Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise. Its continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.
After he kills Cazador and spends some quality time ✨️ with you on his grave he thinks he's all healed now and can be intimate with you with no disgust or loathing
Oh how wrong he was
The grave intimacy was amazing, he was present, focusing only on you, the best night he has ever had
The next time he tries to have a "night of passion" with you is right after you defeat the netherbrain, as a reward and also a celebration
But the unwanted happened: he dissociated
He didn't even realize he wasn't there until you tapped him on the shoulder
It felt like a dagger to his back, but from himself. What went wrong? Cazador was dead. Tadpoles were gone. You were there with him despite everything. Why can't he just have sex with you like a normal person?!
Because healing takes time baby boy 🥺
He ran away that night. Because of anger, shame, desperation, he didn't know. Maybe all of it?
He only showed up two days later, apologizing and offering to continue, claiming to do better this time and not dissappoint you
You just hugged him and told him he didn't need to, that you'll be happy if the two of you just talk under the stars like you used to back in camp
He wants to agree and spend time with you but he blurts out no. He's angry at himself more than you. He just wants to give you everything you deserve, including a proper relationship with everything that belongs to it
You reassure him you understand but he needs time to properly heal
"Time? What should I wait for? Cazador's dead, I'm under no one's control, the wretched worms are gone and the two of us are together. I should be okay!"
It takes some time for him to calm down and admit what he has subconsciously known: he isn't ready yet. No matter how much he wants to be
You see his struggle. He wants it all at once now that he's free
Seeing him in this state makes you want to help him but there's seemingly nothing you can do. Except...
With a smile and no other word you take him by the hand and lead him to your shared bedroom
You start pulling your clothes off of you and you can feel him smirk behind you, until you finally reveal your plan to him
"We'll strip and cuddle. Nothing more. You need to explore other ways of being intimate, not just sex."
He's a bit puzzled to say the least. He has never heard of laying with someone naked as the day they were born and just...lay. By all logic and what he's known for most of his life it makes no sense. How can someone get pleasure out of just laying? He imagines it would be similair to locking him in a bloodbank but forbidding him from touching anything
Regardless, he starts stripping. If this is some manipulative tactic of yours it's pretty weak but he wants to see where this will go
No tactic, no ill intention, the two of you strip and get under the covers
He lays down after you and for a second has no idea what to do. Should he embrace you first? Should he wait for you?
Carefully, as if aproaching a stray cat, you move closer to him and slowly lay your head on his cool chest
The lack of clothes makes this a completely new experience for both of you, the contrast between your warm living body and his cold undead one is much more evident now
After a while you get a bit bolder and fully cuddle up to him, arm wrapping around his torso, your legs locking around one of his
When he felt your sex press against his thigh he expected to get aroused. Logically he should, right?
But he didn't. And neither did you. You just sighed and relaxed more
Astarion propped up his head with one of his hands, the other one brushed along your spine up and down
"This feels... nice."
You smile against his pectoral, silently celebrating your small victory
As you begin to drift off, lulled by his rhythmic breathing, he makes his own step forward and turns fully towards you, one hand on your lower back pushing your torsos together, the other pulls your thigh up and hooks it around his hip
If he was hard and you moved just a bit downwards he would slip right inside you, so close and yet
He nuzzles his face into your neck and plants a little kiss on your pulse point, over the marks he's made on you while feeding on your blood
"This is really nice," he purrs like a cat
When you wake up the next morning you remain in the same position as when you fell asleep, the only difference is Astarion's hands: firmly planted on your ass
After your first little intimate session he feels a lot more relaxed, behaves a bit more carefree, a bit happier over all
You try to carefully suggest couple of more cuddlings but he needs little convincing
Once the door to the bedroom is closed all clothes are off
Almost. Every. Night.
It was like entering a whole new universe for him, he wanted to explore everything this new arrangement could offer him
The two of you tried every position you could think of, it kinda reminded you of sex minus the sweaty mess afterwards
On the bed, spooning, chest to chest, sitting down, him between your legs, you between his, on the love seat, random windowsill, standing behind you with his amrs wrapped around you while cooking
When you had very busy days but still wanted the skin to skin he would go shirtless, tear your own shirt off of you and hug you as long as he could
An absolute power trip for him would be if you were the only naked one, sitting in his lap while he himself sat somewhere, either a couch or some random chair
Makes his imagination run wild. What if he had ascended back then? He would think of how he would make you slowly strip infront of him while he sat on a throne of sorts in Cazador's, now his, palace. How your naked body would dance against the finest silk of his robes as he took you over and over again
As much as this little idea aroused him he was glad it stayed only in the realms of "what if". He couldn't imagine how ascession would corrupt him and rob him of what he currently has
He loved taking you in missionary, but he might love having you sit on his lap a bit more
Your soft breasts preassing into him, head resting on his shoulder, giving him the perfect angle to grab your ass and squeeze it like a stress toy
Not to mention your weight grounding him in case his mind decided to wander against his will
However the more often you spend time like this, either sleeping cuddled up together or just hanging out, the less he felt his consciousness slipping away. Maybe all he really needed was to adjust his body and mind to intimacy, convice them he's safe with you, that he doesn't need to escape anymore
On one such cuddle session, when he had you comfortably on his lap and his back against the head of the bed, he desperately wanted to suggest trying to make love again
But something inside him, maybe an intuition or fear, told him he might not be ready yet, he might fuck it up again, dissapoint you, and return back to ground zero
Instead he suggested kissing. Small innocent pecks
You agreed with such enthusiasm, it made his heart almost skip a beat
The two of you agreed to go with the flow and let whatever would happen play out, see how far the two of you could go
It really started out innocently
At first you peppered his whole face with small kisses, not leaving one centimeter of skin untouched
He loved being admired, but he wanted to give some of his loving too
At first with pecks
Then proper kiss
An open mouthed kiss soon followed
A tongue slipped out and inside the other one's mouth soon after
You didn't even realize it and you were making out for almost an hour now
It wasn't rushed like when hot passion hurries you, it was slow, intimate, comfortable. Like two people who had all the time in the world and decided to slow down and enjoy eachother
This first make out session didn't lead to anything more, none of you minded. Astarion was happy, so were you. But most importantly he hasn't dissociated in almost a month now
You still cuddled every day, pyjamas and other sleepwear became foreign concepts in your household, maybe one day one of your make out sessions will probably lead to more, who knows
But you do know that if it ever will lead to proper love making, it would be on Astarions's terms. Once he knows and feels he's ready
Until then you'll happily enjoy his naked form just pressed against yours every single night
Summary: Spencer has a habit of leaving handwritten notes in the books you borrow from his personal collection. One day, you finally write back.
Pairing: Reader/Spencer Reid
Spencer Reid’s personal library was nothing short of magnificent. Towering shelves filled with well-loved books lined the walls of his apartment, their spines worn from years of eager reading. When you had first started borrowing from his collection, you had done so carefully, treating each volume like a fragile artifact. But what you hadn't expected to find—hidden between passages and prose—were his words.
The first time it happened, you had borrowed Pride and Prejudice. Nestled in the margins, in neat, slightly slanted handwriting, was a comment next to Elizabeth Bennet’s sharp-witted retort to Mr. Darcy.
“You remind me of Elizabeth—sharp, observant, and far too intelligent for the company you keep.”
You had stared at the note for minutes, heart pounding. Spencer had written this long before you borrowed the book, hadn’t he? It wasn’t meant for you, was it? The thought of confronting him about it seemed daunting. Instead, you traced his words with your fingertips, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest.
That discovery led to another. And another.
In The Picture of Dorian Gray:
“You would never be swayed by vanity. Your soul is too kind.”
In Jane Eyre:
“If I were Rochester, I wouldn’t have kept secrets from you.”
Each annotation, each carefully placed comment, felt personal. They weren’t just general observations; they were thoughtful, tailored to you.
Days passed before you gathered the courage to respond. You chose one of the books Spencer often reread—The Great Gatsby. As you turned the familiar pages, you found a passage underlined in Spencer’s careful hand:
“He had been full of the idea so long, dreamed it right through to the end, waited with his teeth set, so to speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity.”
And next to it, in his delicate handwriting:
“Longing is a difficult thing to master.”
You exhaled deeply, running your fingers over the ink. If Spencer had been leaving these notes for you, maybe he had been waiting for a response, just as you had been waiting for a sign. With a rush of courage, you picked up a pen and, in the same margin, wrote:
“I wouldn’t need a green light. You’ve always been within reach.”
When you returned the book, carefully placing it back on his desk at the BAU, you felt the weight of your silent confession settle in your chest. What if he never noticed? What if he saw it and said nothing? The uncertainty gnawed at you, but it was too late to take it back now.
The next day, Spencer found you in the bullpen, book in hand, his expression unreadable. Your heart leapt into your throat.
“You…” he started, voice soft, reverent almost, as he flipped open The Great Gatsby to the exact page where your response was written. His fingers traced your words like they were delicate, precious.
“I—” you faltered. “Was that okay?”
His eyes locked onto yours, something unspoken passing between you. Then, he smiled. Not just any smile—one of those rare, genuine smiles that lit up his entire face, the kind of smile that made your stomach flip.
“You wrote back.” His voice was breathless, in awe.
You swallowed hard. “I was wondering when you’d notice.”
For a long moment, Spencer simply stared at you, the book clutched to his chest. It was as if he was processing every possibility at once, and you could almost see the thoughts racing in his brilliant mind. Then, before you could panic, he took a step closer.
“I—” He hesitated, clearing his throat. “I’ve been leaving those notes for you.”
Your breath caught. “You have?”
Spencer gave a short, nervous laugh. “For a while now. I didn’t know if you’d ever see them or if you’d—”
“I saw them,” you interrupted, a smile tugging at your lips. “And I loved them.”
His shoulders relaxed, relief washing over his face. “Really?”
You nodded, warmth spreading through you. “Really.”
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Spencer exhaled, flipping the book open once more. “So… does this mean I can keep writing to you?”
You tilted your head playfully. “Only if I can write back.”
His smile widened, his fingers brushing against yours over the worn edges of the book. “I’d like that.”
From that day forward, every book exchanged between you contained more than just stories. Between the lines of famous literature, nestled in the margins of classic texts, you found something even more precious:
Love letters in ink, waiting to be read.
The notes continued, hidden within the pages of literature both of you adored. A stolen thought in Wuthering Heights, a whispered confession in Les Misérables. Each time Spencer handed you a book, your fingers would brush, lingering longer than necessary, and his eyes would search yours for recognition.
Then, one evening, as you flipped through Anna Karenina, you found a note in the final pages, underlining a passage about fate.
“Sometimes, love is written long before we even know it exists.”
And below it, in a nervous, yet determined script, Spencer had added:
“I think I’ve been in love with you longer than I realized.”
Your breath caught, your heart hammering against your ribs. This wasn’t just a passing thought, an intellectual observation. It was real.
Without hesitation, you reached for a pen and, with steady fingers, wrote beneath his words:
“Then it’s about time we stop reading between the lines.”
That night, when Spencer saw your response, he didn’t just smile.
He kissed you.
And for the first time, there were no more words left unwritten.
The notes continued, but they became something different now—love notes, secret confessions, playful teases. You wrote to him in the margins of history books, and he replied with riddles in the pages of mystery novels. The space between you had once been filled with unspoken words, but now it was a novel of its own, each sentence a promise, each underline a touch.
One day, Spencer handed you a book without a title on its cover. Puzzled, you flipped it open to the first page, where a single line was scrawled in his familiar handwriting:
Well, the distinguished looks don't hurt your chances.
I'm fortunate you think so.
Commissioned @zetkun4221 and I am ... unwell about how gorgeous their art is. Truly we are in an amazing time on Tumblr with so many wonderfully talented artists such as zetkun.
But like, holy shit, the Mourn Watch tattoos are stunning and the eye contact! The fabric textures in sleek faceted colors! I"m swooning all over again.
*[taps mic]* Good evening, beloved Emmrook community. Everyone doing well? Sexualizing that old man? Good. I come before you to ever so humbly request a single song off of your Emmrook playlists. I don’t care if they’re 80 electro pop or opera metal, Gregorian chants or stomp. I will take them all. Throw them in the comments or in the tags.
Emmrich is confident in himself and knows what he brings to a relationship. Doesn't seem himself as someone who experiences a great amount of angst when it comes to his appearance; he knows he takes care of himself, looks good, dresses well. The way he carries himself alone is, he's been told, a turn-on. Back straight, regal. Always seems to know what to do with his hands. He's got it locked down.
That said, he's a man in his fifties. Time marches ever on. He's been graying since he was a young man--time was kind enough to let him keep the thickness of his hair, if not the color. He remembers being young, ladies and gentlemen alike telling him that they considered his coif, inky black at the time and so stark again his pink-alabaster skin, to be one of his finer features. The color was all but gone by the time he was thirty. Time marches.
There are multiple things like this that he's aware of, as a man who monitors his own appearance to the extent that he does. Once one reaches a certain age, there is a certain softness of the belly that won't vanish for even the most active of individuals. He's watched his hands grow aged. His knees aren't what they used to be, though he takes potions for this and it doesn't affect his abilities. In the end, he knows he's aged gracefully, and continues to do so--but 'gracefully' and 'imperceptively' certainly have different definitions.
Enter Rook, who is not the youngest of their companions. Old enough to have confronted her own fears and come out on the other side knowing her desires--at least in some way. He knows he's desired by her. He's known since a particular look in her eye on their first excursion to the Memorial Gardens; an unmistakable, though brief, spark of want.
In that moment, he could have had her. If he'd known her then as he did now, and understood that she wasn't the sort of woman to be above a giggling fuck in a bush with an attractive acquaintance, he might have let himself have her. As it was, it had taken time. Their first night spent together had been sweeter for it. Not that the bush wouldn't have been sweet.
Admittedly, there had been one other item holding him back, other than that of her virtue. There are decades of time between them. She came screaming into the world around the time the first gray hairs poked themselves out of his skull, premature though it was. It's something to consider. He assumed at the time--and now knows--that she'd never had a lover much older than herself. Though Emmrich knows himself to be a perfectly capable lover, a quite attractive specimen of a fifty-hmm-shh year old man, he knows (and does all the time) that he can no longer reasonably be compared to the same standards as a person twenty years his junior.
It stayed his hand.
A hand which Rook, when given the slightest opening to do so, grabs and yanks and places exactly where she wants it.
"I love your hands," she says, tracing tendons and veins, places where time had taken some of the elasticity from his skin. "They're beautiful. Touch me. Maker, touch me."
It's praise that goes straight to his core. The hands aren't one of his greatest insecurities, but he feels at times like a warrior fighting a ceaseless battle against time when it comes to his skin. Creams for softness, oils for moisture, tonics to block sunlight on the occassion he did leave the shaded Necropolis halls. He marvels, still does, at the fact that she doesn't even seem to notice the imperfections that had seemed utterly unignorable to him.
Far more of an insecurity is, of course, the belly--which he knows to be healthy, normal and fine, but which he purposefully hides nonetheless. Davrin is young, an objectively attractive man, and can quite commonly be seen shirtless around the Lighthouse. Some comparisons can't help but be drawn.
Rook, of this evening, unwraps the sash from around his waist with the glee of a child on her nameday and slides her hands down the buttons of his shirt. She frees his body, soft stomach and all, and presses her nose directly to his navel.
"Your body," Rook sighs, ecstatic. "I think about it all the time. I swear, Emmrich, I'm losing my mind. Do you know how sexy you are?"
"A question I could pose in return," he chuckles, and they both know he's deflecting--at least a little.
She's not having it on this night. She crawls back up, rests the perfect softness of her ass directly on top of his straining erection. Pushes her hands into the steely hair sprinkled about his chest.
"You're so--" she sighs, then seems to get distracted, and spends a moment tracing her thumbs circuitously around his nipples. He hisses, twitching against her. "I've never been with someone I was so attracted to. That sounds bad. I was attracted to them. But you, I mean..." She descends on him, mouth open, and he cries out to feel her teeth sink into his chest.
"You're going to give me quite the ego, dearest," he tells her, once he's gotten a hold of himself--figuratively and literally. He's palming himself, fingers gripped around the fabric of his pants and his own straining flesh, and the back of his hand basks in the humidity between her thighs.
"Good," she coos, and then traces her thumb over his mustache, follows it with her lips. "You're so beautiful. I think about you all the time. Your hands and your nose and your fucking--chest hair--"
"It used to be black, you know," he whispers, and she draws back. They share his vulnerability for a moment. He can see her realize and catalogue something, in the back of her intelligent eyes.
"It looks better gray," she whispers back. "And when it turns white, I'll throw a fucking party."
He cries a little--something that surprises even him, because he hadn't realized how close to his chest he'd been holding some of this...dread--and even that doesn't seem to bother her. She coos and kisses him and, when he slides inside her, yowls and clings and calls him perfection.
Emmrich probably would gain loads of muscle from running around with the Veilguard and Lucanis would make it his job to make sure Emmrich eats enough like an Italian grandmother.
Between eating well because of Lucanis and work out sessions with Taash. Plus running around Thedas with Rook, he’s bound to get quite fit. On top of that, he does enjoy keeping up with his morning stretches and exercises.
After the events of DAV, he returns to teaching and the baby goths are going to notice that their favourite bean pole of a professor is looking more jacked, back muscles peaking through his shirt, his arms looking significantly more veiny through his grave gold. He’s noted to not be wearing his usual vest, when prompted about it, he causally jokes about gaining weight (you know, domestic bliss with a new wife and all) and is getting a new vest tailored.
I imagined my Rook (Lenore Ingellvar) rejoining the Mourn Watchers and becoming a combat instructor after the game, she’s popular with her students because of her younger age and friendly disposition. Most of the students think they have a shot with her because Professor Volkarin is a nerdy bean pole and Professor Ingellvar deserves “a real man”.
Que Emmrich dropping into one of her classes one day and one of the boys, a young noble from House Van Markham maybe, openly challenging Emmrich into hand to hand combat because he thinks Professor Ingellvar is too much of a catch for an old man like Emmrich.
Lenore sweetens the pot by saying that the student who manages to land a single hit on Emmrich gets to sit out on physical conditioning. A total of 10 students step up to the challenge, eager to impress their favourite instructor and an opportunity to also one up the senior watcher.
Emmrich offers to take them 5 at a time. He moves unnaturally fast for a man of his age and manages to take all of them down fairly quickly. Emmrich puts Lil’ Van Markham into a chokehold and the boy forgets to tap out so he knocks out completely.
Save to say the student body learns of the meaning behind his nickname: Emmrich “Vol-carnage” Volkarin
As much as I love Emmrich being a morning person, I'm smitten with him being eepy- hair all fluffy like a bird. Perhaps Rook is to blame for his sleep deprivation 🤭
Fem!Rook x Emmrich Volkarin ✶ Lots of fluff followed by smutty goodness ✶ NSFW ✶ 6.1k words
Read on AO3
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
It had been quite some time since the whole team had been able to gather at the dining table to enjoy a good meal together. Tonight, Lucanis had insisted that everyone make themselves available, because it had been far too long since any of them had taken a real break – especially Rook. She’d be the last one to admit she needed to take it slow, but was never one to turn down a plate of Lucanis’ signature paella, particularly when washed down with a glass of Antivan Red.
“That was amazing, Lucanis.” Harding sighed as she sat back in her chair, hands on her stomach. “I’m stuffed.”
“I told you to save room for dessert,” Lucanis said indignantly, hands on his hips. “I baked a pie.”
“Oh,” Her cheeks flushed. “Right. I knew that.” Lucanis raised a brow and she smiled sheepishly. “I’m not that stuffed.”
Rook’s mouth turned up with amusement as she cleared away the last of the plates and grabbed another bottle of wine, setting about topping up everyone’s drinks. Conversation had flowed easily throughout dinner as she and her companions exchanged stories, cracked jokes and enjoyed just… being. She felt lighter than she had in a while, finally able to set everything aside and pretend for just a couple of hours that nothing outside of these walls existed. That the weight of the world didn’t rest on the shoulders of everyone in this room.
“Thank you, darling.” Emmrich said as she poured more wine into his goblet, offering her a dazzling smile as she did so. She returned the gesture, affectionately brushing her knuckle under his chin before turning her attention to Taash and Davrin who, by all accounts, were now engaging in a heated debate about scars.
“Precious?” Davrin repeated incredulously. “You think a scar I got from taking down a hurlock is precious?” Taash shrugged.
“Sure. Why not?” Davrin baulked at dragon hunter, before turning to Rook for support as she topped up his wine.
“Are you hearing this?”
Rook snorted. “Yes.” Davrin waited, brows raised.
“And?” He pressed when Rook didn't elaborate, and she pressed her lips together in an effort to suppress her amusement, shrugging casually.
“I'm with Taash on this one.” Taash smirked, folding their arms across their chest, and sat back in their seat.
“Told ya.” They said, and Davrin sighed heavily.
“Why are we talking about Davrin’s adorable scar, anyway?” Rook asked, setting the bottle down and returning to her seat beside Emmrich. The Grey Warden rolled his eyes.
“It’s the story that counts.” Taash said, turning back to Davrin. “Yes, it’s very cool that you took down a hurlock with a bunch of cracked ribs, or whatever. But the scar itself is…” They paused.
“Kind of pretty?” Rook offered, much to Davrin’s chagrin, and Taash snorted.
“Alright,” He said flatly, turning pointedly towards Rook. “I think it's time we ask our fearless leader.” Her friends snickered at the nickname they'd started throwing around within the last couple of weeks, to which Rook rolled her eyes as she brought her goblet to her lips. “I bet you’ve got some adorable stories of your own.” She arched her brow as she sipped her wine, and considered him for a moment.
“I think we should hear from Emmrich next,” She said, offering the man at her side a sweet smile, to which he chuckled and sat back in his chair.
“Oh, I don’t know,” He clasped his hands together in that way that made Rook’s heart soar. “I’m quite sure my scars don’t come with stories to rival the excitement of any of yours.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, Professor.” Bellara said earnestly, her eyes shining. “All the things you’ve done in your career? I bet you have some amazing stories to share.”
“Well,” He mused. “There was an unfortunate mishap when I was a much younger, considerably less experienced necromancer.” He sighed, a note of nostalgia in his eyes. “You see, as members of the Mourn Watch, it is commonplace to raise skeletons in order to carry out work within the Grand Necropolis. And, being hungry for ambition and driven by my determination to prove my worth,” He balled his fists in front of himself to emphasise his words. “I attempted to raise a skeleton before I was ready.” Rook’s brows rose in surprise, though her lips curled into a smile.
“So what happened?” She asked, and he turned his gaze to her, smiling bashfully.
“Its coordination was frightfully misaligned.” He said, and Rook’s eyes widened as Emmrich placed a finger on his left pectoral, dragging a diagonal line across to his sternum. “Thankfully, I was able to get out of the way,” He paused and chuckled. “Well, mostly.”
“That’s a great story!” Bellara exclaimed. “I told you!”
“That’s so messed up.” Taash grumbled.
“Not bad.” Neve said, and Emmrich held his hands up.
“That’s it from me, I’m afraid.” Rook watched as he sat back in his chair and lifted his goblet to his lips, taking a sip of wine. His eyes met her own and her heart fluttered, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“That was pretty good,” Davrin said, pulling Rook’s attention away from Emmrich. “So I’m willing to bet, as a fellow necromancer, you have something good, too.” She shrugged nonchalantly, sitting back in her chair.
“I don’t know, almost getting axed by a skeleton sounds pretty hard to beat.” Emmrich tutted from her side and she flashed him a grin.
“Come on, Rook.” Lucanis said from across the table.
“Alright, alright,” She said, all eyes on her, and sighed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want them to know about her scars, necessarily; she supposed, more than anything, her hesitancy came from never having actually told another living soul about them. She’d never told anyone how she got them. Never let anyone see them.
“You don’t have to share, if you don’t want to.” Harding said, and Rook blinked, looking over to find her friend smiling, and tried not to think about the scar on her forehead – or how and why she got it, all those months ago.
“It’s okay,” Rook said and cleared her throat, sitting up a little straighter. “Much like my esteemed colleague here,” She gestured to Emmrich. “I also attempted magic far above my station when I was way too young and way too hot-headed to realise how stupid it was.” Emmrich scoffed, and their friends laughed. “No offence.” She added, touching his arm, to which he rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless.
“Alright.” Taash paused. “So… a spell went wrong, or what?”
“Something like that.”
“Where is it?” Davrin asked. “The scar, I mean.”
“Right here,” Rook said, pointing to her sternum. “All the way down to around… here.” She gestured down to below her knee. The table fell quiet, then, and she could feel Emmrich’s eyes burning into her. Taash let out a low whistle.
“Mierda,” Lucanis said quietly, and Rook shifted in her seat.
“Damn,” Davrin laughed, turning to Taash. “Now I see why you think mine are adorable.” Rook grinned as the others joined in his mirth.
“I stand by what I said.” Taash drawled, and laughter filled the dining table once more. “Who’s next?”
She was thankful for the diversion away from herself and knocked back the rest of her wine, all too aware of the man at her side, that his eyes were still fixed on her. She set down her cup and turned her attention to him to find him watching her thoughtfully, his brow slightly furrowed.
“What?” She asked, and he lowered his voice.
“I had no idea.” He said, glancing down at her body before bringing his gaze back to her own. “Darling, what happened?” She smiled, leaning in until her lips brushed the shell of his ear.
“Come to my room later and I’ll tell you,” She purred. “Maybe I’ll even show you.” She sat back in her chair and his brows shot up, eyes slightly wide, before clearing his throat and reaching for his wine once more. She flashed him a wicked grin and he chuckled, relaxing somewhat and shaking his head.
The truth was that while she’d dodged having to explain the details of the incident to her companions, she’d realised relatively quickly after meeting him that Emmrich was likely to be the only person she could share it with. He understood her in a way that nobody else could, and often seemed to know her better than she knew herself. And now, many months later, he was so much more than just a fellow necromancer, companion or friend. What they shared was… simply put, utterly magical, and they’d formed a bond that she knew could survive anything.
Not only that, but it had become increasingly difficult to ignore the way he made her feel, to ignore the all consuming desire that overwhelmed her senses whenever he was near – which was, incidentally, almost every single day. The alluring, dazzling and devastatingly charming gentleman had assured her they’d take things slow, to allow their relationship to progress organically; the only problem was that she wanted to take things further. Much, much further, and was confident that Emmrich was just as ready as she was.
There had been a handful of occasions in recent weeks in which she’d almost gone through with it, but as soon as it came to taking off her clothes, she’d freeze. She’d spent so much of her life hiding her scars that it felt alien to do otherwise. It had been almost a week since the last time she’d allowed herself to get carried away in the heat of the moment, driven by lust to throw caution to the wind; she’d been in his quarters and had become painfully aroused just listening to him read a passage from a book. She’d climbed into his lap, her kisses bruising and feverish, and he’d held her close and kissed her back with equal fervour, his broad hands roaming her body. Yes, Emmrich was definitely just as ready as she was.
And her scars were the only thing holding her back.
She’d remained wholly distracted for the rest of the evening, unable to think about anything other than getting Emmrich behind closed doors. And so, by the time they’d all decided to call it a night, she was all too happy to loop her arm through his and lead him away from the dining hall. She listened as he gushed over Lucanis’ skills in the kitchen, his appreciation for a delightful meal, and how exhilarating it was to share a story from his youth. As they reached the threshold of Emmrich’s quarters, he paused and turned to face her, a softness in his eyes as he took her hands in his own.
“Rook,” He said gently, and she hummed. “You know there is absolutely no pressure for our relationship to move forward, don’t you?” He ran his thumbs across her knuckles. “None whatsoever.” Gods, her heart ached with the affection she felt for him. She offered him a small smile and stepped into him, leaning up on the tips of her toes to press her lips to his. The kiss lingered for a few moments before she sank onto the balls of her feet and took a few steps backwards, towards her own quarters, letting go of his hands as she did so.
“Are you coming?” Is all she said, and after a moment, the corner of his lips turned up as he gestured for her to lead the way and followed in her stead. She tried to shake her nerves as she led him to her room, reminding herself how badly she wants, needs, this. She headed for the small meditation table before the expansive fish tank that filled the far wall, watching the candle flames flicker as Emmrich closed the doors behind them.
She listened to the steady, even stride of his approaching footsteps, and hovered a hand over the candles, the heat from the flames licking her fingertips. He was at her side, then, and she took another moment to admire the way the candles shone a fiery glow over her palm, the fish tank casting an icy blue hue across the back of her hand.
“I've never shared myself with anyone, not entirely.” She said into the peaceful calm of her room. “I've never known anyone that made me want to, y'know?” She pulled her hand away from the flames, turning to face where Emmrich stood, shoulders squared and hands clasped in front of himself, and nodded.
He was absolutely beautiful. The light of the fish tank cast his side in glorious aqua blue, his eyes appearing more green than hazel, contrasting with the warm shadows on his other side, candles all around them; and while dazzling was usually her go-to word to describe Emmrich, right now, it felt as though there were no words that would do him justice. His beauty, his kindness, his everything.
“But then I met you.” She said, and his eyes were so kind and earnest and caused an ache deep in her heart. “And those nights in the memorial gardens, you shared so much of yourself with me. Made me realise we were more alike than I ever realised.” His eyes dropped to the floor for just a moment, almost bashfully, the smallest smile tugging on his lips when he brought his gaze back to her own.
“You introduced me to your parents,” She continued. “You have no idea what that meant to me, Emmrich.” His eyes softened, chest rising as he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose. “You make me want to share everything with you.” He closed the space between them.
“If you are ready,” He said, tucking her long, lavender hair behind her pointed ears. “Then it would be an honour, my darling.” He brushed his knuckles along her jaw, and her throat tightened, her heart beating a little faster again. She leaned into his touch, lifting a hand to his chest, to the scar she now knew lay underneath. She glanced down at herself, then raised her chin to meet his gaze once more.
“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours?” She hoped the playful tone in her words would take the edge off the nerves pooling in her gut, and Emmrich let out a breathy chuckle. He said nothing, at first; just smiled down at her, his eyes warm and safe and kind, always so kind. She raised her eyebrows just slightly, and then his lips were on her forehead in a gentle kiss.
“Very well.” He took a short step back from her as he unclipped the gold chain across his waistcoat, and Rook watched his fingers intently as they worked their way down, one button after the other. Watched as they pulled the waistcoat over his shoulders and set it down neatly on the chaise lounge. Watched as they unfastened his belt, the sound of leather sliding along soft calluses as it unwound from his hips. Watched as they slipped into luxurious red, unravelling the silken sash around his midriff. His usual gold cuff and leather glove were absent from his ensemble today, and she marvelled at how beautiful his hands really were; soft and warm and purposeful, bedecked in the finest jewellery.
She could watch those hands at work for an eternity.
As he unclasped the dainty skull pinning his collar together, she tugged at the bottom of his shirt, untucking it from his trousers, and his lips turned up slightly. Heat rose in her cheeks as he began unfastening the buttons of his shirt, slowly exposing his neck, clavicle, and sternum. She worked from the bottom until their fingers met, knuckles brushing, and she inhaled deeply through her nose as he slipped the shirt over his shoulders, revealing his broad chest, the gold bangles on his forearm chiming as he removed his shirt completely and dropped it on top of his other clothes.
Emmrich had always cut a very fine figure; his tailored clothes made no secret of his slender frame, but Rook hadn’t expected his shoulders, his chest, to be quite so broad. She followed the lines of his frame as it dipped in at his waist, his soft and slightly toned abdomen, and finally observed the scar running from his left pectoral to his sternum.
She brought her hands to his chest, tracing the line of the scar with her fingertips, and goosebumps flooded his skin under her featherlight touch. She hesitated for just a moment when he tensed, before he visibly relaxed and let out a breath. She could feel the heat crawling from her cheeks to the tips of her pointed ears as she touched him, her pulse racing, while he remained wholly still, hands once again clasped in his usual composure.
He was beautiful.
“Emmrich,” His name was barely above a whisper, and she finally looked up to meet his gaze, finding him watching her, a vulnerability in his eyes and something akin to uncertainty. She returned her attention to his chest and leaned in to press a soft, chaste kiss to his scar.
“I know that I am not exactly,” He paused, and she looked up at him. “Well, you know.” She tilted her head to the side and he huffed, his cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink as he averted his gaze. “I'm no Davrin or Lucanis, let's say.”
Her brows came together, then, and she reached for him, taking his cheek in her hand and gently bringing his gaze back to her own.
“Emmrich,” She said, taking one of his hands and lifting it to her chest. “Do you feel that?” He glanced down to where she was firmly holding his palm over her racing heart, his lips parting ever so slightly, and hazel met violet once more. She smiled.
“That's what you do to me.” She said, and he chuckled bashfully. Her smile widened to a toothy grin, and added, “Among other things.” Emmrich laughed heartily, then, the pink in his cheeks turning a little darker, and she giggled, feeling the familiar ache begin to stir between her legs.
“You are beautiful.” She said as their mirth eased, and his throat bobbed as she took his other hand to her chest, guiding his fingers to the buttons on her shirt. “I want you to see me, too.” She tugged the bottom of her shirt from where it had been tucked lazily into the waistband of her pants, before letting her arms return to her side.
“Are you sure, darling?” He asked, and she nodded, taking a breath to steady her racing heart. He held her gaze for a moment longer before leaning down to brush his lips over her temple, and began unfastening the buttons. She closed her eyes and leaned into his kiss, the flush in her cheeks deepening, and gazed up into gorgeous hazel when he pulled back.
Though her racing heart wasn't because of her desires for the man before her alone, or the anticipation of what she knew was going to happen tonight – no, her heart was racing because she was finally letting someone in. Because she finally felt safe enough, finally had the desire to be truly intimate with someone, finally wanted to show someone the reminder of just how close she had come to dying; a fact that had utterly terrified her and shamed her as a member of the Mourn Watch.
But after Emmrich had confided in her about his own fears, she’d realised she’d found a true companion in him. And now, bearing themselves to one another, she knew she’d found her twin flame, her soul’s calling, and at long last was ready. Truly ready.
His fingers had reached the bottom of her shirt and he paused. She nodded, and he slowly pushed her shirt over her shoulders and she let it fall to the floor, and his eyes dropped to her naked torso. Her heart was pounding by now, and Emmrich's lips parted, his eyes darting across the expanse of her scars. Her breaths came a little shorter, a little faster, and she inhaled deeply through her nose and let it out slowly, willing her heart to slow down, willing for him to say something.
He lifted his hands, and she held her breath as he gently brushed her hair back over her shoulders, letting the long, lavender locks cascade down her back, and stepped back slightly.
“It was lightning magic,” She said, and Emmrich glanced at her before returning his gaze to her abdomen. “I mean-” She snorted nervously and gestured to them. “Obviously.” He reached for her, trailing his fingers over the lines branching across her body, disappearing underneath her pants.
The magic had entered her body just below her hip, the lightning forking up and down as it surged and left scorched skin in its wake. Jagged lines spread up and around her ribs, across her abdomen to her sternum and breasts; it branched down her thigh, coiling itself around her leg to her shin. The scars remained a deep, dusky pink, though they had healed many years ago.
“Rook,” He said quietly, his brow pinched together. She took a breath.
“They run almost the entire length of my body,” She said, and with trembling fingers, reached for the button on her pants. He placed his hands over her own, halting her, and swallowed hard when he knelt before her; he unfastened the button, pulled down the zip, and carefully tugged them down her thighs. She held onto his shoulders as she lifted one leg at a time so he could remove her pants completely, leaving her clad only in her undergarments.
He remained on his knees, his eyes roaming her body as he asked, “What happened?”
“The magic was beyond my abilities at the time,” She said. “I was tired of being told I wasn’t ready, that I couldn’t do it. I was so sure they were wrong, that I could prove them wrong, so…” She sighed. “I performed the spell in my quarters and I couldn’t contain it. I struck myself by accident.” She paused as her voice wavered. “And, uh,” She cleared her throat, blinking away the tears in her eyes. “It almost killed me.”
Emmrich's eyes shot up, then, and she could feel his gaze burning into her as she focused on the candles across the room, willing herself to calm, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
“I was terrified.” She admitted. “And I couldn’t tell anyone because what good is a necromancer whose greatest fear is dying?” Emmrich sighed, and she looked down at him, his brows drawn and such sadness in his eyes. She brushed her knuckles along his cheek. “But then… I met you.”
“Darling,” He said gently, so agonisingly gently, as he leaned into her touch. “I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn't,” She said. “Nobody does. I've never…” She trailed off, and he tilted his head to the side.
“You've never told anyone?” He asked, and she shook her head.
“No,” She said, and his frown deepened slightly, before lowering his gaze once more to her scars. Then, he leaned in, and she inhaled sharply when he pressed a kiss to her abdomen.
“They are beautiful, Rook.” He said firmly, and placed another kiss on her hip. “You are beautiful.”
Her cheeks were blazing now, and she chuckled, threading her fingers through his hair.
“Oh, I don't know about that.” She said, and he looked up at her, his expression entirely too serious, and rose to his feet once more. She almost shrank back from the intensity of his gaze, and he took her face in his hands, cradling her jaw, his touch so tender she could have cried.
“I see you.” He said, and she swallowed hard as her throat tightened, tears threatening to fill her glistening eyes. “You are the most beautiful young woman I have ever laid my eyes upon,” He spoke so gently, so earnestly, and she sighed as she leaned into his touch.
“And,” He added, leaning in to brush his lips over hers. “There are none in this world more fortunate than I.”
She had never truly grasped what it could mean to be swept off her feet, but when his mouth met hers in a kiss so dizzying that it stole her breath and left her knees unsteady beneath her, she wondered if this was what it felt like. Her eyes slipped shut as she melted into him, chest-to-chest, their hearts beating wildly as one, hands cradling each other’s faces as though they couldn’t be close enough.
Lips fused in a slow, tender kiss, they moved back towards the chaise lounge. Rook reached blindly for the frame as Emmrich set a knee on the seat, sliding a hand down to her waist and around the small of her back as she found purchase at last and laid back, his body warm as he settled between her legs and leaned over her.
He trailed his lips along her jaw and down the length of her neck, his kisses gentle and unhurried and Gods, she was breathless as he reached her collarbone. The warmth of his breath left her skin tingling as his lips caressed her breast, then her sternum, and her heart all but soared out of her chest upon realising that he was slowly, and very deliberately, tracing the branches of her scars.
She couldn’t look away. Her chest rose and fell, watching as he took his time, eyes roaming across her skin, as though he was taking such care of where to place his lips next, worshipping her body with his mouth. She gently ran her fingers through his hair, sighing softly through parted lips as he kissed her stomach, then paused as he glanced down at her undergarments. His gaze met her own in silent question, his eyes softening when her answer came in the form of a single nod, and sat back on his knees as she lifted her hips to allow him to remove her underwear.
She blushed furiously when the corner of his mouth tugged into a deeply alluring smile, and he leaned down to press a kiss to her stomach, then her hip, before shifting further back on the seat and nuzzling the inside of her thigh with his nose, his lips barely brushing her skin, his eyes fixed on her own. By the Gods, the darkness in his lustful gaze sent a thrill running straight through her. He tucked his shoulders under her thighs, running his hands along her hips, and she gasped when he dipped between her legs and ran the flat of his tongue over her slit.
It was as though every nerve ending in her body was centred entirely within her sex, a feeling she could have only ever dreamed of; Emmrich worked his lips and tongue like a man starved, leaving her thighs trembling, chest tightening, toes curling. Every cell in her body was on fire, arousal pulsing through her, and she was breathless as she tipped her head back, her senses overwhelmed because his tongue, Gods, his tongue; warm and wet, gliding through her soaking folds, over and over, yes, yes-
“Emmrich,” She moaned, arching her back, and he slid a jewelled hand from her hip to her abdomen, his palm flat against her skin. She wasn’t going to last, not like this, the familiar feeling already beginning to swell deep within her core. She clutched his hand tightly, writhing against him, and cried out when he planted his mouth over her clit and began gently sucking, expertly rolling his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. He groaned into her sex, the sound vibrating through her as he gripped her fingers that were closed over his own. She ached for release, was ready to beg for it, when the pressure building between her legs erupted with a final sweep of his tongue and she gasped sharply, her mouth falling open, her entire body tensing and trembling as her orgasm sent lightning surging from her core.
He slowed his tongue to gentle rolls as she rode out her high, his eyes fixed on her writhing body, marvelling at the way she moved and how utterly breathtaking she truly was - especially like this. Her moans gave way to breathy whimpers as her grip on his hand slackened, and with a satisfied chuckle, he turned to press his lips to the inside of her thigh and shifted to lean his forearms either side of her hips. He watched her chest rise and fall as she caught her breath and, admittedly feeling a touch smug, couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his mouth at the sight of her flushed cheeks.
“Are you alright, darling?” He asked. It was all she could do to nod, because she was infinitely better than alright; she’d never been made to feel the way he made her feel, had never experienced pleasure quite like that before, and certainly never dreamed Emmrich could do that with his mouth. She hummed when she felt his lips on her hip, trailing kisses along the forked branches of her scars across her abdomen and breasts.
“Amazing,” She sighed, and he huffed a laugh before his lips found her neck once more as he settled between her legs. Feeling his hardness pressing against her, she let out a breath and guided his face back to hers, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss. She moaned as she tasted herself on his tongue, running her hands down his chest and already feeling so dizzy with the way he was kissing her, his lips moving so easily, so expertly, with her own. Her fingers found the waistband of his trousers, and she pulled back from the kiss just slightly as she tugged at them.
“Take these off.” She whispered against his lips, and he nuzzled her nose with his own before nodding, brushing a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth and making quick work of kicking off his boots and removing the last of his clothing. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach as their eyes met and he leaned over her once more, hooking an arm underneath her shoulder to slide his fingers along her neck, threading them in her hair, gripping her thigh around his waist with the other.
She cradled his jaw in her hands and stroked her thumbs across his cheeks, her heart racing and his eyes searched her own, seeking permission. She answered with a buck of her hips and he laughed breathlessly, the sound curling around her heart and spreading warmth through her chest. He turned into her hand to press a kiss to her palm, returning his gaze to hers for a moment before leaning his forehead against hers as he slowly pushed himself into her slick heat. She gasped, body tensing, her brows coming together as heat flooded to her cheeks because Gods, he felt amazing inside her.
His breath was hot on her lips as he waited, stroking her thigh with his thumb, hardly able to believe he was tangled up with her; Rook, the most courageous and dangerously breathtaking woman he’d ever known – and she wanted him. He pressed a sweet kiss to the tip of her nose, then her lips, and she relaxed, offering him a smile that could shatter the world as she nodded for him to keep going. Affection blossomed in his chest at the gesture, and he closed the space between them to press his lips to hers as he pulled his hips back and sank into her again, a low moan rumbling in the back of his throat.
And that sound drove her wild. She whimpered, parting her lips to kiss him again, and when his tongue swept in to caress her own, she moaned and wound her arms around his neck. He began rolling his hips into hers, his movements masterful, as though he'd spent an eternity making love to her. It felt so right. Their bodies fit together and moved perfectly, as one - and finally, for the first time in her life, Rook felt whole. Complete.
She broke the kiss to look into his eyes, her brow pinched and mouth open as she gasped with every delectable roll of his hips into hers. He'd never looked more beautiful than he did in that moment; pieces of his usually pristine hair hung over his forehead, his eyes dark with lust, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. A fire ignited within her, unfathomably powerful and burning exceptionally bright; she'd never felt this feeling before, but greeted it like a long lost piece of herself as she welcomed it - and Emmrich - into her heart.
“I love you,” She whispered, and something changed in his eyes, a recognition, an understanding, and he smiled; wide and bright and absolutely breathtaking.
He chuckled breathlessly and nuzzled her nose with his own as he said, “And I love you, my darling.”
She returned his smile, a joyous giggle escaping her lips, and gasped sharply when he thrust his hips into hers, harder now, and her eyes slipped shut as she tipped her head back and moaned. Emmrich buried his face in the crook of her neck, his moans low and deep, and she was sure it was the most beautiful and holy sound she'd ever heard. She wound her arms around his waist and up his back, her fingers digging into the skin below his shoulder blades, clinging desperately as a familiar feeling began coiling around her core, twisting and tightening and building and building, an intense pressure mounting, her entire body tensing and trembling.
“Emmrich,” She whimpered, and he removed his hand from where it had been buried in her hair to clutch the arm of the chaise lounge, gripping her thigh tightly with the other, practically growling into her neck as he drove his hips into her, harder, faster. She tightened around him, her mouth falling open and arched her back, the air forced from her lungs as her orgasm slammed into her with the staggering force of a hurricane. She gasped sharply into his shoulder, crying out and making a sound she was sure she'd never made before, and with that, Emmrich moaned loudly, his movements stuttering, thrusting hard and haphazardly as he came.
The pleasure was utterly blinding, her heart thundering and chest heaving, leaving her on the verge of feeling delirious. She pulled back to nudge his temple with her nose, words failing her, and he slowly lifted his face from her neck, eyes dazed and half-lidded. He glanced at her mouth before leaning down to kiss her, their breaths heavy as their lips parted and came together again, slowly and tenderly, as his hips slowed altogether.
She brought a hand from his back to cradle his cheek, and he pulled back just enough to find her gaze as she brushed her thumb over his top lip and smiled. He quickly returned the gesture, and she couldn’t help the giggle that followed, feeling utterly giddy for arguably the first time in her life. He chuckled, capturing her lips in a single, lingering kiss before pulling his hips back and all but collapsing on her chest.
She brushed his hair back as he closed his eyes, absentmindedly trailing his fingers up and down the length of her arm with a contented hum. She wasn’t sure how long they laid like that, tangled up in each other until their breaths became slow and even, their hearts beating as one; but after a short while, she looked down at him and smiled as she continued to smooth back his hair.
“The dishevelled look rather suits you, y'know.” She said after a few moments, and he snorted.
“Never.” He said with a sigh. “A gentleman is anything but.” Rook grinned.
“I had no idea gentlemen could fuck like that.” She quipped, and Emmrich barked a laugh, shifting to look up at her as he leaned his forearms either side of her hips.
“Darling, I can do much more than that.” He said, his voice dangerously low. She bit her lip, her smile bright and wicked.
“Oh?” He hummed. “Tell me more.” She said, and his tongue darted over his bottom lip before he raised a brow.
“I'd rather show you, my dear.” She laughed, patting his shoulder and closed her eyes, lying her head back.
“Give me a few minutes and I'll be good to go.” Her smile remained as he chuckled, and she felt his lips as he pressed a kiss to the scars between her breasts.
“I may need slightly longer to recover.” He mused. “But I will gladly do this again,” He kissed further down her abdomen. “And again,” Another kiss. “And again.” She hummed happily.
I think after the events of DA:TV there's probably an Exalted Council and Rook shows up with all of their companions in tow and I think a bunch of people are trying really hard to like. Not BLAME Rook for the Sixth Blight but also not NOT blame them? And I think it's emotionally draining and awful and I think Rook comes back to their rooms at the Winter Palace or Cumberland or wherever the fuck the Council takes place and cries and starts trying to self-isolate and just in general enters into a Shame Spiral a'la the Fade Prison. And I think the Veilguard shows up to the third or fourth day of session without Rook and Taash has smoke coming out of their nostrils and Lucanis is just barely hiding the fact that he has more knives than usual on his person and Davrin has his You Have Disappointed Father face on in full force and the room is twenty degrees colder than it should be literally just because Neve is there. I think Emmrich talks because he's the only person who can find it within himself not to absolutely holler--Bellara's already sympathy crying--and Emmrich basically lectures a room full of some of the most important people on the continent about duty and what's just and how cyclical this whole The World Gets Saved While You Lot Sit There thing has been--because Emmrich was a young man when the Fifth Blight happened, and the power grabs and finger pointing have NOT stopped since Archdemon Urthemiel bit the dust, and where has it gotten us? This goes on for over an hour.
Finally, hoarse and exhausted, Emmrich drops the mic with a very polite, very clipped version of, "If you continue to punch down at my spouse, who just SAVED THE WORLD, I'll be on you and you won't even see me coming" and then leaves with the rest of the Veilguard.
It takes the Council awhile to figure out what the fuck just happened.
Emmrich joining the ranks of fathers who work with their little baby swaddled to his chests because mama is busy and big brother Manfred is probably in training. So the senior necromancer is just giving a very important lecture on the intricacies of some niche topic of the necrotic arts with a tiny tyke asleep on his chest in one of those baby wraps patterned with cartoony skeleton graphics. And when he's taking questions he just naturally lets his hands drift to cup their head and pat their bum. Baby couldn't be more cozy on Papa's warm, reverberating chest listening to his voice.
THIS IS TOO PRECIOUS. 🥹
You know, with how protective and doting Emmrich is toward Rook and Manfred (and even other members of the team, when appropriate) that any baby of his will be kept close at all times.
I don’t see Emmrich being one to just hire a babysitter. This is a man who has earned his reputation as an esteemed professor and researcher, and likely has/is close to tenure. Nobody would stop him from bringing that precious baby to lessons.
So there he is, in his prim waistcoat and cummerbund, chalking up complex diagrams for the students about the different chambers of the human heart, while simultaneously patting the little bundle of joy on the back and bounding them slightly. And of course the wrap has cute little cartoon skeletons all over it. 🥹💕
That baby sleeps so soundly while Papa lectures. I imagine them waking and hearing Papa’s voice answering question, and we just giggle with joy. This causes Emmrich to laugh and move both hands to the giggly little bundle, and MANY students fawn over it.
“Very good, very good. Now, are there any questions? … Yes, Ms. Abernathy?”
“How old is the baby now, sir?”
“Haha, five months. Alright … next. Please, Winslow. The floor is yours.”
“Where did you get that swaddling cloth? My aunt would love that!”
“A merchant in Cumberland. Now, does anyone have any questions over the lesson?”
Annnnd no hands are raised. 😂
Then, when the baby falls asleep, he asks students to please exit quietly, and they absolutely do. (It helps that his classes are smaller).
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