#I feel like the wol and scions and everyone else need more quiet moments like this

[soulstitcher]

Dances With Rogues

A/N: I’ve been needing to write this comfort piece for a while now. Takes place somewhere between 3.1 and 3.2, before we find out about Minfilia. I’ve been wanting to write about Aegis and Thancred, especially since at this point she has been through a lot of bad shit. This is based off that scene from Harry Potter of Harry and Hermione in the tent, to the same Nick Cave song too. There is also a reference to Broken Mast Bay and Odin’s Ride to Hel.

———

One cold wintry morning, not long after everything had gone to shit, Thancred was searching Borel Manor for Aegis. She was staying there instead of the Fortemps’, mostly to have some space and put some distance between herself and most of the Scions. She wasn’t talking to any of them except him and Urianger right now. After the big blowup, he wasn’t surprised the two of them, the only Scions who supported her decision or at least understood what was going through her brain, were the only ones with any contact with her.

That didn’t stop him from worrying, however. He did not know the full details of what had happened to her in the time he had been gone, but he could see she was not doing okay. It said something when Aymeric was reluctant to let her out of his sight. So here he was, stalking the halls of the small mansion for some sign of her. A faint note from the kitchen got his attention, and when he went there, he saw her, silently making herself breakfast and listening to a random song on her radio.

She’s making herself something to eat. That’s good, Thancred thought in relief, exhaling. And yet she made no move to greet him. She was still in her nightgown and loose pants, wrinkled from sleep; her hair, recently chopped short to deal with foes in the Vault, was mussed and dark with oil; her arms and hands looked startlingly bony, her eyes had perpetual shadows under them, and cuts and bruises on her face that were several weeks old were still healing.

He was surprised she hadn’t dropped dead yet with how she looked.

Looking over her shoulder, Thancred saw she was fixing herself some pumpkin pancakes, her absolute favorite meal, with the kettle smelling strongly of jasmine tea. Today was clearly a comfort day. She deserved it after the shit they’d given her recently.

He decided to wait until she was finished cooking to talk to her, placing his gear on the chair and throwing on a different shirt. In the meantime, he leaned against the sink and looked curiously at the radio. She always got her broadcasts from Kievan Rus, despite the distance between Ishgard and her homeland — she was that good of an engineer. The first thing he noticed was that the song being played wasn’t in Rus — then again, it was rare the Rus sang anything in their native tongue, viewing such tunes as deeply personal and private. But it wasn’t in Varangian either, the language of their ancient songs and sagas, or galdrar. It was in Common of all things, and though the singer had a slight accent, Thancred could still easily understand every word he sang.

As he listened, he thought back to Aegis’s habit of singing as she worked, in the forge, at Cid’s workshop, among the steam and hammers of Skysteel. She especially did it as she hammered blades out on the anvil, her voice keeping time with the hammerbeats. Sometimes it was a galdr, singing about Odin’s ride to the underworld to rescue his son, or a sea shanty, of how a selkie gave a sailor her pendant made of pearl.

Come to think of it…when was the last time he’d heard her sing? When was the last time he’d seen her smile? When she caught him trying to outdrink Moenbryda? When was the last time he’d heard her laugh? That glorious witch’s cackle, or her happy giggles as she bounced up and down in pure joy?

When was the last time she’d felt free enough to just be happy?

As his heart ached for her, Thancred suddenly had a brilliant idea.

When Aegis was done cooking, she turned off the stove and peeled her pancakes off the pan and placed them on a plate. Before she could pour herself a cup of tea, Thancred reached over and squeezed her shoulder. She paused, then turned her head to look at him.

“What?” she asked quietly.

Thancred silently held a hand out to her, hoping she picked up on what he was asking.

Aegis stared at his hand for several seconds, before sighing heavily, putting the scraper down, and taking his hand. Smiling softly, Thancred took her other hand and led her to the middle of the kitchen floor, and as soon as he heard a good spot in the song, he started swaying with her, encouraging her to join in.

At first Aegis just let him pull her in, unsure of what he was doing, especially since he knew she had zero sense of balance outside of combat, but then she focused on the song. As the words began to drown out all the other noise in her head, she allowed Thancred to guide her steps, the tension slipping off her shoulders all the while. Before long, Thancred gently raised their hands and twirled her around, just enough for her to prance around on her toes with a smile.

The song went on, and the two friends danced in the kitchen without a care in the world, Thancred helping Aegis steady herself every time she stumbled, grinning and chuckling happily with every step. One misstep even caused her to bellow in laughter. Thancred laughed right along with her, the deep timbre of the sounds echoing through the house.

As the song finally began to wind down, another twirl sent Aegis flying into Thancred’s arms, and the two stayed locked in an embrace, swaying back and forth contentedly. It struck Thancred for the first time that Aegis was so much smaller than he realized, a whole head shorter than him, perfect for nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. She seemed to fit just right in his arms. It felt good…right. He rested his hands on her back and leaned over her shoulder to hug her, and just in the nick of time, he looked up and saw Ser Aymeric standing in the walkway.

But he didn’t look angry, or even upset at all. He was leaning against the wooden frame with his arms crossed, looking almost as exhausted as Aegis. But he had a soft smile on his lips, his tired eyes crinkled up in happiness. Catching Thancred’s eye, he silently mouthed, “Thank you.”

Thancred gave him the tiniest, most imperceptible of nods, and Aymeric quietly got himself a cup of tea and left them to their devices. Thancred exhaled, pressed a tender kiss to Aegis’s forehead, and rested his chin in her hair. And, for the first time in a long time, Aegis was smiling into his chest.

For now, at least, she was happy.

[jenovahh]

Comm 17 - A Little Help - NSFW

Rating: NC-17/Explicit Tags: Threesome (MxMxM), Anal Sex, Accidental Voyeurism, Blowjobs, Heat Fic

Commission Request: WoL is going into heat and Estinien has always been their partner. Not wanting make things awkward with G’raha who they have burgeoning feelings for, the WoL seeks Estinien out once more. G’raha notices the WoLs absence, and decides to seek them out... ====================================================

There’s no mistaking the sounds he hears from down the hallway.

G’raha Tia knows his face is as red as his hair, no longer tipped with silver mind you. 

The moans and sighs are unmistakable, familiar, and the sounds are so lewd he can feel his breeches already begin to feel a little too tight. His ears flick forward before flicking back in embarrassment, flicking forward once more as if he can’t help himself as he creeps steadily forward down the seemingly unending hallway.

The Rising Stones is empty, Tataru seeing to other business as she communicates with Krile who still lies in Sharlayan. Y’shtola and Urianger having mended their camaraderie have gone to research what the council could possibly be up to, most likely preparing to endure another late night up to their ears in tomes. The twins had busied themselves elsewhere, possibly still processing their father’s rejection. Thancred had gone out to attend to other matters, leaving with nothing but a wave and a smile.

Though he has always admired the Warrior of Light, even G’raha could not deny that he has not only spent time with A'von to be with his inspiration, his shining light...that he wanted more. While yes he knew his abilities could help their adventures, his reasons for joining A’von on his adventures were not so noble.

Even he could be selfish.

He knows not when these feelings of simple admiration and idolatry shifted into something more personal, pushing him to spend every bell of every day with A’von until they parted ways for the evening, each withdrawing to their own rooms. Part of him could not help but feel a little anxious for burdening the Warrior of Light with his presence every day, but could anyone blame him? 

He loved every second he got to spend with his inspiration, to see those pale, blue eyes crinkle and pouty lips smile at him as their tails swayed behind them as they trekked across Eorzea. On more than one occasion had G’raha felt A'von's own tail brush against his own, the fluffy mass unmistakably curling around his own for barely a second before withdrawing so fast G’raha thought he might’ve imagined it. 

He could barely sleep from thinking about it so much.

Try as he might, there was no running away from his burgeoning feelings for A’von, which was what left him feeling so bereft when he awoke to another day of the Warrior of Light mysteriously keeping his distance. It had been going on for barely a week now, A’von having started to nervously avoid him, until he became a ghost altogether. The only way G’raha knew he was relatively okay was from how he could distantly hear A'von's door close late at night when everyone had long since turned in.

Tonight was to be the same he thought, only G’raha had been arriving back to his room fairly late himself. He had nowhere else to go really, given his body had been slumbering on this world for the past few years, leaving him with nowhere else to stay save the Rising Stones. He had spent another night talking off poor Rambroes’ ear, sharing more tales of the future and the First and all he had seen. Passing on secrets of the Crystal Tower and its capability until he gave one good yawn and Rambroes sent him home just like old times.

It was quiet, whatever remaining Scions having long since gone home for the evening, meaning it was quieter than usual. It’s what led him to hearing moans and sighs from the end of the hall as he prepared to go to bed. He had been a little embarrassed of course, thinking that perhaps one of the other Scions needed release, and were thinking themselves quiet to races with average hearing. But one moan in particular let him know just which Scion was currently being pounded into the mattress.

He couldn’t help himself, cat-like stealth helping him sneak down the hall, toward the door that was cracked just enough that a sliver of light peeked out into the corridor. Just as the sounds got louder, so did the air, a familiar and long forgotten scent tickling G’raha’s nose and making him hard as rock in his trousers with each step he drew nearer. It was subconscious how his hand moved to grip himself through his clothes, not feeling such hunger since...he was in this body, strangely enough. Desire was the last thing on his mind when bearing the mantle of the Crystal Exarch.

“You like a good tussle as much as the rest...don’t deny it…” a man gruffly rumbles, the barely perceptible squeaking of the mattress finally making its way to his ears. Reaching the door, it's ajar just enough for his red eyes to peek in, barely able to contain his gasp at what he sees.

A'von is there, naked and sweaty and willing, his back to Estinien’s chest. Without meaning to G'raha eyes jump down A'von's bare torso to his cock, red, swollen, and leaking precum all over the place as it bounces lewdly with each thrust of Estinien’s hips. A'von's usually light eyes are darkened with lust, his trimmed claws biting into Estinien’s arm where the Elezen man has it wrapped possessively across his chest. Estinien’s other hand grips A'von's hip with bruising force, holding him in place as he controls the pace of his thrusting, leaving A’von no option but to sit there and take it.

He had been as in awe of the Azure Dragoon as anyone had the right to be, he thinks, despite the Elezen’s more standoffish demeanor. Having been the “new hire” himself, G’raha had taken to try and form a partnership of sort of being the two newest members, to which Estinien begrudgingly accepted. G’raha knew he didn’t genuinely dislike him as a person, but was more used to being alone, as was his wont.

G’raha had heard (or rather read) plenty about the prickly dragoon, noticing that he became more present as A’von had become more absent. Estinien had informed everyone he would be using this waiting time to take care of a few loose ends until it was time to depart, showing up surprisingly early as A’von had begun to make himself scarce. The seeds of jealousy tried to take root in G’raha’s heart, but he quickly quashed such thoughts. He was man enough to acknowledge that others had grown close to A'von in his absence; it was not fair to keep him to himself.

“You’re so beautiful like this, you know,” Estinien whispers, pressing thin lips to A'von's neck, tongue licking a stripe up to his jawline. “All hot and needy for me…” He growls, accentuating his words with a hard thrust, the sound of skin against skin making G’raha grip his dick tighter, needing some kind of relief as he played the hidden voyeur. He should step away, should turn around and go back to his own room, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight before him.

“S-Stop saying such things,” A’von moans, grunting as Estinien’s fingers snake their way up to slip into his mouth, pink tongue darting out to lick them, drawing him into his waiting mouth. Estinien rumbles in approval, rewarding the Miqo’te by increasing the pace he fucks him. “Gods,”

“Halone couldn’t save you now...though you wouldn’t want that, now would you?” Estinien chuckles, making sure to fuck the Warrior of Light nice and deep. “No...it is your new friend you wish were in my place.”

“That’s not true!” A’von nearly wails, face flushing a deeper red from embarrassment.

A new...friend?

“Oh yes...it is not blue eyes you want to see. Go on and tell me more of how you wish for the heir of Allag to ravish you for all to see.” Estinien continues to tease.

“Estinien, be quiet,” A’von protests, even as his own hand goes to circle around his own cock in a silent plea for more. He handles himself expertly, eyes dazed as he tries to desperately thrust in his hand at the same time Estinien plows into him from behind.

G’raha is pretty sure he’s stopped breathing.

“I’m sure he would be more than amicable to your request…” Estinien hums, pushing down on A'von's back to press him into the mattress. G’raha watches toned muscle flex in Estinien’s arm as A’von’s tail curls around it affectionately despite the force Estinien exerts fucking him from behind. 

G’raha’s mouth is dry as the desert as he watches A'von's lust drunk face, holding back a groan at hearing the Warrior’s wanton sighs. He looks back to Estinien--

...to find the dragoon staring right back.

G’raha freezes, preparing to turn tail and run but the dragoon shakes his head, smirking all the while as he turns his gaze back to A’von. “Go on and tell me, A’von. Tell me how you came to me because you couldn’t face your feelings for your G’raha Tia.”

“Gods,” A’von moans, eyes rolling back in his head.

“You want him don’t you? Too embarrassed to have him see the infallible, unshakable Warrior of Light, his light and inspiration...reduced to a moaning mess.” Estinien continues, not having stopped his thrusting for one moment.

“Gods yes,” A’von moans, a smile curling his lips at the thought.

“Well, you heard him.” Estinien calls, raising his voice to clearly indicate he is speaking to G’raha. He feels himself freeze even more, stiff as a board as Estinien ceases the motion of his hips, giving the Warrior of Light just enough time for his thoughts to clear. G’raha watches as if he’s having an out of body experience as A’von turns in question to Estinien before following his line of sight to the door where he stands, unmoving.

A’von and he simply stare at one another blankly for a moment, before A'von's ears pin back against his head, hands covering his face in shame. “Raha!” he calls, and at the sound of his name without the prefix, so many of his fears scatter like petals on the wind. “By the gods, I hadn’t meant-- I mean,”

“Will you just ask him if he wants to join or sod off?” Estinien interrupts rudely, prompting A'von to reach back and smack him.

“Be quiet,”

“Von?” G’raha calls, stepping into the room. He pushes the door open to allow himself entry, closing it gently behind him, ensuring that it is shut. “Did you really…?”

Blushing again, A’von buries his face into the sheets in embarrassment, prompting an exasperated sigh from Estinien. “The bloody fool was too enamored with you to bother asking whether or not you wanted to help with his heat.” The Elezen grumbles with a roll of his eyes. “Something about not wanting to bother you, that you’ve just returned to this world and shouldn’t worry about such things.” He mocks, going as far to impersonate A'von's voice.

“Must you?” The Miqo’te whines, looking as if he would love nothing more than to disappear.

Estinien playfully gives him a smack on the ass, enjoying the man’s undignified yelp. “I must.”

Swallowing, G’raha carefully reaches for the clasps keeping his gear in place, praying he isn’t presuming over much. He and A’von make eye contact, everything and nothing passing between them for a moment. Despite their compromising position, G’raha notices A'von still has the gall to look ashamed, and it’s then he knows he must say something. “I...want this as much as you. If your words hold true.” He murmurs, unsure of his own voice.

A'von's large ears slowly perk up, blue eyes locked on him as if he wanted nothing else. “I...I hadn’t wanted to impose. I presumed that you didn’t want,”

“Of course I want,” G’raha groans, nearly falling to his knees to the side of the bed, reaching to kiss A’von who returns it just as eagerly, the two men groaning into one another’s mouths. G’raha caresses his face gently, always, always wanting, his heart doing little flips in his chest that the gods have seen fit to grant him so many of his wishes. 

G’raha feels A'von groan into the kiss, his eyes trailing to where he notices Estinien begins to slowly thrust again. This close G’raha can feel the effect of A'von's heat, his own breath coming fast as he stares into A'von's eyes, thumb trailing across the scar he knows his friend so adamantly hides. He can feel how he tenses beneath his touch, and so he moves to press his lips comfortingly to the scar, kissing every ilm as Estinien begins to one again build their pleasure.

“This is...okay?” A’von whines, claws ripping into the sheets as Estinien begins to pound even harder.

“More than okay.” G’raha groans, using this time to begin undressing as best he can from this position. His medallions clink together as his top falls to the floor, his hands nimbly picking out his hair pins and placing them with his top. “Though it has been some time, if memory serves, it may take two of us to satisfy a heat.” 

Hunger fills A'von's eyes at that, following him as he stands to remove his trousers. G’raha can’t help but flush red at how A'von's lips part and his tongue swipes across them, gazing up at him hungrily before eyeing the outline of his cock in his underwear. Even as Estinien continues to thrust, A’von reaches out and grabs him by the thigh, urging him closer to where he can pull down his small clothes, letting his cock spring free.

G’raha can’t help but groan as he watches that tongue swipe over pointed fangs once again, A’von turning his body as best he can to get a proper grip on his cock and pull the tip to his mouth. A’von eagerly begins to lick at his length despite the dragoon’s thrusts, eyes gazing up at him wantonly that does none of his wildest fantasies any justice.

His mouth feels exquisite, tongue warm and wet, swirling around the tip as he eventually gives up and climbs on the bed, turning himself to kneel directly in front of his companion. A’von groans thankfully as he fully dedicates himself to his task, bobbing his head up and down his length all while Estinien holds him by the hips and rams into him from behind. Each thrusts forces a groan from his throat, the vibrations travelling up his length, sending pleasure racing through what feels like every nerve in his body.

“Wicked white,” G’raha curses, having not let go of the phrase as A’von greedily laps at him, thrusting his hips back against Estinien whose groans have gotten more frantic, his pace more wild as he furiously pounds into the Warrior of Light. They grunt and groan together, G’raha committing the sight to memory as A’von calls Estinien’s name as he comes, pulling off his length to moan his release into his lap as Estinein too meets his end.

Estinien groans as he comes, head resting against his A’von’s back as he gives those last few thrusts to ride out his orgasm. G’raha watches as the two of  them catch their breath, A’von giving him a soft smile as he pushes himself up to bring G’raha down to him for a kiss. G’raha reciprocates immediately, their tongues dancing together even as Estinien withdraws, allowing for A'von to press forth unsuspectingly. G’raha scrambles to get his legs from under him as A’von straddles him, eyes devious as he holds his hand behind him expectantly. Estinien silently hands him the oil, G’raha watching hypnotized as he pours a generous amount in his hand before putting the bottle down once more.

G’raha can’t help but raise his hips as his lover’s hand wraps around his cock once again, the oil lubing him up easily. He can barely keep his eyes open, the pleasure is so overwhelming, looking through hazy eyes at how calloused hands rub him up and down. 

Having recovered, Estinien grabs the vial of oil, pouring what remains over two fingers before chucking it elsewhere in the room. Coming up behind A'von he slips two fingers into his sheathe, A’von purring, eyes hooded as he still keeps his focus on G’raha. “Good, you’re still ready. You ready to take him?” Estinien murmurs into A’von’s ear, taking one between his teeth and nibbling.

A’von nods slowly, finally releasing his cock as Estinien pulls his fingers from his puckered entrance.

Slowly, A’von leans forward, resting rough hands upon the smooth planes of G’raha’s chest, eyes not leaving one another as A’von reaches below to take hold of G’raha cock and line it up. Sinking slowly, the two Miqo’te moan as one as A'von slowly sinks down, G'raha hands coming to knead the flesh of A'von's thighs as he takes ilm by precious ilm. Even if he’s still stretched from Estinien’s own pounding, A’von savors each bit until they are flush against each other, his cock still hard and leaking pre cum as is warranted by a Miqo’te heat even after an orgasm.

A’von leans down to kiss him, his heart feeling ready to burst as A'von raises his hips to bring them back down. Groaning into one another’s mouths, G’raha feels robbed of breath as A’von nibbles playfully on his bottom lip, earning a surprised whimper from him at the action. Smirking, he watches as A’von sits back up, riding him earnestly, eyes on him. “Let me...make these past few days...up to you…”

A’von rides him like a man possessed, panting and mewling as he bounces on his cock. As if the sight alone wasn’t erotic enough, Estinien comes to claim A’von’s lips, the Miqo’te’s hand wrapping around his cock and pumping furiously as he prepares to meet his end once again. “The both of you,” A’von groans against Estinien’s lips, and G’raha knows he won’t last much longer either. “I’m going to,”

A’von comes, crying out as his seed spurts everywhere, but G’raha can’t be bothered to care as he finally releases, feeling his orgasm soar through him with blinding speed. His toes curl as he feels his seed spurt inside of his love, eyes fluttering closed as he gives a few more thrusts to ride out his orgasm.

It is his turn to catch his breath, finally opening his eyes just in time to catch A'von as he seems to collapse atop him. “Von?” he panics, until Estinien stills him with a hand.

“He’s fine. Just worn out.” He huffs, standing from the bed to cross over to a nearby basin. “You and I both know he could use the rest. Especially since he’ll pounce on us soon as he wakes.” 

Nodding, G’raha shifts A'von to be a bit more comfortable, scooting over to make a little more room for all three of them to fit. Given that they’re in Estinien’s room, he doubts anyone save Alphinaud or Tataru would dare pay a visit, and so he dubs it safe enough to rest his eyes, and join A'von in the world of dreams.

[whitherliliesbloom]

just a chat

[ ffxivwrite2020 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #22 - argy-bargy ]

[ wol & scions ]  ★ [ 773 words ]  ★ [ post-5.3 ]

alisaie leveilleur, alphinaud leveilleur, g’raha tia and illya skawi. 

wrath hath no fury like alisaie. just alisaie.

Illya was used to some amount of popularity by now - being the Warrior of Light and Darkness both naturally coming with a fame that, whether she likes it or not, will stick with her even past her prime. She was used to being stopped by civilians who recognized her, and swarmed by packs of both fans and enemies alike that it was often hard to tell now just which of the two a crowd was unless they spoke. 

The one place she’d counted on getting some peace and quiet was the Rising Stones, where her arguably equally well known scion friends congregated. 

And yet she finds herself particularly popular with two young men now, who had rushed towards her the moment she’d step foot into the room and have since huddled behind her back as if she were their shelter against the stormy wrath that was Alisaie’s angry, thoroughly unamused and deadly glare.

“Oh, you think I’m just going to let you both off the hook because you’re using Illya as some kind of shield?” 

Illya knows that tone of voice from Alisaie, the one that has never been directed towards her.. but she’s heard enough times to grow wary on the occasion she’s caught in the crossfire. The tone of voice that not even she, or anyone else for that matter could quell the rage of without a punch or two being thrown. Thrown by Alisaie, that is.

“W-what...what is going on..?”

“W-we were just.. having a little chat!” G’raha very nearly lets out a squeak as he responds, attempting to duck his head behind Illya’s. She hasn’t seen G’raha this fearful, this genuinely frightened for his own life even as they’d faced Elidibus atop the crystal tower together.

“R..right! It was just jests, dear sister! No need to get so upset!” 

“Jests? JESTS???” The elezen woman steps forward, cracking her knuckles as the men cowered behind their considerably smaller lalafellin scion. “Oh yes, just jests. Very funny, Alphinaud. It’ll be even funnier once I give you a taste of my knuckles!”

“S-surely it’s not that bad-- It’s not like you haven’t told everyone about embarrassing stories from my childhood before-” 

Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no no.

In an instant, the confusion upon Illya’s face turned into a full grimace, and she dares not even look back at the two sinners for fear of turning her back against the wrathful flame in front of her.

“And... I suppose G’raha.. laughed?” Illya garnered a guess, and is immediately responded with an audible gulp and a nervous laugh from the red haired miqo’te.

“Ah...ahaha... guilty as charge. You... certainly know us well, Illya..”

There were many dangers in life Illya’s willingly faced. She’s stared death in the face far too many times, slayed a myriad of gods and their followers and made her living off of fighting with the risk of never living to see another day. She certainly has made a name for herself, one that Eorzea and the realm beyond will not soon forget. And while she would never be so arrogant as to claim herself fearless, there weren’t many foes that she wouldn’t willingly fight now.. so long as it meant protecting her home and the people she’s come to see as family. She’s come a long way, a far cry from the bumbling and helpless fool that was the Illya who had just arrived in Gridania for the first time by carriage six whole summers ago. 

But wrath hath no fury quite like Alisaie’s.. and her temper was certainly one that not even the great Warrior of Light, savior of realms and liberator of worlds would be so bold as to stare down the face of. Alphinaud and G’raha had stirred a dormant volcano.. and it was not courage nor bravery that they possessed. No, only someone truly suicidal would prod a dragon whilst it slumbered. 

“Um.. I’m sorry but.. you guys are on your own.” Defeated before the fight has even begun, the Warrior of Light hops off her station upon the chair, much to the dismay of the two men behind her.. and the utter delight of a certain other elezen. 

“I-Illya! No- please!”

“COME BACK HERE! BOTH OF YOU!”

It feels much more at home next to Krile and Tataru, who both stand on either side of Illya as the three lalafell watched the chaos ensue in front of them. And while Illya could only stand by with an expression of pure pity, and Tataru’s pleas for the three of them to settle down go unheard, Krile merely snorts. 

“Really lively today, isn’t it?” 

[finalfantasyxivwritings]

For the Ardbert fics if you have anything for a reverse situation kinda of event? Like the WoL follows Ardbert instead of Ardbert following the Wol?

“You know,” the words sound a little too teasing in the moment. “I think you would be much better off if you tried to relax before running head-on into these problems of yours.”

“Relax?” the warrior’s tone sounds as tense as the rest of him looks, which is a feat when he is covered in thick layers of armor. “I’ll relax as soon as I manage to get an actual answer around here rather than silly riddles and rhymes.”

He grits his teeth and kicks a rock by his feet, sending it flying off into the distant horizon of Il Mheg without so much as a care. Even though your body and presence is little more than a thin smoke to the world around you, the man’s sense of unease and worry is more than prevalent; you’re not quite certain yet if it’s due to your unknown, intimate connection with his soul, or simply if he’s a particular man to read. Either way, sympathy washes over you as Ardbert frets about, one hand on his hip and the other tugging worriedly through his short, messied hair.

On a whim, you take a step closer to him (unable to feel the tickle of the grasses against your legs, the breeze against your cheek, the smell of the flowers-) and reach out your hand until it falls on his arm.

“Breathe.”

The word doesn’t seem to offer all that much, but the touch causes the man to still and stop. He turns to look at you after a few moments, his eyes holding something of an emotion that you’ve only ever glanced at one or two times before: fear. Ardbert is far from a shaking rabbit, but there’s a genuine look of worry on his face.

“How did you get through something like this?”

You blink, giving Ardbert enough time to turn around and face your incorporeal form fully. There was little worry to someone coming upon the two of you, as the other Scions had directives of their own within Il Mheg, so Ardbert at least didn’t have to worry about people thinking he’d gone mad and started talking to spirits–or perhaps he could claim it was simply a fae. Hm. Tuck that idea away for later if needed.

The attention swiftly moves back to the man before you, a warrior in as much a literal sense as figurative. Warrior of Light, Warrior of Darkness. Vague memories filter through your mind as you behold him, his presence an echo of a memory that feels more like a dream than what was once reality. 

But you offer the man a smile, even as your mind whirls with your own layers of confusion and insecurity. 

“You need to believe in your abilities,” you say at last, reaching out once more for the excuse to touch the man–the only person you even can touch–to brush away something that had fallen into his hair. “And moreso, trust in the people around you to help when you need it. Think back at all the things you’ve accomplished already, Ardbert. All the challenges, the primals, the enemies–and this is just one more. Did you not find aid in the companions around you? The Scions of the Seventh Dawn?”

Ardbert takes a few moments to think through your words. He neither flinches nor steps away when your palm presses flat against his cheek. So warm. The sensation in itself is as familiar as it is unfamiliar, decades of isolation from the physical world tugging at your soul. But even in the perceived intimacy of the touch, Ardbert doesn’t move. Whether he realizes the reaction (or lack thereof) is meaningful to you or not, you’re not sure. There have been of more important things to focus on than figuring out the nature of your lost spirit and how it connects to Ardbert.

The warrior himself lets out a sigh, obviously dissatisfied by your answer.

“But they all look to me to be the one to save everything,” he says after a few moments, waiting until you drop your hand before he starts to pace about again. “I’m supposed to be the fabled ‘Warrior of Darkness’ after all.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help,” the words feel so hallow. They are full of sentiment and meaning, yes, but its a strange thought to know that Ardbert is the only one who could hear them. “They are intelligent and powerful fighters in their own right. Let them help you, Ardbert. Don’t push them away.”

You can almost feel the man’s aching worry, the weight on his shoulders bearing down like a mountain. Moments like this when you are almost sure that you can feel what he’s thinking. The tension in his chest. The loneliness. You can relate to that in a way, distantly recalling what it was like as your world was spiraling out of control by your own hand, and you without a meaningful way to save it.

“You’re not alone. You’re never alone.” The words, whispered, are so quiet that you’re not even sure if he can hear them. “There will always be people who care about you; people who want to help.”

But he perks up after a few moments, glancing towards you with a gently rekindled expression of hope over his features. Tension still tugs somewhere behind Ardbert’s eyes, but he seems at least vaguely refreshed by the assurance, or perhaps even the simple fact of having someone to relate to the feeling of being a hero put up on a pedestal, with the weight of everyone’s expectations–and the fate of several worlds–on his shoulders.

“I…guess you’re right,” he says, crossing his arms over his armored chest. “I’m pretty sure having a spectral companion always counts for something in the grand scheme of things.”

Though the sound is muffled even to your own ears, you can’t help but laugh at the gentle humor, “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘friend’.”

Ardbert blinks, and for a moment his expression drops into surprise. As if he’d never considered the concept of your relationship being anything more than happenstance and coincidence, or perhaps even the will of Hydaelyn herself in the effort to fight back against the overwhelming force of light.

But it’s then, only then, that the warrior of light and darkness both offers you a smile; a genuine one. 

“…Maybe Urianger will be able to help get more information from the pixies.”

Even as the topic shifts, the smile doesn’t fall away so much as it gently fades into Ardbert’s expression, the cloy of panic temporarily pushed back by the kindling flames of hope and encouragement. With how little you’re able to interact with the world directly, a sense of warmth curls within you for at least being able to offer the man some bit of aid in his ever-constant toils against forces greater than himself.

“From what I gather of the man, he is certainly clever enough, and has garnered quite a bit of respect from the fae. If nothing else, he might be able to point you in an easier direction to figure this out.”

Ardbert nods, and soon leaves the area to seek out the other Scions, leaving you alone and imperceivable once more to anyone else. A ghost of the past, wandering, waiting, left to thoughts and regret alike.

Though you’re left alone–as alone as you have always been over the past century of half-existence–you can’t help but feel a sense of warmth and hope in Ardbert. The Warrior of Darkness. The Warrior of Light.

The world’s savior, the protector.

But most importantly, for as long as he needed it: your friend.

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #17 - Obeisant

moar Haurchefant/WoL. this is my other otp if i’m honest, and haurchefant’s obvious love for the warrior absolutely does go straight into a worshipful territory.

"Another storm, yes. I shall return anon, but his lordship is concerned for the safety of all and would have me set out once the wind is past."

Aurelia let out a contented sigh, set the linkpearl aside on the nearby side table, and turned her attention back to the warm weight on her bare chest. 

One of the most obvious advantages of having established good relations between the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and the knights of the Coerthas central highlands was the relative leeway she was given to visit Haurchefant at his cold and remote outpost. Of course, it was done mostly at her leisure when she wasn't on some errand or other. But given the Ishgardians' extremely obvious regard for the Warrior of Light and the way she had stepped in to aid them with Shiva without even a moment's hesitation, and given their reputation for prickly inhospitality to nigh everyone else, not even Alphinaud was inclined to stop her from her frequent jaunts into the snowy foothills.

Alphinaud, she knew, even preferred it. If the Scions could establish more inroads to bring Ishgard back into the fold of the Alliance, so much the better, whether it be done through official diplomatic channels with Ser Aymeric or through rather more informal ones with Lord Haurchefant.

But advantages there were aplenty besides, such as the privacy her reputation afforded the two of them.

In some ways, Coerthas reminded her of home -- the few good parts of it she could remember, anyroad. Blizzards didn't bother her, and she enjoyed the cold even when the wind outside didn't howl and rattle at the expensive glass and whistle around the stones of the keep.

But at the minute, there *was* a storm, and she was disinclined to leave before it had abated. Currently that sharp wind was accompanied by ice, and she could hear the gritty slap of sleet with each gust that bit at the fortress' outer walls.

She ran her fingers through Haurchefant's hair: a light bluish silver, thick, and fine as silk beneath her fingers. Her shirt was on but unbuttoned, and she felt him press a slightly damp kiss to the edge of her sternum, directly between her breasts.

Days like these didn't just make venturing out into the Coerthan wilderness undesirable, but actively dangerous. Which to her mind was so much the better, really, because it allowed them quiet afternoons like these to themselves: enjoying each other's company while the rest of the barracks lay in slumber, occupants piled together for comfort. Haurchefant would always see to his paperwork first -- like herself, the lord of Camp Dragonhead was nothing if not dutiful -- but once his work was done, he'd join her, for conversation, for hot chocolate, or... well.

Whatever sport they wished to make, to while away the cold hours.

"Commander Leveilleur knows you're here?" the Elezen murmured.

"Mm. I told him the storm's too bad to risk leaving."

"...I confess I'm surprised he didn't point out that you could simply use the aetheryte to return."

She laughed.

"He knows I hate using them. Travel by aetheryte doesn't bother me now half as much as it used to, I suppose because my aether control has improved so, but it still gives me awful headaches on occasion. You're right, I suppose I could. But I don't," she said bluntly, "and I don't feel like explaining to him or the others why."

In truth, she didn't feel like explaining much of anything to the Scions these days.

Nero's decidedly acidic observations that day before they'd entered Syrcus Tower for the first time had truly angered her, but he hadn't been wrong, and she knew that was part of the reason it had struck home. The Scions, especially Alphinaud as of late, *did* seem to take her strength and her sense of responsibility for granted. The tribunus had been entirely correct about that much, had -- much to her own bewilderment -- seemed genuinely frustrated beneath his mockery.

And she couldn't deny the bitter pall of resentment she felt at the realization that out of all of the people who seemed able to see her instead of the hero's pedestal, it was someone who shouldn't have given a damn one way or another, rather than the people who were supposed to be her friends. Oh, he wasn't the only one, to be sure. Cid Garlond had ever seen her for who she was, had offered her his own space as a shelter from the constant deluge of requests.

The man whose bed she now lay in was another.

Sensing some of her distress, Haurchefant propped himself up on one elbow and leaned forward to peer curiously down into her eyes. One hand was left to wander where he willed it (or insofar as she would give it permission), and his crystal-blue eyes were dark with concern.

"My friend, is aught amiss? They are your close associates, and yet I can hear your discontent. Has there been a falling out between you? Should I reconsider our association with Revenant's Toll?" A shadow crept into his expression. "...They've not mistreated you in some fashion, have they?"

Aurelia sighed and shut her eyes.

"No, it's... I... I'm not really being fair, Haurchefant. I know I'm not. Minfilia is under considerable strain, herself, and Alphinaud I worry is attempting to singlehandedly solve a problem years too old for him, and there's more I'd rather not get into. But-"

"But?" he pressed, when she didn't say anything for a moment.

"....Sometimes I want to recapture the freedom I had when I chose to become an adventurer. When the only thing that was important was the next new horizon and the sights beyond." One of her hands fretted at the coverlet beneath her fingers. "I went to Ul'dah intending to expand my medical knowledge for certain, but also because I had never seen Thanalan, and I thought that if I could never return to my home then I might as well see the southern lands with my own eyes. But then... things happened."

"Ifrit happened."

"Yes. And almost before I knew it people were calling me a hero. I feel like a fraud on a good day, Haurchefant, and on a bad day I just want them all to bugger off and leave me be. Some people are still immensely kind and grateful, but others just see me as a wall between them and the beastmen."

Haurchefant had kept his counsel, seeming content to run his hand over her belly and thighs as she spoke. There was a warmth there, simmering just under the surface like coals that had not yet gone to embers, and on a different day she might at that point have decided to kiss him rather than continue her litany of complaints. It would, she thought, certainly have been more productive.

You did all this to yourself and no one cares to hear your whinging, a part of her sneered.

But the floodgates were open and she could not stop.

"Sometimes I wish I had never agreed to join the Scions," she confessed softly. "I know, it's an awful thought, but-"

"Not awful," he said. "Human."

"Perhaps."

"All of us have had those thoughts from time to time. 'Tis the hardest thing in the world, to stay when you are saddled with a duty you do not want. I know from long experience. And yours..."

When he had trailed off for a handful of seconds, Aurelia opened her eyes and blinked up at him. He offered a smile that was just a little bit rueful.

"Yours, dear lady," he continued, "is a great burden indeed. I would worry about you did you not weary of its weight from time to time, and I know even heroes need a refuge, which is why I offer mine own modest lodgings freely. But this too will pass. You say you wish you could run away, but you would not do so if pressed."

Biting her lower lip, Aurelia rolled her head to one side and stared at the grey light in the window, listened to the ice slap against glass. "How do you know?"

"Because adventurer or not," he said, leaning forward and pressing his lips just above her third eye, "you are brave and responsible. I have never known you to run from aught you consider a job that is yours to be done."

"I wish I could."

"But you won't."

"No," Aurelia said, "I won't. Because as much as I mislike it, there is no one else."

There was no response to that save the obvious, so she hadn't expected him to answer:

"If ever you do weary of your toils, you can make Ishgard your home."

"Ishgard would not have me."

"I would make it so. Did they see in you what I saw, you would be welcomed with open arms."

"Oh? Would I be able to remain at Camp Dragonhead for all time, then?" She laughed, her dark blue eyes twinkling with mirth as she flopped back onto the pillows and grinned at him. "Should I be the lady Lucia to your Aymeric, then? Your resolute and ever loyal second?"

Haurchefant did not laugh in return. His hand had shifted to her hip, stroking along the outer curve of one of her thighs, ghosting over her skin in a way that caused gooseflesh to prickle up her limbs. Her nipples were taut and aching, and now she wasn't entirely sure if it was due to the lingering chill of the room after all.

"No," he said. "I already have a second. To you, my dearest lady-" His hair tickled at her neck and his teeth grazed her collarbone, a hot and pleasant sting. Aurelia made a tiny pleading noise in the back of her throat, squirming at the contact, already seeing the mark that would bloom beneath her robes. "-I would be your vassal."

"You cannot, you lovely fool," she whispered, kissing the soft silver crown of his head. "You are pledged to your nation and to your house, not a defector with no nation left to call her own."

Haurchefant's hand on her legs moved inward, gently coaxing them open, and she felt the tips of his fingers on the sensitive inner all the way down to her toes. 

"I would pledge myself to you anyway. I would serve you as I serve the Fury Herself."

She took a shaking breath; he was but ilms away from where she actually wanted him, but even that urge was secondary to her hunger for his soft words.

"I am not of your people, Haurchefant. Perhaps once I was a lady, but I no longer even have a house."

"You need no house, though I would gladly give you mine if you wished it," he murmured, his lips moving just below her navel now, "and you are wrong. The truth of what you are, the things that made you what you are, cannot be taken from you."

G'raha Tia had said something similar, she thought.

"And neither can those things which were *not* given to you by your birth. You are kind, and you are just, and you are compassionate. You are not only a hero, but the greatest lady I have ever chanced to know," he said. "The fairest roses of all the High Houses pale before you."

She wished keenly she could see herself through his eyes, or G'raha's. If any gods existed in this world, the Garlean felt as though she could spend the rest of her life trying to atone for her people's cruelty and still never shift the scales. Her eyelids stung with tears she tried with effort to swallow back.

A rough palm, gentle, framed her face. 

"I promise upon the Fury herself, and upon my faith in you, that my sword and shield will always be yours -- whenever you have need of them."

He had returned to hover above her prone form, his wandering hands stilled for the moment. His eyes were soft and reverent.

“After all, dear lady,” he whispered, “a knight lives to serve.”

[dholwrites]

Anniversary Party

Notes: Commission piece for @devilhuntress   Relationship: Aymeric x Female! WoL Rating: E  Word Count: 2887 Summary: A party calls you back to Ishgard and a certain Lord Commander awaits you. 

It was the last thing you expected when you got a letter from Count Fortempts. What really piqued your interest was the handwriting itself. It's unfamiliar from the one you’re used to seeing from Edmont. Until you found a different name signed at the bottom: ‘Artoirel de Fortemps’. That will need to get some used to. Along with the letter was an elegantly written invitation to a grand party for the anniversary of the end of the Dragonsong War.

Of course, it was a party in your honor. You wondered if these people would ever tire from hosting so many. A vague memory comes to you. Every fortnight the noble houses would light up as the families wine and dine away like no tomorrow. It always struck you as odd, noble families celebrating an end of a war they’d never participated in. Then again this was another topic for another time, a thought better suited over tea with Y’shtola.

This one is different. It’s being hosted by a founding family, making the invitation difficult to refuse. Of course, the Scions were invited too. Alphinaud was practically floating on air the entire trip back. Tataru, on the other hand, was a little less than pleased to be leaving the fine life in Kugane.

Arriving back in Ishgard felt like a dream. The gentle snow falling from the sky, the quiet streets, people rushing about to get to their destinations. There’s even a festive air with some of the houses decorating their exteriors.  Perhaps it’s the true Ishgardian spirit coming through, being able to reunite under one day.

Tataru was more than prepared for the party, giving you a dress from the latest fashion trend in Kugane. A long and sophisticated socialite’s dress that features a lengthy slit on the right side to show more than a generous amount of leg. There is even floral detailing along the length of the dress, giving it an elegant touch and a pop of color. She had even given you a pair of gloves and a hat to go with the ensemble. She was more than happy to get you to turn every head at this ball.

Truthfully, you only wished to turn one head --- just the Lord Commander’s. For the past few moons, both of you have been exchanging letter after letter. Always giving each other updates; To you, Aymeric shares the plans and progress he’s made along with the New Republic, from you, Aymeric gets to read the first-hand accounts of your adventures.

Still, you miss him. You miss running your fingers through his dark curly hair. You miss feeling the weight of his head on your lap by the fire. You miss being able to simply lay in bed with him in the morning in silence. Watching as sunlight filters through the window, casting an angelic glow upon his face. You miss him, you truly do.

The mutual agreement was to keep it out of the public, out of prying eyes. You had not even told the Scions. Instead, you spend the long, lonely nights staring at the ceiling wishing for nothing more but to be by his side, often clutching his gracefully written letters. You can't help imagining what it would be like to feel his soothing presence beside you again.

You don’t have to imagine anymore. He is so close. So close to see, to hear, to touch.

Just as Tataru had hoped, you were turning heads as you were dragged around the party. Artoirel was quick to take your hand by the entrance before you were stuck standing there awkwardly. The eldest brother eagerly takes you from person to person introducing you to vaguely familiar faces to entirely new names. From stuck up nobles to intimidated commoners.

What was undeniable were the lingering stares. You could feel eyes drawn to your every move, particularly the high slit up your dress. Despite your efforts to make some conservative choices, you can still feel the looks catching the bare skin of your waist and legs.

That doesn’t matter when you’ve locked eyes with a pair of deep blue eyes you’ve fallen in love with.

You had spotted him the moment you stepped into the main hall. At the far side of the room, Aymeric was out of his armor and in something more form-fitting and formal. A delightful dark tux with his signature blue cape wrapped around him. He stood tall exuding confidence with a well-practiced smile on his face. A perfect picture of his diplomatic self with a tall glass of red wine in hand.

You catch sight of a familiar silver-haired dragoon next to him, surprisingly also out of his armor and in a simple dress shirt and pants. The scowl on his face is enough to deter even the bravest of noblewomen from stepping forward. But not you. You easily slip out of Artoirel’s loose grip and settle between Estinien and Aymeric as if by second nature.

“Nice for you to finally join us,” Estinien grumbles, clearly annoyed at the festivities as he drains his glass of every drop of wine. “I think if he eyed you any harder, his eyes would have popped out.” The dragoon swaps his glass off for another one as a waiter passes by and drains this one of its contents. He looks like he has been at this for a while. When you look at Aymeric for confirmation, the Lord Commander only flash you an innocent smile, there is dust of pink on his cheeks.

“Wonderful evening to see you again, my dear. Though I do wish it was under slightly different circumstances.” Aymeric takes a step closer to you, under the guise of making room for the workers. He hooks his pinkie around your own, making sure to keep it hidden from view. “You look beautiful in that dress. Another one of Tataru’s creations, I presume?”

“He’s been standing here, twiddling his thumbs as if something will happen as if he says away from his office too long. I almost mistook him for your ‘little follower’,” Estinien lets out a huff into his fifth glass. His gaze falls upon Alphinaud with his arms locked and chatting away with a lady his age, an unmistakable smile on his face.

It was easy to fall back into conversation with him, swapping little remarks with each other. Estinien seems to not mind you two giggling away beside him, even occasionally offering a dry remark of his own. The sun had long and set before you know it, one by one guest start to take their leave. The moon had risen to the highest peak in the sky. The Scions had long since retired to their own chambers, with Alphinaud sweeping by to bid good night to the three of you. Estinien decides to slip out the door, to join his siblings in arms at the Forgotten Knight to ‘actually get some good booze.’

Everyone else was much too preoccupied to notice Aymeric escaping with you, his warm hand laced with yours. The retreat back to his own home was a slow one, snow daintily floating down from the dark skies as you travel along the dimly lit cobblestone path.

You barely stifle a laugh that caught his attention. Aymeric lets go of your hand to smooth his hand across your back, as he leans down to see what you were giggling about.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed his touch until now. Every trail lead by his hand, every circle traced, and every breath in your ear seems to make you want to beg him to come closer, grip tighter, take me deeper.

Everything became a blur when the door closed behind you. Aymeric’s lips crashing into yours, tasting all the sweets and drinks you had at the party. His tongue coaxes your mouth open and invading it as if your breath will save his life. His hands rubbing your sides and moving to grope and at your chest and ass through your clothes. You can feel him grow bolder, slipping under your skirt to trace your inner thigh. His fingers brush higher and higher as they slip under the miniskirt close to your panties. As a finger finally brushes over the front of your panties, you only push yourself against him trying to get his cool touch in your heated core.

“How I’ve longed to feel you in my arms. To be able to touch you and know you are right here.” He mumbles into your lips, finally pulling away but his hands remain, his breath heavier than before. “Please, stay with me tonight?”

A nod of your head has you whisked away from the main doors and into his chambers. Aymeric claims your lips in a hurried kiss. Like if he doesn’t show you how much he misses you, you’ll disappear from his arms again. You hum happily into the kiss, deepening without another thought. He gently walks you backward, both of you fumbling with your hands and legs to strip down to your small clothes.

He settles into the bed with you seated on his lap, “I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you. Never had I dream that an angel would bless me to be by my side.” He slowly lets his hand runs down your back until he catches of the end of your underwear, watching closely to memorize every angle and curve of your figure. He beckons you into another kiss.

With a tug, Aymeric pulls the fabric off your breast and cups one with his free hand. He rubs the stiffing nipple with the pad of his thumb causing you to whimper into his mouth. He pulls away to nuzzle your chest, taking the neglected nipple into his mouth to suck and twist with his tongue. You let out breathless moans and sighs, only to encourage him to double his efforts.

You whisper his name between your moans, scooting back to brace yourself on his shoulders. Lifting yourself higher onto your knees and removing the last of your defenses, you allow your smallclothes to drop over the edge onto the floor. He tugs you back into his embrace, littering your jaw and neck with playful nips and kisses, only to stop when you would tug at his own smallclothes.

He ignores your greedy hands to reach down and trace the folds of your wet core. The scent of your pussy is enough to make his mouth water as he collects the juice between his fingers. He thrust his finger into you slowly, then adding another, and another. A loud moan came from you, the sound of it causing his dick to twitch under your hand. Aymeric can’t handle it anymore.

“As much as I would love to taste you, I think we’ve waited too long for this.” He removes his fingers and easily lifts up your smaller form, switching places with you by lowering you down in the center of his bed. He seats himself between your legs, allowing you to wrap them around his waist. He discards his small clothes beside your own, lining himself up to your entrance and pressing into you. You both simultaneously groan as he sinks deeper in, feeling his length begin to fill and stretch you.

Your back arches off the bed as he brushes against a soft spot within you, causing squirming a bit as he stalled to move. The stretch of your pussy was too delicious, the fill too good to deny. Yet you need more; deeper, faster, hotter. A beg dies on the tip of your tongue as he pulls out and thrust back in with a sharp rock of his hips.

His long fingers traverse the planes of your skin, dipping and curving around the length of your body while his lips make slow yet precise work of your neck. Every hair stands on edge due to his touch or the chill in the air, you cannot tell. Your own fingers dig into his shoulders as he thrusts deeper, maintaining his slow and steady pace, eager to feel every last bit of you.

Your mewls of pleasure bounce from the walls in the quiet room. Aymeric shivers when your breath ghosts against his cheek and your lips graze against the shell of his ear. You mumble incoherently as his pace beings to quicken, as a heat blossom in the pit of your stomach.

Aymeric pulls away and studies your face, your mouth shaped into a perfect ‘O’, your eyes misty and skin flush from the pleasure. He leans back further and hoists one of your legs up onto his shoulder, creating a new, blissful angle. A deep groan of complete and utter lust rumbles from him as you watch him brush back his perfect curly bangs.

You cry out his name, your hands move to claw away at his sheets while you throw your head into the center of his pillow. He is completely entranced by the sight below him. He mutters your name, whispering praises under his breath. “Halone, you’re beautiful, so beautiful.” He places kisses on your calf and continues his relentless pace, watching with dark intense eyes as your breasts bounce from the motion. Your back arches up when he hits a sensitive spot, your gasps and moans only encourage him even more. With his free hand, he traces the valley between your breast, down to your stomach and continues further down until he reached your clit, rubbing small circles around the bundle of nerves, adding a sensation that is almost too much to bear.

He pulls his lips between his teeth, pink and swollen from the prior kisses. “I’ve been thinking about this since seeing you in that dress. If only you knew the things you do to me.” His sentences are strung together with barely any room left for a breath in between, but he refuses to stop whispering sweet things for you to hear.

Another wave of heat runs from the tip of your toes, past the ends of your fingers and to ends of your hair. It tightens the knot in your stomach, threatening to snap any minute. Another moan forces its way out as he lowers your leg and buries his face in your hair, breathing deeply of your scent. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging and nudging at him to pound deeper, needing more than anything to cum.

“I-I’m so close,” You plea to him, your voice breaking at the words. Your hands fly up to find purchase in his raven locks. If you were holding on too tight, Aymeric did not say a thing. His thrusts begin to become sloppy and desperate, sending your stomach into twists and turns at the sensation. You weren’t sure if you could hold on any longer. “A-Aymeric, please, I'm going-”

“I know, my love, I know.” His deep, purring voice near your ear, his breath ghosting onto your bare neck, hot and heavy. Your clit jolts as your pussy tighten around him, causing his breath to hitch. “Cum for me, love. Cum for me,” he whispers, giving your hips a tight squeeze. Mixed with perfectly timed thrusts and dirty words, he sends you over the edge. Gasping and moaning as you were sent into blinding pleasure. Your eyes shut from the intensity of your orgasm, one hand raking your nails down his back while the other tightens in his hair harder and harder while he continues to fuck you through your climax.

He mutters into your skin, his voice rising in pitch with every word. His own high hits him like a storm. A sharp intake of air, followed by his gasps and moans, his eyes glazed over. Aymeric comes to a slow stop inside you, spilling his seed all over your walls. You can feel every spurt of the hot cum from his throbbing cock hitting your cervix, and prolonging your high as you feel the heat fills you.

Aymeric pulls out of you once he was spent, yet still hovering over you to take in the sight; your messy hair, your skin cold and clammy with sweat yet flushed red, the look in your eyes as you slowly came down from your own climax. You gave him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. You look enchanting, ravishing, the most enticing woman he had laid eyes upon. He pulls away and straightens up between your legs, the warmth of his cum inside makes you feel all the hotter.

Licking his lips, he takes your hand and presses a delicate kiss over your fingers. Starting a trail from your fingers and slowly making his way up your arm until he was pressing at your bare shoulder. His gaze piercing and dark from desire, he couldn’t help himself from stealing another from your lips. He cradles your chin with one hand giving you slow and sweet kisses.

Unable to resist the temptation with you underneath him, the kisses start to turn heated and heavy again. His free hand traces up and down your shaky legs, body still tingling pleasantly.

The delicate moans from your lips fan the flame inside him. Aymeric leans over you and pleads with his deep blue eyes. “Round two?”

[dholwrites]

I hope this is okay to ask, but how would each of the undateable NPCs handle the WoL's demise (as they know it barring Echo shenanigans)

Aymeric

Aymeric was still recovering when they went to find you. There was a sinking feeling in his gut. You’d taken his place. He didn’t know how or when you offered yourself up to take his place, but one moment he was locked in a windowless cell, bruised and bleeding. Another he was face down on the biting cold alleyway. Lucia said that he was just a walk away from his office. The healer told him that he was lucky; most people with his injuries would have died in just a bell toll.

Aymeric had no concerns for his health, he was more worried about yours. Lucia refused to allow any news to pass through the door until a healer confirmed his health. It was when he finally had the strength to push himself out of bed that the results reached his ears. The mission was a failure. The Knights of the Round had been merciless.

He blames himself for your death. Aymeric wished he could go back and take all the pain for himself. The survivor’s guilt gnaws at his consciousness, things he should have done and things he never got to say. He swamps himself with paperwork, writing paper after paper until he passes out from exhaustion or Lucia kicks him out of the office. The cycle repeats over and over as long as the guilt settles on his shoulders. His steps are heavier, his resolve falters. Aymeric will still press on, for the people. For you. For what you represent.

Estinien

He was still conscious when Nidhogg took over. Stuck in his head, he’s forced as his nemesis puts his body and weapon to the test over and over against his allies, against friends, against you. Estinien had a semblance of hope that you would be able to end him, to end the pain of seeing the many faces of his allies meet an end at his spear. Maybe if he’s lucky it will be swift and painless. He should have known better. Luck is not at his side, she was never by his side.

You were soft, so fragile and innocent. Even in your final moments, you would still smile at him with your eyes. A face that he wants to cradle in his hands and keep in his arms forever. Your body stumbles back, keeping a firm grip on his arm. A blinding red pain fills his mind, like something tearing off pieces of his own skin. The next time he opened his eyes was to the ceiling of the infirmary with a teary eyed Alphinaud looming over him.

Estinien left as soon as he could move, he took up his old spear and the bare necessities then simply slipped off to the nearest forest. He needed a quiet place where he can piece back together his mind, and vent out the frustration he had for being so weak. He disappeared for months without a word. Everyone else had small rumors of a white haired lancer traveling across the land easily felling giant beasts to indicate that he was alive. By the time he returned to Ishgard... it was difficult to tell if he’d changed. He had piled the guilt onto his shoulders, using it as the fuel for his actions. Your life may have died in his hands, he’ll be damned if your legacy dies too.

Thancred

He faintly remembered reaching out and trying to grasp your hand. There were just a few ilms stretched out between his fingers and yours, yet it felt like you were on the other side of the world. His entire body aches at even the slightest movement, jolts of pain running through his body like electricity. Still he reaches out. Believing if he just managed to take your hand, everything might just fall into place. You look so serene, simply laying there with your hand presented to him.

A dark figure loomed over the both of you. Thancred knew who it is. The Ascian carelessly pulled you from the ground by your collar and threw you over his shoulder. His mind too tired to even comprehend what was happening. A cold shiver fills his body, like it understood that you were no longer there. All he could do was lay face first in the ground and watch as they drag your unconscious body through the black portal. He was alone again.

Thancred put all his efforts into helping the search for you. At least as much as he was allowed. After the incident, Minfilia has him under close watch to make sure that he doesn’t start overworking himself again. He can tell when people look at him, when their gazes turn into pity. He needs time as much as he needs support. Parts of him start to fall back on self destructive ways: drinking and flirting with the nearest lady to forget his troubles. The quick and easy pleasures allowing him to forget root of all his stress, only for him to feel it double down on him the following day. It’ll take time for him to recover, to snap out of the daze he’s put himself in. He wonders how many times Y’shtola has to rescue him from a bar fight before he finally learns his lesson.

G’raha Tia

The second you defeated the Darkness, everyone was booking it to the portal. You, Nero, and G’raha were on a crunch to make it to the light. He could see the light get smaller and smaller as you all approached the end of the walkway. You’re just trailing behind the both of them, clearly exhausted from the grand battle you just had. Yet he’s sure that you’ll make it.

G’raha patted himself down, making sure that everything was in the right place. Hands, check. Tail, check. Ears, double check. Nero was even here, likely cursing out the fact that he owes Cid now. G’raha turns to you, or at least he thought where you would be. It occurred to him something was wrong when he looked around the people lingering in the throne room. You were missing. You didn’t make it through.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. You were gone. You were actually gone. Then a thought occurred to him. He could open the portal again. With the Allagan eye, he had full control of the tower. There was nothing stopping him from reopening again. His red eyes were drawn back to Cid and Nero. Along with a few others, the both of them start to head out and leave the tower one by one. As if they’d forgotten the same person that walked their path. He clutched his hand over his chest and cast his eyes to the large throne. Tomorrow, he’ll take full control. He’ll bring you back by his own hands. Even if that means shutting everyone out.

Cid

He knew Omega was trouble from the start. The blasted thing was only toying with him, you, and Alpha. All in the name of experiments with ‘flawed logic’ and constantly changing rules. It was just a matter of time before Omega decided to take it seriously and finish off the test for good. Cid didn’t know how quickly he would turn.

Caught by surprise, you quickly became encased in a bubble which hovered just a fulm above the ground. He rushed over to smash it with his fist, sending only small ripples across the surface. There was nothing he could do. This wasn’t a problem that would wait for him to find a solution. Cid pressed his hand against the surface, barely scraping at the surface. All he could do is watch and wish. He begged to the gods he never worshipped before for something, anything, to stop all the pain you feel.

The workshop had been quiet, with the only thing filling it being the sound of Cid tinkering away again. He’s slowly becoming a shell of himself. Cid loses almost all sense of time after locking himself in a deep dark room, focused solely on the problem before his eyes. He nudges himself towards to breaking point. Eating only when his stomach sends hunger pains through his body or sleeping when his eyes couldn’t blink awake anymore. Jessie makes small comments about it. Talking about how the clothes he usually wears seem too loose and baggy, or that his complexion is starting to match his hair. He knows that she means well, but he can’t bring himself to get better.

Alphinaud

It was just another battle, another war for you to head into and clean up. A way of life that he’s gotten used to. Alphinaud almost has everything planned down to the breath. After your triumph over their foes, he’ll find you later in the day to invite you out for dinner. Nothing too fancy, but just private enough where patrons would leave you alone. The boy was daydreaming about all the moments he’d share with you, all the sweet, suave things he would say to sweep you off your feet.

The notice of your death fell on deaf ears. His mind's gone blank for the first time in ages. Alphinaud remained sitting by the entrance of the headquarters, waiting for you to pass through the doors. His head jerked every time someone opened the door, sending him out of his seat to see if you were just a few steps behind. The rest of the Scions couldn’t find the heart to remind him.

It’s like he lost a part of himself. You were his confidant, his friend, his lover. Other than his own sister, no one else has seen every side of him. He’s never felt so insync with someone before. Alphinaud tries to move on, he really does. Yet over and over again, he caught himself waiting for you. He find gaps in the conversations, just a breath where he would expect you to speak up and fill the space with your comments. Every meal, every battle, and every trip feels like something is missing. The space you once occupied is heavy. He didn’t realize how heavy until he broke down crying at the thought of emptying your room.

Haurchefant

He didn’t reach you in time. The crack of lightning flying far past him, piercing the center of your back. A small spark of hope in him grew as it hit something that seemed to encircle you, a translucent shield rippling with the sheer force of spear. It wasn’t enough. With a blink, the spear enters the center of your back, forcing you into the cold ground. The breath was knocked out of him as if he was the one sent to the ground. He whips around, searching for the source. Almost expecting, he would say almost wishing, another spear pointed at him this time. To join you in your last moments.

Haurchefant tosses off his shield and scoops you up into his arms. Everyone gathered around him, yet they couldn’t offer a word of comfort. It was too late. Too late to save you, to catch up to Thordan, for him to tell you his feelings. He desperately grasps at your hands, as if he could prevent you from leaving with just a touch. It was too late for you. The smile you graced him only made his efforts more desperate. “Come back, please come back. I’ll do anything. Come back to me, I’ll protect you. I swear on my life.”

Haurchefant still welcomes new adventurers in to stay, but there’s a hint of melancholy in his voice. Each and every one of them reminds him of you. Their weapons, mannerisms, even hair colors. The camp can see the pauses he takes throughout his days. His lingering gaze upon the dark towers of Ishgard during patrols. the barely muffled sobbing in the dead of night. The kisses he presses to the wedding band that hung around his neck. The effects of your death run deeper than blades and fangs, and there are days he wished for them more than anything.

Hien

He didn’t realize he hated it until long after he escaped. You didn’t give him much of a decision before you sent him and Alphinaud on their way so you could deal with the new primal before them. The feeling didn’t settle well with him. Alphinaud tried to assure him this wasn’t anything new to you. You’ve faced primals thousands of times before, surely this new one wouldn’t scratch the surface of your experience.

They came back to bodies. Three to be exact. Hien allows Gotetsu space to mourn over the loss of his adoptive daughter while everyone gathers around you. No one dared step forward to touch you. There were feathers scattered around you like fallen petals. It softened the blow to his heart. You were like an angel, a fallen angel. Hien falls to his knees beside you, and presses a delicate kiss on your forehead. Fingers brush against curve of your jaw. He fears if his hands turn too rough, it would wake you up from your slumber. Even in death, you looked serene and beautiful.

Hien gives you an honorable funeral, joining the rest of his nation to mourn the loss of a hero. His mourning lasted longer than everyone else. You’ve sacrificed so much, offering a helping hand to drive away the Garlean invaders. Yet at your weakest moment, he couldn’t offer you anything in return. Hien pushes forward. With the help of Yugiri and your many friends, he continues to take the steps you would have wanted him to take. When you died, you took his heart with you. He could never find someone else like you. So he waits, for time to take him to your embrace.