if anyone’s here after like, 3? years? i salute and love you! i kinda fell off the face of tumblr earth after the app kind got frustrating to be on. i realized that most of the fandoms i was in, like COD, DC (less DC), and others only really saw traction on smut posts. i never really enjoyed writing smut as often as i did, but i felt like any projects i tried that were sfw, or even light nsfw, never really got anywhere. i also disappeared because college life hit me and i had like no time to do anything lol… which i kinda still dont but i’ve got better at managing it.
anyway, i really do miss the DC fandom. you all are so sweet and were honestly amazing supporters even when i was a tumblr noob. i want to get back into writing like i used to because i miss having my little corner of people who ate up all my word vomit, and maybe i’ll try, but i just wanted to come back like i do occasionally and see what’s become of my accounts.
SYNOPSIS — Adler believed he had left you behind in the Cold War. Unbeknownst to him, you were festering in the very shadow of terror he was chasing.
GENERAL WARNINGS — fem! anatomy reader, smut (undetermined if explicit or mentioned), mentions of mind control (MK Ultra, Cradle), spoilers for BOCW and BO6, weapon violence, depictions of insanity, hallucinations.
GENERAL NOTE — this series is in the works and plans are still in development. any ideas or comments are welcome!
Amidst the faded movement of Harrow’s face, the camera pans, catching the glint of metal and a static laden voice that sends chills down his spine.
“Cut the feeds, we’re being watched.”
Adler never believed he’d see you again. He had watched you fall to your death in the jungles of Vietnam 20 years ago. Yet, here you are, casting a glare that seems to pierce through the screen before the footage dies.
He’s unaware of the clamming of his hands and paling of his face until all eyes are suddenly on him.
“…shit.”
PART ONE | DEAD IN WINTER HARBOR
He thought this was a figment of his imagination. Sleepless nights riddled with guilt and regret, staring at him like he was a speck of dust in the air. Yet, it was real, you were real, real as the cold press of the barrel on his head.
This was madness.
PART TWO | NO WIND OF BLAME
If you cannot recover, you can no longer live. It’s time to wake up.
Werewolf! Ghost claims that he’s hard to read. (NSFW WARNING)
You see the way his thick grey tufts of fur on his ears twitch when Soap throws an insult his way, silently opposing the blank stare that’s sent his way. Or, the light swoosh of his tail brushing against your legs when you pull his mask down for a kiss. The longer this goes on, the more repeatedly it’ll thump against your leg, drawing frustrated sighs from him as you know he’s trying to control it.
The best part comes when your hand is wrapped delicately around his cock, rubbing pre down his length. You can’t help the satisfying smirk that creeps up on your face as you watch his ears start to retreat with your ministrations. When they’re fully pressing against his hair, you know he’s close. A look of annoyance counters the smile on your face, but that same twitch of his ears betrays him as you speed up.
“That’s right. Keep goin’, lovie.”
If he’s especially over the edge, his hands will retreat to the bedsheets, careful not to catch your skin in the emergence of his claws. It’s a sight you revel in; ears pinned down against his head, light beads of sweat gathering on his face, claws threatening to tear your silken sheets. There’s pleasure written all over him, no matter how hard he tries to conceal it.
Adler taking care of a drunk/and or high reader😭😭 THERES NOT ENOUGH ADLER FICS IM GONNA CRY I LOVR HIM
AO3 | NAV
wc — 1k
author’s note — hii sorry this took so long!! arqhms we’re-so-back arc took a little longer than expected, but here a little drabble for you. still learning how to write for adler, he’s a little tricky, but i’ll cook when BO6 comes out 🫡
Your head is pounding.
The world around you is shrouded in a dark shear. Blurred sit the lights that shine down on shaking hands, gently tapping against the ring of a nearly emptied glass. Ice swirls and clashes as you slide the drink back and forth, in and out, steady as the breaths that pool from your mouth.
In. Out. You’re convinced that you’re fine. You just need another drink– something bitter to wind you down and help you forget. That’s all it does, anyway. All you can do is forget, and drink it all down once you remember.
You raise your hand, silently waving to the woman who served your last four, five shots to you. Her head falls into half of a nod, eyes moving from yours as she stills, cloth in hand slowing on the rim of the glass she cleans.
“That’ll be enough for tonight, thanks.”
Your eyebrows narrow as her nod changes to acknowledgment toward the voice behind you, sending a look of sympathy your way as she turns. Sighing, you quickly down the last watered down drops in your glass, swiveling sideways to glare at a pair of tan aviators looking your way.
“You can’t tell me-”
“You reek of whiskey, can smell it all over you.” He’s quick to cut you off, ice clinking together as he pulls the glass from you, sliding it out of reach. “It doesn’t take a genius to tell you’ve had enough.”
Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, your gaze wanders down to his jeans. Your features contort into a resemblance of a sneer, finger jutting out to point at the outline of a pack of cigarettes in his pocket.
“And who says what’s enough for you?”
A few moments of silence pass; you don’t miss the quick roll of his tongue over his lips. The aviators can’t hide the vision of him briefly closing his eyes, searching for what he’ll say next. It’s something you know he always does when he’s trying to pick his next words carefully.
Drunk or sober, Adler is always logical with the way he talks to you. You believe it stems from the desire to never give the sense of a false promise. They sit reserved for nights of uncertainty, unsure of whether tomorrow is a guarantee. Whispers of his desires only seem to visit you in your dreams.
“Smoking doesn’t impact my ability to think.” You sense his gaze flick between your face and legs. “I could go through an entire pack and still be able to carry myself out of here. Half a bottle of Jack Daniels prevents you from getting up and walking out of here.”
Adler doesn’t miss the look of defiance that crosses your face after he’s done speaking. Following the clearance of your tab, he leans back, arms settling over one another.
“Go on, then. If you can get yourself out of here, you can tell me when to stop for the rest of my life.”
Antagonizing, snide. It’s the tactic you’ve seen more times than you can count, saccharine tongue used to taunt and beckon failure. However, the amount of alcohol in your stomach lets his provocation slither into your brain like honey, liquid courage screaming at you to shut him up.
You barely lift your shoes off of the barstool’s bottom level when your vision goes blurry, large spots of black making the floor seem akin to the wall 10 feet away. The rush of fear that you’re falling is swiftly diminished as a pair of hands pull you forward, and you’re met with the brush of cashmere on your cheek.
You’re too drunk to notice the action. He’s quick, the way that his fingers gently card through your hair, the feeling gone as a summer breeze washes over your skin. However, the warmth lingers, and you lift your head to look at him, eyes brimming with tears due to the gradual worsening of the pounding in your head.
“Take me home.” You drawl, arms blindly reaching around his torso, locking together. “Please, Russ.”
You hear his scoff, lightly chiding, but you can barely make out the amused quirk of his lips as he stands up, slowly situating your feet onto the floor.
“Walk with me.”
You do as you’re told, whining incoherently at him as he loops your arm around his neck. Adler calls a thanks to the bartender, and you stumble over your feet two or three times before you reach the door. The cool rush of night is quick to dust your face as you move outside, a harsh contrast to the contents of your stomach that causes you to mindlessly shiver.
“Adler...”
Your complaint is met with a soft click of the tongue, yet, the sensation of warmed leather falls over your shoulders within seconds. A lopsided smile graces your face, and you allow your eyes to roam from chestnut strands that fall over his aviators to the polished black leather on his feet.
“And the next layer?”
A gentle push follows your remark, and you scoff dramatically, arms looping around Adler’s neck as he spins you back toward him. You grin as he tilts your head up against his chest, silently celebrating the empty streets that allow him to hold you as he does.
“Does the princess require any more care?”
Still heavily whiskey blooded, you hum, neck craning up to meet his gaze.
“Just your bed.”
You don’t expect a response, and he doesn’t give one. Satisfied, you lean back into the soft fabric of his turtleneck, knowing the soft strokes of his hands along your back won't leave you alone tonight.
dear tumblr i am alive. trying so hard to get back into writing but the only aspirations i have are series that will take a while to write. i miss cod though and am so so hype for bo6, WE’RE SO BACK ADLER!!!
reqs are definitely open, help a brotha out if you’re bored 🙏
uhhh noticed that i haven’t posted for cod in a fat minute and wanted to say that i’m still writing for it!!! i’m just super burnt out writing wise and can barely gather inspo for anything. i have a LOT of cod drafts though and plan on finishing them up when i can.
hsr brainrot is real rn though. cod followers pls don’t give up on me 🙏 my inbox is always open if you have requests or wanna chat 🫶🫶
In a crowd full of flashing lights and dancing people, Boothill allows you to take his hat off.
Albeit, he’s extremely drunk. The scent of bourbon trails off of his breath as you lean in, swiping the black leather off of his head, spinning its brim between your fingers. His voice is tinged with a daze as he grumbles at you to give it back to him, but doesn’t stop your admiration of the medallion fastened to the red ribbon that matches his eye.
He’s especially silent when you slip the hat onto your head, coy smile plastered on your face. His brain nearly short circuits at your bravery, and, while he would normally tease you for being this bold to a ranger, all rational reasoning is cut off by the alcohol.
So, Boothill thrusts his drink into a stranger’s hands, and grabs you by the top of his hat before you can run.
“Come here, you little minx. You know what you did.”
The rasp of his mechanical voice box meets your ears, and you can do nothing but stare at him sheepishly as he tilts your chin upward. Wordlessly, he dives forward, lips crashing into yours, teeth poking at your tongue as you embarrassingly try to scurry away. A slight crowd gathers as you drag Boothill out of the bar, all whilst he nips at your neck and starts to loosen his clothes without shame.
You remind yourself to try again when he’s not drunk.
WARNINGS — slight 2.1 spoilers, lowk angst, word vomit about aventurine’s lack of self esteem, sappy unconditional positive regard, handsy aven bc he’s touch starved, preesetablished relationship
SUMMARY — aventurine does not understand the twist of fate that allows him to stand beside you.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — the lack of official aventurine art is making me gnaw at the bars of my enclosure, sloppy headers for now!!
Aventurine isn’t sure how to feel.
The low hues of noon cast a gentle light upon his gloves, giving light to the sea of shattered stones that lie in his grasp. A sea of dazzling green, torn and fragmented beyond repair.
He’s sure he sees it now, a reflection of the wildly wretched life he’s lived sitting in the palms of his hands. The remnants of the only control he’s managed to retain in his life frail as dust in the winds. SIlent he remains, still as a pound dog that has had its bone ripped away from it.
It isn’t until he feels the ghost of your hands along his own that Aventurine realizes his heart is racing. You spin him to face you, and his heart lurches at the worry that etches itself upon your features. He fights with narratives in his head that play games of fallacies, yet the scorch of his devotion to you leaves his tongue tied.
Facades are a game that come like second nature to Aventurine, but he swears he will not do to you what he deems business in his schemes. Instead, he pulls at what little honesty remains in the depths of his heart and his breath shutters.
“Guess I’m back to where I was five years ago.”
The words come out quiet, too soft for his nature and simply small. It’s a confession that makes him wonder how many other pieces of his life will break apart until the whole is severed. There’s a fear that lingers within, bubbling to the surface as he attempts to withdraw from your hold.
Aventurine does not believe that his life holds any meaning with or without the cornerstone. Yet, that title made him seem as if he truly meant something, and without it, what little reign he held over his life disappeared.
He believes you deserve fire, yet he is no more than an ember flickering on a stoked match. He cannot burn in flames bright enough to keep you.
Silently, he awaits your scold, the reprimand that deems him as worthless as he believes himself to be. A reminder that it was all but a stroke of luck that brought you to him, a trial that has run out as you see him for who he truly is, barren and scared.
His hands shake as you guide them to pour his shattered stone into the box at his feet. Shock etches itself upon his features, and he looks to you with nothing but raw, unparalleled fear as you speak.
“You will always be the same to me.”
Aventurine does not understand the twist of fate that allows him to stand beside you. Single handedly, you vowed to peer into the wasteland that was his soul, and devoted yourself to his inherently unjust destiny. And, even as his life’s worth is ripped away from him, you love him unchanged.
An insatiable want carves at his soul like a day yearns for night, and Aventurine knows no other place to put his hands but around you in embrace. His hold is tight, as if he imagines that you will fade away if he abandons it. Yet, the weave of your fingers through his hair is enough to tell him that you’re no illusion, a sensation that will cease to disappear as long as he lives.
“Let me see you, Aven.”
Your words flow as lost prayers on the horizon do, and Aventurine retracts his grasp on you, allowing his knees to bring him to the ground. Your hands, gentle as streambeds in the spring, cup his face, running over spilt tears from keeled eyelashes. Instinctively, his hands latch onto your wrists, desperately chasing after your warmth and attempting to sear it into his skin.
Aventurine outwardly sighs as you run your fingers along his jaw, stopping to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind his ear. Although your gaze rocks with the deepest seas of adoration, the child deep within his heart beckons him to gamble with his luck once again. A risk that trails the faint quiver of his lips, as he would utter no such words to any other being in the entire cosmos.
“Will you kiss me?”
Wordlessly, you nod, and Aventurine closes his eyes. The soft touch of your lips quells the troubles that brew within, igniting fire against endless water. His hands fall to his lap, melting in the passion of your touch, and his heart craves to continue beating as if you are the oxygen that fills his lungs.
He refuses to leave you until there is no air left for him to breathe. Gasping for the vitality of you that runs rampant through his veins, Aventurine tilts his head upward, and your heart flutters at the gentle smile that greets your gaze. Brilliant hues of purple and blue shimmer amidst the night, and his hold on you returns, hands moving to interlock themselves with your own. It’s the same gesture that holds you in the deep of dusk, never waning as lost prayers to the universe whisper behind closed doors.
The words that follow are never far from you, spinning like soft woven silk that rests in your dreams when he’s away. Your eyes shut as he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, spreading warmth to your cheeks that subdue the chills of frosted wind. In yearn, you wait, reveling in the soft fan of his breath over your skin.
WARNINGS — spoilers for penacony’s storyline, enemies (??) to lovers, slowburn fr (it gets good i promise) mentions of genocide, mentions of child exploitation (not explicit), weapons & violence, smut, fem anatomy reader, sub!aventurine, mentions of traumatic events, one bed troupe
SUMMARY — Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last.
You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — AHHH i love aventurine so much he made me write again <333 i will defend this man to the end of the earth i swear. also holy word vomit, this is officially my longest piece!!
“BREAKING NEWS: Reports incoming that the International Peace Corporation has been seen with an employee suspected of Avgin origin from the planet Sigonia-IV. All habitants from this world were thought to have been wiped out or lost to the galaxy, so the appearance of this mysterious individual has grasped the attention of–”
The broadcast slowly fades into the background, overtaken by the synth and snare of a song that lightly shakes the ground at your feet.
Sometimes you’re better of dead–
“Oh, you think you’ll be an asset? You’ll have to learn to make tough decisions on the go here if you want to succeed, so tell me…”
There’s a gun in your hand, it’s pointing at your head–
“You want to help this clan? Help claim this world and rid it from the remaining filth that roams?”
There’s a piercing screech amidst the bar, the high pitched wail of the speaker blasting the music fighting against the volume. A few seconds pass before the song picks back up again, a few lyrics skimmed through.
Which do you choose, a hard or soft option? (How much do you need?)
In a West End town, a dead end world, The East End boys and the West End girls–
“...”
“Before your initiation, you must make a prayer to the winds and mountains. Do you swear to devote your thoughts and beliefs to them, and reclaim the glory of Sigonia-IV?”
We’ve got no future, we’ve got no past
Here today, built to last–
“I swear.”
The bass fades and you’re left standing amidst a crowd of chatting people, some high on buzz, others passed out beside the restroom. Your eyes slowly fix forward, coming to a halt as the masses shift in formation, curving in a circle around the biggest table in the casino. Lined with forest green felt and red chips, hands bang against the surface joined in a cry of frustration.
“God damn it. This is rigged!” A player screams, hot-faced and teeth grit. “YOU!”
He stomps his way around the table, stopping at the dealer’s chair, failing to gain any attention despite the magnitude of his boots on the floor. In retaliation, the man takes a fistfull of the dealer’s hair, spinning him violently around and grabbing the collar around his neck.
Seldom have there been times where you didn’t see him in this sort of setting, a man with glasses that carried the same orange tint as the drink in his hand, die mounted between his fingers as he speaks with a wealthy patron. His words weave like velvet on a fine tailored suit as he invites you to play a game of chance, and before the game has even begun, you’ve lost.
His name is Aventurine, and, just as his reputation precedes him, the corners of his lips turn upward as you enter his field of view. He is never one to be down on luck.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to exit the casino. The drinks have riled you up a bit too much, and I’m afraid you’re no longer sober enough to keep playing.”
The smell of outlandish alcohol hits your nose in a foul wave as he turns, rudely shrugging your hand off of his shoulder.
“And who do you think you are? Protecting this weasel like that.” You take a step back as he advances, completely abandoning his grip on Aventurine as his gaze focuses on the emblem tailored to your shoulder. “You’re in on this scam too, aren’t you? Fuckin’ IPC, always looking to take money from people.”
A sizable crowd has gathered at this point, and with that, guards are quick to stand at your side. You tilt your head to the side, extending a hand to gesture at the coat draped over his empty chair.
“You may gather your things and leave now, sir. Refusal to comply will result in you being forcibly removed.”
A few more seconds of seething stares pass before he grumbles an insult toward you and rushes to gather his things, attempting to push the guards following him away. You sigh, turning to the dealer, who is now comfortable in his chair, feathered hat placed neatly on his lap as he shuffles the pool of cards pushed his way.
“Alright folks, now that’s over with, how about another–”
“Mr. Aventurine unfortunately won’t be able to join you all this round.” You quickly cut him off, laying the newly layered deck of cards onto the table. “May I have a word, please?”
The blonde takes a glance between you and the rest of the patrons at the table before nodding, allowing a charismatic smile to decorate his face as he slides the cards forward.
“Of course. Miss Antonia, would you please find another dealer to step in for the remaining games?”
He gathers a kind nod from a nearby waitress, before turning to follow you outside of the casino. As the door opens, strong drafts of icy wind blow against your face, and you hear a shiver from behind.
“Sheesh, couldn’t we at least have talked inside? I didn’t come prepared to stand in the cold…”
You send a look his way, and Aventurine’s hands rise, lips pursed in faux apology. He pushes his glasses farther into his nose bridge as you lean against the casino’s exterior wall, shielding yourself from the chill. It’s clear he’s not taking you seriously, stifling out a yawn and rubbing his eyes before he even spares you a glance.
“Here to lecture me about the, wait…” His eyes suddenly narrow, honing in on your uniform. “Who are you?”
You remain silent, watching as he taps a few fingers against his forehead, thinking. The talisman of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department sits firmly laid into your uniform. A smoothly carved onyx, inferior to the cornerstone you know he possesses and certainly lacking in power. His eyes linger on the stone for a few moments, biting the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head back up.
“Never seen that stone before..” He says after a few seconds, voice substantially lower. “What rank are you?”
His gaze is opaque, on guard. You resist the urge to bite your lip, figuring lying in this kind of situation wouldn’t be the best decision. Subconsciously, you bring a hand up to your stone, adjusting your coat flap before bringing it back down.
“P39.”
His eyebrows form a sharp line, but his lips remain flat. The lens behind thick shades linger on the stone, burning into the lights that reflect off of the darkness. He’s never seen someone who isn’t a part of the Ten Cornerstones wear something like this, so who are you?
“If you’re here to try and convince me to do something, I’m not interested. I’ve had enough orders drilled into my head since I came to Jarilo-VI.”
His forefront is confident, but you can see the hand that lingers at his side, struggling to stay put. It reeks of mild uncertainty, and a lack of security. He doesn’t feel safe when he’s not in control.
“I’m here to tell you that your assignment’s changed.” Your response is straight and to the point. There’s no room to betray any underlying feelings of guilt you may have from years passed. “You’ll be with me and my team, we’re going to the Loufu in three days to sort some business out. I suggest you finish your deals here before we go.”
“Well then.” Aventurine clicks his tongue, mild annoyance riding the smile that forms on his lips. “Let’s acquaint ourselves then, shall we? You must know who I am, so please allow me the pleasure of returning the favor.”
A small passage of frosty air rises into the atmosphere as he breathes, hand extending in formality. You take it, slowly shaking, taking in the defensive rise of his shoulders. It seems he has zero tolerance for strangers.
“Nice to meet you, Aventurine. They call this stone the onyx.”
–
The Interastral Peace Corporation only takes workers to be strong-minded and just as toughly willed. In the Strategic Investment Department, greed is a virtue, and wanting nothing but it all is a prayer. Those who earn their spot as a cornerstone will stop at no means to chase their desires.
Aventurine values risk, but he always loves to have control in his corner. Without control, the chips in his hands are of no use, and his bargains crumble beneath him.
A gambler's true nightmare, sitting right between his eyes.
Your relation to him is a true mystery, despite all of the digging he’s been doing after arriving at the Loufu. Despite the numerous deals you’ve closed together, he still fails to know anything about you, other than the fact that you have quick wit and fascinating knowledge of the universe. He won’t dare approach you directly, his inhibitions are too high and he knows too little.
However, there’s something off about you and that stone of yours. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before.
“Does the IPC really need that many funds to perform a vitality check on the Sky-Faring Commission? From what I remember, this is nearly triple the amount of last year’s fee.”
“Well, Helm Master, from what our reports say, you had agreed to the accumulation of interest based on reports of safety in the Loufu. Based on recent events, there has been a substantial raise in alarm concerning the safety of the citizens here. We hope you can understand.”
Aventurine unfolds his hands, sliding a glossy black dossier over to the woman known as Yukong. After skimming over the first page of analysis, she sighs, and places her hand over the cover.
“Is it possible that we could touch bases on this later this week? I need time to look over these documents and discuss them with my team before making any decisions.”
Biting back a groan of exasperation, you nod, politely shaking her hand and bowing your head when she stands. What you thought was going to be a quick excursion of debt collecting had turned into two long weeks of debate, and you’re starting to lose sleep. After Yukong exits, you run a hand through your hair, allowing the flow from the outside to flood your ears..
You can admit, the place they chose is certainly impressive in its theatrics, blooming with tall fountains of pristine water and a live band of foxians playing classical music on a mahogany stage.
After a few minutes of jotting down notes you find yourself leaning against the bar’s edge, elbows cool against smooth wood. Your thoughts swirl like the vibrato of the woman singing a cover of a local song in a language unknown to you, but it’s calming, and you begin to itch with the desire to order a drink.
The waiter polishing glasses near you seems to pick up on your wants, quietly gesturing with her hand that she’ll take your order.
“A Rose in Rain, please.”
She makes your drink at an astonishing speed, sliding the glass next to your hands with a smile. You stare at the royal blue liquid sitting at the rim, contemplating if the hangover will be worth it.
Aventurine eyes the finger that rests along the base of the glass, humming quietly to himself. He figures there’s no better way to get to know someone than through a few drinks.
“You gonna drink that or keep staring at it?”
You turn your head, watching as he slides onto the barstool next to you. He raises his three outer fingers, ordering a small glass of Wintry Garden before turning to face you.
It’s been a long month with the Cornerstone. His approach remains restricted, evident in his snippets of sarcasm that he still doesn’t trust you. Your situation is… unusual, so you tolerate it. However, there still lies a fear within that he’ll go deeper than what’s for his own good.
“Do you usually drink? Or are you afraid to spill your guts?”
His words drip with conviction, blindly accusing you with the corners of his mouth tilted upward. It’s been too long, and he still doesn’t know a damn thing about you other than the stone you wear. He needs to flip this in his favor, fast.
Aventurine’s fingers drum against the bar’s edge as he picks up his drink, taking a small sip. The slight tilt of his head inclines you to start yours too, drinking half of the tall glass in one swig. His eyebrows raise in surprise when the drink hits the table, taking all but a few seconds to completely down the entirety of its contents, a resounding clink following.
When you don’t rush to finish your own drink, Aventurine chuckles, crossing his arms as he turns to face you fully. He’s eyeing you, daring smile plastered on his face.
“What, scared?”
He’s challenging you. And it works, since your drink is empty and you’re ordering a second round in a matter of seconds. Fizz sluggishly bubbles down your throat, followed by rich spots of thick, clear syrup.
A few drinks is all it takes for you to begin feeling lightheaded, pressing a palm into your eye to try and alleviate the nausea. Aventurine is at least 6 drinks in, setting down his next with an exaggerated sigh. Raising his hand for another, he lightly dings his glass against yours, the scent of redsunset sauce high on his breath.
“Let’s talk, Onyx.” He remarks, placing his hands on the table as the bartender comes over. “What’s the real deal with you? How come I haven’t seen you anywhere in the IPC and you show up in my faction one random day?”
You cough, attempting to clear your throat before you answer. It’s tough to keep your resolve with the amount of alcohol in your system.
“Maybe you’re just not perceptive enough, I’ve always been around.”
It’s clear he doesn’t like your answer. Another drink down.
“How many years have you worked for the IPC?”
“Almost 4 now.”
“What’s the entrance project that got you into the Strategy Department?”
You hesitate, and he grins, satisfied. This interrogation is going as planned.
“Well then? I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad, unless you’re more dangerous than you seem.”
It’s your turn to down a drink, wiping a small trace off of your chin as you think.
“Izumo.” You answer, short, watching as his fingers clasp tighter around the glass in his hand. Surprise.
“You really expect me to believe that?” He scoffs, a tinge of fire evident in his voice. “No one goes to Izumo any more, not after the slash.”
“You’d be surprised at the sheer amount of people that go to Magatsu no Morokami to uncover history. The IPC has their eyes set on valuable relics left behind from the war.”
He leans forward, dangerously close to your face. Past the thick orange lens of his aviators, you can see the irate spark in his eyes, alight with a plethora of shades you’ve never seen before.
“It’s not wise to lie to your superiors.”
You back away, sliding your card across the counter to the bartender. The moment Aventurine gets up to follow, you stop in your tracks, holding a small drive in his direction. You have some tricks up your sleeve, too.
“You’ll change your mind.”
He pauses, slightly bent over in a stupor of alcohol.
“Best keep your cards close to your chest, Aventurine. Snooping in places you don’t belong bodes bad fortune.”
His mouth opens, but no words come out. Slowly, he takes the drive from your hand, leaning back onto the bar’s surface, eyebrows knit in thought. The world is suddenly too loud and amidst a flurry of harmonic bellows and blinding lights, you disappear.
—
INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGY INVESTMENT DEPARTMENT HQ | ONE MONTH LATER
“I guess I should apologize.”
Several weeks of absence. You look up from the papers on your desk, watching as Aventurine places your drive back on your desk. He straightens back up, waiting for you to respond.
“Understandable.” You answer, finalizing a document with a quick signature. “I would have had my apprehensions too.”
“Still do, but it’s better to work with someone you tolerate, right?”
You look up. He shrugs, eyeing the papers you have scattered around.
You had given him a flash drive with your report on Izumo, or, at least, a report on it. Sometimes things are left best buried.
Still, Aventurine is certainly not stupid, and you know that. The final version of the report is vague and full of small incidents that contrast the planet’s true history There are inconsistencies, but he seems a little less hostile for the time being.
“Whatever you’re hiding from me, I intend to find out in due time. But I can’t do that if we’re at odds.” A hand is extended your way, held a little less straight and professional. “Let’s just try and hate each other a little less, huh?”
Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you take his hand and shake it for the second time. Aventurine smiles at you, a little less pointedly, but still on guard.
“Friends it is, then.”
His grip tightens slightly at the proclamation, leaving your veins seared and eyes wavering. As if you just made a deal with the devil. Your gaze drags along the fancies of his coat, figuring this is just another gamble he’s won. Something closer to certain death; the passion for it intrigues you.
Sooner or later you’ll suffer the consequences of a lie, you tell yourself. There’s no good outcome when striking up an agreement with a gambler, especially one like Aventurine.
Especially when the gambler is holding a knife to your throat.
The blade is cool, barely holding back from your trachea. Leather gloves hold a fistfull of your hair, shoving you down onto the filing cabinet you were sifting through moments before. Your eyes dart around, only able to see the edge of his shoe pressing against your ankle and the papers you dropped scattered across the floor.
“Just as I thought we were getting along.” His spits, words slithering around your chest and settling around your neck. “It was only a matter of time before you slipped up.”
Confusion spreads across your features, and Aventurine scoffs. His shoe digs deeper into your achilles, and you stagger against the metal.
“What the Hell are you talking about?” Your words come out choked, gasping for air against Aventurine’s hold.
“That man, the one you had a long conversation with at the meeting tonight? You two seemed to get along.” Aventurine’s breath runs short out of anger, grip scalding against your skin. “You know him, don’t you?”
You close your eyes, tracing the night’s events back several hours. You only recall shaking two men’s hands, one being the esteemed Doctor Ratio’s, and the other the reason why you were down in the IPCs archives. He was dressed nothing short of what a gentleman would wear, offering you many commending words as he spoke of the recent inflation concerning the astral economy. However, you didn’t miss the brilliant stone embedded in the shell of his tie, reflecting vibrant colors you’ve only seen once in your lifetime. And neither did he.
“Pretty stone isn’t it?.” Aventurine continues, pressing your hands against the wall you’re shoved against. “I’ve seen it a lot throughout my lifetime, but I’m sure you know that already. Silly me, forgetting how easy it is to conceal them.”
He reaches for your shoulder, and you push back, using the slightly stagger of his feet to grab the blade’s edge, violently smashing your head into his and spinning him around. His blade traded for your stone.
“I’d like to know…” His fingers flip the stone around, taking in the colorless mass, like a void amidst the stars. With a quick swipe of his hand, a lighter is held to it, engulfing the black in a dance of pale fire. Aventurine shakes the rising smoke off of him after a few moments, and your eyes narrow.
“...Why you have this?”
Turquoise meteorite, a brilliant blue stone infused with veins of a green just as bright. A kind of beauty that could only be found on Sigonia, tailored in a way only an Avgin could. The crafter spoke of a tactic that could hide the stone’s true color, while keeping its spirit alive with you still.
Blood drips from your hand, staining your clothes a deep crimson. Gritting your teeth together, you slice a sleeve of your dress shirt off, slowly wrapping it around the wound.
Aventurine stands, still, fury riding his waterline. His glasses sit beside his feet, hues of purple and blue wavering in the dim light. His hand slowly clenches, in and out, smoothing the cooled piece over his palm.
“What now, Katican?” His voice is quiet, gently ricocheting off of concrete walls. “Came to settle one last score, fulfilling your dream of tracking down the last Avgin? Oh, I bet you’re itching to use that knife right now.”
You step to the side, shaking bloodstained papers off of your feet. The knife drops to the ground, scraping cruelty against the ground as you kick it to a corner far out of your reach. A sharp intake of breath follows, and he steps back.
“I’m no Katican.” Your tone is low, locking eyes with Aventurine, his gaze darts from the knife to you. “The stone was a gift from an Avgin I saved during the second extinction.”
The air is stale, prickling with fear as you pass. Aventurine stands tall, but you know all too well that his greatest fear has come alight in this very room. The thought of coming face to face with a Katican chases him in his nightmares each dusk, a terror looming over his head akin to a raging storm. For once, he’s speechless, completely dumbstruck, mind racing to comprehend all that you’ve bestowed upon him. So little said, yet so great a burden unveiled.
You would be right in telling him that such information is better left buried. Yet Aventurine knows only how to shatter the destiny that calls for him, and monumental change has left in its wake.
He opens his mouth to speak, yet words fail him. The hand holding the stone sits slotted behind his back, holding on to it as he would a birthright. A piece of his past that would never bless him again, sitting in the shade of Sigonia’s darkest nights, mimicking a color that does not belong to it. He wants to scream, take his knife and shove it so hard into your chest that it comes out on the other side.
“I am on your side, Aventurine. I always have been.”
After forcing himself to swallow, he straightens up, but you’re already gone.
Distantly, a heavy thud hits the floor.
–
TUMBLEWEED, SALSOTTO.
“I’m Daisy, here this morning with Tumbleweed’s daily weather report. As usual, there’s sun about. However, a rude awakening is coming at around 6pm, as a pretty hefty thunderstorm is coming our way. Make sure you carry your umbrellas! And remember, as our beloved Fleetworld Marc says, thunder only happens when it’s destined.”
Destiny. The word lingers in your head as a pang of hunger hits your insides. Placing your last suitcase beside your bed, you set off for your hotel room’s kitchen. Reaching over and opening a cabinet, you groan when it reveals itself to be empty.
Shrugging your coat over your shoulders, you pocket your room card. However, when you open your door, you’re quick to step back, feeling your heart rate spike instantly in shock.
“Uh…” You take a few short breaths, regaining your composure. “Can I help you?”
The man standing before you is no other than Aventurine, chin receding as he looks at you with evident confusion.
“Can I help you?” He retorts, flipping his hotel card up to the light. “This is my room.”
You pull the exact same card out of your pocket, and the two of you share looks of bewilderment. After reading over the numbers on your card for what felt like the 50th time, Aventurine sighs, long and drawn out.
“Well, this isn’t what I imagined when the front desk told me they could fit a room in for me.”
“I’ll go ask–”
You’re cut off with a swift wave of his hand.
“Don’t bother, I already did. They’re fully booked for the next week.”
Before you know it, both Aventurine and his bags are heading into your… your room. Exhaling, you mutter a quiet “okay..” and follow him inside. However, he’s quick to stop you once you make it past the bathroom, exaggeratedly pointing toward the wall to your right.
“This has to be some kind of joke, right?” Aventurine laughs, pulling his glasses off as if attempting to see better.
His gaze is fixed on the bed sitting across from you. The single bed, accompanied with a single nightstand and a TV. In that moment, you both share a second groan, and Aventurine palms his face.
“I’ll figure this out.”
In a matter of moments, he’s gone, suitcases set haphazardly on the ground beside you. After a few minutes of thought, you head to the bathroom, soaking your hands in cold water. A brief inhale follows the icy chill that drags over your face, and you silently curse destiny.
A few hours pass before Aventurine returns, shirt slightly ruffled, annoyance clearly displayed upon his features. The click of boots melds into the soft step of socks as he enters the kitchen, and you silently pass a bowl of fried rice you had been able to scavenge from a local grocery store over. Running a hand through his hair, he nods your way, sliding into the stool across from you and stopping the bowl with his fingers.
“As you could have guessed, there are zero people in this whole building willing to switch rooms with us.”
“Ah, yeah. Tourists are usually snobby.”
A hum signifies his response. Silence encompasses the room as a blanket would, save the soft clangs of silverware on bowls. You fix your gaze on the granite countertops, following intricately woven lines of mixed stone and drawing patterns in each section you come across. Becoming so immersed in the cracks, you don’t even notice when Aventurine passes you twice, once with his bowl, and once without. Seconds turn into minutes as you stare at the sheet of stone, only taken away from thought when he returns to the table, dressed in a black set of silk pyjamas.
“What’s your story?”
Your eyelashes flutter, taken aback by the sudden inquiry. Raising your head, you push the now cold rice to the side and glance at the man across from you, fingers interlocked in wait.
You’re shocked at the simplicity of it. The lack of accusations are a breath of fresh air when it comes to his words, typically cold fronted and dripping with malice. You would expect him to be angry still, perhaps even worse, giving that you lied, but you can feel the genuine curiosity lingering within. He seems to want to understand.
“I joined the IPC when I was young, almost ten years ago.” You start, fighting the urge to snap away from his gaze. “In my second year, word was out that there was trouble on Sigonia. It was thought that the IPC had it under control, but everyone knew there was something else coming.”
You pause. Aventurine remains quiet, attentive.
“I took it upon myself to convince my superiors to send me to Sigonia, despite their warnings. But… the work we did there, it wasn’t enough. I could help no one under the bounds of the IPC, so I sought out the Katicans. No more bounds. I was on the inside, where I could do things my own way.”
“Such lovely people, weren’t they?” He questions, apathy leaking from deep within. “Didn’t have a single care in the world other than themselves. They wanted to see everything burn, the women, children.”
“I have never seen a deeper hatred than what lies within them.”
You stop, again, toying with your fingers. Aventurine’s silence beckons you to proceed.
“I could only help so many, and they all ended up dying anyway. There was no escaping them, they were ruthless.” Your voice trails off, shaking your head slightly at the recollection of dark days in the wasteland they call Sigonia. No horrors match the ones that took place there. “I couldn’t imagine what you went through, any of you. And still, you’re alive.”
A word softly chants in your head. Destiny.
“Ever since I was born, I knew what was made out for me was never good.” Aventurine says, a hint of irony in his voice. “I fell on black days without knowing what it was like to live on the other side, and it’s been like that since.”
Flashes of your past mix in with current thought. You remember them, the Avign children, clinging to scraps of life even when it was evident their lives would soon end. Their eyes, just as brilliant as his, drowned by crashing waves, yet afloat on the prayer of hope. You imagine Aventurine was just like them, and you understand. Anger breeds and it seethes.
“How do you control it?”
Such a simple question, yet so many answers.
“I put it all into risk. Every single last bit of it. I gambled, and I won.” His pointer finger gently hits the table, and he raises his hand to wave it through the air. “I survive, and I bet again.”
“A bold motto, I must say.”
A small smile graces his features, shrugging lightheartedly.
“Luck seems to be on my side.”
You look to the side at the sound of a crack, noticing that rain has started to fall. The sky is obscured by deep grays, and the rumble beckons you to the sliding door separating you from the balcony. The crash of drops on concrete is soothing to your ears, bestowing a peace upon your heart you’ve failed to find for a while now. The serenity thickens as Aventurine steps to your side, the hues in a ring of his eyes reflecting the storm outside.
“I didn’t rain much back then.” He muses, gaze following the slow drizzle of fallen streaks on the balcony’s edge. “A privilege I can keep alive, now that I see it so often.”
You look to the side, meeting Aventurine’s eyes halfway. The corners of his lips turn up as he looks past you, covering his mouth as he stifles a yawn.
“Almost forgot about the bed.” He laughs, running a hand over his lower face. “You can have it, I’ll be okay on the floor.”
“Absolutely not!” You counter, head tilting in defiance. “I’ll be fine on the floor.”
“That would be extremely impolite of me.”
“As it would be for me…”
“Will you please just sleep on the bed?”
“I brought extra pillows! I’ll be more comfortable than you on the floor.”
Aventurine stops, sending you a half lidded look. You walk over to your suitcase, swiftly pulling the two large pillows you packed out, holding them at your sides. He walks over to you, snatching a pillow out from one of your arms before walking toward the bed.
“Or, how about this?” He shoves your pillow on top of the hotel provided one. “We put the extra pillows on the bed, and we both take a half.”
You purse your lips, and shrug in reason. After patting your pillow into place, you climb onto the bed, turning on your side to ensure you’re only taking up half of the bed.
As you land on your other shoulder, you nearly touch noses with Aventurine. He chuckles, eyebrows raising in a teasing manner.
“It’s not often someone gets the chance to be this close to me.”
You groan, tugging the coarse blanket to your chest as you flip to your front. Stifling a few chuckles, Aventurine turns so his back is facing you.
Within a few minutes, quiet snores begin to drift through your ears. You sigh, and roll your eyes. And yet, only peace visits you in your dreams.
–
There have been few nights of your stay in Salsotto without rain. You’ve grown accustomed to the melodic pad of morning to the erratic roar of the night. This night is different, however, as dew is high in the air but the clouds of the afternoon are white, tainted with swirls of pink that bode better weather.
You fumble with the pearls on your neck, carefully positioning them so they rest on your collarbone. All IPC events require a clearance of wear that is above the standard grade of formal, nothing short of extravagant, explaining the fine tailored suit you wear over your dress. Ivory on cream, a palette that bodes well when making business deals.
Heels click on pavement, Tumbleweed’s National Museum in sight. Golden lights cast the establishment in an elegant glow, and the stream of classical cello welcomes your ears as you approach. Welcoming smiles are given your way as you enter the building, and you start a long night of shaking hands and business chatter with the esteemed mechanical aristocrat Screwllum.
Leisure chats of the Genius Society’s next project flow in and out of wine chutes, with gentle opera joining new deals of funding. Another hand shake bodes your farewell to a philanthropist from the Herta Space Station, and you take a seat at one of the tables nearby, attempting to gather your thoughts. Sipping on a glass of sparkling rose, you start jotting down tonight’s business proposals onto your phone.
“Having fun?”
You look up, offering a smile toward your temporary hotelmate as you pull the chair next to you back.
“Was wondering when I’d run into you, Aventurine.” You say, clinking glasses with the blonde. “How many deals have you clinched tonight?”
“More than you, I bet.”
You scrunch your nose, folding your arms after sliding your phone his way. Aventurine takes a look through your notes, smile expanding on his face as he progresses.
“...And it seems I would be right.” He exclaims, holding up two full hands. “Don’t feel bad. It’s the natural charm.”
“Mhm. Super natural, and not annoying at all.” You quip, earning a light jab in the shoulder.
Your past two weeks with Aventurine had proved to be an easier feat than you had thought. Beside the snoring (that you had learned to tune out), he had served as a good source of company, squandering your worries of lingering grudges as you spent more time around one another. You were grateful he had the will in his heart to see the reason behind what you had done, although you were a little surprised to see that he had forgiven you with such ease.
Now, to you, he seemed to be an easy soul forced to carry burdens that were undeserving of him.
“Hey.”
You’re roused from your thoughts by the gentle tap of Aventurine’s foot against your heel. He cocks his head, and you’re suddenly aware of the soft serenade filling the room, sung by an artist famous for this piece.
“Let’s get our minds off of business for a while. Care to dance?”
He straightens his jacket before standing up, beckoning you to do the same. You accept the hand outstretched, threatening to roll your eyes as Aventurine lays his other on your back, guiding you to the floor.
“Trying to show off?”
Aventurine slowly spins you into a shroud of spotlight, laughing when your eyes go wide from the precision of his arms slowing you back down.
“Of course.”
A look is shared between the two of you, and the dance begins. You recognize the piece, Seid Umschlungen, Millionen! (Be Embraced, You Millions!), and fall into a sort of waltz, slow, quick, slow. Your feet move in a symphony of chirping violin and cello vibrato, swirling carefully around other dancers as you step from box to box.
The music quiets in a moment of repose, and you slow, winding your hands around his neck as you sway, in wait.
“What’s with the long face?”
The question catches you off guard, as you weren’t aware that your thoughts had reflected off of your face. Lips pursing, you wonder whether taking the chance and ruining the moment is worth it, but the question nags deep within, festering like a cancer that will not cease until it is freed.
“Do you forgive me?”
Strings echo and rise; Aventurine fits a hand behind your back before spinning you into dance. His eyebrows are furrowed lightly, as if your question had caught him off guard in some sort of way, but you both knew it was coming. Trust is an uncertain entity, not easily won or wagered, never certain in whether it’s attained or lost. Forgiveness is a trial for trust, and within inquiry lie a question of deeper truth that never made it to the surface
Do you hate me, Aventurine?
There have been many times in the passing days where you’ve been questioned about your time in Sigonia-IV. A test to determine whether your actions deserved merit. Recounting stories of countless lives you worked tirelessly to save at the risk of your own. Gallons of blood stained on your hands from the guilty, those whose karma ran the empty river beds of the desert red.
So much, and yet nothing at all. It’s as if life is out to play some game of twisted fate, as you see all of the lives you could not save in the man right before you. The brand slightly hidden by his collar and wispy blonde, jewelry glittering at his wrists, irises that shine in the darkest of nights. Bewitching, yet so alive.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He says, after some time. “You did a brave thing, I would be a fool to condemn you for it.”
Elation. It’s the feather touch of his hands, graceful in the way they dip you, nearly stopping time as you lay suspended. Your eyes lock, and you nearly drown in the glow of lavender and maya that stare back. Slowly, you feel one of his hands leave your back, dipping in his suit pocket and coming to rest in your vision.
“Their memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.”
You’re lifted to stand, and, amidst a rather slow spin, Aventurine pins the turquoise meteorite you’d thought was long gone onto the span of dress fabric above your chest. The resounding smile shared is trust.
You twirl and sink until the song comes to an end, stopping in a hold of hands and interlocked legs as orchestra is overtaken by voice. In the midst of fading spotlight, your breath evens out, and you find yourself following the gambler’s hand to escape the noise, elbows brushing on a balcony railing as you stare out into the fading daylight.
The sky is tinged with the baby blue of afternoon, arising into a deep interweave of violet and blush. A small, red casino chip flips between Aventurine’s fingers, rolling to sit between his pointer and thumb in short pauses.
“Got any tricks up your sleeve, gambler?”
Aventurine tilts his head to the side, invigorated by the rise of your lips, challenging, daring. The game you propose has risk, but what is life without taking leaps blind? Aventurine is sure he can see you now, after all.
With a flip of the chip and a wave of his hand, the red disappears, and a cool sensation lands firmly on your lips. His face is inches away from yours, fingers gently pressing against the chip that severs the distance between you.
“There are tricks to any risk, as long as you know what you’re doing.”
You raise your hand, sliding the chip from your mouth and palming it. When he doesn’t move, you tug on his collar, chin tilting upward to press your lips to his. The sensation is warm, gentle, as if you tread on ice that threatens to shatter. Honey sears your tongue, and you revel in the touch of his lips, soft as the velvet of his tie.
The moment is all too short, yet your mouth feels numb as you break away. In a moment of silence, you take the hand that sits lightly clamped around your wrist, sliding the chip in his palm and closing his fingers.
“I think I’ll be gambling a lot with you, Aventurine.”
His face moves closer, and you look down for a moment, noticing the hand that sits behind his back.
“I look forward to it.”
–
INTERASTRAL PEACE CORPORATION, STRATEGIC INVESTMENT HQ | TWO MONTHS LATER
Knock, knock.
“Coming.”
The door opens in fluid motion, revealing a room cast in gloom, tan shade, blinds drawn.
“Hey, Aven.” You sigh, placing a chaste kiss on the blonde’s cheek. “Long day?”
“Long day.” He mirrors, offering to take the stack of papers off of your hands. You accept, slipping into the chair across from his desk. “Are you done for today?”
“Mhm.”
Aventurine sits in his desk chair, shrugging the navy coat he sports onto the back. You stretch your arms behind your back, watching as deft hands undo the cross hatched tie representing the cornerstones from his collar. As he sets the piece down, his office phone starts to buzz, and he groans.
“Hello, this is Aventurine… Uh huh, what time?” He draws circles into ebony, holding the phone to his shoulder as he reaches for a notepad. However, as he clicks the pen in his hand, he nearly drops the phone, clearly startled. “Can you repeat that? Si- okay. I’m coming.”
In a flurry of movement, he stands, tie and coat snatched.
“We have to go, right now.”
His tone is impatient, brimming with anxiety and unwilling to contest. You blink a few times before following him out of his office, grabbing his coat to hold onto as he fits his tie back to his shirt. The walk is silent, save a quiet “thank you” when you hand the coat over and the click of shoes on tile. Your nerves rise as you move, watching the way he frets with his gloves, tugging on the ends repeatedly.
In a matter of minutes, you arrive at the boardroom of the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department, stopping at the edge of the table as Jade turns around, followed by a concerned looking Topaz.
“Ah, Aventurine. What a surprise, I was sure not to include your name in the list of attendees tonight.“She sends a look to the white haired cornerstone, before directing her gaze to you. “Unfortunately, ranks below P40 are prohibited from attending this meeting. Guards, please see her out.”
You push against the guard that seizes your wrist, but are unable to resist as more come to his aid. After having the door shoved in your face, you’re dragged to the hallway outside of the meeting hall, forced to sit in wait.
30 minutes. Another 30. An hour before the doors open, with Aventurine first, Topaz following close behind. He rushes past you, eyes on the ground, gone within seconds. Concern etches your features as Topaz runs up to you, lips pursed in distress,
“Aventurine-” She pauses, hand on her chest as she catches her breath. “Please go after him. You’re the only one that he’ll see now, after what just happened.”
“What happened?”
At your inquiry, she shakes her head, nodding her head toward the direction Aventurine took off in.
“It’s best you hear it from him. But, please, go see him tonight, he needs someone who’s close to his heart.”
Worry is quick to seep into your features, but you nod. A quick visit to his office and you’re off, taking the next jet off of Pier Point, to Klimt Republic. Weaving through streets and bullet trails full of life, you arrive in the heart of Klimt just two hours later, standing on the penthouse floor of an apartment complex worth more than the entire block you’re on.
Knock, knock.
Silence. You hesitate, and knock again.
The shuffling of feet hit the floor, and you wait in anticipation, hands firmly at your sides as the noise stops. After a few moments, the door slowly opens, and you sigh in relief.
Aventurine stands, slightly hunched against the doorframe, hair disheveled, eyes red and irritated.
“Aven, what happ-”
A pair of hands seize your wrist, tugging you inside and slamming the door behind you.
“Not now.” Your eyes widen at the plea in his voice, whole with a basal need that makes your chest tighten. “Please, just, make me forget about it right now.”
He looms over you, yet the shadow he casts is the antonym of threatening. Fear reeks off of him like vodka, as tears brim on his waterline. The feeling spreads to your skin like wildfire, and you feel him shake as you take his face in your hands, breathing shallow and scared.
The first taste of his lips is sweet, but the salt of his tears is quick to sink in. Clumsy and trembling, your bodies rock and hit walls as you make your way to his bedroom. You throw his coat to the side as he does yours, pushing him down onto his bed as you break for air.
Aventurine’s hair flows out around him as he falls onto the mattress, shrouding him as a halo would. You chase after him, littering his neck with soft bites that elicit soft groans from the skin beneath. You unbutton half of his shirt before diving for his collarbone, reveling in the whines that respond as you nip and bruise.
His hands reach for your pants, and you stop him before he can reach for your panties.
“Ah-ah, hands behind your head.” Your voice pools out smooth, running a hand down his shirt. “Just relax and let me take care of you.”
Gently pinning his hands above him, you let go, and he complies. You reward him with a kiss, messy and careless, pulling a string of saliva between your lips when you leave them. Your free hand pushes hair out of his eyes while the other works on the zipper of his slacks, watching as his fingers lock together as you apply pressure.
A shudder leaves Aventurine’s lips as you pull his boxers down, hand gently running along the length of his dick. Teeth tug at lips as you spit on your hand, working at his cock while running your free fingers along your folds. His neck lifts up as your hands move faster, and you grin, choking the noises that threaten to spill from your mouth at the display before you.
A sight like heaven, an angel laid out for worship. Aventurine’s skin is coated in a soft sheen of sweat that shines in the dim light, hand laid over one eye whilst the other remains barely open. Under the mix of hues that resemble wild fields of flowers, blush coats his cheekbones, a light to the darkness that blooms on his neck. The vulnerability of it makes your heart soar, and you feel a fire ignite in the depths of your being that fails to stoke.
The hand that toys with your clit lifts, prodding at Aventurine’s mouth as you lower yourself on his cock. Muffled whines vibrate around your fingers, and you moan at the fullness that envelops you. You swirl your fingers in his mouth, biting on your cheek as his tongue wraps around them, sucking on the sweet taste of you.
His hands abruptly reach up, fingers winding and tangling in hair as they pull you down, replacing fingers with lips. The sensation is hot, as if an unquenchable balm has set your skin alight.
“Feel good?”
“What kind of- ughh- question is that?”
You clench around him as if it's instinct, and Aventurine calls your name as he would a prayer. His moans are akin to song, divine in melody, alluring in a way that shuts your mind off from anything else but him. One of his hands leaves your hair, fingers clumsily clamping around your own, holding you like fine china.
The stretch of his dick does little to quench the hunger within, you crave more, a devout worshiper crying a hymn of need. Your motion becomes erratic, a twist of limbs and friction that siphons tears that streak down your cheeks, falling to mix in with the sweat on your lover’s face.
“Gonna-” Aventurine chokes on his own words, eyes shut harshly as he blinks back ecstasy. “Cum.”
Your words are lost to you, only managing to groan in response as Aventurine pulls you back to him. His lips seal over yours in a searing kiss, arms winding around your back to hold you still as your orgasm shakes you. White light flashes through closed eyes as you spasm around his dick, mixing with the cum that leaks inside of you.
The room is quiet, save the howling wind of night and the dance of unstable breath. Blankets shuffle as you drop to Aventurine’s side, allowing him to drape your discarded shirt over your bare chest. Time seems to cease as you meet his gaze, touch serene as the plains of distant worlds as he encourages you to come closer. You accept, eyes closing for a moment, feeling the warm fan of his breath over your nose.
“The IPC is funding a project to excavate Sigonia.” The silence breaks, peace shatters and your eyes snap open. “Turquoise meteorites are rare, so they’ll scrape the whole planet dry until every last piece is gone.”
Your face falls, corners of your lips pulling downward. Aventurine’s eyes are half lidded, seemingly already accepting the fate of the planet he calls home. He refuses to look your way, eyes focused somewhere past you, the sorrow spreads and leaks into your soul as it opens further. A place so full of hatred and loss, yet a place that he will never be able to let go of. It burrows within the deepest neurons, refusing to snap and forget.
“You have to say something, Aven.” You pull at his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Whatever you have to do, I’ll help you.”
“The IPC doesn’t have time to listen to Avgin.” He sighs, hope stale on his breath. “Not even if it's the last one alive.”
You still, fingers falling to rest against his cheek. Aventurine’s eyes close, brows furrowing lightly against pale skin.
“Sigonia will fall, and only Kakavasha will remain.”
Defeat. It seems that what events occurred in that meeting room left no room for conversation. Guilt flows through your veins like it’s replaced the red, and your chest aches, latching onto the horror that no doubt holds sovereignty in his head.
Kakavasha. Blessed by the heavens yet cursed by the living world. Such a beautiful name that deserves no hell it endures.
Amidst the quietude, Aventurine’s hand slithers under the blankets, latching onto your wrist. He traces skin, knuckles brushing against your own, coming to rest intertwined.
“Can we try something?”
You nod, and your hand is slowly lifted to the air, palm against palm between your chests. You’ve seen this motion back on Sigonia, yet it’s always remained distant to you, and the words echo in obscurity.
“I’ll go through it once, and we can do it together.”
You nod, once more. Aventurine closes his eyes for a moment, reciting a prayer lost to you in time.
“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”
A brief pause passes. You sigh in unison, and lock eyes. A voice whispers within the depths of your mind, and you smile.
The memory is always alive somewhere. It’s up to us to keep it.
“May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you… keeping your blood eternally pulsing. May your journey be forever peaceful… and your schemes be forever concealed.”
As the last words drift off of your lips, you bend your fingers, slotting them between his. Aventurine shares your sentiment; hope flashed in the gentle smile that graces his lips. Your eyes wander, and notice that a single tear trails down his face, disappearing into his skin as it rolls.
Outside, you hear the crack of thunder. You pull Aventurine in, and in your clutch, the downpour begins.
–
Some months later…
The chatter of voices on the phone rouses you from sleep, rubbing a hand over your eyes in annoyance as you come to. Light spills through drawn curtains and open glass doors, filtering the room in hues of honey and hazel.
“Mhm. Alright, I understand. Let’s schedule the interview for today.”
Songs of canaries and mourning doves flow through the air, and you sit up, raising a hand to block out the sun’s gaze. Aventurine sets his phone down on the bedside table, stifling a yawn with his hand. You roll onto your side, hand propped up onto your chin as you soak in the sight of your lover.
His hair is slightly ruffled from sleep, bangs astray and cast into his eyes. Only the top button of his sleep shirt is buttoned, leaving lean, sun kissed skin on display.
“It’s rude to stare, you know.” You roll your eyes, allowing him to pull you in for a kiss. “Morning. Sleep well?”
“Mhm.” You hum, knowing full well tonight has been one of the worst nights you’ve slept yet. Aventurine sees right through you, but chooses to say nothing, opting to pull you forward so half of your body drapes over him.
Today Aventurine leaves for Penacony. And, seeing as he was called in for a meeting, he’s probably leaving even sooner now.
He seems to read your thoughts, offering a comforting peck to the corner of your lips in apology. Your hands card through his hair, head resting against his collarbone.
You have your apprehensions about Penacony, having heard whispers on the streets of mysterious disappearances of people in the world’s famous dreamscape. The IPC has had a limited number of run-ins with the family, leading you to assume a recent grounds of suspicion has arised, and Aventurine was chosen as the solution. In his eyes, it’s just another gamble of life or death.
You’re roused from your thoughts by a tap on your cheek, making you look up at him.
“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” His words do little to soothe you, but you listen regardless. “The risks I take are always foolproof.”
Risk. It’s the word Aventurine lives by, a motto that claws at your heart when he’s gone. A reality that spills tears when he closes the door to your apartment, leaving only the ache of your heart in his absence. A danger that never guarantees the next time he chases his destiny will not be his last.
You will never fight to change it, because that’s all it is. Destiny.
His phone rings, and the two of you groan before he gets up and tells the person on the other line that he’s on his way. You watch from his side of the bed as he throws his clothes on, grabbing two packed suitcases from the side of the bed before bending over to give you a kiss. The touch of his lips is bittersweet, nearly taunting as it is over before it even begins. You peck him again, running a hand over his hairline to straighten his bangs.
“Be safe out there, Aven.”
He smiles, so radiant it rivals the sun and all that it shines on. You think yourself blessed to see it survive.
“I will. Luck is always on my side.”
And he leaves. You turn to the window, awaiting the rain.
just wanted to make a quick announcement that i will be changing my entire profile, including username, up in the next few minutes. if you see this after the fact, i was @arqhms, and will now be going by the username @ineleysian.
with this change i will be updating my navigation, as tags will be different. that’s pretty much all, have a wonderful day!
Underneath the cool, calm persona of Ghost, Simon Riley is arrogant.
He knows he’s attractive. A 6’4, lean soldier, your soldier that would bend over backwards for you at any given moment. Yet, Simon is attentive; he notices the way you practically fuck him with your eyes when he’s got some part of him exposed, and he loves it. He can’t help but indulge in himself a little while you get what you want.
It’ll start when he rolls his sleeves up a little too far, playing off the way your gaze drags along his forearm sleeve. Later that night, Simon gives you that arm to hold onto, a light smirk dusting his face as he cocks his head at you.
“Fancy any of these pieces, lovie?”
Simon keeps his facial hair just how you like it, completely aware that the soft scratch of his stubble on your pussy makes you go crazy. Plus, he loves seeing the way you shy away from him when his head raises, slick smeared on hair and dripping from his chin. When you tell him he should keep his hair slightly grown out, he obliges, leaving plenty in the front for you to grab onto when his face is buried in your cunt.
Simon loves you, but he can’t help being a little full of himself sometimes. <3
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