#ashborn x reader

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𝗳𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗺; solo leveling

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧(𝙨); Ashborn (Brilliant Fragment of Light)/(Shadow Monarch)

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜; a little bit of angst, mentions of betrayal

𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨; this is my first time writing for a fandom/character so it might be a little rough. I might make a few edits here and there in the future. Also Ruler reader in the first half.

Can i get some headcanons for Antares, Ashborn and Tarnak, falling in love with someone under their army thats super weak physically but makes it up in their skills as support. (Maybe a healer, a mage, or a blacksmith)

You sure can! I hope that you enjoy these little head canons and thank you so much for requesting!! You are also the first person to send in an ask for these 3 monarchs!!

Antares is known for hating weak members of his army, but for some reason, you were the exception to that hatred. Even he didn’t understand it. 

He always tried to figure out why he was never able to kill you off. There was just something about you that made him refuse everytime he started contemplating that idea.

Then he saw your healing abilities for the first time on the battlefield. You may not be strong physically, but your healing aptitude was beyond what Antares could believe. 

As time went on, Antares found himself watching you train. He would find himself watching over you when the rest of his army started to pick on you. 

Over time, Antares slowly began to fall for you. He didn’t understand how a monarch such as himself could fall in love or even know what love is but he didn’t question it. 

You noticed something off about Antares when he suddenly started to get close to you. 

Not minding it at all, you found it quite nice when he would brush his hand against yours, your stand to your side, glaring at members of his army that made fun of you.

Now, your hand is always intertwined with his. You notice a slight upturn in his lips as he directs his army. 

During a battle, you rushed towards a dragon to heal it, but it snapped its jaw at you, glaring darkly. Antares didn’t take kindly to that. 

That dragon disappeared and was never heard from or seen again. 

Antares commanding his army to allow you to check over their wounds and heal them if necessary.

As his feelings started to get stronger, Antares got more and more protective of you. 

Antares is not a very PDA type of person, but will hug you and press kisses to your face behind closed doors. 

During a battle, you were heavily injured causing both his dragon army and himself to go crazy. 

No one was allowed to hurt you. NO ONE.

You had been a part of Ashborns army most of your life, but you were never that strong. You didn’t have the aptitude to even fight alongside his army.

However, Ashborn seemed to really like having you in his army. You were, after all, the blacksmith under Ashborns rule. 

You were tasked with making Ashborns weapons along with a few of his shadows weapons. 

One day, while in the process of making Ashborns signature weapon, the monarch appeared before you, watching you work. 

His body language is different from the usual dark, emotionless attitude he would always give you or his army. 

Ashborn started growing more protective of you, always snapping if one of his soldiers from his shadow army got angry with you. 

He would appear when it was time for you to make a weapon for him and watch as you delicately worked on the weapon.

Ashborn noticed the way he had slowly started to fall for you. 

He tried to ignore the feeling, but everytime he did, the feeling would only come back twice as strong

He noticed the way you took pride in crafting not only his weapon, but his shadow army’s weapons. Making sure they were ready for the toughest of battles. 

He finally believed he could tell you that he liked you, and that he was starting to fall for you but something in his mind told him you would never love him back.

He still told you. Came to you while you were working, pulled you from your seat and told you his feelings.

You were shocked of course. Who would have thought the Shadow Monarch Ashborn would fall for his lowly blacksmith

But you had also fallen for him. The way he commanded his army, and the way he was so gentle when talking with you. It made your heart pound in your chest.

The way he shows you that he truly loves you, is by pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, and his breathing soft. That’s how you know.

You were constantly picked on for not being as strong as some of the other mages in Tarnak’s army but that didn’t stop you from serving him with your everything.

You had been tending to something of his asking when one of the other mages played a trick on you. 

Tarnak happened to see it and killed off the mages that hurt you watching as they pleaded and begged for mercy. 

He didn’t understand why he killed those mages to begin with. He didn’t understand why it made him so angry when they hurt you like that. 

Then it clicked. He fell in love with you. Not because of your power, but because you were simple, strong in what you could do, but always caring towards him. 

The others served him out of fear. You served him out of pure loyalty. Something he hadn’t experienced before. 

What made falling in love with you easy was the fact you were only nice to him and cold to everyone else. 

The other monarchs? You couldn’t care less about them. You wouldn’t acknowledge them. Or even bow when they appeared in the room. 

The monarchs cornered Tarnak and demanded that you receive punishment for not bowing to them during a meeting. 

Tarnak rolled his eyes simply stating that you had no obligation to treat them the same way you treated him. 

Pissed, the other monarchs continued to demand before he grew angry. He shouted that you didn’t have to bow to them because you were not serving any of them. That you were his and belonged only to him. 

Tarnak refused to show up to any other meetings on account that he was just extremely angry that they demanded you to bow to them. 

You picked up on his anger and did everything to make him smile again. To see that slight happiness that filled his eyes the last time you made him laugh. 

Practicing your magic in front of him or around him always puts him at ease. Your magic was so simple yet so beautiful and delicate.

Aww that's so cute 🥺

______. ._______

A Touch of Light

Ashborn was not accustomed to touch.

In his long existence, hands had only ever reached for him in violence. Grasping, tearing, demanding—always seeking power, never offering warmth. Even before he became the Shadow Monarch, before the heavens cast him down, he had been a god of destruction. Untouchable. Distant. Alone.

And yet, there you were.

A mere human, standing before him without fear. Your presence was as soft as the wind that passed through the ruins where he often lingered, a place long abandoned by time. You were nothing like the beings he had known before. You were not made of divinity, nor of monstrous power. And yet, somehow, you unsettled him more than any warrior ever had.

It started small.

The first time you touched him, it had been an accident—your fingertips brushing against the edge of his armored gauntlet as you reached for something beside him. He had gone rigid, shadows curling instinctively around him like a beast prepared to strike. But you had only blinked at him, unafraid.

"You’re colder than I expected," you murmured.

He did not respond. What was there to say? He had not known warmth in centuries.

The second time, it was intentional.

You had found him sitting beneath the remnants of an ancient tree, its branches long dead but still standing. He often stayed there, watching the sky, lost in thoughts that spanned eternity.

"You look tired," you said.

He did not answer. A god does not grow weary. But something in the way you frowned at him made his chest feel... heavy.

Before he could react, you reached out, resting your palm against his forearm. Not in battle. Not in reverence. Just touch—gentle, warm, grounding.

He did not move.

No one had ever touched him like that.

"You’re really cold," you murmured again, rubbing his arm absentmindedly, as if trying to bring warmth to something long since frozen. "Does it hurt?"

He stared at you. The question made no sense. Pain was an old companion, one he had long since stopped acknowledging. But this? This strange, unfamiliar warmth spreading through him? He did not know what to make of it.

And yet, he did not pull away.

Over time, it became a pattern.

Small, fleeting touches. A hand brushing against his when you handed him something. The press of your palm against his back as you walked beside him. One time, you had even reached up, brushing stray strands of his dark hair away from his face without a second thought.

He did not understand.

Why did you do these things?

Why did you not recoil from him, as all others had?

One night, as you both sat in silence beneath the ruined sky, he asked you.

"Why do you touch me?"

You tilted your head, as if the question itself was strange. "Because I want to."

He frowned. That was not an answer.

Seeing his confusion, you sighed and shifted closer, your knee brushing against his. "You’ve been alone for a long time, haven’t you?"

Alone.

The word settled over him like a weight. He had never considered it before. He had been beyond such things, beyond the need for companionship. Or so he had believed.

"You don’t have to be," you continued, voice softer now. "I don’t know what you’ve been through, Ashborn. But... you don’t always have to be untouchable."

Untouchable. That, too, had been a truth he had never questioned.

Until now.

Without thinking, he reached out.

It was awkward—hesitant, almost clumsy. His hand hovered near yours, unsure of how to proceed. He had wielded power beyond comprehension, had ended civilizations with a mere gesture. And yet, the simple act of reaching for your hand felt... foreign.

You noticed. Instead of waiting, you closed the distance yourself, intertwining your fingers with his.

Warmth.

A slow, quiet thing. Not the fire of battle, nor the blaze of destruction. Just warmth—steady, certain, human.

"You see?" You smiled at him, giving his hand a small squeeze. "Not so bad, right?"

Ashborn did not answer. He only stared at your joined hands, at the quiet miracle of it.

And for the first time in countless centuries, he felt something shift deep within him.

Something fragile.

Something warm.

---

The change was gradual.

At first, Ashborn remained still whenever you touched him, as if uncertain whether he should allow it. Then, slowly, he began to accept it. He no longer flinched when your fingers brushed his, nor did he tense when you leaned against him on colder nights.

But an embrace? That was different.

You never forced it, never pushed him beyond what he was ready for. But one evening, when exhaustion weighed heavy in your own limbs, you found yourself dozing off beside him, your head naturally resting against his shoulder.

He froze.

For a long moment, he did nothing.

Then, cautiously, he shifted—not away from you, but toward you. The movement was small, hesitant, but unmistakable. You felt the tension ease from his frame, the weight of his presence settling more comfortably against yours.

It was the first time he had ever let himself be held.

And it would not be the last.

---

One night, the stars burned bright, casting silver light upon the ruined world around you.

Ashborn stood beside you, watching the sky, silent as ever.

Then, without warning, he turned to face you fully.

You blinked up at him, surprised by the intensity of his gaze. "What is it?"

He did not answer.

Instead, he reached out—deliberately, purposefully—and cupped your cheek in his hand.

It was the first time he had ever touched you on his own.

His palm was cool against your skin, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they traced the curve of your jaw. It was as if he were memorizing the sensation, committing the warmth of you to memory.

You leaned into his touch instinctively, eyes softening. "Ashborn..."

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone. A quiet exhale left him, something close to wonder flickering in his expression.

"I did not know," he murmured, voice almost reverent.

"Did not know what?" you whispered.

"That touch could feel like this."

You covered his hand with your own, pressing his palm more firmly against your cheek. "And how does it feel?"

He hesitated, searching for the right words. Then, at last, he answered.

"Warm."

A slow smile spread across your face. "Good. Then we'll just have to make sure you get used to it."

And for the first time in centuries, the Shadow Monarch let himself believe in something other than war.

He let himself believe in your warmth.

___

Things to consider before you do the deed with Ashborn (and why you should sleep with him).