’t actually think I was going to let you hobble the entire way back home, did you, dear?”

Home. He’d said home…

Amina knew her face was beetroot as she scrambled for words. “You - you could have just magically healed my feet!” She squirmed halfheartedly in his grip and he snorted in amusement, his breath washing over her face.

“Now where would be the fun in that?” He teased, kissing her nose and setting off down the corridor through the cavernous vault. “But if you find it truly undignified, I’ll gladly set you down and take a moment to tend to your feet...”

She glanced up at him. He was looking ahead to make sure he didn’t trip on anything and send them flying. The sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw stood out against the dusty tomb light diffused throughout the vault, and he still looked well-pleased with himself as he strode onwards, not struggling at all with the task of hauling her bones around.

“I suppose this isn’t so bad…” She leaned her head close to Emmrich’s neck and nuzzled into the expanse of exposed skin between his collar and his jawline, inhaling deeply, filling herself with the comforting scent of him. “My hero… whatever would I do without you?”

He crooked his neck against her ministrations, her breath tickling him - or arousing him - she was unsure which. “I’m hardly a hero, darling - just a gentlem—“

“Professor Volkarin!”

Oh dear.

She felt Emmrich go rigid under her and he turned to address whomever had called out to him: it was an apprentice mage - a young man, no older than nineteen with a shock of curly red hair and a pointy little beard growing from the very tip of his chin.

His eyes went from Emmrich to Amina, then back to Emmrich, widening the entire time.

“Oh - I - s-sorry Professor, I didn’t know you - uh - I know you’ve been… away… b-but I was w-wondering if you could help me understand a few things about uh… Ley lines and their relation to dowsing and other methods of cyclomancy. You see, I’m running into some difficulty wi–”

“Hamish.” Emmrich’s interjection wasn’t unkind, but there was a firmness in his tone that garnered respect and immediately shut Hamish up. “I have absolute faith that a young man of your intelligence doesn’t require a dowsing rod to divine the truth of the matter, which is that I am presently indisposed–”

Amina buried her face in Emmrich’s shoulder to conceal her grin and stifle the giggle that slipped past her lips.

“— now be on your way and submit your questions to me in writing and I shall respond in due course when time permits. Now: good evening to you.” The farewell was delivered with curt finality that indicated the matter was not up for debate, and Amina peeked up from Emmrich’s shoulder to see Hamish soundlessly opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to come to terms with the abject horror of accidentally interrupting his professor during what was obviously a romantic evening.

“Y-yes - of course! Good - good evening to you, Professor…” he bowed jerkily to Emmrich. “Lady.” He tipped his head further down and then turned and fled so quickly Amina thought he Fade-stepped away. Perhaps he had.

When she trusted the lad was out of earshot, Amina laughed properly, curling her fingers into the worn but lovingly kept material of Emmrich’s waistcoat. “I think poor Hamish thinks he’s ruined your chances with me and destroyed his career because of it.”

“Hmm…” Emmrich mused. “I suppose that depends: did young Hamish spoil the evening with his uncouth interruption?”

“Not even close.” She licked his neck - planted a wet, sucking kiss on the hot flesh there.

“Then he has nothing to fear,” he declared, tilting his head down and claiming Amina’s lips in one more deep kiss before setting off again towards the eluvian.

Towards home.

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heylittleriotact · 14 days ago

Text

I’m going to take a day or two to chill and rest because I’ve been writing a lot and need to touch grass for a minute. Help me decide what I should work on next.

#v writes #emmrook #emmrich x rook #emmrich romance #emmrich smut #emmrich x ingellvar #emmrich x amina ingellvar #emmrich volkarin #dragon age emmrich #emmrich #emmrich the necromancer #this is an emmrich thirst post

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heylittleriotact · 8 days ago

Text

To Die as Lovers May - Chapter 3

Emmrich and Amina scramble to figure out what happened to her, and what to do next.

Under the cut and on ao3

“What do you mean I’m ‘dead’?” She frowned, her nose wrinkling as a thought came to her. “Are you corpse-whispering me?!” Panic rippled through her, icy terror carving through her already disconcertingly cold veins.

“No! I’m–” He looked as unhinged as she felt.

“Oh Emmrich - what happened? What is happening?!” She held up her hands in front of her face, as the realization that something was horribly, horribly wrong crashed around her. “I’m–”

“-I don’t–”

“-dead?!” She wailed, one hand splaying over her heart, the other searching her own neck for the steady familiar rhythm of her pulse. When she found no such thing, her eyes widened so much that the whites were visible all the way around her faded irises, and she let out a mortified yelp.

She faced him with desperation written on her face, frightened tears gathering in the corners of her pleading eyes. “Emmrich, what happened to me? W-why am I l-like this?” She wrapped her arms around her named form, hugging herself and shivering violently. “W-why am I so co-cold?”

She hadn’t felt fear like this since the day the battled Elgar’nan: gripping, ruthless. It strained against the carefully cultivated bonds of rational thought that were the only thing keeping her from becoming hysterical - bonds that were rapidly fracturing.

All she had were questions upon questions and the vile, chilling confirmation that she lacked a pulse, and Fade take her - had she ever felt this hungry?

Emmrich studied her, compassionate sympathy replacing the anguished horror that dominated his features only moments earlier when she came to with him holding her, screaming like a man possessed.

His warm fingers wrapped around her upper arms and he rose to his feet, bringing her along with him.

“Before we turn our minds to finding the answers to your questions, let’s try to get you warmed up, darling.” He reached across her and nudged the tap with his fingers, finally stopping the flow of water into the overflowing bathtub. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he drew his hand through his hair and cast a brief, assessing glance around the flooded room and wordlessly decided it was a problem to deal with later before he turned his attention back to her. “Right. Are you able to walk, or would you like me to carry you? I think I can if you wish, but I expended a great amount of—“

He was exhausted, she realized then: his eyes were bloodshot and swollen and his face was pallid - almost green.

Amina wriggled her toes against the wet stone floor, marking their responsiveness and deemed it adequate. “I think I can walk - everything seems to be… to be w-working as it sh-should…”

Well. Except my heart…

He slipped his arm under hers, holding her by her waist in case she faltered. “Thank you, Manfred.” He accepted the fluffy sage green towel that the skeleton was holding out for him, his glittering eyes averted respectfully from Amina.

“Rook is… okay?”

Emmrich draped the towel over Amina’s shoulders and patted her down, drying her off as best he could. “We’re not sure, I’m afraid,” he admitted solemnly.

At this, Manfred hissed in a such a way that communicated his deep concern about this revelation.

“Fear not, Manfred. We’ll get to the bottom of this and set everything right in no time.” Emmrich’s voice was heavy with fatigue, but still carried that spark of optimistic surety she was eternally taken with.

He was saying those words aloud not only for Manfred’s benefit, but for his own… and hers.

“Now I want you to go to your room and stay there until I come and get you, do you understand?” He waited for Manfred’s confirmation before squeezing the lad’s bony shoulder and guiding Amina out of the bathroom, keeping her as close to him as he could.

Even though he was soaking wet too, and likely a bit chilly himself, Emmrich felt wonderfully warm against her: like a dark river stone left to sit in the summer sun for hours. Heat positively radiated off of him with such intensity that Amina wondered if he had a slight fever.

As they slowly made their way to their bedroom at the end of the hall, Amina’s mind raced: if she was medically dead as she appeared to be by all definitions, but she was simultaneously conscious and sentient - herself as far as she could tell - then she was… she was technically undead. Like Manfred. Like the Lich Lords…

But Manfred was a wisp possessing remains, and the liches were the sanctioned powers that ruled the Necropolis. She was something else. Something accidental. Something unnatural.

Emmrich closed the door behind them and sat her down in one of the emerald damask armchairs before the fireplace. Flames roared to life in the hearth with an absent-minded movement of his fingers, and he moved for the large trunk of spare blankets at the foot of their bed.

Amina caught him by the wrist, her fingernails clinking against gold.

“This is… this is lovely, Emmrich - thank you, but… would it be too much trouble if…? I think I would be more comfortable laying down. Will you hold me? Keep me warm?”

She winced as soon as the words left her mouth as the gravity of what she had just requested settled, crushing her under its brutal immensity: she wasn’t just asking her fiancé for a sweet cuddle to ward off the stinging nip of an autumnal breeze: she had just propositioned him to climb into bed with a corpse.

Appropriate contact between the living and the dead was strictly enforced in Nevarra: there were few things more shameful than it becoming public knowledge that one had dallied with a corpse: it was damning to one’s livelihood, social circles, and overall reputation if they were suspected or openly accused of necrophilia; and if such things could be proven, the penalties were incredibly steep: if one avoided execution, they would almost certainly be commuted to imprisonment for the remainder of their lives.

The relationship between the living and the dead - and by extension, the undead - was sacred to Nevarrans, and the moral and ethical matters of consent and power dynamics rendered any sort of romantic or sexual contact with bodily remains - regardless of their status - completely off the table.

Her throat tightened painfully at the realization. The comprehension that those laws now applied to them: that Emmrich couldn’t touch her, kiss her, or make love to her until this was sorted out… maybe never again…

“Never mind.” She said abruptly, speaking before Emmrich could find words as he blinked and his mouth hung open slightly because he had clearly had the same damning epiphany. “This… this is fine.” She tore her stinging eyes from his and rubbed her arms, staring into the fire, its orange flames blurring together as tears welled for the second time since she woke up in Emmrich’s arms, lungs full of water, feeling physically worse than she ever had in her life. “Can I have a blanket please?” She murmured to the fire. “Maybe like… three, actually?”

His footfalls filled her ears - so loud - as he came around the front of the chair instead of going to the blanket-trunk.

Unable to look at him, she stared at his bare feet now blocking the warm glow of the fire, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Then he was pulling her to her feet again, and scooping her up into his arms.

“What’re you–?”

He was carrying her towards the bed. “There have traditionally been special provisions extended to the liches of the Necropolis when it comes to matters of flesh and relations with the living,” he explained with a measured calmness that would have her doubting that he had been a grief-ravaged heap on the bathroom floor only minutes earlier had she not witnessed it herself. How did he do it? So effortlessly put other people ahead of himself? Manage his emotions so capably? “Because liches are undead but retain their naturally born souls housed inside their own remains, they are considered capable of decision-making in matters of bodily autonomy and consent. For all intents and purposes, they are held to the same standards in that arena as the living by precedence of our laws.”

He had mentioned this provision before - back when he was still pursuing lichdom and she had asked if they would still be able to continue their relationship.

“But I’m not a lich,” she pointed out, looking up into Emmrich’s face as he placed her gently on the bed and began pulling the sheets and blanket over her. “At least I don’t think I am. I’m... I’m… we don’t know what I am.”

“Well you’re most certainly you - I would be able to detect a difference in your metaphysical resonance if you were possessed by a spirit.” He hauled the covers all the way up to her chin and tucked the blanket around her.

Satisfied that she was properly tucked in, he left her side to flip open the trunk at the end of the bed and pulled out an assortment of carefully folded woven blankets, waving them out, and spreading them over her one at a time.

“I have seen no evidence that you are entirely dissimilar to a lich: your soul - your essence - is retained within the flesh and bone of your own deceased body. The only variation appears to be your physiology and the fact that lichdom is obtained through performing a deliberate rite, and this was obviously unintended.”

He went to his side of the bed and began undressing, wicking away sodden layers of clothing, leaving them in a wet pile on the floor - unusual for him - then methodically removing his many rings and bracelets, storing each with care in the glass topped, velvet lined box on his bedside table.

When he was finished and he was standing in the firelight, as naked as she was, he regarded her from the edge of the bed for a moment before saying, “So if it pleases you and puts your mind at ease: do I have your consent to join you in bed, dear?”

“Y-yes.” Amina breathed through the fresh tears in her eyes, feeling an odd stirring in her chest that was so very different from the beating of her heart. “Yes, of course.”

With a thin smile, he slid under the covers alongside her without hesitation, enveloping her instantly with his divine warmth as he wrapped himself around her slight form.

“There,” he murmured into her hair, cradling her head against his chest. His heartbeat roared in her ears, so steady and calm despite everything that had happened. “No laws broken.” He pulled back, lifting her chin with his fingers so she was looking at him over the surface of her pillow. He placed his lips against hers and she heard his heart rate increase; felt his body stiffen slightly at the unfamiliar sensation of frigid lips that were usually the same temperature as his. His thumb - so alive and warm - swept over her chin tenderly. “Besides, I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

He winked, then smiled for her. For her. He was trying so hard to comfort her. Bring her some measure of peace to help her through this nightmare.

“Emmrich, it's not a joke - this is dangerous. If it gets out that I’m…” she couldn’t say the word she meant to say. “Like this you know what will happen.”

In her many years with the Watch she had never encountered an undead being like herself. Emmrich had been with the Watch considerably longer and even he was at a loss for an explanation for her condition.

And what did the Mourn Watch do when they discovered an unexplained magical phenomenon?

They studied it.

It wouldn’t come from a place of personal malice: just one of detached cruelty often seen in academic circles where the ends justified the means when it came to committing morally dubious acts in the noble spirit of advancing knowledge.

Her freedom and autonomy would be stripped from her, and she’d end up housed in a windowless ‘living quarter’ in the bowels of the Necropolis to be observed, studied, prodded, and vivisected by her colleagues in an effort to glean what was responsible for the miracle of her undeath.

“Surely Myrna and Vorgoth wouldn’t–”

“I’m Unsanctioned Sentient Undead, Emmrich - no different than Johanna after her failed attempt at lichdom. Unintentional or not, I’m an affront to the natural order of life and death by the order’s definition. A sin against nature. My fate is extermination or becoming a lab rat if we can’t undo this…” her voice shook when she uttered the truth aloud and Emmrich’s deep hazel eyes softened further.

“Come now, darling. You mustn’t think like that.” He rested his forehead against hers, and she flinched away but he dragged her back to him, running his nose along the side of hers. Long fingers slipped into her damp hair and began combing through it gently, his breath baptizing her like a hot summer wind.

He seemed completely unphased by her current state.

She didn’t know why, but it made her eyes fog up yet again.

“You are not a ‘sin against nature’. You are a good person who has encountered an inconveniently timed spot of trouble in the line of duty, and we’re going to get you out of it.”

“What if we can’t? What if I’m stuck like this? Maker’s breath - what if I start decomposing?!”

The spiral of ‘what if’s’ and hypotheticals had started again, and tight panic gripped her throat once more.

“We’ll keep an eye on the condition of your body and take appropriate measures as needed in order to offset florid decay.”

He said it with the ease of a seasoned embalmer assessing a fresh corpse on his preparation table: strangely comforting given the circumstances. “However, it’s of utmost importance that you remember something as we work together to find a solution, dear.” His eyes wandered over her face, and he could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind despite his assurances: he was already mulling over theories; coming up with strategies.

“What do I need to remember, Emmrich?”

“That you are still you, darling Amina.” His gaze paused when he caught her eyes. “The fact that you’ve unwittingly transitioned into a different state of being does not change that.” He gathered her face in his hands and kissed her again, his lips lingering longer this time, and her fingers wrapped around his thin, bare wrist as she allowed herself to finally touch him - this living person - for the first time with her unliving hand: a cardinal offense by the rule of the Law, but one that brought her such comfort in its simple intimacy.

“I love you, dear - please know that my feelings towards you remain unchanged. I will do whatever it takes to make this right… everything in my power.” He peppered a few more gentle pecks over her cheeks, his lips leaving a burning trail wherever they touched. “Everything will be all right.”

She didn’t know how badly she needed to hear those words until Emmrich spoke them, and feeling fortified by them, she shifted closer to him, the shame of coercing the man she loved into deviant behaviour lessening somewhat: he was only keeping her warm - it wasn’t as though they were having sex. This was a benign kindness, and nothing more.

Warmth flooded her as her chest pressed against his, and precious heat flowed into her flesh, worrying at the cold, chipping it from her tense muscles and relaxing them.

“I’m sorry, I can’t imagine this is particularly comfortable for you,” she mumbled sheepishly into his shoulder.

“Never mind that.” His arms wrapped around her and held her tightly to him. “Is it helping?”

It was - the consistency of his warmth enveloping her was making her feel much better, and it seemed that once that heat infused deeply enough into her flesh and fat and muscles, she could retain it somewhat - for how long she couldn’t be sure, but as they maintained their embrace in the quiet, calmness of their bedroom, she found that she felt more at peace than she had all evening - even before she died.

Nodding, she gave herself permission to rest her hand on Emmrich’s waist, feeling his smooth, soft skin against hers.

“That’s marvelous, darling. I’m so relieved to hear it.” His tone was pleasant, bordering on cheerful. There was no lie: his heart was lightened by this improvement.

“You seem disarmingly at ease with all of this,” she remarked. “Not… not that I’m complaining, but I was surprised enough when you agreed to share the bed with me. But this?” She flexed her arms around him, squeezing him tighter. “And the kisses? Aren’t you even slightly put off by the fact that I’m, uh - technically dead?”

“Darling,” he admonished. “Firstly, you aren’t ‘technically dead’ - you are undead. Secondly, a disciple of higher learning quickly discovers that the most important virtue one can possess when they wish to delve into the mysteries of the world is keeping an open mind. It is - and will be - an adjustment, I grant you, but one doesn’t spend as many years preparing for lichdom as I did without having to periodically revisit their definition of ‘strange’.”

The corners of her mouth lifted for the first time in a wan, somewhat misty smile.

He had worked so hard for lichdom only to turn it down forever at the last moment when Manfred’s life hung in the balance - literally on the table. She had never wanted lichdom for him in the first place, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the staggering amount of study and work that had gone into his preparations for it. Once considered, it made perfect sense that the prospect of stripping nude and embracing his undead fianceé in bed was not a daunting one to a man as wonderfully bizarre as Emmrich Volkarin.

“I’m lucky then, that I’m your sort of ‘strange’.”

“You always have been.” He smiled down at her, stroking her hair gently, every touch delivered with the singular, deliberate aim of calming and comforting: it was working. “I do think we should still see Myrna and Vorgoth come morning. I have reason to suspect this… transformation had something to do with the creature we encountered today.”

She opened her mouth to remind him that in case he’d already forgotten, she was undead, and therefore bringing her around other Watchers was likely a poor decision, but he continued speaking.

“We needn’t tell them of your condition, don’t worry. But it’s our duty to alert them to the existence of such a being. Though I’ve never heard of anything comparable to it existing before today, we cannot rule out the possibility that there are more of them in the deepest reaches of the Necropolis, and we know firsthand how dangerous they can be - particularly if my suspicions are correct and it has infected you with some sort of contagion or other vile thing: there could be an epidemic if more appear and care is not taken.”

Amina rolled her face into the pillow, hiding it as she groaned. “Fine.” She agreed begrudgingly. “But we don’t mention anything about me: I didn’t get bitten. If they ask, we overwhelmed it before it could properly attack us.”

“I’m still not keen on your insistence that we hide this from our superiors, but I’ll go along with it for the time being.”

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling, dearest?”

Humming quietly, she lost herself in the placating rhythm of his hand stroking her hair over her back. “I’m not sure,” she admitted.

“Well we’ve clearly established that your heart is not beating, therefore blood is not circulating through your veins and arteries, robbing you of the ability to regulate your body temperature. We’ll keep that in mind in the morning when selecting your clothing in the morning. And with your permission of course I would like to examine you properly tomorrow. Are you experiencing any other notable symptoms?”

“Remember when I alluded to the fact that I’d prefer to avoid a fate where I become the subject of a necromancer’s crowning dissertation?”

“Seeing as my dissertation was completed roughly around the time you were learning to walk, you have little to fear from me in that regard, my dear.”

He was trying to help. Trying to learn whatever he could that would set him on the right path to cracking this. Guilt and shame filled her at her own obtuseness: who better to solve a puzzle like this than Emmrich? He literally lived for this sort of bizarre mystery.

“I’m ravenous,” she admitted. “I don’t understand why - I only missed dinner. But it’s not just typical I-haven’t-eaten-in-a-few-hours-I-could-do-with-a-snack hunger: it’s that deep, hollow sort that nags at your brain and hurts your stomach.”

Emmrich looked hurt at her words. “Why didn’t you say so, darling? Let me fetch you something–” he made to get out of bed but Amina hauled him back over the sheets with ease, trapping his lithe form against her.

“No - please stay. I’ll be fine to wait until breakfast, and I just want to lay here with you. I’m more tired than hungry anyway.”

“Very well, but if you change your mind in the night, you mustn’t hesitate to wake me, darling: I think the fact that you have an appetite at all is a very good sign indicating that at least some of your mortal physiology has remained intact and maintains function.” He shuffled slightly, the luxurious sheets slipping over his legs as he wrapped them around hers. “What else?”

“I feel… overstimulated. My hearing is all keyed up and everything sounds so much louder than it usually does: I can hear your heart beating from here as clearly as if my ear was pressed against your chest.”

“Fascinating…”

“Please tell me you're not going to refer to every aspect of my suffering as ‘fascinating’ for the duration of this nightmare.”

“Sorry dear.” His voice was sheepish and he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

“Aside from that, I’m utterly exhausted - everything hurts, and I feel as though I haven’t slept in days.”

“Then let’s rest for the night, darling. Close your eyes and hold tight to me - I promise I won’t leave your side.”

He waved a hand and the flames of the fire receded but did not go out completely, casting the room in an insubstantial but warm glow. She thought she heard him gasp at something, but he evidently didn’t feel the need to elaborate, instead adjusting himself so he was curled around her, his head resting atop her silent heart.

Doing as she was told, Amina closed her eyes and carded her fingers through Emmrich’s soft hair. Silence - or as close to it as was possible - filled the dim room and Amina wondered if Emmrich’s own exhaustion had at last won out.

“Darling?”

His voice was tentative and vulnerable - drained by the immense emotional weight of the evening.

“Yes, love?”

“I know that you’re frightened and upset by this unexpected complication, but…” His voice was a whisper so soft and low that she doubted she would hear it under normal circumstances. “When I saw you at the bottom of the bath under all of that water… still and silent and clearly gone… I–” his voice hitched and he took a moment before going on. “I’ve never felt more helpless in my entire life, and even though it’s not ideal, I find myself utterly relieved that you’re here in my arms right now… in our bed. In our home. I can’t help but feel selfish because of it, and yet…” His tears carved hot tracks over the curve of her breasts as he spoke into the dark. “I’m so glad that you came back, Amina - so glad that tonight was not the end…”

A soft sob slipped from him, and he sniffled, pressing his nose against her chest, fingertips digging into her skin as if she might be torn from him at any moment.

Shushing him gently, she continued to soothingly work her fingernails over his scalp. “I understand, Emmrich. Finding me like that must have been awful.” She winced at the desperate and audible groan of hunger from her belly - what awkward timing. “Just try to rest now, all right? We can talk more in the morning. I promise I won’t leave your side either. I’m not going anywhere.”

Emmrich let out a trembling sigh and removed his hand from her for long enough to wipe the tears from his face before replacing it. “Right you are, dearest.” He concurred, his voice still uneven. “We have much to do, come the dawn.”

“I love you, Emmrich… thank you for loving me.”

“I love you too, darling – I suspect there is nothing in the world that could make me cease loving you.”

She smiled again at that, then let her head sink into the pillow, drifting off to the sound of the steady beat of Emmrich’s strong, healthy heart filling her ears, lulling her into a sort of trance before her mind went dark and still, and thoughts were no more.

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heylittleriotact · 21 days ago

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hello, darling...

#emmrich volkarin #emmrich #dragon age emmrich #emmrook #emmrich x rook #emmrich x amina ingellvar #suggestive #datv photomode #emmrich romance #this is an emmrich thirst post #i think he knows what's about to happen

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heylittleriotact · 15 days ago

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💚WIP WEDNESDAY💚

Mostly I’m posting this because I want to harass my moots into sharing what they’re working on so I can distract myself from what I’M working on. So: @emmg @caffeinatedmunchkin @aldisobey @allofthebarks and @preciouslittlebhaalbae please indulge me. In exchange, have an unedited WIP of Chapter 2 of Massage

Under the cut for length (and spicy)

As it turned out there was actually a nightcap involved.

The entire space was composed of the stone foundations of the island the Lighthouse stood on, and despite the rustic implication of a bedroom in a cave, Emmrich’s room was actually quite homey: the bed itself was on a raised section of stone, and ancient but pristine rugs covered the floor, overlapping in places, each of them rich, bright colours of magenta, turquoise, or marigold. The bar was set against the far wall and boasted a humble assortment of spirits and liqueurs which included the extremely expensive absinthe she was sipping as she allowed herself to idly snoop around the room while Emmrich excused himself to make sure Manfred was settled in for the night.

She stepped up onto the raised platform of stone and wandered over to the table, the sound of her shoes muted by the soft carpet beneath her feet.

She gently moved the rectangular gold framed spectacles aside and picked up the book, flipped it and read the cover, her eyebrows raising. “Oh my…”

It was a collection of erotic poetry with a gold embossed depiction of a couple - their genders unclear, entwining passionately - splashed across the cloth bound cover.

She tutted and set down her absinthe, leafing through a few pages and feeling her pulse quicken at the thought of Emmrich reposed in the bed on any given night, naked except for the gold spectacles perched halfway down the bridge of his nose, holding the book in one hand, stroking his cock feverishly with the other, his chest heaving, each breath rapid and desperate and sharp, teetering on a soft whimper or moan as he indulged in the exceptionally vulgar verses until he spilled over his own belly, his seed catching the wavering candlelight and shimmering prettily against his skin and the wispy hair that grew on him.

She wondered if she should spend this time making herself ready for him: she supposed she could undress and arrange herself on the bed so that when he entered the room again the first thing he’d see was her nude form, spread out for him like a feast more sumptuous than the dinner they’d just had, wearing only the network of scars that spanned her flesh like a topographical encyclopedia of injuries she’d survived… and those adorable spectacles, of course. She’d sip from the glass of absinthe in her fingertips and haughtily ask if he came around this place often, and he would think her so cavalier and witty and irresistibly attractive that he’d shed his clothes and take her with desperate need marking every one of his movements.

He would gladly oblige.

The honour would be all his.

#wip wednesday #wip #dragon age wip #v writes #emmrook #emmrich x rook #emmrich x ingellvar #emmrich x amina ingellvar #emmrich romance #emmrich smut #this is an emmrich thirst post

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heylittleriotact · 2 months ago

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"𝒜𝓁𝑒𝓍𝒶, 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎 '𝐻𝓊𝓃𝑔𝓇𝓎 𝐸𝓎𝑒𝓈' 𝒷𝓎 𝐸𝓇𝒾𝒸 𝒞𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓃"

#i've reached a new level of unhinged and started gif-ing my blorbos #but look at themmmmmmm #they are so unff #emmrook #emmrich x rook #rook x emmrich #emmrich x amina ingellvar #emmrich romance #i'm so normal about them i swear #dragon age spoilers #datv spoilers #veilguard spoilers #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #da:tv spoilers #this is an emmrich thirst post

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heylittleriotact · 21 days ago

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He’s down bad for that 🍑👀

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heylittleriotact · 10 days ago

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To Die as Lovers May - Chapter 2

A year after the defeat of the Elvhen gods and the salvation of Thedas, Emmrich and Amina are engaged and living happily in the Necropolis, serving the Watch and planning their upcoming wedding. All is well in their respective worlds until they stumble upon an ancient monster deep in the Necropolis, and Amina begins to feel unwell. Thus begins their adventure to find a cure for vampirism - all while juggling the new day-to-day reality of Amina's condition, and Emmrich's own struggle with the fact that his beloved has been unwittingly granted the immortality he has longed for his entire life - and she wants nothing more than to relinquish it.

Let's lean hard into gothic romance, shall we? We're talking dark, sexy, moody, and beautiful. These two were made for it.

“Are you quite certain you’re feeling all right, darling? You’ve barely touched your dinner.”

Amina nudged a chunk of roasted sweet potato on her plate with her fork. “Hm? Oh, yes I’m fine, Emmrich. Just a little tired. I feel much better though now, thanks to you.”

Emmrich wasted no time ordering Amina out of her armour and onto their bed when they returned to their apartment. As much as the idea of being told to strip down and get into bed by Emmrich was traditionally one that made her stomach flutter, in this case she rather sulkily obeyed, pouting the entire time she peeled off her armour and Emmrich fetched his kit of medical supplies.

The gash on her head posed no trouble to him, nor did the large bruise that had begun darkening the left side of her face. The bite wound on her neck, however, turned out to be curiously resistant to healing. Emmrich had said he’d never seen a wound like it before, and was only able to heal it halfway before he needed to rest for a time.

Amina knew he was trying to appear studiously unperturbed by the mysterious nature of the injury in an attempt to save her from worrying, but she knew Emmrich - knew that furrowed gaze and the way his mouth quirked to the right when he was completely tangled up in something. He’d insisted on checking on it no fewer than three times as they prepared dinner together, lifting the square of dressing he’d placed over it to keep the open wound clean and surveying it for any signs of improvement - or deterioration.

He posited that it was possible the teeth or saliva of creature they’d fought in the catacombs possessed venomous qualities designed to inhibit the healing process, and once again asked Amina if he could please just take her to the infirmary and have a matron look her over to put his mind at ease.

The rest under the cut or on ao3

‘I’m not hauling my sore bones all the way to the infirmary to be told to strip down, wait in a cramped room for an hour in my smalls, and then told that I’m having a slight reaction but I’ll be fine with a good night’s sleep and plenty of fluids,’ she’d argued. ’If it gets worse overnight, I’ll stop in and see someone on our way back from our chat with Myrna and Vorgoth tomorrow.’

She didn’t like saying no to him, especially after the nearly disastrous outcome of their venture to the lower levels, but she wanted to take the evening to lick her wounds in private before facing the surely embarrassing quantity of questions Myrna would have, and the inevitably astute suggestion from Vorgoth that their close call could have been avoided had proper protocol been followed in the first place. You know… like she wasn’t Amina Ingellvar, the Watcher that was temporarily exiled from the order that other time for refusing to follow the strictly enforced procedures of the Mourn Watch.

He agreed - grudgingly - but only on the condition that Amina alert him if she felt anything out of the norm.

She swirled her glass of wine and took a sip of the garnet vintage, wrinkling her nose as it washed over her tongue, a biting, vinegary taste lingering and then morphing into something eggy and sulfurous after she swallowed. “I think this wine is corked, does it taste off to you?”

Emmrich frowned at his own glass and took a sip, let the wine play over his tongue, swallowed, and said, “It tastes fine to me, dear.”

“Really? Perhaps I’m just not in the mood for wine after today.” She slid the glass away from herself, unable to get the bitter scent of it out of her nose: it smelled as bad as it tasted - how was Emmrich enjoying this?

They finished dinner in lethargic silence - it wasn’t tense or awkward: sometimes they just didn’t have anything to talk about and no call to fill the emptiness with forced conversation. It spoke to the ease of their partnership: the ability to just exist in the same space together without feeling compelled to fill the space for the sake of filling it.

She excused herself from the table to draw a bath. “I’ll clear away the dishes later, love. I just need a hot soak to ward off the chill of being so deep today.”

It was widely accepted that the Necropolis had a tendency to steal the warmth from your very bones the further you plunged into its incalculable levels - nothing about the cold that dogged her since they returned home was particularly out of place, but she longed for the comforting heat of water scented with relaxing oils, and the soothing caress of steam curling around her face as she inhaled the warm humid air that would thaw her from the inside out. She’d cleaned the gore from her face and hair earlier, but the horror of what they’d encountered still clung to her, hanging around her head like a miasma.

“Would you care for company, dear?” It wasn’t that he wasn’t genuinely interested in joining her, she knew that - but he was almost certainly asking in this case because he wanted to keep his eyes on her.

“No, no - just make yourself comfortable, love. I’m sure Manfred would like to tell you all about his day. Why don’t you go check in on him?” He was currently in his room, studying, but Amina knew their skeletal ward was chomping at the bit to tell Emmrich everything he’d learned that day - he had been so worried about Amina that he hadn’t had his regular end-of-day chat with Manfred, and she would hate for the lad to feel neglected.

Her fingers tightened on the back of her chair when her vision went hazy and she felt strangely disconnected from herself.

“Darling?” Emmrich’s voice was distant, as though he was speaking to her through a wall.

“I’m fine.” Her vision cleared and feeling returned to her, but she felt colder still than she had moments earlier: she could feel her skin prickling with goose flesh. “Just stood up too quickly.” She smiled at Emmrich in an attempt to reassure him. “Please stop fretting, love. It’s been a long day for both of us: you need to relax too.”

His mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Yes, dear, but—“

“‘Yes dear’ — that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” She rounded the small ebony dining table and took his face in her hands, standing on her toes and brushing her lips against the tip of his nose before kissing him properly - deeply. “Leave the dishes - I’ll see to them after, and then perhaps if you’re still up for it and aren’t too upset with me, we can turn our minds to my earlier suggestion…” Her hand drifted from his smooth cheek and skimmed down between them coming to rest between his legs to underscore her implication.

He made a soft, muffled sound and his fingers wrapped around her wrist as his other hand squeezed a handful of her rear. He stooped slightly, bringing his lips close to her ear so she could clearly hear him when he whispered, “We shall have to see about that, won’t we? You have been rather naughty today…”

Amina let out a small squeak at the innuendo laced through his tone; the heat of his breath as it danced over her chilled ear; and the awareness of him beginning to harden under her hand.

“Dammit Emmrich,” she breathed, massaging him through his pants, eyes locked on his, noting the sly, clever smile playing around his lips.

“Go have your bath, dearest, and we’ll discuss your proposition afterwards.” He pulled her hand away from his crotch and maneuvered her around so she was facing the hallway. “Off you go,” he bid her with a firm swat to her backside.

“I won’t be long,” she promised, looking over her shoulder at him as she exited the dining room. She reappeared around the doorframe a moment after walking through it. “I love you, Emmrich.”

Oh and how she meant it. He looked so perfectly wonderful standing there by the dining table, his eyes soft and affectionate, his cock half-hard, bulging through his trousers as he scooped up his wine glass and drained it, his Adam’s Apple bobbing.

“I love you too, dear. Take as long as you need - I’m not going anywhere.”

She shivered in the bathwater, turning the image of the horror they had fought in the tomb over in her mind.

She’d never seen anything like it - never fought anything like it. It wasn’t darkspawn, it wasn’t a maligned spirit given physical form; nor was it a possessed corpse.

It had no aura.

Everything had an aura, right down to the little snails - no bigger than an apple seed - that lived on the sides of the rocks of the little stream that ran behind Reda’s house.

That thing though… it was surrounded by blatant, vacuous nothing. Sheer entropy. As though what aura it might have had was gobbled up by its existence alone.

And Emmrich was just as baffled by it as she was. He knew things about the Necropolis, history and secrets he had literally filled books with. How could it be that he hadn’t even heard so much as a whisper of the existence of such a creature in all his years of communing with the dead?

Her stomach grumbled insistently under the water, and a pang of hunger followed: she hadn’t finished her dinner. Sweet peppers stuffed with beans and rice was her favourite comfort meal, and Emmrich’s spiced, roasted sweet potato was a household staple, but she couldn’t bring herself to clear her plate tonight, and the few bites she’d had weren’t sitting well in her belly. Too tired, she supposed, for such a rich meal. She'd pay for it in the morning when she woke, shaky and sluggish… especially after the amount of energy she’d expended today.

Perhaps she’d snack on some veggies and nuts before bed to tide herself over till morning, but first…

She bent her knees and slid her back further down into the black marble bathtub, submerging herself deeper into the heat of the nearly scalding water as she tried to ward the annoyingly persistent chill from her marrow - it wasn’t usually so difficult to warm up after a day in the lower levels. Perhaps she was fighting off the beginnings of a bout of sickness - that was the last thing she needed: Emmrich having kittens over achy muscles and a runny nose.

It wasn’t that she resented him for his concern for her wellbeing - she loved it, actually: he had a way of making her feel seen and valued that no one else ever had - but at times she suspected that he used his seemingly boundless compassion for others as a bulwark to shield himself from facing the realities of his own fears and insecurities. An effective solution, really: one couldn’t be expected to confront their own problems when they were endlessly occupied with altruistically shouldering the burdens of others who were also struggling…

Despite this suspicion, he was well within his rights to be cross with her after the events of the day, likely because he knew just as well as she that had she possessed the ability to do so, she would have disabled those wards on her own the day before and encountered that thing by herself, and the odds of her surviving alone wouldn’t have been nearly as good as her surviving with Emmrich.

She drew a deep breath and clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. Steam wafted over the surface of the lavender scented water, but she still felt so bloody cold…

If she was getting sick she was going to be furious - she didn’t have time right now to be laid up in bed for days. She had work to do, a wedding to plan… a fiancé to make love to. They were going on that trip to Orlais, and they had hired a dancing instructor because Amina wanted to learn how to waltz properly for their first dance, and she had a dress fitting next week, and - and, and, and…

She cursed softly and dragged her wet hands through her damp hair, startling herself with how warm they felt against her forehead and her scalp after being submerged for as long as they had. She pressed her palms to her cheeks and frowned at the curious sensation of her body parts being so intensely different in temperature.

She heaved a sigh, acknowledging the growing tightness in her chest, and the feeling of her heart beginning to race, pumping aggressively to circulate blood through her circulatory system and fight off whatever illness was coursing through her veins.

“I’m definitely getting sick,” she murmured to nobody, disappointment weighing down each word. “Just my luck.” She toed the brass faucet and hot water began flowing from the tap again as she slipped further into the water, leaving only her face above the surface now as water rushed into the tub and her straight black hair drifted whimsically around her head making her look like a nymph from a fairytale, wild and free.

Her stomach made another protestation that she could feel but not hear over the sound of the water, and she closed her eyes, giving herself to the peace of her surroundings and quiet, empty thoughts.

He’d never lived with a partner before Amina, but they had combined their lives with nearly effortless ease following the defeat of Elgar’nan and their return to the Necropolis.

They meshed well into one another’s space and routines, encountering very little friction in the initial weeks of acclimating to their new arrangement.

Because of this, Emmrich didn’t feel pressed to check in on Amina during her bath: he picked up early on that the time she spent in the bath was not solely to maintain good personal hygiene, but it was akin to a ritual - sacrosanct and deliberate - where she recalibrated her balance and grounded herself, washing away the filth and grime that clung to her soul after she opened herself to the brutal and jarring emotions that she drew upon to channel her powers as a Reaper.

Also, she liked to smell nice.

It was her space - her time. For him to impose himself upon it would be unkind.

So he caught up with Manfred for the better part of an hour as Amina had suggested, sitting on a stool beside him in his bedroom and listening patiently as Manfred read back his notes on Transversal Atmospheric Anomalies, unable to keep the beaming pride from his face as his - their - ward recited what he had written himself today with only occasional assistance from Emmrich in matters of pronunciation. He had come so far in such a short time: it was remarkable that just over a year earlier he had begun to speak, and now he could carry on proper - albeit brief - conversations. Every day he learned more, became a bit more… surprised Emmrich more than he thought possible.

“Where’s Rook?” He looked from his untidily scrawled notes - penmanship was an ongoing study - to Emmrich, his ever-grinning visage curious and benign.

“She’s having a bath. Now, I see you’ve written ‘unbalanse’ here when you clearly intended to write ‘imbalance’ - so let’s try and spell it out together shall we—?”

But Manfred was no longer paying attention to his notes: he was looking over Emmrich’s shoulder, into the hallway.

“Puddle!” He exclaimed giddily, pointing a gloved finger. “Inside-rain!”

“Dear me, Manfred - you didn’t make it rain in the house again, did you?” Emmrich twisted in his seat to look at where Manfred was pointing, fully prepared to lecture the neophyte mage once more on the discretion one must use when utilizing elemental magicks indoors, but the words died in his throat at the sight of the slowly spreading pool of water seeping from under the closed door of the bathroom, advancing over the dark wooden floor. “Stay here, Manfred,” he instructed, hoping he sounded calm, but knowing the icy terror flooding through him had robbed him of any of the authority he could normally call upon with such ease.

He darted from his seat, the stool toppling behind him, crossing Manfred’s room in two long strides, his bare feet splashing through the warm water that continued to seep from under the door.

The door was unlocked - Amina knew she had no need to lock it to guarantee her privacy - and he flung it open, slipping over the threshold with the urgency of his momentum.

“Darling—?”

He was met with the sight of the black marble bathtub built into the wall opposite him, overflowing, water still cascading from the brass faucet.

He might have shouted her name when he realized he couldn’t see her in the bath, and he slipped on the slick stone floor, falling to one knee when he surged forward.

No, no, no…

Clothes drenched, he clamoured gracelessly over the floor and closed the distance between himself and the tub, gripping the sharp stone edge and hauling himself up, a wail of absolute horror tearing from him at the sight that met his eyes: Amina laying on the floor of the tub, her creamy skin standing in morbid contrast against the backdrop of black, her dark hair almost indiscernible as it drifted placidly around her still face, her wide gaping eyes, and slightly open mouth: a peaceful mockery of the sheer panic that had overtaken him.

“No!” Emmrich choked, voice breaking in that single syllable, arms plunging into the water. “No-no-no-no… no, please… no, Amina—“ Her skin under his fingers was the same temperature as the tepid water that surrounded her, and he hauled her from the tub, yanking her sodden, lifeless weight over the side and onto the floor.

A mortified sob fell from his lips as water sloshed over the edge of the tub, washing over them both; landing in her open mouth and splattering over her limp form as her uncannily empty green eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

Having seen enough death to know better, he still jammed his index and middle finger against her carotid artery, then the radial, brachial, femoral, popliteal - even the dorsalis pedis and posterior tibial.

Utter, damning stillness met his fingertips in every location that should bear a pulse.

Refusing to accept this confirmation of her death, he let her waterlogged ankle slip from his grip - it fell to the floor with a wet thud - and lifted his hands, parting the Veil and drawing on the Fade, channeling decades of skill and mastery into what he knew was a potent spell that could drag a person back from the threshold of death if too much time had not elapsed since their demise - a maximum of a few minutes at most.

He speared the magic through her, directly into her chest where her heart lay, not bothering with typical conventions of propriety or gentle bedside manner: he needed this to work and he needed it to work now.

Her bare chest arced upwards at the impact of the brilliant green light, and as wisps of necrotic shadow dispersed and faded, Emmrich’s anguished scream reverberated around the smooth walls of the bathroom when it became clear that the magic had failed and his beloved remained still and empty, the glorious temple of her body macabre in its unnatural, unholy silence.

His fingers curled around her upper arms and he shook her, sobbing her name, beseeching her uselessly for a response that would never come.

“Please darling, please…” He found the base of her skull and tilted her chin to the ceiling, stabilizing his other hand on her forehead and pinching her nose shut before inhaling deeply and clamping his mouth over hers, sending his breath into her water-logged lungs in a frantic attempt to impart vital oxygen to her. He repeated this a few more times before clasping his hands over the middle of her chest and leaning over her, bracing his elbows and compressing abruptly, again and again and again, his hands slipping over her wet skin, hot tears dripping down his nose and splashing onto her naked abdomen as he attempted to mechanically will life back into her body if magic wouldn’t do it.

Water burbled out of her mouth, accompanied by chunks of her paltry meal that evening. It dribbled down her chin and clung to her skin, and he tilted her head to the side as he continued compressing her chest with enough force that he heard cartilage pop under his thrusts - felt ribs crack.

“Don’t leave me,” he pleaded, hardly able to see her through the tears obscuring his vision.

He was distantly aware of Manfred standing behind him, peering over his shoulder politely, drawn by the unexpected cacophony.

He breathed into her again, uncaring of the rush of water and sick that purged past her lips against his.

He screamed her name, pleading for her to return, not with his magic, but his very soul. He could not - would not - attempt his Corpse Whispering on her, because that would require accepting that she was gone.

He pumped her chest until he physically couldn’t anymore, and collapsed in a heap on top of her, cradling her against him, twining his fingers through her heavy, wet hair and stroking her cold, lifeless cheek.

“I need you, Amina…” he wept against her cool skin, uncaring of the water that continued to pool around them, flooding outwards into the apartment. He rocked on his knees, removed from himself, fully and completely at the mercy of grief and horror.

“I love you.” He squeezed her tightly against him and more water poured from her mouth that lolled open grotesquely. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he chanted brokenly, as if the words might undo what had been done.

Even despite the rushing water and the steady trickle of it cascading over the edge of the tub, there was a particular brand of silence that was dominating this space, weighing on it - crushing it in its immense gravity as Emmrich cried over the corpse of his beloved.

What would he do? Who would he alert first to this tragedy? Could anything else be done? Surely the sacrifices she made to save the world from the gods merited special consideration. Someone could… they should—

He yelped when cold fingers gripped his wet shirt and Amina’s body spasmed, going rigid for a moment, her eyes blinking once, twice, as the perceiving spark of cognizance returned to them and her jaw worked soundlessly, struggling to speak through the deluge of water that spewed forth from her lungs.

His heart leapt in his chest: she was alive - by some incredible miracle she was alive despite her lack of a pulse, the water she’d inhaled, and the not insignificant amount of time she had been at the bottom of the bathtub.

Remarkable.

He helped her lean forward so she could continue retching up stream after stream of water, holding her dark hair from her face even though he knew there was little point in it - the fact he was able to mentally function at all was a miracle too.

When she was done, Amina shuddered intensely and collapsed back into his arms, voice weak as she croaked out his name through ravaged vocal cords.

“W-what happened?” She rasped, pressing her cold body against him, seeming to almost subconsciously seek his heat as she wrapped herself around him, uncaring of her nakedness. “I m-must have drifted off… and I woke up to you c-crying, and— wh-why is the floor all w-wet?”

Her teeth chattered together violently between words, and he could feel her shivering against him - partly from adrenaline, surely, but he could feel her through the wet material of his clothing, and he had never felt anyone so cold - no one living, at least.

He leaned back on one hand and tilted her chin up from where she had buried her face in his chest to get a better look at her, knowing at once that even though she was conscious again, something was not right: her lips were bloodless and blue, the biggest giveaway that her circulatory system was not adequately managing her internal temperature. Her skin, exceptionally pale to begin with, seemed to have lost any colour that it had, leaving it with a semi-translucent, milky, opalescent appearance.

“Emmrich?”

And her eyes… those lively celedon orbs, now made different - an anemic, sickly green almost as void of pigment as her skin - haunting by their very existence and the fact that they had replaced the eyes he had come to know so intimately.

“Emmrich,” she repeated, panic edging into her hoarse voice when he continued to stare down at her, unable to speak because he was desperately trying to comprehend what was going on. “Why were you crying?” It wasn’t a question: it was a demand.

His hand drifted from the smooth, cold surface of her cheek, over her jaw, and past her throat, coming to rest just to the right of her windpipe, index and middle finger pressed flat against the place where her pulse should be.

Should be.

With a gasp he drew his hand away, letting it fall to his side as confirmed fact and direct contradiction collided, refuting and simultaneously verifying the evidence before him.

Amina was still staring at him expectantly, pleading silently for an answer with those strange eyes of hers.

Emmrich’s voice shook when he finally tried to say what he never in his wildest dreams imagined he’d be saying. He took her icy hands in his, squeezing them gently in some foolish hope that the simple action would soften the reality of his next words.

“I was crying because…” He faltered, tried again. “Because you are dead, darling.”

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