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killingdove · 1 year

Note

could we perhaps get some headcanons for the ishgardian trio realizing the moment they fell for the reader/wol 👀👀👀

ishgardian trio ➳ — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

A/N: ooh i love this request so much!! i hope these are to your liking dearest anon ♡

𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐘𝐑𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

it was in the way you sliced not only your foes but the way you sliced through the air as well when you were in battle

you may or may not worship halone but either way you were clearly bestowed the gift of combat prowess by her grace

when you’d have sparring matches together, estinien would never go easy on you as he finds that disrespectful but you knock the breath out of him physically and metaphorically whenever you win

there was a day where the practice match ended in you managing to get estinien’s back to fall atop the ground and you were pointing your weapon’s tip at him proudly from your standing position

“don’t tell me you’ve gone easy on me, wyrmblood,” you smirk

estinien stares up at you with wide eyes as he feels his heart skip a beat

but he quickly schools his elegant elezen features into his usual scowl

“of course not. who do you take me for?”

laughing, you help him up and he swears the contact between your hands ignited something within him, something different and incomparable to nidhogg’s rage that he felt all the time

he comes to find your laugh is like music to his ears

he also realizes he wants to hear more of the sound, and he uses that dry humor of his to elicit more of them from you from that day onwards which results in more small smiles from him

he’s doomed

𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄

when he wrote and poured his heart into the missive that would later grant you and the scions access to ishgard, he stopped at one point after going on a spiel about you in ink

he had unwittingly went on to sing your highest praises and much of it read like a love letter

it was during his reminiscing of your good deeds as he wrote did he realize the pure adoration and emotion he felt for you

haurchefant gets embarrassed by himself, a blush rising to his cheeks as he sets the paper aside to start anew

he was nervous such a prodigious hero as yourself would not return his feelings

not only that but he did not want to risk his father blabbering about the contents of the missive to you

later, he sees you that day and feels his stomach doing somersaults

you were just so radiant, bringing hope and happiness wherever you tread

“be still my beating heart…” he mumbles to himself before he approaches you with a smile

as usual, he was his jovial and enthusiastic, caring self

but if one were to look closely enough, the dead giveaway of his love for you was evident within his eyes as they’d crinkle at the corners with his genuine smiles

𝐀𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐋

he had always admired you from the moment he started following your expeditions and learning of your successes

but he never knew the extent of how deep his feelings ran for you as time had passed with working with you

it wasn’t until he invites you for a one-on-one dinner within the Borel manor

that evening he got to know you better, and the back and forth conversations you had over steak and wine did nothing but stoke the flames of his growing love

when the topic had shifted to romance, he felt heat circulating within his cheeks

the way you talked about your past lovers however, caused a different heat within him; one that bespoke of jealousy

it was an ugly feeling that twisted him on the inside, one he was not quite familiar with but nevertheless he hid it well

he had asked what you found attractive in a partner eventually totally for the sake of carrying conversation and not because he was curious to see if he was the warrior of light’s type nooooo

aymeric found himself comparing his likeness to your standards and it suddenly hit him with startling clarity mid-way through rejoicing internally that he shared your type’s physical attributes

uh oh

the concern on your face when he lets his mask slip for just a moment makes him fall even harder for you if anything

with his newfound revelation, he says nothing is amiss and diverts your attention towards sharing your experiences with beastmen

all the while he’s screaming inside

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mothwingwritings · 1 month

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Look, I don’t think this would ever happen (if anything I think the two of them are/would be great buddies and would bond over their mutual love of the Warrior of Light/you), but I am a little obsessed with the idea of G’raha and Aymeric being so jealous of each other’s relationship with you that it births an intense rivalry between the two of them.

I’m talking childish levels of banter, one step away from the two of them grabbing either one of your arms and beginning a tug of war match. They would conceal their jealousy during any important meetings, when it’s time to work they are all business and decorum, too focused on trying to impress their hero with their prowess and tact to worry about what the other is doing. But afterwards, before the assembly splits up and everyone is just milling around sharing pleasantries? Oh, it’s on.

G’raha talking just a smidge too loudly about all the fun and exciting adventures he has gotten to share with you (and will continue to share with you far into the future), making sure Aymeric is within earshot so he can clearly hear each little intimate detail. Aymeric in turn excusing himself from whoever he is speaking with so he can interject into the conversation, standing just a little too close to you as he does so. He places his hand on the small of your back while he regales the party with tales of his time together with you, recanting with a fond twinkle in his eye all the time you spent together as you brought about the end of the Dragonsong War. He focused most of his time elaborating on the moments he spent alone with you and the greatness the two of you were able to achieve together, how well you both complimented each other.

They both get under each other’s skin so easily. G’raha is essentially living Aymeric’s dream life, getting to go on countless daring adventures all over the world (and beyond) with the person he treasures the most. And Aymeric intimately knows you in ways G’raha does not, as Aymeric has been a beloved companion and confidante in your life before G’raha even had a presence. For so long G’raha simply existed as an unreachable, detached entity from you, only able to dream of an eventual reunion (that on most days seemed like an unobtainable dream). He feels like he’s constantly playing catch up, while Aymeric consistently frets that he is being left behind. Both men know sides of their hero that the other does not, and both have experienced moments with you that the other will never share, and that gets to them.

Of course all the other scions notice this and tease them both about it mercilessly. Despite the heavy handedness of it all and their desire to always one up the other, both are always exhibiting remarkably good behavior around you to the point where you yourself are a little clueless as to the extent of this rivalry. And they work hard to keep it that way! No sense in looking like a fool in front or the person they love and admire the most, even if they are hell bent on being as petty as possible to each other behind the scenes to claim the top spot in your heart.

(Which is silly, you love and cherish both equally! :) No matter how much that impartiality may irritate them.)

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watanabes-cum-dump · 4 months

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I didn't know you were also a ffxiv fan!! If you have any thoughts on yandere ffxiv characters, I would LOVE to hear them.

Like, zenos is obvious, but I totally have some thoughts on others 👀👀

YES YANDERES YESYESYESYESSSSSSS

Yandere Haurchefant is hopelessly devoted to you. Sure it's not super different from regular Haurchefant who is Down Bad™ for WOL but I think here it becomes more of an obsession. Is he capable of holding you down? No, you're the Warrior of Light for twelve's sake. He couldn't lock you away if he tried. His resolve? Be around you 24/7. And I MEAN 24/7 365 12 months a year. Bro worships the ground you walk on and I really do think he would have joined the Scions if you know... the Vault didn't happen. Having his devotion might be a blessing or a curse, bc he is NOT letting you out of his sight. Attachment issues fr fr. Honestly I don't think he'd do anything super insane. Like yeah he'd kill for you, but he'd do that normally. And he's not doing it just bc he wants to or whatever. If you're ever threatened or god forbid, hurt- someone is going to taste the steel of his blade. Yandere Haurchefant is just regular Haurchefant with a little added insanity and unhinged-ness. Maybe he's extra horny too, bit of a pervert that one.

Now, Yandere Aymeric is giving me many thoughts thanks to this fic called Captivate so though I am a firm subscriber to the idea that literally only Zenos might be able to lock up WOL, I can also make an exception to Aymeric because of this fic. Please read it this changed my feelings for Aymeric. Though, Aymeric locking you up would also require him to have a sadistic streak, which he doesn't really have and this fic itself also feels like an AU where Aymeric actually caved in and became a piece of shit due to his upbringing. However, my personal idea for Yandere Aymeric is that via his political power, he pushes you to be with him. Of course, he only does this if you reject his advances at first. He would 100% find a way to force you in a semi-political marriage with him. Like I said before, no one can hold WOL down, but, he can keep you on a leash. No matter how long, he can always reel you back in if he wants to. I think he would harbor a bit of guilt personally. Like, he knows it's unhealthy, he knows it's hurting you- but he just wants you so damn bad. And he tries to make it up to you with gifts and whatnot, but at the end of the day, your collar, no matter how gilded and comfortable, is still a collar. And the Lord Commander had the leash.

#rlly wanted to do estinien but idk i don't see him like that #personally i think he's a little too emotionally constipated to act on his desires idk #he's so found family i love him <3 #actually in general i wanted to do more characters but haurchefant and aymeric r just constantly on my mind #i mean y'shtola and ysale are too but idk i can't see em like that #maybe bc i can only see a man being so unhinged and borderline cruel to someone he proclaims he loves #but that is a whole other thing to unpack lmao #ffxiv #haurchefant x reader #aymeric x reader #yandere ffxiv #ffxiv x reader #haurchefant greystone #aymeric de borel #haurchefant x wol #aymeric x wol #oh also i literally just started stormblood so yeah #kouryuu answers

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cinnabun-faerie · 4 months

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Celebrating your nameday with Aymeric

No matter what, Aymeric would do his damndest to make sure he got to celebrate your nameday with you

it may not be as soon as he'd want, but surely you'd understand that he'd rush to you as soon as he was free

he'd planned dinner with dancing as well as taking you for a little stroll about the city

and when he does, he embraces you with a present in hand

he would be a little nervous of your reaction to his gift

there had never truly been anyone who he'd felt so in love with before

so he wasn't really sure what was appropriate at this time in your relationship

he could have asked for advice, but honestly he got so carried away when he saw your gift that he just acted on impulse

he was relieved when you opened your gift and looked up at him with the most beautiful smile

one that would always have him falling in love with you over and over again

"Happy nameday, sweetheart."

#ffxiv headcanons #aymeric x reader #aymeric de borel

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yasuosexual · 3 months

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yeah … i couldn’t stop thinking about this the other day …

tw: virgin!aymeric, oral, female reader, MDNI

virgin!aymeric who is hot and bothered unlike his stoic and relaxed lord commander alter ego. salty beads of sweat drip down his forehead as he relentlessly shoves your cunt in his face, tongue desperately lapping at your soaking juices.

your breathy gasps every time he licks over the sweet spot drives him insane— almost insane enough to take you right there and then. he loves the way your fingers claw wildly at his overgrown locks as you try to savor the way that he eats you.

virgin!aymeric is absolutely rock solid, his raging boner shoving against his small clothes. his dick twitches with every small sound you make and he hates the fact that he is so close to cumming, just from eating you out.

when you finally beg him to let you cum, aymeric grabs you by the thighs and buries his face into your aching cunt. he works his tongue around your swollen bud until you’re calling out his name, nearly moaning it so loud that everyone could hear it.

virgin!aymeric who swears he has no idea what the hell he’s doing, but keeps at it anyways after you spill your juices all over his face, lapping them up from your puffy folds. his own orgasm closing in, he holds you closer as you try to back away from the pure overstimulation. his muscular arms lock you down as he continues to drink you like wine. pure ecstasy rushes over his body as he finishes, purely off of the fact that he was able to give you pleasure.

“my love… look at what you’ve done to me. you didn’t even have to touch me”

celly

if it isn’t obvious by now i have ff14 brainrot

#AYMERIC BRAINROT #aymeric de borel #aymeric #aymeric x wol #aymeric x reader #final fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv

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ma1dmer · 6 months

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Final Fantasy - Aymeric De Borel NSFW

i haven't touched the game in so long, but that doesn't stop me

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): he cleans you up and orders for a warm bath to be started for the both of you, he'll help you wash up and kiss you ,thanking you for the experience

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): thighs, this man is positively enamoured with your legs and especially your thighs, the soft mostly unmarked skin, he’s always keeping a gentle hand over your knee when you are sitting close together, and when he is feeling particularly bold he trails it up to simply swipe gentle circles on the inside of your thigh, innocently of course

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): doesn't like the mess or if there is one, the risk, of bringing a heir in the world right now, too much going on to even consider that

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): he likes a bit of manhandling, wants someone to take control briefly off of his hands, wants you to want him so strongly it clouds your senses, to push him against a wall before crushing your lips on his, teeth and tongue ,he wants you to tell him how you want him, what he has to do to please you , order him around, pull his hair and he is yours

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): very very little, some very awkward halfway fumblings in the past that went nowhere, and then he got too busy and simply had no time or will to pursue anyone or anything

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): simple yet effective, missionary and riding him

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): he keeps a generally light attitude but does like things to be emotionally charged , he wants your eyes on him, and he'll kiss all your laughs and smiles ,smiling against your lips himself before sighing in pleasure

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): he shaves, keeps everything nice and smooth, its just easier than having to trim all the time, he always smells nice, if he knows you are meeting up he always prepares, even if you don't end up doing anything

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): very romantic, he'll have a fancy dinner under the moonlight prepared, take you out for a stroll ,pick roses for you and then offer fancy wine ,the anticipation slowly building between you two as you flirt back and forth over the night, is foreplay on its own, no matter if its your first time or you've been married for the past 50 years he always acts as if its your first date and he's just now trying to woo you

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): he doesn't indulge himself nearly enough, but loves the idea of you helping him out, your hand gripping him as you mouth at his throat and tell him how much you love him, he gets these sort of random thoughts that have him frustrated and unable to focus on his tasks

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): he is relatively vanilla in this aspect, nothing that really stands out, except perhaps a bit of roleplaying

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): your bedrooms, he needs his privacy and to have his head clear of worries about being caught being improper

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): using any sort of authoritive tone, when you defend yourself, or when speaking to someone of status or when you get angry or just anything like that, it makes his heart and belly make a little swoop and he can’t help but be a bit distracted the rest of the day

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): anything in public , the idea of getting caught is mortifying especially considering his status

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): he lives to serve you, from your ankles up to your knees, up your thighs, he’ll tell you to lay back and describes in detail what you do to him , how you make him feel and how he wishes to kiss the ground you walk on

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): Slow and sensual ,he takes his time with you, unwrapping and savouring you like a gift

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): he might say no initially but he is easy to persuade , likes the game of you coming to seek him out, but its more likely that he’ll send you off with promises of later

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): his status doesn't really allow for anything too risky, even if you manage to convince him to try something a bit out of the ordinary, he has to be prepared for the worst outcome so you usually plan things days in advance

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): it really all depends for how long were you teasing each other and if it was planned or not

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): he does not feel particularly strongly for or against them, whatever pleases you, but would love for you to tell him what you do to get yourself off when he isn't there, were you thinking of him perhaps?

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he absolutely is a tease, he is playful when he is comfortable with you, likes to come up behind you and whisper what he wants to do to you or what you can do to him later before walking away to return to his work

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): he mumbles a lot, pet names and professions of love and he does moan, breathlessly when he gets close to cumming, he would feel ashamed if he knew exactly how loud he gets when you two are alone

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): he has quite a vivid imagination and he often thinks of ways he’d like to have you as he plans your next dates, things almost never play out the way he plans them to but he doesn’t really mind as long as you are both happy in the end

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): he is pretty everywhere, average, a bit on the longer and thinner side and it curves nicely

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): he is very good at keeping his urges under control, on top of that he barely has the time to rest properly with his position, let alone remember to get horny

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): he needs to be dragged to bed, you need to personally come and pry him off his work and even then he makes it very difficult with his polite words and affectionate terms, telling you he'll be with you shortly and placating your worries with a smile and a soft darling, stand strong and drag him to bed

#aymeric #aymeric smut #aymeric x reader #aymeric de borel #aymeric de borel x reader #aymeric de borel smut #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy smut #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy xiv smut #final fantasy xiv x reader #ffxiv x reader #ffxiv smut

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starlight-brainrot · 5 months

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FFXIV - Academic Rival AU (x reader)

Characters: Aymeric, Alphinaud, Urianger, G'raha Tia, Y'shtola

Tags: fluff, high school AU, academic rival AU, gn reader, miscommunication (g'raha's)

Warnings: since it's a high school AU, it's assumed that wol/reader is the same age as Alphinaud.

Word Count: 1336

Aymeric

Mr. class president

Chess club leader as well?

You, meanwhile, are the captain of various sports teams

As well as boasting a more than stellar gpa

It ends up being a competition of who will have the better college application - him, or you?

Whenever the two of you meet, it feels as though sparks are flying

The two of you will share pleasantries, but make no mistake - the tension is thick.

For every competition he wins, you make sure to win a couple more. For every academic ribbon you earn, he’s right there behind you.

Haurchefant and Thancred secretly have an ongoing bet to see when the two of you will finally get together.

And as time goes on, more and more of your friends join in on this bet

It seems that the feelings between the two of you are obvious to everyone… but you.

Every stolen glance, every blush, every rant about the other - it was maddening to have to watch two idiots clearly in love avoid their feelings over an inconsequential rivalry.

It’s only after the two of you graduate and receive acceptance letters into the same college, both with full ride scholarships, that Aymeric nervously asks you out.

“I know that we were at odds in high school… but seeing as we’re both here and our rivalry has ended in a tie…”

“Would you like to grab coffee with me?”

Congrats to Alisaie, who won $20 from everyone in your friend group.

Alphinaud

The two of you are fellow debate team members

…however, the two of you are constantly trying to one up each other.

Who will capture the attention of the audience?

Who will have a more airtight argument?

You were known for your iron logic. It was tough, if at all possible for others to oppose your arguments

Alphinaud was meanwhile known for capturing the hearts of his audience

Surely a formidable duo, if only the two of you could get along…

As the semester drags on, the big competition for your debate team inched nearer and nearer

With all your mock debates with Alphinaud, you felt like you had done all that you could for tomorrow’s event

But it felt like something was missing…

It was Alphinaud who approached you, wanting to go over strategies

Begrudgingly, the two of you recognized that the other could provide helpful tips

Alisaie gives her brother a knowing look as the two of you settle in with your laptops and coffee. He avoids her look with red cheeks.

He feels sick the morning of the competition. He’s so nervous!

But when he hears you say that he better not lose to anyone but you, he feels some semblance of peace, followed by determination for the day ahead of him.

To no one’s surprise, the two of you crush your competition, leaving your opponents floundering for words as you leave them behind in the dust

No, the real surprise is how loudly the two of you cheer for each other upon victory - how proud you are for Alphinaud and how proud he is of you.

Urianger

You’re unsure of when or how the two of you started competing to see who could read more books in the library.

Perhaps it was that the two of you saw each other there everyday

Or the fact that Moenbryda and Y’shtola seem to constantly egg the two of you on

Little did the two of you know, the roegadyn and miqote were trying to get the two of you together, as they had been trying to do for the past four years.

Maybe this will be the year…

Urianger found himself exploring sections of the library he wouldn’t usually frequent in hopes of being in your presence just a little longer.

His puppy love felt silly to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop, especially if you kept looking at him with that soft smile of yours

If given the chance, he’d make a whole new library for you filled with poems and flower words detailing his feelings for you.

If someone were to find one of your names in a library book’s checkout card, it was near guaranteed that the other’s name would be just under it.

Your name became synonymous with his, and vice versa

But a competition that was never meant to be one in the first place will fall apart, have its lines blurred and crossed.

Moenbryda and Y’shtola receive their answer one day when they approach your usual reading spot, only to find the two of you lounging together in one of the library’s bean bags, books long forgotten in favor of sleep wrapped in each other’s embrace.

G’raha Tia

Could the two of you really call it a rivalry?

As far as anyone could see, the two of you just had a string of unusual coincidences.

The exact same schedule, lunch spots near each other, both being on the Tennis team - you saw him every hour of every school day.

So then, was it coincidence that his heart eventually began beating faster when you were around?

G’raha felt like he was going to explode, constantly in your presence

So, like any healthy and sane person does, he begins to (try to) avoid you.

Unfortunately for him, it’s almost impossible to avoid someone who shares your whole schedule

Oh, and you definitely noticed what he was doing.

Had you done something to offend the miqote?

Slowly, your friendship morphed into avoiding the other, both of you running from your feelings

When I say that everyone is tired of the two of you making puppy eyes at each other when you think no one is looking

I mean EVERYONE

It’s the twins who eventually get fed up and decide to act on it, forcing the two of you to put the tennis equipment away together, just to get the two of you to talk.

The silence is deafening as the two of you awkwardly clean up

It’s when the two of you brush fingertips and he recoils like he’d been burned that you snap.

“Am I really that disgusting to you?” You question, frowning.

Upon recognition of what he’s done, G’raha scrambles for an explanation, but eventually sighs and gives in, telling you the truth, he’d always had a crush on you, and hoped it’d fade away with time.

News flash, his feelings only got worse

He sincerely apologizes, not expecting any reciprocation or forgiveness

And is shocked when you give a relieved giggle.

“I’ve always liked you too, idiot.”

Y’shtola

Y’shtola was going to destroy you.

Well, perhaps that’s a bit too strong.

There was an internship available for fresh graduates under a well known researcher, and both you and Y’shtola were competing for a recommendation for said internship

Anyone who witnessed the two of you would admit that it’s a bit scary to watch the two of you interact.

As they say, an immovable object met an unstoppable force.

Even your teacher is a bit intimidated by whatever’s going on between the two of you, but given that they’re receiving help from the two of you, they’ll keep quiet about the fact that they can give you both the recommendation.

Though the two of you were at odds, it didn’t stop you both from completing your work together swiftly and without complaint.

You couldn’t help but feel as though Y’shtola enjoyed riling you up - but even as you tried to resist the temptation to reply to her, you failed every time

Luckily for Y’shtola, out of everyone she could have this silly competitive streak with, it was you. Oh, how cute you look when you’re upset, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed.

Upon the realization that both of you got the recommendation, an eerie silence entered the room.

All that competition for nothing?

How embarrassing.

And if anyone noticed the two of you walking to a coffee shop, hands entwined after this whole mess?

They’re better off not mentioning it.

a/n - I apologize if I wrote anyone ooc hehe... I'm not used to writing for many characters so I just took em and ran (shrug)

#ffxiv x reader #ffxiv fanfiction #final fantasy x reader #ffxiv #urianger augurelt #urianger x reader #aymeric x reader #aymeric de borel #y'shtola x reader #y'shtola rhul #g'raha tia x reader #g'raha tia #alphinaud x reader #alphinaud leveilleur #aymeric x wol #urianger x wol #g'raha x wol #alphinaud x wol #y'shtola x wol

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yukiotacon · 2 years

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Aymeric vs island sanctuary farm shorts

* Aymeric exe has stopped working *

Call in 4 bells into lunch the great lord commander lost his life

He was killed when his beloved WoL came in while wearing the new outfit the admiral rewarded them

Yeah Aymeric is gonna need probably 5 minutes to reset his brain

He silently thanks the Admiral for this

Aymeric wants to not look ,but he does

It's driving him mad seeing you in such an outfit

Halone help him if you bend over

Congratulations, you have officially brought the Aymeric de borel to the dark side aka the horny side

Aymeric self control doesn't last long

With one swift motion he locks his office door and pins you on top of his desk

To all the WoLs who have shit to do after the visits, we solute you

You are not gonna leave that office any time soon ;3

#yukiotacon #ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv fic #final fantasy xiv x reader #final fantasy xiv fanfic #final fantasy xiv #ff14 headcanons #final fantasy xiv headcanons #ff14 fanfic #final fantasy x reader #aymeric x wol #ser aymeric #ffxiv aymeric #aymeric #aymeric de borel #aymeric x reader

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samsaurwrites · 1 year

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Captivate (Aymeric x Reader x Estinien) - Chapter 2

You don’t know what tales the conspirators in Ul’Dah are spinning. What prices they’ve posted for your head. You don’t know if they’re hunting you—if they’re gaining on you. You don’t know how many they are or how long you can keep going. All you know is that you are alone. Horribly and unspeakably alone.

After the death of the Sultana of Ul'Dah, you seek out sanctuary in Ishgard, in the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights. But Aymeric de Borel hides a dark secret, one that will bring you to your knees.

Tags: Heavensward Expansion, Cannon Adjacent, Mentioned Scions of the Seventh Dawn, Obsessive Aymeric de Borel, Dark Aymeric de Borel, Kidnapping, Emotional Manipulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Extremely Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content (eventually) , Stockholm Syndrome, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Other Additional Tags to be Added

Read here or on AO3.

Chapters: 1 | 2

They leave you in that wretched darkness for days.

Days.

Days you see and speak to no one. Days you waste away in your own filth.

Days your stomach cramps and growls and shrivels up in your belly; days when the chains feel so heavy around your wrists that you don’t bother lifting them, don’t even try yanking on them anymore.

Days where you don’t try at all.

Days you spend floating somewhere between wake and sleep, seeing phantom horrors that manifest in the dark—disfigured creatures, with hunched backs and long, bony arms that creep in the corners; eyes, staring from you from the mortar in the walls, cold and leering and primal; a ringing in your ears that sounds like whispers.

Like—they’ve forgotten you.

Like—they’re never coming back.

Then, when your lips are so chapped you can’t get rid of the taste of blood; when your stomach is howling so loudly you think your skull may split in two, Estinien returns. The noise, the sudden opening and closing of the door, startles you; the clank of his armor, his boots on the cold stone floor startles you.

You bolt upright. Chains rattling. Barely fighting back a wave of dizziness, of nausea.

The torch he slots into the wall nearly blinds you; straining your eyes, filling them with tears that trickle and burn. You shrink away, shrink into yourself because looking at it, looking at him—it hurts.

He walks closer, approaching you slowly, the way you would a wounded animal, and only then do you notice what he carries. Instead of his lance, a small bucket and ladle. Sloshing. Filled to the brim.

Water.

You swallow thickly, shifting onto your knees, fingers twitching into fists.

Want it, want it, want it—

He sits on the edge of the bed. Beckons you closer.

“Here,” he says, voice rough and low and like velvet against your ears because it’s the only thing you’ve heard besides your own breathing, your own muffled crying in what feels like an eternity. He ladles out a scoop of water. “Drink.”

You do. Scooting as close to him as you dare. Slowly, he brings the ladle to your lips. Tilts it towards you, and cool water flows into your mouth. Once you start drinking, you can’t stop. Drinking frantically. Sloppily. Gulping it down as quickly as you can, as quickly as he’ll refill the ladle and let you drink again.

Your fingers wrap tentatively around his wrists. Squeezing tighter when he doesn’t pull away. Water rolls down your chin, your neck. You drink and drink, clinging to him, drinking until there’s nothing left. Until your panting, shoulders heaving up and down and up and down, breath ragged in your throat.

Then, he starts to stand and—panic.

“Wait,” you croak, voice hoarse from neglect and disuse. “Estinien, please—”

You try to hold him. To grab him and keep him there.

But you’re so weak.

He pries your fingers from his wrist with ease. Retreats from your reach before you can make another grab at him—too weak, too weary, too slow.

You watch him. Dread weighing down on your shoulders, squeezing your chest tighter and tighter and tighter. Your fingers fist in the soiled sheets. You’re breathing fast. Too fast, and it makes you dizzy. Makes you woozy.

Makes you sick.

“P-Please,” you beg. You don’t even realize you’re crying until tears fall from your cheeks onto the backs of your hands. “Please don’t—”

Please don’t leave me here.

The door slams shut, plunging you back into darkness, and you can’t smother the broken wail that crawls out of your throat. The sobs that wrack your shoulders. You scream and cry until you can’t anymore. Until your voice has shriveled up into nothing, leaving you empty, empty, empty.

Please don’t leave me here.

You rock back and forth, arms wrapped around your knees. Dig your fingernails into your skin and pray to Hydaelyn, to anyone who will listen, to help you. To save you. To free you.

To kill you.

You fall asleep to the imagined sounds of claws scraping against stone.

A day later, Estinien comes back. No lance, but no bucket and ladle either.

You don’t bother sitting up. Just shut your eyes against the blinding brightness he brings.

The water had made it worse. Made you acutely aware of how thirsty you were, how dry your throat felt. How much your mouth tasted like dirt and dust and blood. Made you weaker. Listless.

“Come with me,” he says, crossing the room in long, brusque strides. “You’re filthy.”

He kneels down next to you, and only then do you pry open your eyes. Only then do you watch blankly as he unbolts your chains from the wall and takes them in hand.

“Up,” is all he says before he’s pulling you, stumbling, from the bed.

Standing, being upright, after so many days confined to a bed feels wrong. Your legs tremble and shake, unused now to supporting your weight, and your knees threaten to buckle. Your arms hang limply in front of you, held together by the manacles encircling your wrists, by Estinien’s iron grip.

“Do not fight me,” he warns lowly, before releasing your chains and drawing a long strip of cloth from his belt.

For the briefest instant, you imagine it. Imagine what would happen if you drove your shoulder into his stomach. What would happen if you managed to catch him off guard long enough to bolt out the door. You wonder how far you would make it before he caught you. Before he cornered you in a dead-end hallway. Before you ran into someone or something worse.

But you’re tired. So, so tired.

Instead of fighting, instead of running—instead of trying—you let him tie the cloth over your eyes, let him blind you. You cling to your bonds, breath heavy in your lungs, fingers wrapping around the chains, the only thing anchoring you to reality, to him. And then he pulls, tugging you towards the door.

The stone is cold against your bare feet, causing involuntary shivers to race up and down your spine. The clanking of chains is the only sound between you as he drags you forward, sightless, and you start to wonder why he hasn’t gagged or silenced you. Then, you realize, with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

That you must be somewhere where it doesn’t matter how much or how loudly you scream.

Because there must be no one around to hear you.

No one around to help you.

You choke on your next breath.

Estinien leads you onwards, and you quickly lose track. It slips from your memory like sand through your fingers. You can’t remember how steps you’ve taken, how many corridors you’ve turned down, how many lefts or rights you made; can’t remember what order you made them in either. Too tired to focus on anything other than putting one foot in front of the other, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

Eventually, he stops, and you hear a door open in front of you.

Warmth billows out from it, washing over you, dewing on your skin, and you shiver.

A gentle tug on your chains is all it, and you follow him into the room.

Steam wraps around you like a blanket, heating your skin, your fingers and toes. The gentle scent of lavender, of vanilla and oil and soap, invades your senses, and you inhale deeply, sinking down in it, drowning in it.

Hands—not gauntlets or gloves—but warm, calloused hands lift your own, raising them in front of your chest, palms up, like an offering. You don’t recoil, don’t flinch, not like you should. You savor it, the contact, the presence of another being, of something other than the monsters that dwell in the corners of your prison.

You hate that you do.

Then, you hear a soft clanking, feel keys brush across you palms while he undoes your manacles. Removes them from your wrist and—and you feel like you can breathe again.

“Take this off,” he murmurs, voice flat, fingering at the sleeve of your sleeping dress.

Your shoulders tense, breath turning to ice in your lungs. Shake your head. Lower lip trembling, heart pounding—THUD THUD THUD THUD. Eyebrows pulling together, tears burning behind your closed eyes. You cradle your wrists against your chest. Take a half-step backwards.

He catches your arm, and you yelp.

“To bathe,” he bites out, and you can hear the scowl on his face.

A pause. One stuttering heartbeat. Another.

Still trembling, still leaking tears, you nod once. Again, when you still can’t find it in you to move. Then, you’re grabbing the skirt of your dress and pulling it up, up, up. Over your head. Leaving you naked, shivering, as goosebumps break out along your skin.

He takes your hand and leads you forward, guiding you towards the sweet smell, into a deep tub filled with heated water. He helps you slide down into it, placing your hand on the porcelain rim. And—

It’s bliss.

“Estinien,” you start, breathier than you mean for it to be, fingers prodding at the bottom edge of the blindfold, just barely slipping underneath—

But he stops you. Fingers wrapping around your wrist, pulling your hand away from your face.

“Leave it,” he says, then guides your hand down to a washcloth, to a small glass bottle arranged on top of a small table next to the tub. “Use these to clean yourself.”

He stands again, and your head follows the sound, chin tilting up.

“Leave it on,” he says again, and slowly, you nod. “I’ll return soon.”

You hear him leave. Hear the door shut and click. And then, you’re alone.

But it doesn’t feel like it.

You feel watched. Feel eyes roaming down the length of your neck, across your shoulders, sliding down over your spine, over every inch of exposed skin. You sink down deeper into the water, until the water touches your chin.

Your breath comes out fast. In short, ragged puffs that just barely disturb the surface of the water. Despite the heat of the water, despite the way it wraps around you and seeks to soothe the ache in your muscles, in your bones, you still feel cold.

You shiver and quake and don’t dare think about why you haven’t ripped off the blindfold.

Why you haven’t dared to stand up.

Why you haven’t snatched your soiled dress and yanked open the door and run yet.

Trembling, you reach for the washcloth, patting around blindly for it until your fingers brush soft fabric. You take the bottle. Uncork it and pour sweet smelling soap into the cloth, rubbing it between your palms until it warms and suds.

You drag it along your body. Over your arms and legs, hissing when the cloth catches against the scabs that still litter your skin. You scrub at your shoulders, at your hips, rubbing at the dirt and blood and filth that’s caked there. Rub and rub and rub until your skin feels raw.

You discard the cloth, leave it hanging over the side of the tub. Slowly, you lean backwards, dipping your head into the water, back arching, breasts just barely breaching the surface of the water. You let the heat and the wet soak into your hair, your scalp. Lowly, almost without realizing it, you hum.

Gods, how you’ve missed bathing.

Sitting up, you reach again for the soap. Pour it into your hands and lather it into your scalp, working your fingertips around in gentle circles, scrubbing at the oil and the sweat. Again, you lean back. Hold your breath and submerge yourself completely. Try to rinse the suds out from your hair, as best you can, before resurfacing. Before sitting up. Before the water starts to seep from the blindfold, from your hair, to roll down your skin in tiny rivulets.

The silence stings. In the empty expanse of the bathroom, your breath seems to echo. To reverberate and bounce and ring in your ears. You pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. Curling in on yourself because you still feel eyes on you.

Still feel like you’re being watched, like you’re not alone.

“H-Hello?” you whisper, to the silence, to the steam.

You swear you hear an answer, an exhale—a laugh. Your head jerks towards the sound, breath catching in your throat. You almost rip off the blindfold. Almost shatter the bottle on the tub and wield it, jagged and broken, like a weapon. Almost stand, almost fight, almost run.

Almost.

Fear keeps you still. Rigid. Keeps you quiet.

You don’t dare whisper again.

Instead, you wait, shoulders tensed, fingernails digging into your legs. Wait for Estinien to return. Wait for the eyes to come closer. Wait for the breath to whisper across the back of your neck, to float past your ears. Wait so long the water around you grows still, grows tepid, then cool. Shivers wrack you. Tremors shaking you from head to toe, but still you do not stand. Still you do nothing, do not even dare to adjust the blindfold that has gone frigid against your skin.

Then, the door clicks open, and you nearly shriek.

Your head whips towards the sound. Towards the footsteps that approach you.

“Estinien?” you croak, releasing your hold on your knees in favor of the edge of the tub.

“Aye,” he answers. He pulls you up onto your feet, fingers firm around your wrists. Helping you climb out of the tub. Keeping you steady when you sway, when you nearly move your balance. He pushes a towel into your trembling fingers. “Dry yourself.”

You do. Wringing out your hair, wiping away the droplets that cling to your skin.

“Here,” he says, and hands you another dress, a soft, wispy feeling thing that you pull over your head immediately. You feel your breath even out; feel the unease ebb, feel your bones settling back into place; feel less of the burning gaze roving over your body, dampened by the gauzy fabric obscuring your skin.

Fingers touch the edge of your blindfold—and then you recoil. Then you jerk your head away; then the back of your thighs bump the edge of the bath, clattering into the side table. Sending the bottle crashing to the ground. Shattering. Tiny glass shards skittering across the tiles.

The sound is deafening.

You catch yourself. Barely. One hand behind you, braces on the opposite side, the other clasped tight in Estinien’s punishing grasp. He curses and yanks you forward, towards him, so that you sit upright on the edge of the bath.

“I told you not to fight me,” he snaps, tearing off the blindfold. Throwing it to the floor. And for a moment—you glimpse him. A flash of silver hair, of high cheekbones and a strong nose. Eyes the color of slate, of shadow and fog and smoke; eyes outlined with dark, heavy circles.

Then, another cloth is being drawn over your eyes. Cinched tight behind your head with no regard for the hair that pulls and twists within the knot. You wince, but say nothing, focusing on the nettling sting in your scalp instead of the shame that twists and squirms in your belly.

Without warning, Estinien scoops you up into his arms, and you bite back a yelp; arms shooting around his neck, clinging to him as he carries you over shards of broken glass that pop and crunch underneath his boots.

You hear the door open. Hear it swing shut behind you. Hear the sounds of Estinien’s footsteps echoing in the halls as he carries you back through the winding maze of cold, unfeeling stone.

You don’t hear Aymeric rise to his feet, standing from the chair sitting in the far corner of the bathroom. Don’t see the smile that still lingers on his lips as he takes in the scattered glass, the soiled dress, the sopping blindfold. You don’t see the dark satisfaction that ripples behind his eyes, don’t see the desire that smolders and burns there. You hadn’t fought, hadn’t run. You had listened.

Had obeyed.

When your feet once again touch the cold stones, somehow, you know that you’re back. Back in your prison, in your cell. Back to darkness and filth and hunger and thirst. Back to madness. To clawing and crying and begging for an end that won’t come.

Helpless.

You can’t stop the whimper that bubbles up from your throat, strangled and wet and desperate.

“Please,” you whisper, hardly even audible.

Estinien holds you still, hands firm. Unwavering. Slowly, he binds your wrists together, wrapping them in cold bands of iron that burn against your skin. You hear chains. A cacophonous sound that makes you dizzy. Makes sick. You feel the weight of them as he attaches them to your manacles. Gently.

Carefully, he unties the blindfold. Softly, he removes the cloth from your eyes.

Careful, gentle, soft, slow—

“Please,” you beg again, louder this time, voice laced with panic, with fear. Tears sting in the corners of your eyes, in your nose. Breath speeding—uneven—sharp, jagged, like glass skittering across the floor. “Let… Let me go, please. I… I—”

He merely watches. Doesn’t say a word as you clutch at him.

“Tell him I escaped,” you breathe, clutching at him. Trembling. “T-Tell him… Tell him Hydaelyn saved me. O-Or that the Scions did. Tell him… Anything—just… just please—” your voice breaks into two. “—I can’t take it anymore.”

Silence. Then, “you must.”

Thanks for reading!! You can check out my other writing here.

#aymeric x wol #aymeric x reader #estinien x wol #estinien x reader #aymeric de borel #aymeric ffxiv #estinien wyrmblood #estinien ffxiv #ffxiv #eventual smut #but we gotta do some ✨plot✨ first cause im classy #my writing #writing #fanfiction

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shippersoftheseventhdawn · 1 year

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Could I have a poly Aymeric Urianger and Thancred with a fem!reader who is trying to learn a new skill like magic but has a bit of trouble since she never really had any magic training before? Please and thank you in advance 😊

I'm so sorry this took so long!

Aymeric, Urianger & Thancred supporting a Fem!Reader learning magic!

Urianger would instantly offer to tutor you. He's not just a mage, he's dedicated years of his life to studying the arcane arts (& he's more than a little excited that you're taking up an art he can help with!)

Thancred, on the other hand, clears off as far away as he can get. It's not that he doesn't believe in you! He's just seen enough new magic users to know not to be near explosion Central.

HOWEVER he always comes back with armfuls of food and water to help you rebuild your Mana so you can try again! And praises everything you and Urianger tell him you've mastered.

When Aymeric comes home, he loves to listen to you talk about what you've learned. To commiserate with you about your failures and celebrate with you about your success!

While he runs away when you're practicing, Thancred is the best person to ask to research with you. He loves sitting with you and listening to you read aloud when you find something useful!

Urianger, on the other hand, enjoys reading to you. He loves to sit you on his lap (claiming it's so you can see the book too) and read you from things he studied years before.

Aymeric makes you promise to teach him once you've mastered things! Urianger offers to teach him in the interim and Aymeric agrees but makes it clear that he's holding you to your promise too.

Urianger ends up setting up a little magic school for you and Aymeric.

Thancred caters it (he's a surprisingly good cook) and provides bullets to enchant for less explodey practice!

He keeps all of the practice bullets in a separate bag to his normal ones. They're his special Emergency bullets, full of yours and Aymerics new magic!

#ffxiv #thancred waters #urianger augurelt #aymeric de borel #Thancred x Urianger x reader x Aymeric #fem!reader #thancred x reader #urianger x reader #aymeric x reader #poly reader ship #i hope you liked these!

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buoyfriend · 2 years

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Bad Day ft. The Elf Husbands

Hi! This is kind of a fluffy HC ask, but say the elf husbands have had a bad day - what could their partner do to comfort them most? [not a nsfw ask per se but like. i do work from home ;)]

Aymeric

There are days that Aymeric rues his choices, sometimes the choices made for him. He had not asked to be Lord Speaker, nor had he expected to hold the title once it had been made. After all, he had taken a dagger to the ribs for his political stances, he had not anticipated that he would be trusted with this role.

Yet, he was chosen! He was elected without so much as a campaign speech. Aymeric could have rejected the offer to lead the House of Lords, but who was likeminded enough to carry out his vision? Who would meet the House of Commons as true equals? Who would sacrifice all want to safely bear Ishgard to the other side of the Dragonsong War?

On days like these, he sits among the mountains of paper on his desk. He remembers your dinner so long ago, the blush reaching his ears as you asked "Why not come with me on the next?" He had always wanted to come with you, yet here he was. Losing his days in contentious meetings, piles of rejected proposals.

He often loses himself in his imagination as he revises his proposals, choosing a warm fantasy over bitter rumination about his day. He reads each line three, four times, forgetting what he had intended for Section III, Part IX. He can almost feel the wind in his hair! In his mind's eye, his hands slide around your waist, he breathes in the scent of Yanxia's trees lingering in your hair. He had eyed the Yol you brought home, curious how high it might be able to fly. How fast it might go, the rush you must feel as you are spirited across the star to see your many sights.

He goes through the motion of dipping his quill in the ink. Smoothly, "Ser Aymeric de Borel" on the line, hearing his own name in his ears. Your voice, "Ser Aymeric, why not join me on the next?"

Did you ever get to go with them? On an adventure, I mean.

Aymeric laughs, smiling at the neatly piled documents stacked before him. I am not the tallest person, but the documents have reached my eye level. Aymeric seems to keep his neck above it all, peering over the documents to meet my eyes.

"Unfortunately, no. You know as well as anyone! After the conclusion of the Dragonsong War, our star faced new difficulties. We both found ourselves preoccupied for some time. I had hoped in the moments we shared in Ala Mhigo, perhaps...the Lochs aren't the most breathtaking sight, but an adventure all the same. I-we both had much to contend with at the time. I hold out hope that we will find a moment of respite, but-"

Aymeric gestures to his desk.

""The moment has yet to find us. Still, we make our time when we can. It means much and more when they drop by the Congregation."

He smiles before pulling a small jar from his desk drawer. He rolls it around in one hand, rich birch syrup catching the light.

"I admit, they have me spoiled. A jar of birch syrup and a bottle of my favorite wine. A few bottles if there is enough time for it. This desk has seen much merriment between the Warrior of Light and I."

He looks away from me, eyes trained on the desk as his lips curve into a grin. One I haven't seen before, a bit mischievous.

Estinien

Though he loathes to admit it, Estinien can be quite sensitive. He has always maintained his calm exterior in the face of crisis, this is true. Yet, those days come for everyone. The materia doesn't meld properly, someone tells you 10,000 gil isn't a reasonable price for your lunch, the only room left at the inn is downwind from the only washroom in the establishment.

It's not surprising how little someone who wears spikes on their armor is touched. What surprises Estinien is how badly he would like to be touched. Not just in all the ways he imagines when you're away from him for so long, but the small things.

He growls when you move his hand away from his coinpurse at the market or when he nearly misses his finger slicing a popoto. However, when you're not around, he does think of those moments when he misspends his coin on an overpriced hair tie or knicks his thumb slicing popotoes for a stew.

He regrets the growl even though it makes you laugh, he smiles thinking about your effort in making him feel cared for. He regrets making you think that you'd ever be an inconvenience, that you're in any way unwelcome when he's feeling low or walking into a mistake.

The most welcome surprise would be you, kicking down the inn room door to peel off his armor. Your hands in his hair, untying the elastic and running your hands through the strands. Your hands scrubbing the soap that smells like you into his scalp, running your fingers along his skin before your arms give him a squeeze with all your strength.

On these absolutely cursed days, he falls asleep thinking how much he wished you'd at least knock. He knows the weight of your hand against a door. He tells himself he is being ridiculous-that the moonlight streaming through this blasted window in this shameful inn with no decency to even set up curtains- is what's keeping him awake. He knows this isn't true. After the first hour comes and goes, he knows that it's because he's listening, waiting for the exact weight of your knuckles to hit the door.

You look terrible, my friend. No offence. But you look absolutely terrible. You didn't wake up early to go fishing, did you?

Estinien is too tired to let out his customary growl or scowl. Instead, he smiles down at me pleasantly as he holds his coffee mug.

"The opposite, I fell asleep late last night and woke rather late as well. I-I'd make this conversation quick, my friend."

Eager to get somewhere?

"The Warrior of Light will be here soon, it has been some time. They should be in the plaza shortly."

Estinien drummed his fingers against the table, slurping his coffee. Before our conversation has begun in earnest, he leaves far too much coin on the table at the Thavnairan cafe and shouts his goodbyes as the hum of a distant teleport sounds in the distance.

Haurchefant

Haurchefant is slow to admit that his job is hard. It's not the Holy See. He doesn't manage an entire city, his decisions don't trickle down to a far reach. Still, being Commander of Camp Dragonhead is no simple task.

Many knights have been lost during the war, and his duty to them weighs heavy as he writes notification letters to the families of the deceased. He bears that responsibility all his own, ruminating on what he might have done differently to keep just one more alive.

On easier but still challenging days, he counts himself lucky that the only problems are few. Still, he must delegate the tasks. He must figure out how to stretch supplies after the latest shipment was destroyed by heretics. He must break up the fight over Aurelle's promotion or the lewd photo of Jeantremont's beloved stolen from his trunk.

On these kinds of days, increasing in number, Haurchefant thinks about your face the first time he brought you a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

While it had been no easy feat to procure the chocolate, it had been more difficult to prepare the fragrant drink without a camp full of knights asking why it wasn't on the menu for them as well.

Still, he secreted the brick of chocolate into the camp. He looked over his shoulder as he stirred the milk and sugar in the pot. Carefully, he hid it in a drawer hoping to cover the scent as he awaited your return that day.

In his most difficult moments, Haurchefant chuckles to himself about his favorite phrase, "a knight lives to serve". For a man who has spent his entire day struggling through his duty to others, he realizes nothing would relax him more than doing something kind for you. Anything to see that look on your face again.

Haurche? How did you get the chocolate? I thought that drink was a rarity in Ishgard.

Haurchefant bellows his laugh, moving his hands to his hips as he shrugs.

"It was no easy feat, my friend! How did you know I brought the Warrior of Light hot chocolate? Did they tell you?"

Yes, apparently your recipe is quite delicious.

Haurchefant smiles softly with a soft blush that spreads to his ears. He looks around the room slowly, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin.

The House Fortemps does keep a small supply in the kitchens. Though I grew up there, I can't say that I am welcome to turn up unannounced. I wove an elaborate story about wanting to take Emmanellain out to "shop" for "party clothes" and snuck a brick of the chocolate out after we returned from an hours long venture to the Jeweled Crozier.

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killingdove · 1 year

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immortally wounded ➳ — (h.g. & a.b.)

PAIRING: haurchefant greystone x gender neutral!wol (ft. aymeric de borel x gender neutral!wol)

GENRE(S): angst, hurt no comfort, drabble

WORD COUNT: 1.0k

CONTENT WARNINGS: heavensward spoilers, major character death, implied suicide

A/N: ...so the vault huh

ao3 mirror

You should’ve died.

With your fists trembling at your sides, you throw your head back, baring your throat to the heavens. The ache in your beating heart does not hold a candle to the ache left behind by the anguished wail that claws its way out of your chest.

It should’ve been you.

The heavens make no indication of hearing you.

If only…

A half sob follows, then–

Anger.

It settles deep, a blooming that reaches the apex of your next sorrowful cry to the skies of Coerthas above. You vaguely wonder if he can hear you from Halone’s halls.

To have your other half torn asunder so suddenly leaves you broken, a lance having pierced you straight through your heart much like his shield.

If only you weren’t in the way.

Saltine tears drop from your glassy eyes into the snow below, his gravestone and shield doing little to comfort you. Resting your forehead against the cold surface of the slab of stone, you can feel your soul yearn for what you’ve lost. From what Aymeric had taken from you.

The anger seethes, burns, forming an unyielding grasp around your quivering frame. It was Aymeric that had indirectly orchestrated the downfall of your beloved, it was Aymeric that tore, tore, tore away at what you thought was the inseparable tie that had bound you once to your beloved.

The bastard laid in bed with you that evening. His apologetic kisses left nothing but disdain in their wake. But you couldn’t deny what Count Fortemps had seen in the young commander. An uncanny resemblance to your dear Haurchefant.

You wonder what cruel trick of fate this was.

Looking past the dark curls and striking dual blue hues, you saw what you had once fallen in love with. And that was precisely what kept you tethered to the sheets, fists twisted in them as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear with remorse in deep blues that reminded you all too much of him. You moan and keen, but naught was for the man above you, this he knew.

But that didn’t stop him from loving you.

And love you he did— he was every bit the picturesque lover, attentive, kind, endearing with a heart of blinding gold. Haurchefant was no different. You figure if you closed your eyes, you could fool yourself into loving a man that you had once came home to.

You knew this would hurt him, but that pain would be nothing compared to the one you felt when a hand you had traced the palm lines of and tenderly squeezed many times before grew cold and lifeless in your own.

—

The sun sets in Ishgard again, and with it, your eyes did for one last time.

It was Aymeric that had found you.

Your hair sprawled on the ground reminded him so much of that of an angel’s halo. Your peaceful countenance was no longer streaked with the tears Aymeric had time and time brushed away with the touch of a sinner seeking repentance.

For the second time that waning moon, he felt despair and ice filled his veins. His mouth parted to call your name, to shout, to do anything other than gawk and tremble like the fingers that cradled your face.

The Lord Commander was not often rendered speechless and shocked to the core. Your name eventually emerges as a questioning whisper from the churning depths of his stupor, and the color drains from his complexion.

No.

This couldn’t be…

But there you were. Silent, motionless. Unresponsive to his screams and shaking.

He checks for any hopeful sign of a pulse before burying his face into the crook of your neck, sobs wracking his body as incessant apologies interspersed with hiccups and tremors tumble out of his lips while his worst fears are confirmed.

Why?

The inquiry directed towards Hydaelyn echoes within his mind but there is no one to respond. His gloved fists crumple into your clothing.

Whywhywhy?

It wasn’t supposed to be this way…

Aymeric couldn’t fathom it, wrap his clever head around it. It’d be a lifetime before he’d glean an answer, he reckons.

He stands, holding your fragile, limp body bridal-style, his expression a tumultuous display of emotion.

A familiar, blonde-haired figure awaits him at the foot of the Pillars, the descent feeling like an eternity without you. When Lucia catches sight of your cold body nestled within warm arms, she stands with eyes wide and mouth agape, realization dawning on her sharp features.

Aymeric’s armored footfalls come to a standstill at the bottom step. He raises his gaze to meet his subordinate’s.

“The Warrior of Light is dead.”

–

There was a unanimous agreement that you should be buried next to your true lover you had loved in your waking moments. Both of you overlooked Coerthas as Aymeric kneels, eyes shut. A fresh bouquet of you and Haurchefant’s favorite flora lies betwixt your tombstones.

There was no well in all of Eorzea that would hold all the grief and guilt the knight harbored for both a fallen comrade and the light of his life.

But alas, he couldn’t very well give into his heartsickness when the Dragonsong War remained at large and Nidhogg’s vengeance and thirst for Ishgardian blood still posed a threat. It was a Temple Knight’s duty to soldier on and carry out the will of the dearly departed that had died for the cause that had once united them.

These wounds of his would never truly heal in full, immortally afflicted as he was, but it is with honor that he continues the fight in both of your names. Aymeric just wished Eorzea’s two brightest lights weren’t snuffed out so soon and that the dolor doesn’t succeed in pulling him under.

“Come, Lucia,” Aymeric calls out. She nods in response, waiting for the commander to lead the way before trailing after him. The trek back was one of silence, rumination, and regret.

Ishgard felt darker and colder in the Warrior of Light and the Silver Fuller’s absence, he thinks to himself.

#ffxiv x reader #ff14 x reader #angst #ffxiv angst #haurchefant x wol #haurchefant greystone x wol #haurchefant x reader #haurchefant greystone x reader #aymeric x wol #aymeric de borel x wol #aymeric de borel x reader #aymeric x reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n

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