#emmanellain de fortemps x wol

[thevikingwoman]

I could not let this be, so here is part two of Meryta and Emmanellain. This part is explicit.

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words: 2359 | Read on Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Meryta Khatin x Emmanellain de Fortemps | start of HW | fluff/romance Rating: Explicit. New relationship, first time together, sweetness, smut, oral, handjob

Reprieve - part 2

Meryta and Emmanellain rush down the hall, giggling and holding hands. Meryta isn’t sure this is wise, but she’s very tired of worrying. Emmanellain is sweet and handsome, hapless overconfidence notwithstanding. Thanks Nhamaa – or perhaps Halone – the hallways are empty.

Emmanellain fumbles with the handle of a door, and she sneaks a kiss to his cheeks as he swings the door to his rooms open, gesturing for her to enter. She looks around curiously, hand in his. There are shelves with books, and some thrown open on a side table. A sitting area with a velvet divan, vases with flowers, ink and paper on a desk, crumbled leafs beside it.

“Here we are, pretty girl. My chambers are quite splendid, of course.” He pulls her further into the room, and he amends, “I am certain Father provided you with lodging befitting a hero, of course –”

Meryta stands on her toes and kisses his jaw. Emmanellain bends to capture her lips with his and she loses interest in the décor as he wraps his arms around her and lifts her up, bracing her against the wall. The door falls shut.

Impatient, she pushes his coat off his shoulders, its heavy fur hitting the floor with a thud. It’s probably the latest fashion, but Emmanellain doesn’t seem to care right now, and neither does she, the layers of rich cloth far too much between them. He kisses her jaw, her throat, his soft lips eager against her skin. She shivers with every touch of his lips, want pooling in her belly. She kisses him back, her hands roaming across the velveteen clinging to his shoulders, round to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt.

“I want – ”

He nods and she works the buttons, popping the buttons open impatiently. His skin is soft and smooth and she kisses it as it’s revealed, his shirt hanging open. She’s not had a lot of opportunity for intimacy since she came to Eorzea, and then only hurried moments. She’s not had much before that either, but the partners in her youth were much more like her, scaled and hardened. Now, she roams her hand over his chest and his softer belly, excited by the feel of him.

“Meryta, pretty girl –” Emmanellain kisses her, enthusiastically and messy and his arms give out as she slides to the floor. She has to look up at him, and he looks flushed, his eyes wide and soft. It’s his turn to push her jacket to the floor, the leather landing in a heap behind her. His hands move down her back and settles on her ass, gripping firmly through her heavy trousers. She wants him closer, wrapping her tail around him to pull him in, as she reaches for his face, his lips. She wants them on her again, their softness and the warm taste of the wine he’d had at his party.

He stumbles as she pulls him down to her, one arm going wild, knocking into a pedestal. Meryta barely catches the vase that comes tumbling down, flower decorations spread over the floor.

“Let me –”

“No Meryta I beseech you, I’d rather –”

He kisses her again, and he pulls on her shirt. She allows him to pull it over her head, and lands on top of the flowers, and then Emmanellain lifts her and carries her in three steps to his bed, avoiding a pile of magazines left on the floor.

“You look splendid on my bed,” he says, and grins, quite proud of himself. “You would look better with less clothes, I believe.”

She laughs and props herself up on her elbows. “You think?”

“Ah I most assuredly know, but to be certain there is but one way to find out.”

His eyes are bright and she complies with his audacity, shimmying her pants down her legs and unclasping her breastband.

“Meryta,” Emmanellain breathes, and he crawls into his bed, his shirt hanging loose off shoulders and his hair freely around his face. She pulls him close and kisses him. She likes the way he looks at her, all happy affection, free of the world’s burdens. Like she has the right to be happy, here in his bed.

He sits up next to her, and runs his hands down from her face to her neck, gently touching her scales. She shivers with the touch, and he startles and withdraws.

“Please, it’s nice,” she says. Her scales are sensitive and she wants his hand back, so she takes it puts there.

“I’ve never, uh – “ He blushes and touches lightly, down her throat and her shoulder, tracing the patches of jadeblack scales, “— with an Au Ra. Is it – is this fine?”

“More than fine, Emmanellain. You can touch as much as you want.”

She grins and Emmanellain blushes deeper, a lovely flush across his cheeks. He is still tentative, carefully exploring her body with his hands, but it feels nice and calming. She encourages him, arching and sighing into his touch. She traces two fingers over the shell of his pointed ears, curious herself.

“It’s softer than I expected, I must confess,” he mumbles, and kisses her shoulder, the scales above her breast. He kisses her nipples next, and it’s no longer calming, lighting rushing through her veins with his sudden boldness. She arches towards him, an ache between her legs. She wants his hands there, or her own, and her tail pulls free from under her to wrap around Emmanellain’s arm. He startles and she almost wants to apologize, but he lets out a low groan and continues exploring her body, every touch pulling moans from her.

His shirt drags across her belly as he moves, and he has far too many clothes on still, her thighs bucking against the silk of his trousers.

“You too,” she mumbles, and pushes his shirt off his shoulders, her hands wandering over his tall frame. She wants it off, she wants him as naked as her.

He obliges, sits up and shrugs out of his shirt, tossing it haphazardly behind him. He takes off his trousers with a flourish, treating them much the same as the shirt. He stands, pale and naked and blushing, and she pulls him down beside her, tail flickering to his waist. She reaches and kisses his sweet lips again, and his chest next and it is Emmanellain’s turn to sigh – which turns to a wince as her hands roam lower.

She frowns and pulls back, a black-blue bruise visible on his flank.

“Pray, are you injured? Does it hurt?”

“Oh, it is but a minor bruise. It was worse though,” he stretches and shows her, his hands extending to his back, his lips pouting. “The vanu were quite rough.”

“I am sorry I was not faster, Emmanellain. I should not have let you go off on your own.”

She traces his skin lightly, right above the bruise on his ribs. His skin is so soft and pale.

“You came, you’re a true hero.” He chuckles, as if he’s telling a joke. “It is much to my chagrin than I was much less of a hero than I thought, and more the embarrassment Father believes me.”

His arms fall beside him, and he looks away. She wants to bring back his boundless joy, for her to soak in and forget her own troubles.

“I should have foreseen the danger. The beastmen, the Primal... those are not simple problems.” She can hardly forget it, leaping through the sky. She does not want to think of it, but if the time comes, she will deal with it. She folds her hand in his and reaches to kiss him. “I doubt your father expected you to deal with a Primal, Emannellain.”

“I would not be so certain,” he mumbles, kissing her back. She wraps her arms and her tail around him, drawing him closer.

“No matter, you came for me like the hero you are.” Emmanellain perks up, his mood seemingly shifting like the wind, and he grins widely. “You should be treated as such.”

“I did what I had to – but had your brother and Cid not shown up… “

He pays her words no heed and pushes her back on his bed, now hooking his fingers in her smalls and tugging. She obliges and lifts her hips, allowing him to slide them down her legs. His hands wander across her legs, and she forgets what she was going to say.

He settles between her legs. “Mayhap I’ll be a hero to you too, you most assuredly deserve it.”

He looks at her, far more intent than she expects, as he’s randomly touching her legs, her belly – watching her face as she reacts to his touch, lighter and firmer across skin and scales. Emmanellain’s gaze slide lower. Heat pools in her belly and her face flushes under his attention. His hands are on her hips and he lowers his head, his breath warm against her skin, his mouth but an inch from her sex. He kisses the inside of her leg, sending shudders through her spine. Oh.

“May I?”

She nods, and he kisses her thigh again, and brushes his hand over her scales, the delicious pressure making her sigh. She spreads her legs, letting him see how she wants him. She wonders if he would mind her hands in his hair. It’s dark and smooth and tempting; she wants to mess it up. She wants to pull him closer, to where she wants him and his mouth.

She doesn’t have to wait though, his kisses moving to the apex of her legs, and his tongue darts to taste her. Despite her want, she still lets out a gasp of surprise, her hips lifting off the bed. Emmanellain doesn’t relent, holding her hips and licking up her slit, then down. He presses his tongue against her most sensitive part, and sucks and licks again, a blur of changing sensations, then easing back.

“Good? My hero, pretty girl, beautiful – ” he gasps, looking up at her under long, dark lashes.

“Yes, please, I want – ”

He’s back and she can’t help herself, her hands burying in his hair, the soft brown strands too inviting, her need for him, to guide him, too much. Emmanellain doesn’t seem to mind at all, redoubling his efforts, pressure and suction and heat.

She just feels – her world narrows to the feeling between her legs, his hands on her hips, and she moans and pleads, his name on her lips as she bucks against him, his hands no match for her strength. One of his hands finds it’s way between her legs, and his fingers in her cunt, his mouth still on her. It’s good, her whole body writhing, her tail curling away from her to slide against Emmannelain’s back. He moans at that, and crooks his fingers and she falls apart, waves of pleasure washing over her.

Emannellain pulls back and grins again, self assured and happy, licking his lips. She feels languid and boneless, and smiles back. He moves up her body, kissing her belly, her chest, her mouth. She kisses him greedily, licking the taste of herself from his lips.

“Very heroic, aren’t I?”

“Verily.”

She wraps her arm around him, pulling him close. His hardness is against her thigh, and she presses against it, to hear him groan. He ruts against her, eager and erratic. Impatiently, Emmanellain moves his hand between them and grips himself, seeking more friction.

“You enjoyed that,” she grins, mayhaps pleased herself, and she reaches for him too, putting her hand above his, moving it deliberately down and up. Emmanellain closes his eyes briefly and sits on his knees next to her, giving her room to move and grip him firmly.

“Quite so,” he says, as he lets his own hand drop and reach for her, his thumb running over her scales. She tries to find a rhythm, absorbed in the motion and intensity of his face, the velvet hardness beneath her hands – she uses her other hand too, her hands small against his full length. Faster, slower, a twist at the end, and he’s soon shaking, his eyes caught in hers, his jaw clenched and his hands scrambling over her body.

“Oh, I – Meryta!” He comes like that, white ropes over her belly, down her hand. She lets up the pressure, moves her hands gently and lets him fall forward into her, the mess smeared between them. Emmanellain grins sheepishly, his face flushed as they messily kiss again.

“So handsome,” she whispers and he blushes deeper. She decides she likes the look on him. He kisses her jaw, and then scoots off the bed.

“Oh – I should… sorry!” He grabs his shirt at random.

“Don’t be sorry –”

“Here, let me, ah, let me,” he says as he gently wipes her belly and then her hands, careful and uncaring for ruining the fabric. Meryta finds she doesn’t care much either.

After cleaning himself too, he carefully sits on the bed. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, and closes it again. A flick of uncertainty sparks in her gut.

“Are you…?” She hopes he has no regrets, as she certainly has none. “Should I leave?”

“No! I mean – unless you want to? My bed is certainly big enough, and you still look wonderful in it.”

“No! I’d love to stay, I just wasn’t sure, my own rooms are... somewhere.” She’s not been to this part of the manor before, endless corridors and halls but it’s probably not far to go back and perhaps that would be expected. She’d like to stay, though, next to his soft body and softer hair, not alone in her own borrowed bed and constant reminder of why she needs the charity of the Fortemps family. Not that she’d voice it quite so.  “I am perhaps too tired to move.”

“Wore you out?” He smirks, and crawls next to her, his arm across her body. “I’d like you here.”

Relief flooding her, she tucks herself closer to him, mindful of her horns.

[morganali-art]

OC x Canon Week - Day 5 Getting Into Trouble

Please stop flirting you're making everyone uncomfortable with how sweet and earnest you are 🤢

(crops under read more)

[hazelkjt]

This was funnier in my head, tbh. But, I posed it so here you go.

[garuye]

Warrior of Light Approved Message!

[eemamminy-art]

Commission for @salmonking ! Go home Emmanellain you're drunk 😭 he's hoping for a fairytale moment while Kal just wants to see him safely returned home! Thank you for commissioning me again! :3

[hydaelyns-bitch]

self indulgent WoL x emmanellain gposes

driselle finally got the courage to wear something frilly of her own accord while on a trip back to sharlayan

[zakifairer]

You know that moment where you tell your friend that you want to date their brother

They laughed this off and arranged a date later.

[juweldom]

Ch. 20: A Grand Tour

The Heart of the Song - Chapter 20 - Juwelz - Final Fantasy XIV [Archive of Our Own]

Vallerin finally arrives in Ishgard. Also, a dinner with the family.

[mlkywaycafe]

Gotta impress the wol by regaling her with tales that TOTALLY happened and you didn’t make up on the spot—

[redwayfarers]

cold nights in ishgard

Fandom: FFXIV Ship: Nika/Artoirel, Nika/Minfilia Characters: Nika Perseis (WoL), Artoirel de Fortemps, Emmanellain de Fortemps, Minfilia Warde (mentioned), Haurchefant Greystone (mentioned) Rating: Gen Spoilers: Heavensward spoilers Words: 1664 Read on ao3

Ishgard is oddly pretty at night. Colder, sure, but fucking Coerthas is always cold, day and night, and layers are not an issue whatsoever when you’re an honored guest at a noble family’s mansion. It also makes streets less crowded, as much as a city of Ishgard’s size can be. Nika avoided walking outside alone to places beyond the three he’d instantly memorized the path to when he first came to the city and when he had few means to ask around for directions. 

Thankfully, he now has a guide. A handsome one at that, but he refuses to do more than just acknowledge that sentiment. In the days following the grand melee, he and Artoirel have taken on a rather pleasant ritual of evening walks. Nika’s been Ishgard’s champion for a lot more than he’d intended now and his duel with Raubahn is on the lips of all of Eorzea. He also happens to have a very recognizable face thanks to that faded, large scar that Thancred once joked now made them equal in handsomeness. 

Years ago, he might’ve taken a slight offense to that. Now, Nika has so little energy to dwell on minor edges of a friendship he himself massacred beyond recognition. Fuck that, he has so little energy to do anything beyond self-pitying and wanting to crawl out of his skin to escape the pressure in his chest. 

But Artoirel helps. The tapping of his shoes against the stone promenade brings Nika back to reality every time. It makes him focus on the rhythm of his own footsteps - click, click, clack, clack, an off-beat song of two bodies who lost things, lost people. Haurchefant had been a brother to both of them. Now his ghost lingers over the whole Fortemps household and the souls who lived there. 

Nika looks up. Wind’s playing with Artoirel’s hair, tossing it this way and that. It matches the night sky, blue where Nika’s own is black, a subtle difference. When the fuck did he acquire that particular nugget of information? The whole effect Artoirel has on him blurs the minutiae of it. They have matching earrings tonight. The thought makes him weirdly happy. Suddenly, he needs to feel the weight of Artoirel’s clothed palm on his own. 

Same way he yearned to feel Minfilia’s. 

Except he’ll never feel Minfilia’s hand in his again. 

Artoirel’s hand is as rough as hers; there’s no gentle skin where war is your generational legacy, or when you work at mines. It feels like a suitable replacement at times, until he remembers that Minfilia could have comfortably placed her head on Nika’s chest, and with Artoirel, the roles are reversed. What a looming presence, his brother de Fortemps. 

Brother’s never felt like a shittier word. 

But hey, he at least has equal entertainment watching him fight with his hair. “Told you to tie it back,” Nika says in a strained, casual voice, because he can’t speak like a normal person these days. 

“An advice I had staunchly decided to ignore,” Artoirel replies, and then, in a lighter, almost intimate tone, “maybe to my own detriment.” 

“At least I’m enjoying the losing battle,” Nika shrugs and looks at his offensively expensive walking boots. “You’re fun to watch, count de Fortemps.” 

“Do not call me that,” Artoirel sighs. “I am still growing accustomed to it.” 

“If I say it enough, it’ll get to your head faster.” 

“You’re impossible.” There’s a smile in Artoirel’s voice, so suited to ordering men on the field, deep and even and perfectly trained to be so, but then there are smiles in it that break it. Nika wishes to curl against his side like an indulgent cat. But they are in public, and they are brothers. 

Nevertheless, Nika offers what he can. It’s small, it’s brittle, but he feels brittle anyway and he’s nothing if not honest to a fault. Haurchefant was too. Except he sparked hope and happiness, whereas Nika’s honesty is more like a knife. “I am glad to be of service.” 

“That you are,” Artoirel says. He then turns all serious again. “How are you doing these days?” 

“Me?” 

“Yes. These recent events have been.. Tumultuous for all of us. Most of all for you.” 

Nika frowns. “Losing people feels like absolute shit, Artoirel.” 

“That is not an answer to my question.” Artoirel stops and crosses his arms. He looks at Nika with such worry in his eyes that it makes him squirm where he stands. “You don’t have to answer me now. I merely wanted to assure you that you can rely on your friends in your time of need.” 

“Assurance noted, now don’t–” Words die on his tongue when he feels long fingers on the crease between neck and shoulder, ruffling the white lace cravat.  Part of him wants it gone, and for those fingers to tease the skin beneath. But another, the one that suddenly burns in shame and pain and grief, kicks it away like a stray puppy. 

“Do not brush it off,” Artoirel repeats. The lull of his voice and the weight of his touch steadies Nika. He had no fucking idea he needed steadying at all. “It is genuine. Fury, I am genuine. I don’t find pleasure in seeing you shoulder this burden alone.” His eyes find Nika’s. The calmness of his words does little to stop the whirlwind in his eyes, and it’s a pain Nika knows. It’s a pain they share. 

It’s a pain they will both have to live with for the rest of their lives. The dead don’t come to life. 

Nika raises a hand and holds Artoirel’s wrist. The fabric beneath his fingers feels exquisite. “The woman I loved is gone, Artoirel,” he says gravely. “My friend - your brother - is gone, trying to save me. We almost lost Aymeric, too. Nothing will make the pain go away.” He blinks to stave off tears. “Have I ever told you about my father? He died when I was a kid. I don’t remember him well, I was that young. I feel his absence even today. My mother and I have been feeling his absence for the last twenty years. It will never go away. The sooner I get used to it, the better.” 

Artoirel looks around. Then, moments later, he crushes Nika against his chest. Nika lets out a small oh, looking up at his face. His eyes are wild, locking on Nika’s like his life depends on it. He imagines Artoirel’s heart to beat just as wildly as his is, or maybe it’s not imagination, not with the way his lips part slightly and his gaze falls lower. 

And gods help him, he’s looking at Artoirel’s lips too. They’re small and tight and he’d kill just to be able to chew on that lower lip– 

He isn’t Minfilia. 

Nika looks away, refusing to let go of Artoirel’s wrist. The moment falls as treasonously as it began and he’s painfully aware of where he is, what he’s doing. Artoirel’s touch burns, but it mixes with shame so well that he can’t will himself to part. Not truly. He holds his wrist like a lifeline, like it will chase the shame away. 

It won’t. Nothing ever will. Nika closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“Nika, I apologize, I– Nika? Why are you crying?” 

Nika’s face feels like hellfire. His eyes prickle, and he tries to snarl at the sensation, but finds he doesn’t quite have the strength to. He opens his mouth to speak, but his voice struggles to swim to the surface. When it does come, however, it sounds broken beyond repair. “She loved Eorzea more than me,” he says, tight and small. It’s a tip of the dagger under the skin. It’s embarrassing, but he can’t make it work any other way, which only makes him cry harder. “She loved Eorzea enough to sacrifice my devotion to her to save it. I’m betraying her memory, Artoirel, there was no fucking chance of anything, yet this feels so dirty–”

Artoirel’s face crumbles, too. “I’ve made you uncomfortable.” He lets go of him, but Nika wraps his arms around his chest and presses his face against the ends of his cravat, as if trying to melt into his skin. “I assure you, I haven’t any–” 

“No, no, you remind me of her, and I want, I want–” Nika sniffles. His words come out rushed, beaten out of him by the pain in his chest. “I want so much, but Minfilia–” He hiccups on the name, pressing his fingers into Artoirel’s coat, and he cries, and cries, and cries, and Artoirel wraps his arms around him and just holds. At some point, he says something to a random passerby, but Nika doesn’t care. 

He’s pathetic enough anyway.    

They stay like that for a while on a cold Ishgardian night. Artoirel leads him home later and guides him to his bedroom. “Sleep now,” he says, and Nika feels too drained to do more than nod and obediently lay down. Sleep finds him rather quickly, and moments before Nika drifts off, he sees Artoirel linger by the door. 

Whatever dreams find him tonight, maybe he’ll be the star in them. Or more likely, Minfilia. 

Maybe it’s all one and the same. 

Nika falls asleep. 

**

(It takes no more than a day for rumours of the new Count de Fortemps and the savior of Ishgard hugging on the street to reach the ears of Emmanellain de Fortemps. For the sake of his brother, and Nika too, he fights them when he can. He tells Artoirel as much, and he rewards Emmanellain’s efforts with a small smile and words of gratitude. Nika just squints and refuses to engage in conversation. 

But Emmanellain knows. He knows what’s afoot. And apparently, Artoirel and Nika know too. It may take them some time to accept it, however. That is alright. Watching the love unfold is very, very entertaining in the meantime.)

[irikotsuwamono]

Wolchefant Week 2023 - Day 6: In the Name of Love

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48407842

Rated: Teen and Up

Summary: "Sometimes while buying embarrassing outfits for her sexcapades, the Warrior of Light has uncomfortable encounters with her brother-in-law Emmanellain, and sometimes even more awkward conversations."

Word Count: 2.7k

[thevikingwoman]

So I had a little idea for a fling for Meryta, my WoL. Spoilers for ARR patches and the beginning of HW

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words: 941 | Read on Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Meryta Khatin x Emmanellain de Fortemps | start of HW | fluff/romance Rating: Gen. New relationship, fling, start of relationship, surprise attraction, kissing

Reprieve - part 1

Meryta is grateful the servants of the Fortemps Manor keep the hearths going all night long. She’s fervently rubbing her hands against each other, the cold just doesn’t seem to leave her.

Maybe it wasn’t the smartest to go mining in Coerthas Highlands in the dead of night, but she couldn’t sleep, and sometimes there are ores you can only really find at night. The snowy wastes are peaceful in the dark, but very, very cold. Tonight, it was better than another sleepless night, tossing and turning, despite the nice bed and warm blankets in the room the Count has made available to her. She’s still cold from the snow and aetheryte travel, it’s like she hasn’t been warm for weeks.

At least it was somewhat fruitful. She wishes she could show Adelberta what she’s mined, but she cannot. She cannot go to Ul’dah. She’s far to recognizable and ever since –

The doors swing open, a little too loud for the quiet room, interrupting her treacherous train of thoughts. No matter how tired she is, she doubts sleep will come tonight.

“Miss Meryta!” Emmanellain walks in, dressed in rich fur and tall boots, his black hair messy about his face. It’s probably some sort of fashion, and she self-consciously smooths her hand over her choppy locks.

“I did not anticipate anyone was up this late, least of all you, our hero.”

He sweeps into a gallant bow, his eyes sparkling. She cannot help but smile.

“I was but mining. It is quite useful to provide one’s own materials.”

“I did not realize you were a woman of that many talents. Is it not cold and dangerous to mine at night?” Emmanalin throws himself on the couch, his head bouncing back against the headrest. “Probably not for you, I suppose.”

“It is quite cold out there,” she agrees. He doesn’t need to know or trouble himself with her lack of sleep.

“Well, I hope your trip was more fruitful than my soiree. Nary an interesting rumor and no one believed me, old girl!”

She turns, flicking her tail towards the fire. It’s cold too and she can almost hear her scales brittle rattle. Emmanellain continues on before she can ask what he means.

“About the primal. I had hoped my trials and adventures would be enough to lend me the ears of the ladies and lords, but not one believed me. Can you imagine?”

He’s animated, leaning forward and moving his arms, his hands. So different from the warm deliberate care of Haurhefant or the stern stillness of Count de Fortemps and his heir. Meryta suppresses another smile.

“Are you quite recovered, Lord Emmanellain?”

She should never have sent him off on his own.

“I am, thanks to you. It was quite an ordeal, though, was it not? They were going to eat me!”

Meryta shakes her head.

“I would not have let that happen.”

“I believe you, Meryta. Wish that others could believe me so easily.” His shoulders slump forward, dejected. She sits next to him, not sure how to comfort him. Maybe if she kills the primal, she should ask Cid if he can modify the Enterprise – knowing him he is already thinking about it. She should ask if he needs –

“I have an idea, a brilliant one!” Emmanellain perks up, his face splitting in a wide smile. She’s reminded of his half brother all of a sudden. “You must accompany me to the next party! No one will disbelieve you, and you can relate to them all of the primal. You, and I of course, will be the center of attention.”

“A party?”

“I believe Lady Far-de-Paix is holding a small event two days from now, I must attend and as a ward of our House you will be most welcome.”

“I’m not sure that’s – I have nothing to wear,” she says, grappling for an excuse. She doesn’t quite know why she’d not want to attend, and if the Count asked her ,she naturally would. She does have something to wear, the brocade coat she shoved in the bottom of her sack. She wrestles her thoughts back to the delighted grin on Emmanellain’s face.

“That we can take care of. You will look splendid; it will be perfect.”

“I don’t think I’ll look quite the way you expect.” No matter how she dresses, she’d look decidedly un-elezen, un-Ishgardian.

“Meryta, you will enthrall them. if I may be so bold – you are truly beautiful.”

He’s suddenly close, and she can smell the warmth of mulling spices and wine on his breath. She’s been told she’s pretty before, but she’s stunned by his sudden earnest tone.

“Your cheeks are speckled with little stars.”

She’s sure she has mythrite dust on her face or hair, frantically she brushes it away with her hands. Emmanelin laughs and grabs her hand. “No, your freckles, Meryta. I’ve never seen anything quite like them.”

Emmanelin’s hand is against hers, pressed against her cheek, his eyes sparkling. In a bold move he closes the gap between them and presses his lips to hers. She kisses him back automatically, lost momentarily until he breaks off, looking bashful, blush coloring his pale cheeks pink.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to presume –”

Meryta shakes her head, and lifts her other hand to tuck a stray bit of his hair behind his ear. “There’s nothing to forgive, Emmanellain.”

“In that circumstance, Meryta, perhaps I may kiss you again?”

“You may.”

They crash into each other, much less gentle this time. He kisses the way he talks, bold and animated and full of joy.

Perhaps this is exactly what she needs.

[morganali-art]

Year of the OTP - November Secret Relationship (Reveal)

Usually right on the forefront of gathering information of questionable veracity, Emmanellain hears a rumour that catches him off guard.

Honoroit was trying to tell poor Emmanellain that Cessalie and Artoirel had big news to share, but he was too surprised by the rumour he'd picked up completely independently from the Ishgardian contingent returning from Ala Mhigo to listen.

[hazelkjt]

Double Date

(please ignore any and all repercussions of timeline/reality breaking shenanigans for this to occur :3)

[valenicedavereaux]

Emmanellain: How about a kiss for all the hard work I've put into this mission, old girl?

Valenice and G'raha: ....

Valenice: [kicks Emmanellain] You make a life of a koala look hectic if you consider that hard work. Now get your ass up and move before I kick it around some more- G'raha: Val-

[eemamminy-art]

Commission for @salmonking ! Emmanellain and Kal being overjoyed to see one another again!! 😊 Thank you so much for commissioning me!