Mini-Collab with the amazing @thepalehorsevictoria
Read Fic below by @thepalehorsevictoria and the scene that inspired me to draw this 😳🫣
Emmrich x Rook (Dahlia Ingellvar)
Smut fic 🔞
“This is absurd,” he sneers, shakes his head in distaste and turns to leave.
Dahlia seethes. “This is not over, is what this is.” She hates stomping her foot but short of throwing something at him, it’s what she’s left with. “Put him back,” she hisses in secondhand embarrassment.
“I shall do no such thing. He is a fraud,” he waves dismissively in the direction of the man’s stall, “And deceptive practices have consequences.” He walks away. She rolls her eyes and Maker take him, he can sense it. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, dearest.” His consonants are pin-straight and sharp as a tack, gritted out from between his teeth, no doubt.
“Oh, fuck off,” her voice is low, barely a whisper, and her eyes narrow as she examines the layers of the haunting glyph Emmrich has laid upon the man who sold him a false charm. Honestly, eternal life? Immortality? From a stall in Dock Town? She finds the beginning of the spell in the glyph, tugs at it and it unravels cleanly, the last vestiges of the spell spinning out in green threads of light and returning to Emmrich’s staff head.
And because it is just her luck, of course he notices, whirling on her, eyes dark and angry.
She’s had enough of this. Glancing at the poor man hugging his knees on the ground but at least breathing and no longer stock-still frozen in fear, she turns around on her toes in one swift, graceful moment and walks away from him in the opposite direction.
As soon as she stomps past an alley there is a rush of air flash of light and Emmrich is yanking her into it by the arm with a strong grip that could dig into her flesh if not for his gloves. Dahlia’s back nearly slams into the brick as he pins her to the wall, eyes narrowed in anger and something else she knows all too well.
Through gritted teeth, he leans down to glare at her. “How dare you dispel my work.”
Oh he did not just— “You were tormenting him. I put a stop to it.” Her chin is up, defiant, unapologetic. She will not be intimidated by anyone, him included. Especially him. “Look around, Emmrich. Do you see a lot of options for people to make a living here?” Even if it is much her fault, Minrathous is still in embers after the dragon.
He rears back to groan loudly in frustration, then levels her with a glare.
Dahlia just looks back at him. “Next time, pick on somebody your own size.” She shoves him back, hard, tugs her coat straight, and walks away from him again.
Some hours later, they are ready to leave. At the eluvian tucked into a hallway within the Shadow Dragons’ main rooms, only Neve greets her, and Emmrich is silent and very interested in something on his glove. It just makes Dahlia roll her eyes again and she practically stomps through the liquid light, grateful for the cooler air of the Crossroads and then later the now familiar smell of the room under the Lighthouse. She eagerly shrugs off her coat and immediately makes her way to her rooms without looking back at him even once, even passing Manfred with a tray of teacups and a steaming pot. Fine, let him sulk until he comes to his senses.
It’s when his usual seat at the kitchen table stays empty by the time dinner is over that she starts … getting concerned. Emmrich does not miss meals. Had she really pissed him off that much by undoing his haunting spell in broad daylight when he was being an asshole about it?
She has a headache. For once, the cool dark of the meditation room she occupies will be welcome, but as she turns around from closing and locking the door behind her, her eyes adjust to the low blue light and she finds Emmrich sitting on her chaise, staring ahead at the fish.
“You missed dinner.”
No response.
Oh for fuck’s sake. Dahlia does not have the time or patience for this. “Look. I’m not going to apologize for it. You were hurting him. I asked you to stop, you didn’t, I stopped his suffering. I’m not sorry. But we clearly have a disagreement here, it’s going to need worked on, but I have a headache and I just want to lie down.” She marches over to the chaise for her pillow and blanket and turns to leave, she’ll just sleep in the music room or something, anywhere he isn’t.
As soon as she’s within reach, Emmrich reaches up to the back of her neck and pulls her down to her knees in front of him, eyes narrowed and angry. His gloved hand has a tight grip on her hair to tilt her head back. “Someone told me to pick on someone my own size.”
Dahlia’s eyes widen as his other hand pulls at the placket of his trousers.
“I wonder, my dear, if you’re quite ready to eat your words, hm?”
Makerfuckingdammit she hates the familiar pull of her cunt clenching as he frees himself, cock swelling and rapidly approaching as Emmrich pulls her head further down to his crotch. She’s livid as she finds her mouth watering still, and groans in frustration at the sneer of satisfaction in his teeth.
“Open.” The tension at the roots of her hair have somehow overridden her headache, but she refuses to give him even a glint of the palpable relief. The familiar, dusky smell of his skin swims around her, and she grunts to mask the moan at the taste of his warm skin. “Is this what you meant, Rook?” he hisses as he grows harder against the hot wet of her tongue.
Her eyes widen as she feels both hands in her hair now, on either side of her face, as he starts to fuck her mouth. All she can do in her anger is to focus on not tensing her jaw, remembering to breathe so her jaw can relax to fit the girth of him.
Emmrich’s head falls back as he shudders. “You drive me mad, Dahlia. I shouldn’t be so fucking turned on by how quickly you pulled my work to pieces.” He looks back down at her, teeth gritted as he relents his grip just enough for her to pull back and end this, and instead he falls back onto the back of the chaise when Dahlia pushes more of him into her mouth, laving the underside of his cock with her tongue and relaxing her throat. “How maddening it is to not be able to bend you over the nearest hard surface right there at the docks and fuck you there.”
She moans around him, his breath catches, and his head falls back again as she wraps her hands around the base of him to cover what cannot fit in her mouth. There’s such a temptation to bite, but her head is swimming with the heat of him and the sting of her cunt wet and wanting, the fucking traitor. She should be mad at him. She still is. And yet she cannot deny how much she physically craves him.
The wet slurps and both their moans fill the dark space of the room. Dahlia shoots a hand out to grab at his ass, pulling him further down her throat, then pulls back only to engulf the length of him again, fast. Once, twice, thrice, her eyes water as she gags, but she persists.
“Ahhh~!” Emmrich comes fast, filling her mouth with hot bitter salt and in her frustration she pushes him further back in to swallow, hoping that he strangles on the overstimulation. The smile on her face is triumphant in the knowledge that she has him in such a vulnerable state, watching him sputter and moan even as he finds his bliss.
“Fuck, Dahlia, Maker, fuck—”
She screams much the same later as his tongue in her cunt makes her come hard and fast moments later, his arms wrapped around her hips like a vice, and then again. And again.
New poster to give a little update on the Queen Ripple collab! We now have SIX entries submitted, so we're little over halfway to the ten minimum entries needed before the post goes up. (I know it says 5/10 but that's cus I didn't bother to check the form for how many entries were submitted 😮💨)
The names of the artists who submitted their entries won't be revealed until we hit 10 entries and the collab goes up, so do whatever you can to spread the word and get people to join the fun!
Eris’s body ached. He’d been awake for two days, running on adrenaline and his new found power as High Lord. He felt it around noon, the beginning of energy decline. He barely had enough motivation to eat something and bathe. When he finally slipped under the covers, his whole body melted into the bed. He closed his eyes and felt himself slip under.
“Hello, Eris.”
Eris startled, instantly reaching for the knife under his pillow. It wasn’t there. He turned back and in his room was a male. One he knew well.
“Azriel?” The male didn’t move.
He slipped out of bed cautiously. It looked like Azriel, with his broad shoulders and large wings. The leathers had the night blue stones that glowed in the dark. His face was the same, dark hair cut short. But something was off- those hazel eyes looked different, the smirk on his face didn’t fit. Eris realized he didn’t awake from the wards being tripped nor did he smell the cedar that accompanied the male. The fae lights were also on. He had turned them off.
He was dreaming. But the thing in front of him wasn’t a part of the dream.
“What are you?” Eris finally spoke.
“You ask the right question.” Azriel grinned. “You should know me, Eris. I watched you come into this world in the room on the second floor. I watched you grow. I watched you murder your father in the throne room. I am The Forest House.”
Somehow in this dream it made sense. The house was filled with magic. Over the centuries he’d witnessed things he could not explain. Corridors that didn’t exist on the maps. Rooms that would not be there the next day. Items he needed appeared near him. He’d read about the history of the house as a youngling and knew it was enchanted. What did not make sense was why his home appeared to him in the form of a lesser fae. A male lesser fae he despised.
“Then why do you look like that?” Eris scowled.
“This?” The House gestured to itself. “I appear as what you prefer. Though, I’ve never appeared as a male before.” Eris felt his face heat. The House as Azriel laughed. “You cannot hide who you are from me, Eris Vanserra. I hold no judgement.”
“What do you want then?” Eris wanted to wake up but couldn’t seem to do it.
Azriel’s smile grew almost sinister. The massive wings expanded behind him like a devil. “If you wish to live inside these walls, we must come to an agreement. You bind yourself to me, to the land.”
Eris physically recoiled. “As if I am a fool to fall for such trickery.”
“It’s not a trick. I came to your father centuries ago in his dreams. As I did with his father, and the father before. Are you familiar with Spring’s rite?” It tilted its head. “Your ancestor exchanged the yearly rite with this. The Binding.”
Eris frowned. He’d heard that word before. He had read about it in the history of The House. There was never a full detail of what it was. Simply that the High Lord and the land were one, bound by ceremony. Eris assumed it was tied to being High Lord. Something that happened immediately with the transition of power. He thought hard and remembered vaguely a statement of exchange but nothing of what that exchange was.
“And what exactly is this binding?” He pinched the inside of his arm when he crossed them. Nothing happened.
“You give me something,” Not-Azriel’s eyes raked over Eris slowly, with the heat of a lover. “And I give you my loyalty.”
“I don’t have patience for your riddles,” he hissed. It was not lost to him that the vague statement was on purpose.“Speak plainly.”
“I take a part of your soul.” Its grin didn’t fade. “Your father gave me his heart. Despite what he told himself, killing his entire family didn’t sit well with him. I only took some of it from his soul, despite him offering it all.”
Eris’s stomach churned. The House as Azriel laughed wickedly.
It added, “You chose what to give me.”
“A part of my soul is still a part of my soul.”
There was heavy silence between them. Eris did not want to be here. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t sign up to sell his soul to a being that lived in the house.
“I don’t live in the house, I am the house.” Eris felt the color drain from his face, fear running down his spine. The house laughed again. “You think too loud, new High Lord.”
“So what exactly am I supposed to give you?” He snapped in defense. “My heart as well?”
“I could take your shame,” it said quickly, those surreal hazel eyes widened. It was too quick and eager for Eris’s liking. “The hunger for this Illyrian that sits deep in your bones. It’s not like you want it anyways.”
“And what am I to gain in return, just your promise that I’ll be bound to the land I rule? I can find another way to bind myself to the land.”
“Magic always has a price, Eris Vanserra. You can look for another way. But you can’t control what it takes from you. I’m offering you a choice. It’s a fair exchange I think. Prosperity of the land, the magic of the house- my magic, in exchange for your silly infatuation for a,” The house paused. “Lesser fae.”
It felt strange to watch Azriel talk about himself like that.
“Exactly how do you plan to take it?”
“Most prefer carnal measures.” With a snap of its fingers, clothes were gone.
Eris never saw the shadowsinger naked but his imagination seemed to have a solid idea of what he might look like. Heat pooled in his belly as his eyes raked over the naked male before him. His eyes stopped at the cock hanging between Azriel’s legs. It made his mouth water.
“You like it?” Az whispered. Not Azriel. This was not Azriel, Eris had to remind himself. “I showed you mine, you show me yours.”
Eris shook his head. Something wasn’t right. “You plan to bed me.”
“You can bed me if you like.” Eris blinked and in horror realized the cock on the fake Azriel was gone. The female’s sex was in its place. He squinted at Eris. “I’m more accustomed to this. But you don’t like it, do you?”
“No,” Shame rolled through him and he averted his gaze. “Is there not another way to do this?”
The house sighed and when Eris glanced back over, Azriel’s clothes were on. Azriel started walking towards him and Eris stepped back until the back of his legs hit the bed. Azriel was close to him. No, not Azriel. The House. Eris could feel his hair stand on end. Up close there was something off about the being before him. His jawline wasn’t right. The eyes were too murky.
And yet he couldn’t move.
“You aren’t like the other High Lords,” A scarred hand reached up and grabbed his jaw. Azriel’s voice shot lightning through Eris’s body, like the touch entranced him. “I look forward to serving you, Eris.”
Eris grew weak in the knees, a moan escaping his lips at the sound of his name. Azriel’s sharp teeth flashed at him while the hands holding his chin grew claws. Eris knew he should be afraid, but instead he was filled with want. He wanted this creature. He wanted whatever it would give him. He wanted Azriel. Eris tried to focus but his gaze was blurry.
Azriel cooed like a lover, “exchange a kiss with me. Give me your want for this fae and I will give you the true power you seek.”
A whisper in his mind said no, he shouldn’t.
“Please, Eris?” That sounded just like Azriel. Eris’s eyes were closed. Or were they open and seeing nothing? “If you won’t bed me, let me kiss you. I’ll make it good for you.”
He felt a hand leave his chin and reach back into his hair. Another ran down his chest. Eris groaned, pleasure shooting down his spine. His eyes opened. There was Azriel, watching him.
“Just once,” Eris said breathing heavily.
He could have sworn he saw red eyes gleaming at him instead of hazel.
Lips pressed against his own, and he pulled Azriel in close. It felt so good- he wanted more. A brush of something- a hand, down his chest. Scarred hands touching his warm skin. That was all he needed. Everything he wanted. He moaned into the mouth kissing him and focused only on the hard pulsing of pleasure he’d never felt before flooding his senses. He didn’t see Azriel pull back and shift into something else, something his mind couldn’t comprehend. Darkness covered his eyes and he felt pressure in his chest, like a hand reaching in. Something inside him snapped loudly.
Eris woke, panting and looking around in the dark. He felt the cool wetness on his stomach and sleep pants- disgust and shame rolled through him the second he realized what it was. He stared at the ceiling, trying to remember what happened. He had made a deal. A deal with The House. He pondered further, focusing on his body. He felt no different. If anything he felt more rested than he had in years. It was possible it was just a dream and nothing more. He got out of bed and cleaned himself, shoving the dream away from his mind.
In the Night Court, another male woke up with a start, his scarred hand flying to his chest. He stared at the ceiling, heart pounding. His shadows were deathly silent. He tried to figure out what was wrong and why he awoke. Though his memory was foggy, it felt like something in his chest was now slack. Like a taunt ribbon now cut. After a moment he shrugged it off, and got out of bed. He might as well get ready for his day since he was up.
I had the amazing opportunity to join in on the Mini Collab with @bankabb! Go show some love!
Find the Mini Comic here!
Read on AO3 because tumblr hates anything fun!
Bit of a preview under the cut though
Tensions are high to say the least as the two enter Emmrich's room. The taller one removes his coat carefully, trying to control the bubbling anger deep within his chest, yet failing as he throws it onto the chair near his desk, hazel eyes never leaving the woman's tense back after setting his staff to the side.
“You should have taken the other path-”
“Oh Maker Emmrich! It's too late for that now! It's over isn't it? We did what we set out to accomplish: taking down that Venatori group.”
Dahlia rolls her eyes, sighing in annoyance, removing her own coat and throwing it onto the same chair as Emmrich’s.
“By you being so reckless? Just to shave a few seconds off? They SAW you coming! If it wasn’t for Davrin’s shield they would have-”
“Yet you never bothered to say anything before I told the team to take that path?! Why?”
“I… Well I thought you would make a far more educated guess! That’s why I didn’t say-”
“So you were being too nice to question my actions?”
“It wasn’t a matter of being ‘nice’. It was a matter of-”
The Mage grunts at the prod to his chest from Dahlia’s finger, glaring down at her. She doesn't back down, stepping onto her tiptoes to poke at his chest again, trying to match his height yet failing, being far smaller than him.
“If my recklessness is a problem then your niceness is a problem as well!”
“I beg your pardon? How is that a problem?”
