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I have moved emmrich to my MAIN BLOG @scvcnofswords .

this is now just an archive. if you want to interact with him, follow there.

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this man is too pretty i fear

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@berthindeath || kissing your lover just above their waistband.|| KISS MEMES || Accepting

Pressing Gwen into the door as he closes it, Emmrich cannot help himself as he leans down and catches her mouth with his. The kiss is a heady, drugging thing, his tongue begging entry to the seam of her lips, as his fingers cup her chin and tilt it up to control the angle of the kiss. His other hand finds the small of her back and pulls her up and onto her toes so that she must wrap her arms around his shoulders, must lean on him at least slightly to have any sort of stability.

An underhanded trick, perhaps, but well worth it as his hand creeps beneath her tunic to the silken skin of her waist, as the taste of her kiss floods his senses and drives the desire for her higher and higher still.

Her lips part to him, and Emmrich groans as he twines his to hers, feeling as though flames are licking at his spine. His grip on her waist tightens, and the small, shivery sound that she makes into his mouth is- ambrosia. He cannot get enough of her. In truth, he could kiss her forever, but that- is not actually what he wants, tonight. For just a moment, his kiss turns nearly bruising, stealing the breath from her lungs-

And then Emmrich eases off, pulling back. Gwen makes a strangled sound of protest, and he hums a gentle noise. "Patience, beloved," he says softly, pressing a soft kiss to where her pulse hammers in her throat- then to the base of her neck, as the hand that had been on her chin slides down, slowly undoing the buttons and belts of her tunic.

Slowly, Emmrich kisses each revealed patch of skin, and he knows the moment Gwen realizes his intent when he presses a kiss to the curve of her breast yet still doesn't linger. His tongue flicks against the sensitive skin of her ribcage, before he kisses the softness of her belly and feels her seize a sharp inhale.

The necromancer sinks to his knees before his beloved, pressing a more biting kiss to the edge of her hipbone, and looks up at her through his lashes, nearly swooning himself at the look in her lilac eyes, at the gorgeous flush that has painted across her cheeks and down her throat. "You," he whispers softly, "Are the most exquisite of beauties, my love. And I have been longing to do this all damned day." He nips at the skin of her hip once more, and watches Gwen's pupils blow, swallowing the purple entirely.

Slowly, he sets his fingers to the laces of her pants, not removing his mouth from her skin for even a moment, as his desire for her beats in his head like his heartbeat, and his blood burns for her. Slowly, achingly slowly, he slides her breeches down the softness of her thighs. Emmrich cannot resist but to mouth lightly at the soft skin where thigh and hip meet, closing his eyes, and running his hands slowly back up the backs of her thighs once he's pulled her pants down entirely, boots with them. Cupping the curve of her bottom, he toys with the hem of her smallclothes- and nips sharp enough at that silken skin of her thigh to leave a red mark, eyes opening again to meet hers, still locked upon him.

"Indulge me, beloved?" He drags those fingers, then against the heat of her core, dragging them back and forth and then circling the apex of her pleasure through the soft fabric- not hard enough, just enough to tease. Just enough to spike her need for him higher, until she's burning for him just the same.

"Right here. Against the door- let me be what holds you up." Slowly now, he guides the smalls off the same as he had her breeches- feels her tangle one hand into his hair and hums in approval, leaning into the slight sting.

He guides one thigh up and over his shoulder, and then presses in closer to drag his tongue against that which his fingers had just teased- too eager now to wait for her to find her voice, when her fingers pull him right to where she wants him.

Right where he wants to be.

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Her small hands cradle a dove with a broken wing, lilac hues welling with tears as she rushes into the house from the garden. “Papa!” She calls tearfully as she comes tearing around a corner into his study. Raven hair hangs in messy curls, strands sticking to her cherubic cheeks as she looks up at the towering frame of her father. “Papa—it’s hurt.” Taissa remarks painfully, the white bird cooing quietly as the child’s thumbs slowly stroke it. “We have to help it.”

The commotion at first has Emmrich jolting from his desk, heart pounding in his throat. He cannot help but to immediately imagine the worst- such as Taissa being injured, such as some sort of- demon or attack, and a hand unconsciously reaches towards the staff on the wall- until he sees Taissa come racing into the study.

Quickly, Emmrich moves to her and drops to one knee, hands hovering- but it is not his daughter who is injured, thank the stars. It is the little dove she has somehow found- and Emmrich feels his heart turn over in his chest. She has her mother's heroic heart, his little girl, and he takes a shaking breath- half relief, as he steels himself. Gentle hands brush dark curls out of Taissa's face, and he looks down at the little bird, compassion and concern in his features. It is indeed quite wounded, though it holds itself remarkably still and brave in his daughter's gentle hands.

"We certainly do, my heart," he says, quietly, stroking a gentle fingertip against the bird's head. "I am so glad you found the poor creature. Come, let us find it somewhere comfortable to rest, and together we will set about fixing this poor wing, hm?"

How lucky he is indeed, to have somehow been blessed enough for this little soul to be his future. Gwen, he thinks warmly, will indeed love to hear of today's adventures when she returns home.

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"That sounds a lovely day, darling," Emmrich says, fondly enthused, and means every word. He is- glad, beyond glad, that she has been finding ways to take time for herself to breathe alongside the rest of their companions, or alongside the Inquisitor more often. She has been working herself harder than anyone that he has ever known- and that's a judgement he feels perfectly sound in making.

He's... Grateful. To Inquisitor Lavellan, for how intent she's been on trying to protect Gwendolyn's personhood and wellbeing. And grateful that the Lighthouse had seen fit to grant the elvhen woman her own space here, so that she and Gwen can convene as much as they do- and so that he and Regin can discuss and strategize about the... Other matter, of Solas and Gwen's connection.

But he banishes that from his thoughts for the moment at least- wanting, achingly, to just... Be in the moment with her. She's right. They need to do their best not to only speak of or think of work, whenever they can.

The distraction is- worrisome. "There have been- but you yourself, my love, asked not to speak of work," he reminds, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. It's not either of their faults, really, when work- their work- is so desperately dire. When there's so much riding on the outcome of their work. But the very least that he could do for her Is there anything, perhaps, that you'd like to do specifically for our evening? We could perhaps commandeer the kitchen from Lucanis- I've acquired a lovely wine-sauce recipe for pasta, that I was hoping to try with you-"

But then she's wincing- and Emmrich curses the Dread Wolf a dozen times, as he lifts a hand to her temple, cooling magic pulsing gently to try and ease the ache of the blood magic he cannot undo, matching only to the pain in his heart that he cannot- protect her from this magic. From this pain. Truly, whilst Emmrich feels compassion for the once-Wisdom spirit... Moments like this, that compassion is hard to reach. He will have to reach out to Regin again- see if perhaps they can try and pursue a solution to this from yet another angle....

But that isn't important right now either, ultimately. Not in the moment. It can wait till the morning- Gwen and her wellbeing cannot. "- Perhaps, my love," he says softer, "We should have a quiet night in. Just- the two of us and soft lights. I could make us dinner to share in bed, even, if you were so inclined. Read to you, if your head is aching so. You-" he nearly bites through his tongue, anger and heartache. "You must rest that lovely mind and heart of yours."

The  light  pressure  of  his  forehead  against  her  own  has  a  relieved  sigh  escaping  her.  She  doesn't  judge  him  for  it,  she  isn't  much  better  than  he  is,  in  truth.  Often�� caught  needing  to  be  productive  or  else  she'll  fear  they've  gotten  complacent,  that  they  might  miss  something  and  it  could  throw  their  entire  operation  into  a  tailspin.  But  Regin  had  reminded  her  to  stop  and  take  stock  sometimes,  that  it  was  something  she  wished  she'd  done  more  during  the  days  of  the  Inquisition.  And  with  the  benefit  of  having  even  a  fraction  of  free  time,  sometimes  it's  best  to  not  overburden  oneself  with  work,  lest  they  forget  who  they  are  in  the  process.

She's  trying.

Gwendolyn  easily  presses  into  his  chest  at  his  insistence,  a  light  chuckle  leaving  her  as  she  feels  the  warmth  of  his  kiss  against  her  skin.  Lords,  she  could  stay  like  this  with  him  forever  if  she  could.

"  Mmm,  a  quieter  day,  thankfully.  "  She  speaks  softly  as  her  hands  move  to  roam  over  the  front  of  his  vest,  adjusting  it  somewhat  but  mostly  using  it  as  an  excuse  to  feel  him.  "  Went  out  into  the  forest  with  Davrin  and  Assan  to  help  him  forage.  Spoke  with  Strife  and  Irelin  for  a  time  regarding  the  state  of  things.  "  She  murmurs  softly,  but  she's  clearly  distracted.

In  retrospect,  she  hasn't  done  much  today,  so  why  does  she  feel  as  tired  as  she  does?  Her  left  eye  twitches  slightly,  a  sigh  leaving  her  lips  before  she  tilts  her  head  back  so  that  she  could  gaze  up  at  Emmrich,  her  hands  slipping  around  his  sides  beneath  his  arms  so  that  she  could  grasp  at  his  shoulder  blades.  "  And  you?  Have  I  missed  any  new  developments  here  while  I  was  gone?  "

But  she  hisses  almost  immediately  after  the  words  leave  her  lips,  a  sharp  pain  digging  behind  her  eyes  and  into  her  temples.  A  hand  falls  from  him  to  press  the  heel  of  it  into  her  temple,  trying  to  alleviate  the  pain  with  pressure  as  her  other  hand  scratches  into  the  soft  fabric  of  his  shirt.  Maybe  she's  pushing  herself  too  hard  after  all.

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She puts on a good show; but Gwendolyn Ingellvar, at this point in her life, could not be unnassuming or non-threatening even if she put the whole of her heart and soul into it, Emmrich fears. There's too much anger and pain in her, a miasma of it that he can very nearly see cloaking her. It aches in his heart in the worst of ways, and he-

He cannot help but to feel responsible. Cannot help but to know he is responsible, at least in part, for what she's suffered to bring her to this point. This, perhaps, is one of the greatest of his failures, in the whole of his life.

He cannot give up on her, large in part because of that. He won't.

"I would not 'have you believe' anything that is not true, Gwendolyn," he says, agonized. "I will not do you the indignity of lying to you or trying to trick you. I have too much respect for you to do so. Please, this need not end in blood. Just- release her, and let us-" He flinches slightly as she throws the woman to the ground, but takes another cautious step towards her anyways, unable to quite stop himself.

And Manfred, moving with him, makes a wary but pleased hiss, slowly waving his skeletal fingers at the woman across from him and Emmrich. Emmrich's heart is a hummingbird within his throat, and he steps carefully to the side, laying his hands gently atop Manfred's shoulders to keep him close, but to allow him to step forward, into the light so that Gwendolyn can see him.

"- Yes. Curiosity. He chose- each and every one of the bones for this body, and has elected to go by the name 'Manfred," Emmrich says, voice tight and aching with emotion. "He was- a close friend of yours, as I recall. He has been- a very dear friend to me, as I attempt to teach him to navigate the physical world. But he has never forgotten you." Another cautiously pleased little hiss, and Manfred waves to her again- more eagerly, this time, as though hoping it will make her respond in kind.

He hated to let Manfred put himself into such a tense and fraught situation, but there is little else either of them can think of to try and get through to her- and it had been Manfred's own idea. If Emmrich doesn't let the little spirit try things that are important to him, it will only hurt him, in the end.

And he had once followed Gwen around the Necropolis as loyally as a hound, as the little blue and silver wisp he'd been for so long. His jeweled eyes glow that same blue, as he watches Gwen, head tilting to one side. "He wished- to come to see you."

The truth. Entirely. For Manfred shares Emmrich's fierce hope to- save her from herself, and from those leading her deeper into the dark.

Hands  raised  in  mocking  peace,  trying  to  appear  nonthreatening  when  she's  not  naive.  Emmrich  Volkarin  is  no  simple  mage;  a  man  of  renown  within  their  his  order.  Unparalleled  abilities  that  had  staff  and  student  body  alike  buzzing  with  his  skill  and  charm.  Charm  that  had  once  captivated  her  on  more  than  one  occasion  but  no  more  than  that  fateful  night.

She  could  still  smell  his  aftershave  on  his  skin,  the  warmth  of  his  voice  as  he  spoke  to  her  to  keep  her  conscious.  How  he'd  cradled  her  in  his  arms  with  his  cloak  wrapped  around  her  to  fight  the  chill  and  also  preserve  what  little  dignity  she  had  left.  Her  body  riddled  in  shallow  and  deep  cuts  that  seemed  to  ooze  endlessly  no  matter  what  he  did.  A  cloak  that's  tucked  away  in  a  trunk  back  at  the  compound.

Sentimentality.  Something  she  needs  to  rid  herself  of.  She  cannot  afford  to  lose  sight  of  things,  not  now.  Not  because  he's  finally  decided  to  show  up.

"  Oh,  pardon  me.  "  She  muses  bitterly,  reaching  up  to  drag  her  hand  across  the  captive  woman's  mouth,  sealing  it  shut  so  she  would  stop  her  aggravating  whining.  They  haven't  much  further  to  go  and  once  she's  dealt  with  this  little  road  block,  they  could  be  on  their  way.

But  then,  the  words  coming  from  the  necromancer's  mouth  has  her  mouth  twitching.

Until  she's  breaking  into  a  throaty  laugh.

"  You  would  have  me  believe  you,  wouldn't  you?  "  She  giggles  painfully  as  she  throws  the  woman  to  her  hands  and  knees,  the  chain  still  firm  in  her  grip  but  relaxed  enough  in  knowing  that  Emmrich  won't  attack  her  yet.  "  The  dying,  bleeding  girl  you  found  that  night  is  dead,  Volkarin,  you  and  your  colleagues  made  sure  of  that.  "

But  when  her  eyes  slide  to  the  skeleton  that  peeks  out  from  behind  the  professor  she  is  frozen.  The  lilac  aura  that  surrounds  it,  the  inherent  understanding  that  a  curiosity  spirit  is  housed  within  the  bone  construct—but  there  lives  a  familiarity  in  her  heart  that  she  had  not  been  anticipating.

Thoughts  of  soft  grass  beneath  bare  feet,  fingers  tangling  in  blue  creep  vine  as  the  wisp  bounces  against  the  crown  of  her  head.  Her  laughter  echoing  like  a  dream.

It  couldn't  be.  But  it  pulls  from  her  lungs  all  the  same  before  she  can  stop  it,

"...Curiosity?  "

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"Oh, love," he sighs, squeezing her just a bit closer and pressing a soft kiss to her hair, unable to help himself. Truly, it's not her fault. The fact that it hasn't been blatantly discovered by the other nations up until this point is no small miracle- but it's only a matter of time.

The ruling powers of Nevarra truly need to come up with a plan for the fallout of this, because the Chantry declaring an Exalted March against Nevarra for having an undead ruler- it's not an unfathomable response from them, if he's to be honest, and something he knows many of the mages of Nevarra are aware could be building in the distance.

No, this isn't Gwen's fault at all. This just- isn't sustainable.

"... Unfortunately, that is indeed what I am suggesting," he says, as much as he's loathe to actually put it to words. "Do you have a better idea?" Meant genuinely; not in challenge or reproach. If anyone were to have a good way to charm the Talons into not... divulging or acting upon that which they might have finally confirmed for themselves through Gwen's slip... Well, it's Gwen herself. "Because unfortunately, I do believe that's the only plan I have. Do you think that perhaps you could convince this to be kept quiet some other way, darling?"

Lilac hues look on at him with a growing distress, seeing the way he pinches his nose and looks just as she pictured he would. But it's when he admits his disappointment that her face almost crumbles completely. It was worse than anger, in her opinion, but she reaches as he stands to his feet and moves to take her into his arms.

That is comforting, at least.

" I'm sorry, dragul meu. " She mutters, unable to stop herself from weaving her arms around his slender frame, tucking her head against his shoulder as he offers what could potentially be a solution. At the rate she's going, it's currently only rumor and nothing more. She's not definitively said King Markus is undead, simply validated a widely spread rumor that has been uttered in the streets of Nevarra City long before reaching the shores elsewhere. She cannot confirm her own or anyone's suspicions.

But when he suggests a trade, she can't help the way her face scrunches a bit, considering it for a moment with a lifted brow. " What are you suggesting, we bribe a talon? "

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I'm sorry that I haven't been here super often and that I've been slow on replies and inbox the past 2 weeks. I'll try and be here more this weekend- I just got out of the hospital late last night (3.6.2025) after a major health scare and I've just got... Limited energy and honestly more inspiration for my ocs right now.

I did recently update my rules so PLEASE check the 'readmore' section in my pinned. I will be around sunday and monday, hopefully.

love yall dearly, i promise to devote the time that my necromancer beloved deserves soon.

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Her heart stops as she watches him hit the ground, the venatori rogue yanking their scythe free from her love’s side. It has her choking on air as she can’t find it in herself to say anything much less scream. Her fist slams shut, eyes unblinkingly wide as her magic seizes the enemy in place, body contorting with her magic as she siphons their life force in a steady stream.

“No—“ she shivers out finally, her boots slamming into the ground as she rushes toward Emmrich lying there, blood pouring from his flank as she slams her palm right over the wound. She knows it hurts, but she immediately begins using the venatori scum’s life to amplify her healing spell—inverting it as she uses herself as a conduit. She’s trembling, silent tears slipping from lilac hues as she stares at her love, shaking her head.

“No, you don’t get to die.” She whimpers as the dying rogue pales, falls to their knees as the light from their eyes dull and goes out, body turning to dust as it hits the earth. || @berthindeath || send 'no, you don't get to die' for your muse to find my muse covered in blood || PLEASE SEND MORE OF THESE GOOD LORD

He hadn't seen the blow coming. He's usually so much more careful, so much more aware on the field, but this day has been - worse for some reason, the cultists better organized, better trained.

Or perhaps better puppeted. He hasn't been able to determine which it is- and at the strange, sick rush as the blade slides into him, Emmrich loses his breath on a strangled gasp, staggering to the side. His barrier, even, had been sliced through like a hot knife through butter- and he stares down at the blade sticking out of himself with a distant sort of shock. There is a jolt of pure agony as the curved blade is pulled free- and Emmrich is the one to drop as though his strings have been cut, blood bubbling on his lips.

He strangles, it feels- he cannot draw in a true breath, cannot force his lungs to work. His eyes roll- slide closed for a moment before he forces them open- and they lock on Gwen. The pain and panic in her face- the sheer terror. Clumsily, one of his hands seeks hers, grasping with a force he hadn't expected himself to have, even as his vision blurs and blackens.

He cannot do this to her. He cannot- abandon Gwen. Not again. Not like this.

For a moment there, he is dying.

But then the life force of the Venatori slams into his own like a psychic battering ram- driving his consciousness away from the inviting darkness. He gasp a frantic, desperate breath- then sucks in another, greedy for the oxygen, desperate for it. The wound begins to seal and knit- as does his lung within his body.

He surges upright, coughing and wiping blood off of his mouth- and hauls Gwen against his chest, his own magic twisting through the veil as he focuses on the hand holding hers, and funneling his own healing magic through her and into himself alongside her- sealing a slice on her cheek as he holds her to himself.

"I'm- I'm alright. I'm sorry, beloved, I'm alright. You have me. You have me. I'm n-not... I'm going nowhere." His own terror is an inky blackness lurking at the back of his throat. He had never in his life come so close to his own end.

Never.

But he holds her to him, and strokes her hair, pressing a kiss clumsily to the side of her head- glad that he stains her skin with none of his blood, by some mercy. The hand over hers atop the sealed wound squeezes, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.

"You have me. You saved me. I will not leave you."

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Tension Starters

A mix of actions that focus on tense situations (with a hint of yearning as a treat) Inspiration taken from an array of different memes to put them all together in this one. Feel free to mix prompts to make more specific ones or REVERSE them.

send in prompts for my muse’s (RECEIVER) reaction to your muse (SENDER) …

( STAB ) standing against to mine, still with your (sender) weapon (example: dagger, sword) in mine's body.

( WEAPON ) holding mine's hand which holds a weapon aimed at them (sender).

( LIFE ) looking down at my muse with a weapon after sparing/saving mine's life.

( WIN ) having just won a game of cards, showing your (sender) winning hand on the table.

( DRINK ) offering mine a cup of a chosen drink. (example: tea, wine, poison)

( FRUIT ) sharing a piece of fruit with mine.

( HOLD ) holding mine's arm, preventing yours (sender) from leaving.

( ARM ) letting go of a mine's arm, allowing mine to leave.

( HAND ) reaching out to hold mine's hand, and yours (sender) stopping themselves.

( STARE ) staring at mine from across the room.

( SILENCE ) opening your (sender) mouth to say something, but yours (sender) deciding against it.

( WIPE ) wiping something (example: make-up/dirt/blood/tears) from mine's face.

( REST ) resting your (sender) forehead on mine's stomach / lap.

( NOOK ) burying your (sender) face on the nook of mine's shoulder.

( CHEEK ) kissing mine's cheek, pausing and moving away.

( SHOULDER ) holding mine's shoulder from behind, leaning down to whisper in mine's ear.

( TABLE ) accidentally (or not) touching mine's hands/legs/knees under the table.

( CLOSE ) standing close and catching mine's eyes before yours (sender) starts to move away.

( WHISPER ) whispering close to mine's face.

( LEAN ) leaning your (sender) head against the curve of mine's shoulder.

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KISS & TELL: wiping away your lover’s tears as you kiss them. (grcvewctcher)

Her  eyes  are  tear  worn,  exhausted  as  they  land  on  his  back  facing  her  in  an  arching  window.  She  slips  into  the  bedroom  of  the  unfamiliar  home,  steps  still  uncertain  in  their  path  but  her  destination  was  always  the  same.

She'd  insisted  they  come  here,  to  his  home  in  the  city,  after  everything  that's  happened.  He  deserved  to  feel  safe  in  a  familiar  place,  no  matter  how  much  the  Lighthouse  has  become  a  second  home.  What  he  feels  now,  it  should  be  here.  With  a  heavy  decision  made,  and  what  lies  ahead  for  them  tomorrow,  a  familiar  bed  is  needed.  Should  he  find  rest,  that  is.

It's  too  quiet.  A  light,  gone.

Her  hands  slowly  find  him  so  as  not  to  startle  him  with  her  touch,  sweeping  down  the  length  of  his  back  before  she  is  encircling  her  arms  around  him  from  behind.  She  looks  up  at  him  with  a  twisted  brow  as  she  sees  him  slowly  turn  his  head  toward  her  as  far  as  he  could  muster.  She  can  see  his  hair  is  loose,  hanging  over  his  forehead  as  his  own  reddened  gaze  finds  her  as  he's  hanging  on  by  a  thread.

And  she  breaks.

"  It's  okay,  "  She  barely  manages,  hardly  a  shred  above  a  whisper  as  she  watches  him  crumble.  He,  who  has  been  a  font  of  her  strength  for  months,  now  twists  in  her  embrace  to  seek  her  comfort.  Tears  flood  and  break  onto  her  cheeks  the  moment  he  sinks  to  his  knees  before  her,  an  aching  sob  leaving  him  as  his  face  buries  into  the  satin  of  her  night  dress.  She  whimpers  softly  as  Emmrich  pulls  her  in  close  until  she  is  all  but  in  his  lap,  his  face  in  her  chest  so  that  he  might  have  her  beating  heart  close.  Her  fingers  are  slipping  through  his  hair,  feeling  the  quake  of  his  shoulders  as  he  gives  into  his  turmoil.

He'd  chosen  to  renounce  his  claim  to  lichdom  for  the  sake  of  his  ward,  who  had  thrown  himself  into  danger  to  protect  them.  For  a  chance  to  bring  him  back  to  them,  to  bring  him  home.  There  is  no  promise  of  success,  no  matter  how  powerful  the  mage  who  performs  the  rite.  Manfred  has  to  desire  return,  to  hear  his  call.  The  worry  lives  in  both  of  them  now  as  they  wait  on  the  edge  of  that  precipice  of  doubt.  But  hope,  by  the  lords,  hope  has  to  drive  them  forward.  For  Manfred's  sake.

"  Dragul  meu,  "  She  sniffles  as  she  gently  draws  his  head  up  to  face  her,  lilac  meeting  the  forest  moss  of  his  eyes,  tears  unrepentantly  flowing  as  her  delicate  touch  slowly  begins  to  sweep  them  away.  "  Ne  vom  aduce  băiatul  acasă.  "  She  vows  as  she  presses  their  foreheads  together.

Emmrich  nods  once  as  his  chin  trembles,  his  hands  shaking  as  he  reaches  to  grasp  at  her  upper  arms,  stroking  the  soft  bare  skin  of  them.  It  feels  as  though  he  is  trying  to  make  sure  she's  present,  that  he  is  anchored  in  this  grief  with  her.  "  Știu.  "  He  rasps  out,  his  voice  still  unsteady.

Her  thumbs  swipe  beneath  his  eyes  as  she  tries  to  ease  him,  feeling  him  draw  her  closer.  Then  their  lips  are  touching  in  a  soft  press  that  Gwendolyn  does  not  push,  but  he  does  as  his  hands  slip  to  grasp  at  her  sides.  He  is  chasing  her  comfort  as  he  deepens  the  kiss,  a  silent  plea  to  her  to  take  his  mind  away  from  the  gnawing  fear.  She  meets  it,  soft  palms  framing  his  face  within  them  as  she  kisses  him  back  with  she  has.

Soon  she  slowly  eases  their  embrace  to  a  slow  pass,  her  lips  slipping  to  press  at  the  height  of  his  cheek,  then  to  his  temple  until  she's  guiding  him  to  lean  his  head  against  her  chest.  Her  heart  beats  steadily  against  his  ear  as  his  long  arms  weave  to  encase  her  protectively  within  them.  She  wraps  him  up  against  her  as  her  hand  lifts  to  cradle  the  back  of  his  head,  scratching  into  his  thick  hair  as  her  lips  find  the  crown.

She  would  remain  here  as  long  as  he  needed,  until  the  sun  rises  if  that's  how  long  it  takes.  He  will  know  that  he  does  not  face  this  alone,  and  that  for  as  long  as  this  heart  is  beating,  he  will  never  have  to  be  alone  again.

"  Iţi  promit.  "

[grcvewctcherarchivedarchived]

Describe how your Muse feels when they look at my Muse.

[grcvewctcherarchivedarchived]

「CLIMB 」 : for sender to climb into receivers lap & 「 GRIND 」 : for sender to grind against the receiver (mwah love yoooou) || @berthindeath || sinday sunday intimacy and spice prompts || selectively accepting

He is so enraptured by her that he can hardly breathe for it. She is a work of art no painter could ever hope to outdo, she is the song one hears that changes their life at night amongst the stars, and as she meets her gaze to his, backing him up against his bed, Emmrich bends to her will, helpless not to. Eager to.

It is not entirely common that she takes charge, such as this, but the confidence that has been building in her since their first time has been the most intoxicating thing he has ever born witness to, and he cannot do anything but follow her wishes.

He can always take charge again later, if he so pleases- so that he can set about loving her as she deserves to be loved, can press his affection into the marks he leaves on her skin.

The necromancer sinks to sit upon the bed, a low exhale rattling in his lungs, and Gwen's smile is all mischief, all daring, as she moves to straddle his lap, her hands catching upon his shoulders and bracing herself there. Her teeth sink into her lower lip before she raises her eyes back to his, and he feels his own heart nearly stop, his hands settling automatically at her waist and stroking gently at the warm skin beneath the gauzy fabric of the nightdress that has rucked up nearly to her ribs. It's a short thing to begin with, only barely hiding her beautiful form from his vision, tantalizing in the way that watching how the material blurs her body and moves with her just makes him watch her more intently.

He always watches her, really; she always has his attention, but like this, he doesn't think anything could tear his focus off of her. A fire could start in the room and she'd still be the only thing worth looking at.

Emmrich exhales shakily as she moves, her lips pressing softly, so softly against his. The kiss is coaxing, pulling him in to follow her- and he does, kissing her back just as soft, savoring her, savoring the moment. It ends all too soon, as she breaks it- though he chases her, she keeps just far enough back that their lips brush against one another at the slightest movement or breath- and yet he cannot truly kiss her, cannot steal the air from her lungs to fill his own, cannot steal the words from her head.

She haunts him like a dream it feels in these moments, but she is oh-so very real. Real in a way he'd never dared to pray for. He slides his hands up her flank, beneath the nightdress- slowly, slowly, and watches as she closes her eyes, swaying somewhat in his lap- luxuriating in the simple bliss that is his worship of her.

And then she's pressing more firmly into his lap, and Emmrich loses his breath, biting his own lip. Her eyes don't open- but her body moves in a beautiful, sinuous roll that sends fire licking along his nerves, the pressure to the length of his manhood like whiplash- so very much, so very intense after she has teased and played with so much softness, so much almost-but-not-quite.

"Gwendolyn," Emmrich breathes out, throat tight, his desire for her singing in his blood. She grinds down and into him again, and he cannot help but to rock up and into her, which tears a whimper from between those beautiful lips. He feels the urge to close his eyes- forces them to remain open, to remain on her.

"You are- a masterpiece," he whispers- sliding one hand up her body, tracing the softness of her until he can cup the back of her neck, whilst his other hand slides down, gripping the softness of one thigh, pulling her more firmly into him the next time she grinds down- helping her to settle into a rhythm with him. Guiding, just a little, but leaving her in control.

She hums wordless in response- finally meeting his gaze with those perfect lilac eyes, and Emmrich is lost entirely. He tugs her down into a kiss, licking into her mouth like a man possessed as he grinds up and into her- harder, now, letting her feel the way she has lit him aflame. Wordless, he rolls them until they're both sprawled on their sides- pulling her leg over his hip to keep her open and pressed to him, refusing to break the kiss.

She- can have her control next time. He needs to feel her- needs to set his hands and mouth to every inch of her skin until she's breathless for want of him- the way he is every time she looks his way. "We-" he whispers into her mouth, "Are not leaving this room till midmorning tomorrow at the earliest, my dear."

[grcvewctcherarchivedarchived]

I must tend to this, but I'd be delighted if we found each other later.

[grcvewctcherarchivedarchived]

send  “no, you don’t get to die”  for my injured muse to react to yours saying this while they’re bleeding. 

[grcvewctcherarchivedarchived]

𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂  𝐑𝐏  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒  —  pt  4-6:  confessions,  first  kisses,  and  the  shift  from  longing  to  something  more.  some  of  these  may  be  repeats  from  other  posts  of  mine.  couldn't  give  up  the  chance  to  use  them  again!  ✧  ˚₊  Themes:  longing,  tension,  intimacy  &  love  unfolding

𝐏𝐓.𝟒:     𝐓𝐇𝐄     𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓     𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄     𝐓𝐇𝐄     𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋   .

The  moment  hangs  between  them  ;  too  much,  too  close.  Will  they  lean  in,  or  will  the  tension  break  before  it  can  become  something  real?

 My  muse  catches  your  muse’s  wrist  before  they  can  walk  away,  voice  softer  now.  “…Don’t  go."

 My  muse  closes  their  eyes,  exhaling  shakily.  “Tell  me  I’m  wrong.  Tell  me  this—whatever  this  is—doesn’t  mean  anything.”

My  muse  hesitates,  looking  down  at  their  intertwined  fingers.  “…Do  you  even  realize  what  you  do  to  me?”

My  muse  lifts  a  hand  to  your  muse’s  face  but  doesn’t  touch  them.  “…Say  the  word,  and  I’ll  stop.”

My  muse  brushes  your  muse’s  hair  away,  their  fingers  lingering.  “You…  have  no  idea  how  long  I’ve  wanted  to  do  that.”

My  muse  watches  your  muse  laugh,  something  shifting  in  their  gaze.  “…God,  I  think  I’m  in  love  with  you.”

𝐏𝐓.  𝟓:     𝐓𝐇𝐄     𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓     𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒   .

A  heartbeat,  a  breath,  a  hesitation(?)  then  finally,  lips  meet.

My  muse  starts  to  say  something  but  is  cut  off  as  your  muse  kisses  them  instead.

My  muse  doesn’t  think—they  just  act,  pulling  your  muse  in  before  they  can  change  their  mind.

My  muse  cups  your  muse’s  face,  pressing  their  forehead  against  theirs.  “…Are  you  sure?”

My  muse  kisses  your  muse  mid-argument,  desperate  to  stop  them  from  walking  away.

My  muse  hesitates  inches  away,  whispering,  “Tell  me  to  stop,  and  I  will.”

My  muse  pulls  away  breathlessly,  searching  your  muse’s  eyes.  “…Do  that  again.”

My  muse  kisses  your  muse  so  softly  it  almost  doesn’t  feel  real.  “…I’ve  wanted  to  do  that  forever.”

My  muse  touches  their  lips  afterward,  a  little  stunned.  “…Oh.”

𝐏𝐓.  𝟔:     𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓     𝐍𝐎𝐖   ?!

The  confession  is  out!  The  kiss  has  happened. 

My  muse  swallows,  voice  quiet.  “…So…  what  happens  now?”

My  muse  laughs  nervously,  rubbing  the  back  of  their  neck.  “So…  do  we  pretend  that  didn’t  just  happen,  or—?”

My  muse  reaches  for  your  muse’s  hand  again,  this  time  without  hesitation.

My  muse  smirks,  bumping  your  muse’s  shoulder.  “So,  uh…  was  I  any  good?”

My  muse  tilts  your  muse’s  chin  up,  searching  their  eyes.  “You’re  sure  about  this?  About  me?”

My  muse  exhales  shakily.  “I  don’t  know  what  this  means  yet,  but…  I  know  I  don’t  want  to  lose  you.”

 My  muse  kisses  your  muse  again . . . this  time,  softer.  More  certain.  “…Just  in  case  that  first  one  was  a  mistake.”

[grcvewctcherarchivedarchived]

a note to those around here that i, the mun, am a.sexual, pan.ro.mantic, and ge.nderq.ueer- but that doesn't mean i dislike sex or intimacy in fiction.

i am the sort of sex-re.pulsed ace that a lot of media likes to show- i don't even like kissing or holding hands, but i find all of those things absolutely fascinating and beautiful in matters of fiction, and very interesting to explore. asexuality is a spectrum, just like every other form of sexuality, and everyone has their own individual relationship with their identity within it.

if you're an ace person who loves sex or an ace person that hates it, you're still deeply valid. and yes, asexuality is valid as a queer identity within its' own right.