Hi I know i haven't sent asks in a while and you usually do the scions but 👉👈 can I get some ishgardian trio (haurche, aymeric and estinien) dating headcanons? Fuck it throw in my girl ysayle too! What are they like as romantic partners?
I'm a sucker for elezen i was DELIGHTED to get this ask, hell yeah! btw, references to sex in this, without detail. i kept it pg13 to be safe :)
Ishgard Trio + Ysayle as Romantic Partners
Haurchefant
congratations you got yourself a man who is utterly ENAMORED by you. i hope you like being showered in praises.
he is your cheerleader and your knight in any capacity. he will listen to your hopes and desires and encourage you onward... but be there for you when you fall.
even if it is something as silly as saving you from a brume rat that made its way into your bedroom, or even if you are just as strong as him, he will protect you, always.
a partnership with haurchefant is heavy with romance, but he is also the sort of man you will laugh with a lot, too. he is not afraid to be silly or extra.
you could almost imagine the type of father he could one day be...
speaking of, there will be lots and lots of intimacy. but not rushed fixes, no. the mating dances and the savored, drawn-out rituals are very important to haurchefant — rose petals leading to the bed, lingerie gifts, foreplay, and exploring with you wherever your fascination draws you.
whether he is near to you or writing you letters from wherever he is stationed for duty, you will never have any doubts that wants to love you forever and ever.
Aymeric
follows the typical trajectory of courtship
it starts with proper dates. dinner together, walks on a nice day, attending an event together, etc. he's courteous, and takes his time to graduate from kissing your knuckles to asking if he may give you a kiss goodbye.
raised by a minor house, he was taught dancing at a young age, and notedly [canonically] excelled at it. this skill will definitely be put to use as he invites you to balls and other such gatherings. he manages to make you feel like cinderella falling in love for the first time, every single time.
there's some practicality involved with aymeric... his job often keeps him holed away in his office. but he can never say no to you spending time in there with him, engaging with a hobby and chatting with him as he works away. on occassion, one of his meetings will take him to another city, which you can come along as well, and marvel at the way Aymeric can command a room. For as sweet as he is, that man is sharp as a spear, strong as stone, and to top it off, confident.
he would never dare neglect you for his work though. he is a planner, and he will always plan sweet little dates and moments to get away together
and at the end of an exhausting day, you can always trust that he will be there with a hot kettle of tea for you both (and his cat) to lay back on the couch together.
Estinien
with estinien, you never properly go on "dates" to discover if you're romantically compatible. estinien doesn't work that way.
instead, you will have spent enough time around him and chemistry will grow, and one day, his heart will be struck, and he will lean in ...
estinien is a laidback, simple lover. he will not be overmushy. every show of love he makes will be precise and full of meaning, though. examples include — leaving a wildflower on your desk when you've fallen ill, or taking care of a chore for you unasked.
where words fail him, actions make up for it.
this man is a wanderer, and i fear he could not be tied down. if you chose not to follow him, you will surely receive letters here and there, and he will bring you back a small, practical gift when he visits, and make up for lost time as he can.
but should you choose to follow, you will be never be without fresh, exciting experiences. picking up and travelling to a new land, settling there a while, then moving on to wherever your wandering hearts guide you.
long nights by a campfire on the journey to your next destination. shopping in markets for local attire to wear. eating foods you have never heard of and meeting new people over a glass of the local favorite alcohol. picking up odd mercenary jobs here and there for gil. knowing you are safe to be wild and free because you have your best friend and partner alongside you.
speaking of wild, this man likes things rough. perhaps it's in his nature, or perhaps nidhogg's influence remains...
he likes to keep physically fit anyhow, bedroom activities aside. you can either watch and enjoy the view, or spar with him. but just know, he doesn't intend to go easy on you!
Ysayle
ysayle is also atypical with dating. she spent so long believing she was shiva, and that her lover was hraesvelgr; it never occured to her to consider the alternative. nor did she have the time.
for all her typical boldness and sharp wit, you will see some new sides of her early on in the relationship as she navigates this uncharted territory, one a little softer and more bashful.
ysayle spends several nights mustering the words to confess to you. her fists clench her skirting when she leans in to kiss you for the first time. she is so overcome with jitters that she cannot help but laugh, before kissing you again.
as she gets comfortable in the relationship, she will get bolder, just how she is in all other aspects of her life.
it might even get to the point where she so-very-lovingly teases you for your shyness with how she is coming on to you.
ysayle relishes tender little moments of peace spent with you; deep late night conversations huddled by a fire, bathing together, stroking your hair, soaking in the warmth of your body as you lay entwined together.
as a partner, she is very diligent in pulling her weight when it comes to any shared responsibility. she encourages you to share in the effort too and to overall be your best self, but never so that she is needlessly cruel, no. she acknowledges the work that you do and is there to support you always.
you're lovers, but you're also a team. like flowers you will grow together and learn to soak in the sun. <3
Summary: The reader (that's you! or yuu if you want) is a Blue Mage from the world of Final Fantasy XIV. You can only imagine the chaos that comes with that.
Notes: Hello fellow kids, I'm back making an imagines post after...I don't want to think about it. This will be the first for TWST tho. I know I mentioned I have a FFXIV/TWST idea but this is not it. It's more of a full fledge fic that I'm chipping away at. This post was originally meant to include everyone in the main ensemble but I couldn't think of a proper format, so if you want to see more of this (Vice Housewardens, Staff, First-Years, etc.) please let me know. If you want me to do FFXIV crossover stuff too let me know as well! My inbox is always open for suggestions
Let's see what else...
-written with a platonic relationship in mind, but can be interpreted as pre-relationship if you want!
-GN!Reader, implied WOL but not important
-I’m sorry if some of the entries are lopsided I haven’t written a proper headcanon post in like years plus this is my first contribution to TWST
Blue Mage definition: a Limited Job specializing in harnessing the powers of enemy creatures. While officially classified as a Magical Ranged DPS, it can also adopt the roles of Tank and Healer as well, with over 100 spells to choose from. Its outlandish spellcasting resembles neither black nor white magic. A majority of the spells have an elemental affinity that is essential for Masked Carnivale.
Masked Carnivale definition: a series of solo battle challenges made exclusively for Blue Mages
~~~
Premise:
-After a grueling Masked Carnivale, you somehow made it out alive.
-You were told that you only had to perform three Acts, so why is there a horse carriage barreling towards you from the coliseum gates?!
-After the initial confusion at the ceremony, and even after you helped put out the fire with your basic water magic, the Dark Mirror neither found Eorzea on the map nor could it properly determine which dorm you would be in because of how unusual your magic is.
-So you’re still stuck in janitor duty even though you have magic. Isn’t the Headmage so generous to keep you on campus and not throw you out into the great unknown? You better thank him!
-Fast forward to the blot monster in the mining cave
-Ace, Deuce, and Grim had front row seats to you throwing a sucker punch directly into the monster’s glass head
-You essentially become the talk of the campus after you’re officially enrolled as a student. Honey, you got a big storm coming (/j)
Spells Used: [Water Cannon], [Goblin Punch]
Riddle Rosehearts:
-Pre-overblot I think he would lowkey crash out about how your magic works, saying that there’s no rules to this chaotic sorcery of yours (you try to tell him otherwise, but he wouldn’t listen)
-It wasn’t until after he recovered from his overblot, when he had the downtime to recover, did he finally listen to how your “blue magic” works, how you need to defeat your enemy in combat in order to gain their magic, and how most of the spells have elemental properties that give different advantages depending on the situation.
-After explaining that, you sheepishly explained that despite all that, some spells don’t do much damage at all and can only deal “status effects”. You only told him that because you repeatedly hit his overblot form with a fish. That you shot out of your mouth. And also kinda explains the faint smell of fish when he woke up.
-Oh yeah, and when you wanted to do real damage you threw…candy canes at him. And yet he was stuck with stinky fish.
-But! In your defense, you were trying to keep his attention on you so he didn’t attack his fellow classmates while they were trying to take down the blot monster behind him. You didn’t want to deal out anything more powerful than that in fear you’d accidentally hurt him.
-While Riddle was grateful for your quick thinking, he did reprimand you for putting yourself in danger like that (although there was no real bite behind that, fish smell and all).
-Still, as long as you keep your magic in check and follow the rules, you should be all set as an upstanding student. Otherwise, it’s off with your head.
-Speaking of which, do you obtain the overblotter’s UM afterwards even though they didn’t die? What spell would you have obtained from the blot monster in the mines if that was the case? Much to think about.
Spells Used: [Flying Sardine], [Candy Cane]
Leona Kingscholar:
-The plot of using Ruggie’s UM to target Magilift players from other dorms would’ve been thwarted almost immediately with your magic tbh. Those who were healed report that it felt like a warm and fluffy hug
-Yeah, Leona would not be happy about that at all. If the herbivore wants to play games then so be it. While you’re playing checkers, he’s playing chess type shit.
-Has Ruggie try to steal your cane, not realizing you had a spare umbrella on hand (which you were glad you didn’t get rid of when you cleaned your inventory before All This). Absolutely scared the crap out of the hyena when you magically teleported in front of him right as he thought he lost you guys.
-If Leona wasn’t mad at you, he sure is now.
-When he overblots you’re not too worried about the sand cutting into you. You alternate between casting Mighty Guard when you move and Diamondback when you can’t as you try to maneuver in the storm.
-And how do you get his attention while the others are trying to fight the blot monster? That’s right! Flying fish!
-Post-overblot Leona would probably would lowkey respect you but overall would be indifferent about you. As long as you don’t step on his tail again while he naps, I think you two have a mutual understanding.
-Azul being, well, Azul, he’s very intrigued about your magic since it was somewhat similar to his.
-Absolutely tried to use your magic as collateral when making the deal to get rid of the anemone heads. A variety of spells that only required a little bit of magic AND the opportunity of obtaining more spells without the risk of accumulating blot? You would be crazy not to go for it.
-You had to explain to him that if he still wants to obtain the power of Blue Magic, he’ll need to be ready to take a life if he’s so keen on learning new spells this way. That’s what made him back down…for now.
-If you fail the heist the first time around, he would be nice enough to give you a second chance with your magic as collateral for real. The fact that he’ll give you a second chance makes him so benevolent. It was fool-proof really.
-Imagine his shock after the first day Floyd comes walking in with a face full of cactus needles and Jade covered in ink.
-”Heyyy Azul, did you know Shrimpy can breathe underwater without a potion?” “They WHAT?!”
-Forget the magic, what else were you hiding?? Were you intentionally withholding something from him when he made the contract?? Just who in the Great Seven are you??
Spells Used: [1000 Needles], [Ink Jet]
Kalim Al-Asim:
-Probably the most ecstatic one of the bunch about it, because it’s Kalim we’re talking about.
-Remembers you from when you put out the fire during orientation. Definitely went “Same water magic! :D”
-Would want you to show off your spellbook and explain how you got them.
-Of course you couldn’t show all of it off since it requires certain conditions, like being in active combat, to do so.
-“Hey, what does Self-destruct do?” “Exactly what it says on the tin. Can’t tell you how many times I died trying to obtain it before learning how to properly tank it. I usually use that one for last resorts.” “…” “…” “So what does Final Sting do?” “Same thing, but in bee form.” “Prefect-“
-Genuinely would also be the most concerned one of the bunch too because of the nature of some of the spells (see above). Definitely would make you promise not to hurt yourself so carelessly.
-Definitely thought the Masked Carnivale you mentioned was like a masquerade type party before being corrected. Maybe he’ll throw one anyways so you can show off your Blue Mage gear :D
-Somehow, the state of your gear had made it to the eyes and ears of the Vil Schoenheit. Because of course it did.
-He’s going to drag you into his walk-in closet to find something much better. He doesn’t care if you infused the best Materia, whatever that is, into your gear for the best “stats”. You are NOT going out in that outfit. Just because your magic has the word blue in it doesn’t mean you have to drown yourself in it.
-Something something you can’t cast spells if you ain’t beautiful.
-Somewhere in Eorzea, your mentor felt a disturbance in the aether.
-Speaking of casting spells, probably wouldn’t care much about how you obtain them, but rather the lack of aesthetic that comes with the randomness of your spells. Like, seriously, a sticky toad tongue and mustard gas? If you cast that tongue spell on him, he WILL curse you.
-Even if you’re a walking fashion disaster, at least you take care of your skin. It looks really flawless, almost too flawless.
-The secret? You use a spell that imitates how armadillos draw moisture in the air. It’s supposed to be a healing spell, but mages quickly realized how clean they felt afterwards. Some even forgo showers because it’s easier to just cast a hydration spell instead.
-...Not that you skip showers, obviously. It’s just that Crowley only gives you so much for allowance…and you only get hot water for a good minute or so back in Ramshackle…Ah, you should probably stop rambling. The look Vil’s giving you is making you regret everything. What do you mean you’re worse than the housewarden of Ignihyde???
-Blue Mage? Sounds like a class he plays in the critically acclaimed MMORPG Fantasia Finale XIV-
-But real talk, he would be so curious about your magic system. Casting time? MP? Status effects? No blot accumulation whatsoever? Oh Prefect, he’s going to put you under a microscope (/j)
-Would definitely want to run some tests on your magical aspects to compare and contrast with how spell casting works between worlds.
-If you think being transported to another world will save you from Masked Carnivale, think again. Now imagine if Omega was conducting it. That’s how it feels. Now get into the Virtual Reality Training Room already, Prefect!
-Don’t get me wrong, Idia and Ortho are having a blast getting to put on a superboss gauntlet run through the simulation. They even threw challenges at you for variety. Can’t have you using the freeze cheese all the time now.
-Don’t get them started on the gear. The gear! On the opposite spectrum of Vil, Idia thinks your gear is so cool. Not to mention your cane! Think of all the cosplays you can do with characters that also use canes! What? You can switch it out with an umbrella? A MAGIC UMBRELLA?? The possibilities are endless here, Prefect! But…he probably won’t tell you that juuust yet. Having your homies do cosplay requires, like, a level 35 friendship status first.
-In the meantime…you said you had a spell that can conjur a magic cleaning broom, right? Would you mind summoning one or five? Ortho’s been complaining about the state of Idia’s room, but in his defense, he was too busy locking in on coding the next boss fight for you.
-The concept of “Blue Magic” seems to run similar properties as “Wild Magic” back in Briar Valley. The only difference was, well, you seem to have good control over your magic.
-High key so intrigued that a Child of Man can wield such volatile magic. He has heard horror stories of many a fae who have been destroyed by their own magic by simply sneezing too hard.
-And yet here you are, regaling tales about how many times you had to wait for a bi-pedal catfish to electrocute you in order to get the spell that you needed. The lengths you have to go to acquire some of these spells horrify and fascinate him at the same time.
-Of course, it goes without saying that this kind of arcane art does not leave the wielder unscathed. He sees scars in various stages of healing peeking out of your clothes whenever you met, and he couldn’t help but use the stories you tell as puzzle pieces to your wounds. So far the only thing he’s certain of is the jagged scar poking out of your collarbone coming from a stab or a slash attack carried out by a “tonberry” you had mentioned in passing.
-You did tell him you had to fight gargoyles that came to life. Sadly they didn’t have any cool spells for you to snag.
-Even though you hadn’t been able to expand your spellbook during your stay at NRC, he still can’t help but worry about you. You’re his friend after all.
-Still, if you somehow figure out that you can still expand your spellbook in this world by fighting the local fauna, he will not stop you. If you become overwhelmed in a fight, allow him to…even the playing fields, to put it lightly.
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.
i subbed to ffxiv and now i need scion horniness idc. gn reader w a vag, light choking, restraint, doggystyle AGAIN bc whatever, implied age gap, stress relief sex with a side of objectification bc being the wol has got to be hard !
thancred will find whatever reasoning to pretend like he doesn't care. but when you're like this, everything is so obvious.
one of his palms keeps both of your wrists behind your back. the other wraps the back of your neck to keep you pushed into the mattress. he's thick, his cock heavy and wide in a way that makes you sigh when he pushes inside. you feel like he's burrowing into you, making a home against the crux of your cervix.
"thheeeerrrreee y'go." he encourages, giving you a moment to adjust to the girthy stretch. "give me that-- yeah-- gimme that pretty pussy--" he just can't stay still for long though, tugging out with a low groan before sinking back in. he builds a rhythm, focusing on depth before speed, and the result is like lightning in a bottle. he's pushing you into the mattress with each deep thrust, filling you in a way that makes heat flood every sense.
your hands flex in his hold and he doesn't let up. if anything, the fingertips around your nape squeeze a little tighter, a silent settle down evident in his movements. he's got enough experience on him-- it feels like he's taming a wild animal, and hells, maybe you need the guidance.
you nearly cry when he doubles down, more pressure, more force, lying there taking him like a toy-- you needed this. you know you did. you needed to let everything float off your shoulders for a while and by god thancred has you right on the edge.
a whiny "what--" escapes you when you feel him pull out, painting your ass with cum. the noise that rumbles out of him is downright debauched. "don't worry, darlin'. i won't leave you stranded." you're flipped onto your back before you can glare.
Summary: Estinien discovers desire as experienced by dragonkind, and has trouble defining where Nidhogg’s influence (and the amount of blame he can throw at it) begins, and where his own tastes end.
Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact).
Word Count: ~2700.
Tags/Warnings:Masturbation, Scent Kink, Spit as Lube, Mating Bites, Pining, Emotional Constipation, Caught, (I say scent kink but it's more like stink kink), General warning for kind of squeamish language?
Glaring down at the straining twitch in his breeches, Estinien concedes that he’s in a bit of a predicament.
How would Aymeric, Harcufuant, and Estinien would be with PDA
Aymeric
Aymeric would be the boyfriend/husband that would be comfortable with small kisses and hand holding
UGHHHH 😫 just Aymeric sitting at his desk and doing paper work and you coming around him and he garbs ahold of your hand and places a gentle kiss on your hand.
He would mostly knows when and where to show PDA
In meeting he will send small loving smiles and try to be near you as much as he can
Aymeric will most show signs of affection in public through hand holding, small kisses, hand on cheek, ex.
Can see Estinien there talking to Aymeric and you come by and Aymeric give you a small kiss on the cheek and Estinien is just there starring at y’all like “get a room”
Estinien
This man is straight up a tsundere
Estinien would just normally wrap his arm around your shoulder or place it on your head if you are a lot shorter than him
If you ask for and lean in for a kiss, he blushes like crazy, but in the end eventually just gives in and kisses back
He is definitely more of a cuddle and touchy person behind close doors and not much PDA but time to time he will show signs of affection in public here and there.
Harcufuant
OKAY, THIS MAN NEEDS TO GO STRAIGHT TO HONRY JAIL
I played this game in both Japanese and English, and oml this man straight up just asked to have sex
he definitely is the man to take any chance to have moments of PDA no matter what
can just see him at his station doing paperwork and you get back from carrying out some little mission and you come back with the reports back in hand as you hand it to him he grabs your wrist and pulls you down to kiss you either on the cheek and winks at you after say something cheeky like "why thank you".
