FFXIV Reaction: WoL suffering a major injury that leaves them physically scarred
Artoirel
He wouldn’t be as repulsed by your injury or scar as you think. No, instead he looked at your action and impact. You sacrificed yourself for others. He only wished that he could have been fast enough to do the same for you. But there was no point in dwelling on the thought. You were alive and well with a story to tell. And he could not love you anymore than he already did.
Aymeric
He would be very regretful. He knows that he is not responsible for what happened to you, but he can’t help but blame himself. If you hadn’t have gone out at his behest, perhaps this would not have happened to you. Regardless of the changes this scar or injury brought to your body, he thinks no less of you. You are still a magnificent being whom he values greatly.
Estinien
Both of you knew what this sort of job was like. You were bound to get some sort of scar or injury at some point or another. So when you get your injury, he helps to clean you up as best as he could. He wished deep down that it hadn’t happened to you, but he could not change what had already has been.
Haurchefant
He will not lie to you and pretend that your scars don’t exist. But he is not one to point them out. At least not in a rude manner that others do. Your scars make you who you are, so be proud. Honestly these makes are a show of how brave and tough you are. Those people you saved would have perished if you had not stepped in to help. You are so amazing.
Business as the fabled Warrior of Light keeps you preoccupied for the most part, so when you’re able to spare a minute for a certain Lord Commander, you can’t help but jump at the opportunity.
tags: 18+, established relationship, repressed aymeric wants wol so bad, grinding, riding, making out, slight mentions of shame associated with sexuality (aymeric) wol is referred to as a goddess
a/n: I finally finished Heavensward and if you couldn’t tell my brain has become obsessed w elezen men so this is my formal introduction to the ffxiv community, hi i’m rem and welcome to jackass
“D-Darling,” Aymeric all but whimpers as you find yourself in his lap, hands snaking in his hair to pull him in for another kiss.
Despite the protest in his voice, it’s half-hearted at best as his hands remain planted firmly on your hips. One look at his face confirms this suspicion, his eyes slipped shut as his mouth splits open, a soft groan spilling forth. It isn’t often you’re afforded a moment long enough to spare away to Ishgard, let alone one that coincides with a gap in Aymeric’s schedule as well. You’d be a fool not to spend it beside him, or, better, on top of him. Your lips fall onto his naturally, and it is he who takes the invitation to slide his tongue between them, desperate to taste you. Between your thighs, you can feel him growing hot and heavy as you slot your core over him.
A man so long repressed, Aymeric is alluringly eager to accept every ounce of pleasure you bestow upon him. So gracious to not only save himself and his country, the very notion that you felt the same way about him had ignited within him a want so strong it all but consumes him. All you’ve done is kiss him and laid yourself a top of him, but it’s more than enough to make him breathless and handsy. You feel them now, unrestrained finally from his cumbersome gloves and calloused from years of wielding a great sword. They ghost up the curve of your sides, squeezing at the softness of your love handles before continuing their track upward, stopping just beneath the swell of your breast and groping there.
His kiss is hot and feverish, one he only breaks to take in a lungful of air. The sight of him is more than enough to send a wave of moisture to soaked underwear. His cheeks are flushed a soft pink, his eyes so heavily lidded he looks almost tired if not for the rapid rise and fall of his chest and glossy, plump lips. You move your hips experimentally, delighting in the way his eyes flutter shut almost instantly and he releases a soft, unrestrained groan that reverberates deep within his chest.
“My dear Warrior,” he pants out, fighting to collect himself despite the way his hips lift subconsciously, seeking more friction, “might you have pity on me yet?”
“Mhm,” you purr, threading your fingers into his hair as he brings his face to your chest, “but where would the fun be in that?”
Aymeric hums some noise of agreement, content to suffer in his pleasurable torture as he lays open mouthed, wet kisses against the swell of your chest that’s uncovered. He might try to protest, but truthfully there’s no greater fantasy to him than being taken by the Warrior. To be used as a conduit for your pleasure alone had more than fueled him on several sleepless nights, when the persistent throbbing between his thighs refused to wane. He’s being a curd just to shove his face between your breasts now, and surely once this lust has passed him he’ll feel the inevitable shame, but even Halone herself could not make him part from you now.
“Can I?”
You let out a breathless chuckle as you feel his fingers ghost around the hemline of your chemise, eager to go forth but unwilling without your explicit permission. Instead you let your fingers wrap around the chains on your neck that keep the garment in place, lifting them from your head as the chest piece falls away, leaving you bare. You move your hips atop his again, moaning softly as you feel him perfectly through the layers of clothes, throbbing and twitching as he pushes upwards, chasing the friction. The hand at your side trembles as he reaches up to cradle the swell of your breast, thumb ghosting over your hardened nipple. His eyes creek open slowly, still only half open as his free hand fights its way beneath the slit in your skirt.
“You’ll be the death of me like this,” He whined softly, shaking his head as the softness of his wavy hair brushed against your chest.
Still, he cannot resist the urge to take a nipple into his mouth, lathing over it with his tongue before sucking gently.
“Ah,” you sigh softly, delighting in the feel of his mouth as you drag your hips faster over his head, “but was it not you who said this was all you could offer me?”
“I take it back,” he declares against your chest, “I think I will die if I cannot have you in the next minute.”
It takes little work to free him from the constraints of his pants. You caught him at a most opportune time, right before he was set to bed down for the night and already free of the heavy, constrictive armor. When you’ve pulled the ties apart, he all but springs free. It’s truly a gorgeous sight to behold, standing fully erect and flushed, with a pearly bead of pre-cum forming at the tip as a sparse spread of dark hair outlines the flushed base. If there was an award for the prettiest cock in all of Eorzea, you’re all but sure Aymeric would take home grand prize. What a shame he’d been so terrified of sex, burdened by the outdated doctrine of the Holy See.
He hissed softly as you take it within your palm, guiding it to your entrance as you slip your underwear to the side. On any normal occasion, you’d prefer to take your time with this and preferably in the comfort and space of a bed rather than his desk chair, but the idea of getting up to move now in the midst of everything is laughable at best.
As the tip of his cock passes through the first tightened ring of muscle, neither one of you is unable to fight the long drawl of a moan that passes your lips. Every time you take him, you get stun locked momentarily by the perfectness of it. The way he so easily slots himself inside, the perfect fit always with the right mixture of friction with which to make your legs squeeze together in delight. Aymeric tosses his head back against his chair, eyes cloudy with pleasure as your name parts from his lips like a prayer. He plants his fit against the ground, sinking lower into the chair as he adjusts his hips, sliding himself deeper as you fall into him, content to let him take over.
Your lips return to his, and he eagerly opens his mouth to accept your tongue, groaning softly all the way. His hands slid down to capture your hips, squeezing once before lifting you just slightly. His entire body quakes with the first few soft, exploratory thrusts. Each drag is slow and you can feel every ridge and vein as he feeds in the last few inches. Already you shiver with the feel of him, the sense of fullness as you push against him, dragging your clit against him with a soft whine against his mouth. Aymeric melts into the chair, taking you with him as he begins to pull out, capturing your bottom lip between his in a gentle nip.
“More,” you whine against him, pulling away to catch sight of his face.
“Oh but you only need to ask, I am your servant,,” he sighs, a dreamy, almost sleazy smile across his face as he begins to thrust in earnest, giving way to pleasure.
It takes him no time to locate your g-spot, clutching at your hips in an almost bruising manner to continue spearing his cock against it. The wet shlick and smack of skin against skin filled the room as he bounces you a top his lap. It wouldn’t take much for someone to discern what was happening, but propriety be damned. Who was he to deny the servant of Hydalyn, to deny the woman he loved, the pleasure she so desperately craved? Who was he to deny his own, boiling at the pit of his stomach as he pulls away, eyebrows knit together in euphoria.
He can feel the slick as it gathers around his base and balls, losing himself to feel of you pulsing and constricting around him. He won’t last long, not like this but he could never selfishly chase his own pleasure without giving you your’s first. He adjusts his grip on your hips, your chests flush together in a way that allows your clit to grind against his abdomen with each thrust. Every part of him is dampened with some fluid, be it the slick that spills from your between your thighs and down his thighs or the sweat gathering at his temples, wetting his bangs just slightly against his forehead. Yet it isn’t enough, selfish to his own desire Aymeric’s lips find your’s again as he delivers a particularly rough thrust to your g-spot that leaves you scrambling for purchase, the embers of your orgasm beginning to heat. He’s sloppy in the way he kisses you now, not the practiced, almost chaste way he might kiss you in the office, or whenever he fears you might be seen. No, every part of it now is fully obscene.
With each ghost of his tongue, it’s like he can’t get enough, coming back again with a deep moan as his thrusts speed up. It’s all consuming, lighting a fire in you that’s not easily quelled but so mind-numbing to chase. Aymeric is, if anything though, a tentative, intuitive lover. Even lost in the pull of his own impending orgasm, he does not neglect your own as he lets one hand reach down, collecting at the slick that gathers near your entrance before swiping away softly at your clit.
“A-Aymeric,” you moan, grasping at his shoulder’s as you feel the sneaking grasp of an orgasm.
“Oh please,” he beseeches you, voice haggard and desperate as he pleads, “I need to feel you cum around me.”
He speaks the last part quieter, none to accustom to dirty talk but it serves enough to send you over the edge, pulling him by the hair to stifle your moans of ecstasy against his all too willing lips. His finger continues gliding over your clit with unmistakable confidence in effort to prolong your orgasm, his cock continuing to push against your g-spot as you gush around him. It takes only a few more practiced thrusts before he pulls out, grasping at his shaft quickly before you feel the warm burst of his seed against the skin of your back. Horny as you are, neither one of you is quite willing or wanting enough to chance bringing a child into the world.
His kiss slows, but he continues to ride out the pleasure of his orgasm with gentle tugs at your hips, merely grinding against you with soft, choking moans that are just barely audible over the crackle of the fire. For a moment, you sit there in the after glow, feeling him soften inside you as you release his lips finally.
They’re swollen, but part nearly instantly in a soft, pleased smile as Aymeric cracks his eyes open to look at you. Shame be damned, he thought to himself, if he was to be damned for bringing pleasure to a goddess such as yourself than he would gladly walk into the enteral fire. He could think of no such being as worthy of both pleasure and comfort as yourself, and the idea that you would share it with him is enough to make his heart warm with yearning. A thousand lifetimes would never be enough, he already feels cheated to have met you now at thirty-two and not so much sooner. Would that he have saved you from unnecessary hardship, but the past was better spent not dwelled upon.
He could do this for you now, gladly, selfishly. As often, as passionately, however you so wanted it. That much was his decree.
word count: 4k || POV second person || SB patch 4.5 spoilers || wolmeric
summary: aymeric can try to let his feelings die all he wants. he will fail.
When Estinien had dropped you with Aymeric before hopping back to continue the fight on your behalf, Aymeric forgot how to breathe for a second.
He’s no stranger to deaths on the battlefield — his comrades he had grown up with and lost in the Dragonsong War, Haurchefant, and nearly Estinien, alongside countless others he had commanded under his hand. Heavy is the title of Lord Commander over his head, and once more is he reminded of how fragile the lives of people are. The Warrior of Light was not exempt from this weakness, even if Hydaelyn herself had smiled on the woman, even if you had once bested Zenos and killed the man before.
Especially with the Scions dropping one after another and losing their souls within their bodies, Aymeric had perhaps been purposely ignoring that sooner or later, You would join the rest of them. It might be why he abandons his duty altogether, yelling over the violence and blood at Kan-E-Senna that he was going to pull the Warrior of Light to safety. The sound of war is enough to drown out the racing heart and palms that threaten to let you slip out of his grasp because of his anxiety. He is worried. As one would be, he tries to tell himself, but he’s well aware that his anxiety stems not from the fact that the world is about to lose the Warrior of Light, but that he would be losing you. A selfish worry that he should not be allowed to have, yet one that has been bubbling in his chest since he’d grown aware that he held affections for you.
A voice in the back of his head betrays him by calling him selfish.
He is far from it. He knows this because he could have chosen to be selfish at any point in the journey. He could have chosen to abandon his post and follow you when you had offered him a position as your traveling companion. He could have abandoned Ishgard when he had stepped down as temporary head of the city-state. He could have abandoned his people and post at any point of the way, yet he stayed. Even when he had craved for a reprieve to follow the Warrior of Light after he had stepped down, he had honored the mantle and returned to his duties when he had been voted back in. He could not abandon his people no matter how much his heart craved something different.
He isn’t necessarily the first person to love you, and he doubts he’d be the last.
It seemed only natural that the Warrior of Light would warrant so much praise and love from everyone. When he had retreated and informed the other leaders that he would bring you to Ishgard — far, far away from Ala Mhigo, no one had any complaints. He could guarantee that you received the best treatment you could. Not that he doubted the other leaders, but it was more within his grasp and control. He knew the healers in Ishgard, and that was more than enough. You were in critical condition, and his main concern was that you would not die in his arms the same way Haurchefant had. He knows his healers can bring you back and make a full recovery. As much as you could with the kind of wounds you'd bore from the fighting.
Terrifying in retrospect, but you mean so much more to him than anyone else did, so it felt only natural.
He could deny the self all he wanted, but the truth was laid bare.
The word love felt pale in the honesty of his feelings.
But who was he to covet who was meant for everyone? Even if—
You stir in his arms, most likely from discomfort, and he holds you closer, ignoring that your blood is staining his clothes.
The field behind him has gone silent. Ringing in his ear from the gunfire of the Garleans does little to stop him from running through the soldiers and yelling that he would be saving the Warrior of Light. Estinien could hold the frontline where you had weakened Zenos significantly, and he had to make sure that you would be evacuated to somewhere that the Garleans couldn’t possibly dream of attacking.
He has to bring you home to Ishgard.
He brushes the hair from your face, wincing at the blood pooling around your eye, yelling for a nearby healer to at least stop the bleeding when he manages to return to base.
He brushes his thumb, bloody with your blood, over the cut, and he gasps when the gash continues pouring out blood.
His thumb brushes over the back of your hand when an astrologian finally shows up.
One of the healers hovers over you, concentrated on the wound on your face, and Aymeric watches as the bleeding stills, nodding as he continues pushing towards the airships. He has to get you to safety. You were reaching your limit. The headaches in the middle of meetings, the scions dropping one after the other, and you yourself are a scion, so it only seemed to make sense that you too would be next, but in the middle of a war was terrifying. He couldn’t bear to think that your soul would be ripped from your body the same way as the other scions.
To think Eorzea almost lost the Warrior of Light.
To think he nearly lost you.
You will not remember this, and he will lie to himself to say that this was out of necessity to ensure your survival, but he will know he is lying to himself. The same way he knows that he’s lying to himself when he pushes down his feelings for you and reads your letters from your adventures in Doma. The part of him that yearns to be with you will fester under his skin — ugly like sores on the sick, but he will remind himself again and again that you are not his to love. He will remember again and again that his affections for you meant little in the large picture of Eorzea that you fight so valiantly to protect.
You can do better. You're the Warrior of Light, and he’s… bastard child of the late archbishop, the man who nearly razed Eorzea to the ground when the Eyes of Nidhogg had been failed to be properly disposed of, and nothing more than Lord Speaker. His titles glimmer in the eye of the average man, but he is no Warrior of Light. He is not you, who carries the weight of a world, and he is no primal slayer who has destroyed multiple threats to the peace of Eorzea. He pales in comparison to you, perhaps. No. Not perhaps. 'Tis the truth.
He could never measure up to even a fraction of who you are.
He holds you closer to himself when you stir once more, and the chirurgeons take you off his hands as he watches, mildly paralyzed in the airship, as he shakes.
“Their eye.” He rasps. “There is blood around their eye. An astrologian has stopped the bleeding, but the wound is deep. Make sure it will cause no complications. Please.”
The chirurgeon nods at Aymeric, and he stands to the side, iron filling his lungs, anxiety rattling in his chest.
“My lord. There is blood on your armor.”
“Tis the warrior’s.” He shakes his head, and he holds his elbows as he watches the healers work on you.
His hands shake with an uncertainty he’s denied himself for a long time. He couldn’t shake. Not when he was the Viscount of the House de Borel, not when he became Lord Commander of the Temple Knights, and most certainly not when he is the Lord Speaker. Yet, he cannot control it this time, he finds. The fear of losing you terrifies him to no end. Never has he been faced with the threat of a shattered heart instead of an overworked mind.
He cannot begin to imagine a world where he would have to live without you after knowing you for however long he has known you — no. He knows how long he’s known you. Counted the days, even, perhaps. Unconsciously, but still counted nonetheless. How powerless he was in the face of affection that he was not allowed to harbor.
“Aymeric…”
and he’s by your side immediately, hand taken in his, your name whispered back so you can relax.
The people would most likely assume that it was out of your bond formed during the Dragonsong War, and he lies to himself to say that it is, but he knows the truth is that he holds affection for you beyond what he should be allowed to hold. He covets someone that is not his to covet. He’s held back for fury knows how long, and it’s tearing him from the inside out. Weeds in a path of stone, tearing and tearing at his heart until he acknowledges that he is beyond saving. He loves you, as the average man would say.
It’s impossible to deny, yet he tries anyway.
Bury himself in work, rebuild Ishgard until there was truly nothing to work on, and maybe then, he would be rewarded with a moment of respite with you where he could visit Doma with you. Or somewhere else. Even to have you over for dinner again would be nice. Anything at this point. He’s not picky. He just… you need a break.
Just a moment with you. Once more. Before the world whisks them both away with responsibilities that neither of them can turn down.
A second to be selfish.
But he focuses on the task at hand, squeezing your hand when your brows furrow from the healing, and he lets out a breath in relief when the healers tell him that you will survive.
His shoulders tense less, but he holds onto you anyway, quiet prayers in the back of his mind that he grew up whispering to himself, quiet on his tongue as he holds your hand to his forehead. You will survive, but he is terrified that you would never wake. There’s no way something like this would kill off the Warrior of Light, but Aymeric finds himself worrying anyway. You're the only one he’d ever worry to this extent. It’s almost stupid of him to be worrying over Hydaelyn’s champion, but he can’t seem to help it.
How horrifically weak of him.
It would take a moment for the airship to arrive in Ishgard, but he keeps you close with him, in his arms, when they finally do land, and Aymeric finds that even after the worst of it, he’s still worried. like a looming storm over his head. He’s relieved that you're alright and has made it to Ishgard alive, but surely calling his name while unconscious meant nothing. It couldn’t mean anything. It had to mean nothing. He wouldn’t dare to believe that you perhaps felt even a fragment of what he felt for you.
It’s a punishment for patricide.
A punishment for leaving a trail of blood in order to push Ishgard towards a brighter future.
It’s unbecoming of him.
It’s unbecoming of him to be so shaken up and worried over someone, but he can’t help it. It’s like denying himself of breathing, and he’s denied himself again and again when it came to you that he couldn’t do it anymore. He wished not to burden you with his feelings. You already carried the burden of the world. Of Eorzea. Now, even possibly the other place where all the Scions had disappeared to. Your burdens grow heavier and heavier, and he can do naught else but pray for your safety and beg for your survival. That he would see you again once more.
It was just so horrible of him to expect that you would spare time to spend with him when they were both already so busy.
He arranges for a room to be set for the Warrior of Light, and he tucks you in himself. It’s only once the healers change you out of your armor that he notices that somehow he’s gotten more of your blood all over him. It’s not unwelcome, but he doubts you'd like to wake to him red with your blood.
Only when you're confirmed to be stabilized does he allow for the healers to usher him into the next room over to change his clothes.
“Lord Speaker.”
“Yes.”
“They will be alright. They will wake soon.”
Aymeric exhales, smiling at the worker.
Restrain, restrain, hold back. Aymeric realizes he’s been doing an awful job at pretending that he’s alright despite it all. It’s…new. That’s all he’d allow himself to say. He finds himself wavering over you regardless of how bad he wishes he could hold back. He’s held you more in the past day than he has during the entirety of the Dragonsong War or anytime before that. It’s painfully new, and the scent of your life lingers on his skin in a way that he dares not get used to.
“I must look worried.”
“Your brows have been permanently frowned since we found you, my lord.”
Aymeric shakes his head, trying to loosen his expression a little.
“You must be worried for the Warrior of Light, ser. We all are.” The medic smiles, and Aymeric welcomes the change of clothes, staring at your blood that had gotten all over him.
He cannot recall the last time he had so much of someone else’s blood on him.
His fingers linger over the blood, and for a moment, a terrifyingly brief moment, he considers smelling the iron and letting it flood his senses more than it already has. A horrible thought, really. A lingering affection that whispers in his ear to stay as close to you as possible. To admit to you that he’d love nothing more than to be yours, but oh, Aymeric is everything but selfish. He cannot covet the world. He is but a piece in your life, and that’s more than enough. It should be more than enough.
He should be satisfied with what little part he plays in your life.
The blood stains his fingers when he removes his hand from the red on his top, and he pinches and then brushes the thumb over his index and pointer fingers, watching the blood dry and rub. It feels strangely… he cannot say it. It would be a betrayal of something. Instead, he pulls for one of the cloths provided to him to wash off with, and he watches the red rub from his fingers, scent of iron still fluttering in the air.
You almost died.
The knowledge of you healed and alive in the next room over should release the tension in his chest, but it’s more than your life at this point. The knot in his chest had been building since he’d acknowledged his feelings for you during the war. Since he’d decided it’d be best to bury his feelings and let them die. But weeds and seeds crack and flourish in the ground, and where Aymeric thought he had left as an abandoned thought now spanned a field of unacknowledged affection begging for attention.
Affection that screamed for him to look at it. Acknowledge it. Beg and cry for his honesty to tend to his affections. To push him into a corner where he could do nothing but be honest. Force him to either tug at the weeds in his heart or give up and accept that his affections and attachment to you. Aymeric has spent so long trying to stop it, begging that his heart would still and let him live without acknowledging how much he craved to stand by you. The field begs for attention.
To force him to look back at the field of affection he’s neglected yet somehow still flourishes.
The world could have another Warrior of Light, but oh, Aymeric could never have another you.
You have to wake up.
Prayers in his hand and whisper to the divine on his lips, you have to wake up.
Please.
He rests in the room next to yours — a wall away and close enough that he can hear when you stir awake, but far enough that he is not overstaying a welcome he is unsure if he has. It’s already bad enough. Had he been even a fraction less disciplined, he’d be camped up in your room and working from there, uncaring for what people would say, but his concern is that you would get swept up in rumours about him. So he. He cannot. He is not in a position to do that. To you, or anyone else. His feelings must die with him.
His only wish when he rests is that you be awake when he wakes.
The night is kind to you both.
He wakes to a message from Tataru back in the Rising Stones,
The woman is inconsolable as Aymeric assures you in the letter that the Warrior of Light would recover, and perhaps it’s a sense of relief that flushes over him that reminds him that even if the rest of the world would revere you as the Warrior of Light, you had friends who remembered that you were mortal despite it all. He writes back that he would send you back their way to ensure that you didn’t just run headfirst back into battle. You have fought the good fight. 'Tis the rest of Eorzea’s turn now. Eorzea isn’t so weak as to have to have a single person fight a continent’s war for them.
He receives updates from the soldiers on the field, working from the spare room in the infirmary, giving orders and counting the names of those who were lost and sent out. It’s not enough to give orders from a room yalms away, but he dares not to leave your side. He would contribute little to the battle if he were so concerned over your health that he couldn’t even focus properly. Estinien was aiding them for now, and despite his bluntness, he trusts that he would be a good replacement on the field, even if temporarily.
He’s relieved to be notified that Zenos has left the battlefield.
The alliance notifies him that the fighting has died down for the most part, and Aymeric is glad that you would not be sent right back to fight after recovering — not that any of the alliance leaders would allow you to, but sometimes your responsibilities had you rushing to aid others before you could heal. He’s guilty of the same thing, but by the fury, if he isn’t worried that you're going to drop dead from helping others first.
He sets the pen down, pushing his hair back as he hisses in stress, familiar prayers on his tongue as he wonders if you would wake within the day.
It’s quite daunting, and he’d never forgive himself if somehow things went awry and you really never did wake up, but he can’t dwell on things that cannot happen. Things that should not happen.
Feelings aside, he would never forgive himself if the Warrior of Light never woke up.
It would never—
Shhft.
Aymeric’s running to the next room before he can think, doors thrown open to check on you.
There was sound.
And he exhales when he notices you've sat up, breath freed from the lodging in his throat, sprinting to a screech when he hears the stir, and he allows himself one small slip.
The excitement on his face and relief in his heart could be smothered by nothing.
Nothing except the need to cough and act as though he hadn’t just sprinted to a full stop to your room in excitement like some dog.
“You're awake.” The words slip from him before he can hope to compose himself. “Thank heavens!”
You hold your head, turning to look at Aymeric.
“What happened?”
Aymeric pulls a seat next to your bed, taking your hand into his as he sits down.
“In the midst of your duel, it is said you faltered, and that the crown prince seized the opportunity to deliver a mortal blow.” Aymeric starts, and the rest of his words feel like a blur. It’s just explanation. Estinien’s unceremonious farewell. The damage was near your eye, but narrowly missed it. Your vision will be back in a short period of time, but it is advised you not use it for the time being. He looks into your eyes, shoulders relaxing when he wonders how you're faring bearing the burden of the world on your shoulders.
Your name slips out in a quiet whisper.
You look at him, and he exhales.
“Please...concentrate on your own recovery for now.” He hopes, prays, begs, even, that maybe his words would reach you. Your burden was too big to bear alone, and those who shared the burden were now dropping one by one. Leaving you truly alone. But you aren't alone. The entirety of Eorzea stands behind you in this fight. It is a shared burden that you need not carry all on your own. “You have carried the hopes of some half-dozen nations, and we are all eternally grateful for your efforts, but no one is without their limits. Not even you.”
Aymeric hopes you'd remember that you are human. He’d watched you run back and forth on the frontlines of war without breath or break, and it was heartbreaking. He’d hope that somehow you would remember that the Warrior of Light was nothing more than a title and not who you are. It was a title. It wasn’t you yourself. You are mortal, and mortals have to rest and breathe and sleep. You are flesh and bone behind the title of Hero of Eorzea. Even if you would not rest for yourself until everything was at peace once more, you should at least remember to breathe in between running around.
And when you look at him with a half smile, he lets his shoulders relax.
He’s long overstayed his welcome in Ishgard. The frontlines were waiting for him. He’d been here for as long as you were out. He hadn’t let you leave his sight, opting to give orders from Ishgard instead. Catch up on paperwork that couldn’t be done on the battlefield. He must return now, but this time, without you. A war could not be fought from the office. Despite Zenos’ withdrawal, there was still very much a fight going on. You needed the rest— and perhaps to find your friends. The alliance could hold down the fort without you. The world will not end if the Warrior of Light rests for a day.
He resists the urge to brush the bandage covering your eye, fingers instead squeezing yours for the umpteenth time.
“Leave this fight to us, my friend. You have earned your rest.” He squeezes your hand, and he pauses as he gets ready to leave. “Ah, but before I forget... I was asked to deliver a message as soon as you awoke. A reminder that you are not alone, though many of your allies have fallen. When you are well and rested, you are to return home, where friends will be waiting for you.”
You smile, and Aymeric squeezes your hand one final time before letting go.
You squeeze back.
“Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to the front. May we meet again soon. Under happier circumstances.”
Aymeric turns to leave, to return to continue the fight in your honor, but misses the way that his words do have the intended effect. You watch him disappear behind the door, heart eerily still in your chest, staring at the hand that Aymeric had held and squeezed. Your gaze lingers, and something flutters in the back of your chest, a feeling that you don’t pinpoint, but becomes aware of.
You're upset he had left so quickly.
And a feeling that Aymeric dares not dream of in you sprouts — a sign of the beginning of Spring.
A Letter to a Friend (Aymeric de Borel x GN!Reader 18+)
Summary: For one so partial to spontaneous grand speeches, Aymeric finds himself stumped by a mere letter.
Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact).
Word Count: ~2200.
Tags/Warnings: Reader is WoL, Masturbation, Catholic Guilt, Mental Gymnastics, Aymeric/Estinien maybe if you squint real hard, Jealousy. DAWNTRAIL SPOILERS.
A Letter to a Friend (Aymeric de Borel x GN!Reader 18+)
Summary: For one so partial to spontaneous grand speeches, Aymeric finds himself stumped by a mere letter.
Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact).
Word Count: ~2200.
Tags/Warnings: Reader is WoL, Masturbation, Catholic Guilt, Mental Gymnastics, Aymeric/Estinien maybe if you squint real hard, Jealousy. DAWNTRAIL SPOILERS.
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.)
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
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
