welcome! thank you for taking the time to visit my blog. i go by rei, and i'm simply here to share my silly fanfics. for the time being, i'm mainly going to be writing for genshin impact (may be stc in the future).
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⁰⁰² ✧ 투명한 저 달빛이 .ᐟ (RULES)
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⁰⁰³ ✧ 쏟아져 더 자유로이 .ᐟ (EXTRA)
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( 🎧 ) now playing: sugarcoat (natty solo) — kiss of life
ᰔ. additional notes: slow burn = slow updates, angst, knight x princess, genshin canon-verse setting with altercations, this was written pre-lohen release so take characterizations with a grain of salt as it is my own interpretation of him. inspired by laufey ૮ . . ྀིა
mondstat — a quaint, yet humble kingdom situated amidst a grand lake that thrives with splendor throughout the day before retreating to tranquility beneath the moonlight, like that of a soothing lullaby playing from a music box.
upon first glance, it appears like nothing more than an ordinary kingdom plucked from the masses. but.. should a straying traveler be drawn in by its radiant beauty as the crown of the north, they will quickly come to learn that this place harbors much more beneath the surface — a bewitching charm unlike no other. from its strong-willed citizens who live by song and wine, to the veiled omnipresence of a spirited god whose aspiration for freedom stretches beyond eternity. mondstat is a treasure trove filled with rich tales and ancient mysteries just waiting to be revealed.
a majority of that can be ascribed to the ever-so benevolent rulers of the kingdom, both past and present. for it is thanks to their wisdom and charity that the kingdom of mondstat continues to stand. while many monarchs prefer to enclose themselves behind the protection of their palace walls, seldom mingling with the people, the palace gates of mondstat remained always opened for the public to enter, allowing all the opportunity to stroll through the courtyards, the throne room, and even the very halls themselves if they so pleased. transparency between a ruler and their people has been the kingdom’s long-held tradition since humanity first learned to express their thoughts through poetry and letters, one that is strictly followed no matter who inherits the crown.
similarly, it is also intended as a way to honor the god of freedom’s wish for his people; to always pursue the winds that lead towards a promised tomorrow, no matter what trials lie ahead. yet in the eyes of lohen, vice captain of the royal guard’s fifth regiment, it takes more than mere transparency or performing good deeds to uphold a god’s wishes.
though strategic in battle tactics and a master in the art of war, lohen is not one who particularly enjoys the knightly glory that comes along with it. quite the opposite, actually. for him, to harbor such skilled yet deathly attributes used to reap bloodshed from formidable foes is the reason why one carries a sword and should thus be tempered with pride. only then, can a man ever wish to become that which is greater than himself. this is how to honor a god’s wish. unfortunately for the vice captain, not many of his fellow knights would agree.
in fact, most question how someone as brazen as him had earned the title of knighthood, much less advocated to the royal family by the grandmaster himself. then again, varka has always taken a liking to having the most peculiar of people at his side. it’s a wonder the royal guard hasn’t collapsed onto itself, but perhaps it is for that reason precisely. whatever the case is, that is a mystery only the grandmaster himself can answer.
from the array of tall windows, sunlight filters through their draping curtains into the corridor, casting lohen’s shadow onto marble floors as he walks, footsteps softened by the plush carpet. although he’s walked this route many times before, his eyes still can’t help but wander at the emanate opulence surrounding him: pedestals where pristine ceramic vases sat upon holding cecilias and windwheel asters alike, modest paintings of pleasant fields or mountains of solitude, and the chandeliers that hung overhead, shimmering in the sunlight. even just gazing at everything felt like thievery, and yet the royals allow any and all to simply waltz through. how careless, lohen thought.
and his judgment would only be proven further when he caught sight of two children near the center of the corridor. the eldest—lohen presumed—a girl who had lifted half the skirt of her dress was in the process of tying what appeared to be a small drawstring bag onto her leg while the little boy beside her held another in his hands, his fidgeting clearly a sign of anxiousness.
“sis, hurry up! someone could catch us any second!” the boy pleaded, possibly for the umpteenth time since they arrived at the palace.
“i’m trying! stop being such a little–”
“stealing in broad daylight,” lohen’s voice cut through seamlessly, causing both children to freeze in their movements. dread-filled eyes hesitantly looked up towards the knight that all but towered over them, arms crossed and a piercing gaze that felt as though they were being met with the endpoint of a sword. “even the most skilled of thieves wouldn’t pull a stunt as daring as this.”
no response would come as the two children had been frightened into silence. a common sight for lohen, really, but substitute in a battered down enemy or monster instead. in all honesty, he was more disappointed than angry at the current situation, but not for the reasons one might assume. had another knight patrolling the area stumbled upon both children in the middle of stealing, they might’ve scolded them much like a parent would, going on a spiel about how stealing is wrong and isn’t the right thing to do. this was lohen though, and his disappointment came from the fact that the two “thieves” he caught were nothing more than mere children looking to make a coin or two. he would’ve had a much better time putting an actual criminal into their place. in fact, he nearly had half a mind to scold the two about the poor job they were doing trying to steal from the palace of all places. they had better chances of stealing from a fruit vendor for archon’s sake.
it was only when the boy spat out an emotional “we’re sorry” and held out the leather drawstring he had between trembling hands towards lohen did the knight’s expression soften, just the slightest. judging from their clothing that appeared more like various rags poorly sewn together and their small, thin bodies, the motive behind their stealing was obvious.
sighing in resignation, lohen took the bag from the boy with one hand while the other moved to his unkempt hair, giving a light pat. “there’s no need for you both to resort to stealing. the palace gates remain open for a reason,” he then points to the other end of the corridor from where he came from. “if you head that way, you’ll run into a servant who’s in the middle of cleaning up. all you need to do, is walk up to them and ask if they can take you to the kitchen. they’ll understand what you mean and handle everything from there.”
“you mean… they’ll give us food?” the girl asked, the initial fear in her eyes starting to shift into a more hopeful look.
“of course. and, if you’re really good, they may even prepare you a small basket to take back home to your family.”
“a whole basket?” the boy echoed this time, mirroring his sister’s surprise, head tilting up towards lohen from beneath his hand. “we’ve never had a basket of food before!”
“come on, let's go! mama and papa will be super happy if we come back home with so much food!” and with the drawstring now forgotten, the girl stood up from where she sat and reached out for her brother’s hand, excitedly dragging him down the corridor as both their laughters echoed throughout. lohen’s eyes followed them closely, watching the way they almost stumbled over their own two feet amidst their excitement. another day of mundanity in the palace it would seem.
just before the boy disappeared along with his sister, he paused at the door and looked back towards lohen, smiling brightly. “thank you mister knight!” he called out, his cheerful voice causing the subtlest of smiles to tug at the knight's lips until the door finally closed behind him.
silence returned to the corridor once more as lohen’s eyes lingered on the doors for a brief moment before shifting to the drawstring in his hand and the abandoned one on the floor. curious as to what the two children had managed to gather, he took a peek inside each one; golden buttons that may have fallen off a noble's uniform, silver coins, and various gemstones likely picked from ornate plates or decorative pieces. they may have been reckless in their actions, but they certainly had an eye for items that would fetch a good price on the market. lohen almost wants to say he was impressed, but given the fact that both children likely came from the lower-class background, it’s no surprise they found such treasured finds. after all, when you come from nothing, your mind instinctively yearns for luxuriance.
as he continued to dig through the bag, lohen would catch sight of something that appeared far more valuable than the assortment of gems and silver stuffed in. a golden ring, crafted with an exquisite cluster that looked akin to the vines of a tree circling towards a crimson, ruby gemstone as its centerpiece. it undoubtedly belonged to a noble of some kind, but something as high quality as this would not be sitting out and about ready for the taking, much less stolen by two children. perhaps some careless noble was currently searching for it.. in which case, lohen decidedly stores it away within the pocket of his uniform, not thinking much of it.
“ah, lohen! there ya are!” the gruff sound of the grandmaster’s voice reaches the young knight’s ears seconds after. “i’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
whenever the grandmaster says those words, it always means either one of two things: there is an urgent matter that needs to be taken care of, usually consisting of having to deal with clearing out an area filled with monsters ( a task the grandmaster is aware lohen enjoys most ardently and therefore, assigns often ) or he has a letter that needs to be delivered on his behalf. for mondstat’s sake, let us hope it is not the latter…
instead of the grandmaster’s office, lohen found himself being led out to the palace courtyard. a pleasant setting, really, something even the dignified nobles sauntering about would agree with, but certainly odd to hold an official discussion in. even varka, for all his amicableness, knew when to set aside his colloquial manners to hone in on important matters, especially when they were in regards to affairs of the royal guard. in that case, this could all only mean one thing—
“grandmaster, while i am humbled by the fact you trust me so much as to deliver.. letters on your behalf, i’m afraid i cannot–”
“letters? who said anything about delivering letters?” varka questioned, as the two came to stop at the foot of a tree that stood at the center of the courtyard, its vastness providing ample shade from the afternoon sun.
“is that not the reason why you were looking for me?”
a hearty laugh traveled throughout. “no, of course not! i already assigned that task to be taken care of by mika for today.” seems like no one in the guard was safe from being a messenger today after all. “no, the reason i was looking for you today is related to a more important matter—and, no, it’s not about taking care of a camp of hilichurls or potential enemies of the like either.”
lohen’s eyebrow raised. that was certainly a first. if he was not being sent out to handle the supposed “grueling assignments” delegated throughout the royal guard, what matter could possibly be more important than wiping out an enemy camp? could it be an even tougher enemy? or perhaps a threat so massive it was going to put the entire kingdom at risk unless someone put a stop to it? granted, such an event had already come to pass from their most recent campaign, but wishful thinking never stopped even the most talentless of bards from hoping their ballads to be remembered for years to come.
all these thoughts beginning to circulate in his head must have caused the familiar glint of eagerness for battle to flicker across lohen’s eyes, as the grandmaster cleared his throat shortly after. “the matter is related to the royal family”
a pause. “the royal family?”
“yes. as you know, since the passing of his majesty, the prince, who was also next in line to inherit the throne, has since withdrawn the ragnvindr family from inheriting any form of a royal title.” there’s a hint of melancholy within varka’s tone as he speaks, but lohen does not make mention of it knowing that the matter he speaks of is beyond him.
“out of respect for his wishes, the church and royal guard allowed him to step down. normally, there is a long process one must go through when renouncing the crown, mainly to ensure there is still a ruler at present, but to also allow the church ample time to find a suitable family to take the mantle next. however, with how hastily the decision was made, it meant leaving the throne vacant.”
when it comes to matters regarding the monarchy of mondstat, lohen is admittedly not so knowledgeable on the subject. although that is a shortcoming he does not deem to be unacceptable, at least from his perspective. because when he was not being called upon to deliver letters or train with the other guards, lohen was out and about looking for his next punching bag. it was rare to find him within the palace, or even within the kingdom’s walls for that matter; you would have better chances of finding him in the most dangerous corners of the world. therefore, his knowledge of mondstat’s royal history was meager at best, but he was at least aware of the more significant details. one of which, being the inheritance of the crown.
being a country that prides itself on living by its notions of freedom, mondstat’s monarchy is equally reflected as such. the matter of who becomes the next ruler is a joint decision discussed between the church, the royal guard, and the people. when a family has reigned for a considerable amount of time—usually a decade—a meeting is called upon to decide whether or not the family will continue its rule or be contested by any within the three parties involved in the decision making process.
there have been three prominent families to have inherited the throne thus far; the lawrence family, whom history paints to have caused mondstat's darkest era, the gunnhildr family, and the ragnvindr family, now the most recent. up until now, the throne has never once been left vacant—not for a long time at least. since the young lord ragnvindr stepped down, it has been approximately six months that mondstat has been without a ruler and naturally, the kingdom has started to grow apprehensive.
“has the church still not found someone to take the throne?” lohen nearly scoffs, but the amusement in his eyes speaks otherwise. “is it truly that arduous of a task? there are a handful of respectable families within mondstat who would volunteer themselves without a second thought.”
varka chuckles. lohen’s blunt manner of speaking, despite its callousness at times, was always a welcome change to the otherwise decorous royal guard. he never knew what to expect, even if it sometimes did lead him into more trouble than he would have liked.
“believe me, if i had things done my way, mondstat would already have its ruler by now,” varka agrees. “but the matter of choosing the next ruler is not something as simple as picking from a sea of volunteers. you need more than charity to lead a kingdom.”
“just like you need more than a fighting spirit to lead the royal guard?”
“ha ha! you’re a funny one! fortunately for us, we won’t have to worry about finding a ruler anymore,” he eyes lohen with a smile that holds far more than the eye could see. “that is what i have brought you here to discuss.”
before lohen could question any further, varka reaches for something within the pocket of his uniform, pulling out an envelope that had the familiar wax seal of the church. he holds it out for lohen, gesturing for him to take it and after a beat of hesitation, the knight does so, carefully opening the envelope and reading the contents within.
the church of favonius, along with the knights of favonius and people of mondstat, have reached an agreement to crown lady [name], presented by the ragnvindr family, as the kingdom’s next queen.
after thorough investigation and private hearings regarding the family’s history, lady [name] has been deemed fit to lead our kingdom under the guidance and blessing of the anemo archon.
additionally, as per agreement between the grandmaster of the knights and seneschal of the church, lady [name] shall be provided a personal guard to remain at her side for the duration of her reign. both parties have nominated the vice captain of the royal guard’s fifth regiment, lohen, to bear this responsibility. by doing so, this ensures . . .
lohen does not bother to finish reading the rest, shaking his head as he starts to fold the paper back up. “no. no–absolutely not.”
“hey, hold on now! i haven’t even finished explaining–”
“grandmaster, with all due respect, i believe you and the senaschal were unwise in choosing me to be a royal’s personal guard.” a rare showcase of formality, one that looked almost too unnatural for lohen, that varka blinks in surprise. “i cannot be the queen’s guard. i will not have time to attend to her as often with my responsibilities as vice captain, so i strongly suggest that you and the senaschal select another candidate.”
which was partly true. although the position of vice captain did not include heavy amounts of demanding work when compared to that of an acting grandmaster, for example, there still remained obligations — even if lohen did not enjoy carrying them out as much. alas, varka knew the true intentions that lie hidden behind his sudden mask of formality and humbleness.
“listen, i understand that this is all coming to you without forewarning, and i apologize for making such a decision without consulting you first,” a sigh came from him then, accompanied by a troubled look. “but this is something we cannot forgo.”
“the previous rulers of our kingdom haven’t had a personal guard assigned to them—not a single one, and even then, the royal guard has managed to ensure their safety just fine without it,” lohen mentions, unwilling to back down as he crosses his arms over his chest. “what makes this case so different?”
“lady [name] is the only remaining member of her family’s lineage.” varka’s words are a statement rather than fact, yet they leave lohen with more questions than answers.
“the only remaining member of her family?” he repeats in disbelief, “the throne has been vacant for months, why on earth would we jeopardize the security of it any further by electing a sole living family member as the future crown? how have the people of mondstat agreed to this?”
“because they do not know, and it must remain that way.” fearing his voice had grown too prominent, varka glances around at the nobles that continue to walk along the courtyard. thankfully, most of them seem too preoccupied with their own conversations to even bother batting an eye at the grandmaster, bringing a minor sense of relief. when varka speaks again, he makes sure to keep his voice low. “the only ones who are aware of this are the church and knights. there are further details explaining as to why we have taken such a risk, but for now, they are only privy to myself, the senaschal, and the ragnvindr family, so you will have to forgive me for omitting some information. but i trust that now, you at least understand why lady [name] must have a personal guard, yes?”
yet he doesn’t want to understand, even when everything is spelled out to him as clearly as ever. because lohen knows that the moment he is to become a personal guard of the next queen, the little bit of freedom that his position as vice captain had already granted would be stripped away. his days of venturing outside the kingdom, fighting monsters and mastering his combat would be replaced with standing beside a monarch, still as a statue collecting dust. and his spear, which had always known the coat of red, would now be relinquished of its duty to eliminate foes.
he was no hero—no chivalric knight that sought to protect others for the sake of honor and duty. he was a weapon; one that followed the beat of his own drum which was the beating heart of his enemies he’d swear to slaughter.
lohen looks at the folded paper in his hand once more—the one that had managed to resign his entire fate—and he opens it once more, finishing up where he left off.
. . . by doing so, this ensures not only the protection of lady [name], who remains as the sole living member of her family, but that of the throne as well. the vice captain must guarantee her safety at all times until a suitable match can be found for lady [name]. once a suitor is found and believed to be fit for lady [name]’s hand in marriage, the vice captain may be relieved of his duty as her personal guard.
⟢ when the world won't stop spinning, and everyone seems to know everything yet nothing yet judge you all the same, kazuha vows to remain a constant through it all. ╱ word count : 570.
join my taglist : @tragedy-of-commons @kazuinvocation @florinoir
notes : hehe hope you like this!! kazuha is def one of the best characters to write comfort content for so!! also no need to like write anything for me in return like you mentioned kjfdhj im happy to do this!! ive. got something else coming your way as well after this.
Kazuha always knew where to find you; the old gnarled maple out in the back gardens where the trunk had split and left a hollow centre made perfect for two bodies to reside, the quiet side of the docks where no one—not even a single worker—dared to wander (“They’re haunted,” you told him once. “No one wants to be where ghosts have been.”). Even amongst the sprawling shorelines of Watatsumi Island he could point you out with far too much ease.
He knew you, the greatest and most terrible reality of it all; he knew you like he knew the hilt of the sword and the smell of sorrow on the wind. Perhaps he prided himself on that just a smidge more than he should. And perhaps that was the greatest form his devotion could ever take.
It was no different this time.
The note left by the door was short and small: Needed a breather. Be back by sunset. It was signed off with a heart and smile, the lines too smooth and fluid. To the world and on paper you were by all means just “fine.” The type of fine you’d tell a coworker to get them off your back just until the end of a shift. The type of fine Kazuha always knew how to read through regardless. The sun, sitting low in the sky, followed Kauha out to the streets as the wind carried his every step towards you. Where that was, he wasn’t sure in his mind, though his body took care of the rest.
At the foot of the Narukami Shrine and amongst the sprawling roots was a little hideaway that many did not know how to access. Past the twin rock statues and over the thickest roots along the rocky floor, you sat cradled in the gnarled wood. You overlooked the hilltop, the sun filtering in through the foliage. He walked up behind you, quiet, and kneeled down by your side without a word and without asking for any of yours.
He didn’t speak until you did first.
“You found me.” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “How’d you know?”
“The wind told me.” He tilted his chin up and as if on cue, the leaves bristled and the wood creaked in a soft protest.
Kazuha wasn’t sure how to explain it to you otherwise. The wind knew you not just by name but by the shape of your soul and thrum of your pulse. When you laughed, the breeze chittered beneath his fingertips and swirled in the cusp of his palms. When you were sad it fell low, brushed against the backs of his calves. And perhaps when you were happier than just happy, it smelled of fresh maple and irises and the butterflies around the area hummed to the same frequency. He followed the sights, the sounds and the trails left behind in the transparent down until it brought him to the physical form of you.
“Too much?” He pressed his shoulder lightly against yours.
You nodded. “Too much.”
“We will head back when you’re ready.”
You frowned, leaning towards him in turn. “That could be a while. You can leave first.”
“And leave you to the world alone?” He laughed, hair swirling in the following gust that blew through the cavern. “How could I do that?”
content: 12k words, cw: starvation mention & a little bit of blood and violence, reader is meant to be gn, royalty au, angst w/some fluff, assassin aventurine x royal reader, reader has an unspecified (terminal) illness + implied weak immune system, medical inaccuracy (probably), reader is fully of whimsy, aventurine is having a bad life
summary: aventurine is used to his missions going off without a hitch. this time his target is you, and that makes everything so much more complicated.
a/n: merry really late christmas @rainswept!! i was your secret santa. thank you for being such a good friend to me over the past year!!! i'm going to be so fr, i know i went over the word limit, so if you want something a bit shorter, feel free to dm me!! i will write something else!! otherwise i lowkey might have done your blond man dirty, but i hope this fic can bring you some joy!!
special thanks: @uncraven for giving me characterization tips!! @riniaras for helping me with characterization and yapping with me! @wystiix for witnessing my crashouts! all three of you genuinely saved me lmao.
PROLOGUE.
It’s easy to long for what you can never have.
That’s why Aventurine has always envied you, the kingdom’s frail heir.
You had been condemned to a premature death ever since the physicians had diagnosed you with a fatal illness as a child.
From that point onwards, it was apparent that you would live your life cherished and loved by both the royal family and your citizenry alike. Though you were to inherit the throne in name, everyone knew that you would never live long enough to see responsibility, nor would you survive to bear the pain of losing your loved ones.
Your life would be brief and beautiful in its evanescence, nothing like the prolonged suffering that Aventurine knows he’s been sentenced to — survival in spite of everything. Perhaps that’s the reason Aventurine feels almost guilty for complying with his superior’s newest orders: kill the eldest child of the royal family.
A certain subsection of people in the village have been restless as of late. Out of every royal in the bloodline, you are the only person who has received any sort of training oriented towards becoming a future monarch. Despite the fact that everyone knows you’re destined to meet your end before then, formality and tradition hold above all else.
Chances are one of your siblings will rule instead, but none of them have been taught how to run a kingdom. Fear of political weakness due to your family’s unique situation has been something Aventurine has heard whispers of ever since he was a child, and it’s been ruminating over the past two decades.
Now that you and your siblings are all of age, the situation has become more tense than ever, so that’s why Aventurine isn’t quite shocked when he learns that someone wants you gone. Without you in the picture, your parents will finally be able to allocate their time and resources towards teaching someone stronger, fit for rule.
To end your story in such a grotesque manner would be to desecrate the final chapter of your life, closing off a book embellished with gilded ink and opulent binding with words dyed crimson — forever a stain on your legacy. It’s a shame, but it’s not like Aventurine has any say in the matter.
Someone wants you dead, and Aventurine has no reason to refuse the mission that’s been assigned to him. Unlike most people who have heard your story, he’s never felt pity for you.
SCENE 1.0
Aventurine isn’t stupid. He knows security around the palace has been meticulous ever since your parents found out about your condition, so sneaking in the traditional way is off the table from the start. Instead, he chooses to play his cards in a way that works in his favour.
His shining ace — a grandiose facade obscuring an ugly truth beneath its radiance. Although it’s much easier said than done, finding a way to get you and your family to trust him is his best bet. Aventurine’s sure he has what it takes.
Honeyed words leave his lips with sickeningly-saccharine ease, and acting comes to him as naturally as breathing. Afterwards, all he’ll have to do is look for the most opportune moment to strike. If he’s convincing enough, no one will ever suspect a thing, and the truth of your murder will die with him.
SCENE 1.1
As expected, finding a way in doesn’t pose much of a challenge. With his silver tongue and charm, Aventurine is able to join the ranks of the royal staff with ease.
No, the real trial is even so much as catching a glimpse of you. It turns out you’re far more reclusive than Aventurine could have ever imagined. After an entire week of wandering around labyrinths composed of corridors and enough spiral staircases to last him a lifetime, Aventurine concludes that he’s yet to see you even once.
When he asks one of his new colleagues about your whereabouts, he’s told that your illness has been flaring up more than usual as of late. As a result, you’ve been confined to bedrest for the past month, and only a select few people have been allowed to see you.
Aventurine isn’t in a rush. He’s willing to wait until you’re well enough to go about business as usual, but as his luck would have it, he encounters you sooner than expected.
SCENE 1.2
It’s well past midnight when he first sees you, a nameless silhouette in the dark. Twilight embrace hides not only your identity but your status and history as well. Under the transient veil of night, you’re just human — nothing more, nothing less. If not for the odd timing, the phantasm of normalcy cast over you would have fooled Aventurine, but he knows that no average person goes sneaking around while the rest of the world is at rest.
He’s only able to fully identify you when silken moonbeams cast a spotlight over your clumsy nocturnal traipse through winding passages. Your face is only illuminated for a flash before you disappear back into the shadows, but it’s enough for him to recognize you. You’re exactly who he’s been looking for all this time.
You haven’t quite noticed him watching you from behind yet, too caught up in whatever you’re up to at this hour of the night. Aventurine decides it’s better to act sooner rather than later. He’s much more likely to make a good first impression if he reveals himself instead of waiting to be discovered.
Silently so as to not disturb the sleeping staff and the rest of the royal family, he approaches you, gently tapping you on the shoulder as you continue to wander in a daze.
“Good evening, friend,” Aventurine breathes as you jolt around to face him. “Might I ask what you’re up to?”
For a second, a hush overtakes the atmosphere, engulfing everything in its uneasy tension. Aventurine isn’t fazed by the standstill; patience is a virtue, and time is a currency that he can well afford.
But you on the other hand, you appear uncomfortable, shifting as if you’re aware you’ve been caught doing something wrong. Even in the dark, Aventurine can tell that your head remains lowered, your eyes trained on the ground as if you’d be able to burn holes through it with your gaze alone and sink into the earth below.
“Just taking a walk,” you finally whisper, your voice almost choked under the weight of it all. The words tumble out all too quickly, and that’s when Aventurine knows he’s got you. You still seem to think he hasn’t recognized you, still have hope that you can find an easy way out.
“I can see that,” Aventurine chuckles. He allows another beat of quietude to weave itself into the evening fantasia before he makes his grandest gamble yet. “And while going out at night isn’t strictly prohibited, I know for a fact that you’re not supposed to be out here, your highness.”
Checkmate. Everything comes to a halt.
Knowledge is leverage, and right now, Aventurine undoubtedly has the upper hand.
“How did you — ? And more importantly, who are you?”
“Aventurine, the newest addition to the ranks of your royal staff. Word of advice, next time you try to go incognito, stick to the shadows,” Aventurine suggests. “Even a glimpse is enough for a passerby like myself to notice a face as recognizable as yours.”
All you can do is sigh, knowing your cover has been fully blown.
“Thanks,” you mumble sarcastically. “So what now? Are you planning to escort me back to my room? Turn me in to my parents?”
Aventurine weighs his options for a second, carefully calculating the return on every choice that lies before him. Although he could do as you’re thinking and win the favour of the rest of your family, he knows that the most important part of his plan is gaining your trust. With that in mind, Aventurine comes to a decision, passing up the opportunity to ensnare your family in his trap as a sort of premium to be paid for your faith instead.
“Do you really think so poorly of me?” Aventurine draws the sentence out, lacing his tone with a teasing lilt that’s meant to make you feel more relaxed. “I may be nothing more than a humble servant, but I’m not a monster. I understand that you’ve been confined to your quarters for an extended period of time, and all you want is some time to breathe.”
The tautness in your limbs alleviates almost immediately, he notes, and all the heaviness that had filled the air before evaporates. Extending a bit of empathy in trying times never fails to get people to loosen up.
“You’re just going to let me go?” you question, still a little dubious yet decidedly less skeptical than you had been moments prior.
“That depends on what exactly you’re planning to do. While I don’t plan on snitching or sending you back to confinement, I wouldn’t be of much use to the royal family if I just let their dearly beloved heir rush headfirst into dangerous situations.” Aventurine strings his phrases together with care. Each word is an attack on your defenses, slowly but surely lowering your guard. “You have to understand that us working folk have no choice but to follow the commands of our superiors, but I’m willing to bend the rules a little if you’ll tell me what you’re up to.”
“If that’s your game,” you start, taking a moment to ponder, “then fine. You have a deal.” Without hesitation, you extend your hand in the dark, and Aventurine meets you halfway, sealing your agreement with a firm shake.
“Go on then,” he prompts you, a satisfied smirk lifting the corners of his lips. “You can trust me. I would never so much as dream of revealing your secrets to a single soul.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” you respond. “I’m sure you know deep down why I’m here. It’s like you said earlier — sometimes this place feels a little too much like a prison. Even though I know everyone’s just trying their best to protect me, it’s overbearing at times.”
So he was able to read you flawlessly. Perfect.
“I’m not planning to do anything reckless. In fact, I’ve been doing this for years,” you continue, your voice becoming slightly shaky as confessions find their way off your tongue and into the open where any prying ears could catch wind of hushed taboos. “But all you really need to know is that I often take walks around the palace grounds at night.m Without informing anyone.”
Admission has a way of making things feel real, almost tangible. Aventurine can tell that guilt is starting to ease its way into your heart, taking root too little, too late. What you need now is a touch of reassurance.
“Is that all?” he asks — allowing laughter, light and delicate, to bubble up in the form of a soothing aria. “Judging from your body language and tone, I thought you were going to tell me you were involved in far, far worse things in your free time.”
“Excuse me?” you interrupt him. You sound almost offended by the implication of his words.
“Relax,” Aventurine says, “I was jesting. That’s all. What I meant to say is, there’s nothing wrong with getting some fresh air, so you have no need to sulk over your actions. Since you’re not getting up to any mischief as a way to de-stress, I suppose I can let this slide.”
Before you can thank him and continue on your way, Aventurine decides to take another calculated risk.
“But it would be improper of me to let you wander around without anyone around to protect you. Allow me to accompany you for tonight,” he offers, instantly slipping into the guise of a devoted servant.
For a moment, you consider his proposition before giving in.
“Sure,” you agree. “In all honesty, you don’t seem half bad.”
So far, Aventurine hasn’t tried to do anything to confine you — keep you inside a cage under the pretense of a mercy you never asked for. He doesn’t treat you like you’re fragile either, instead opting to talk to you as if you’re nothing more than a regular person.
And Aventurine knows that means more to you than anything else in the world. Everything is going according to plan.
SCENE 1.3
“Are you cold?” Aventurine asks as you step outside.
“Not particularly," you lie, trying to suppress the shiver that runs down your spine.
Crisp air hits your face, and you take it in like a lifeline. The scenery is nothing short of divine. Ebony skies shroud the earth as dazzling flecks of silver break through the darkness in rays of faint starlight. Overhead, the moon watches over the slumbering world as the sole witness of everything that goes unseen beneath the all-enveloping cover of night.
“Hey, there’s no need to fret your pretty head off,” Aventurine reassures you. “I was just wondering if you wanted my cloak.”
“Oh,” is all you manage to utter before you start to become hyperaware of the chill that seems to pierce through to your bones. Your breath comes out as a wisp of milky opal, contorting and ultimately dissipating in the frigid evening atmosphere.
“We can’t have you catching a cold. Right, your highness?” Aventurine says, staring straight at you with eyes that seem to see through to your very soul. “Since I’m the one who allowed you to come out here in the first place, it’s only natural for me to feel like I’m responsible for your safety and wellbeing.”
Without another word, he shrugs off the topmost layer of his outfit and drapes it over you before another wave of shivers can rack your body.
“Isn’t that so much better?” he inquires, his smirk now fully-illuminated by the moonlight.
You nod, chasing after the warmth that lingers within the fabric of the cloak. His warmth. Although Aventurine is hardly more than a stranger to you, something about him draws you in — moth to a flame.
“It is,” you respond meekly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Thank you.”
“No need. I’m just doing my job.”
With that, you lead him around the courtyard, your footsteps seeming all-too-loud in the dead of night.
“As long as we don’t stray too close to the edges of the estate, we won’t run into any guards,” you tell Aventurine, subconsciously tugging his cloak closer to you. “So we more or less have free reign of the whole place.”
“Even though you said you’d done this many times before, I didn’t expect you to have it down to an exact science.” Aventurine says, amusement lacing his voice. “After all, it didn’t take much for me to catch you in the act.”
“That was because you were someone I couldn’t have accounted for even if I wanted to. You know, most of the newer staff try to stay in their lane instead of spying on members of the royal family during prime witching hours,” you huff.
“Is that so?” Aventurine asks. “Well then, I’ll be sure to make note of your feedback, your highness.”
You roll your eyes, feigned exasperation beginning to morph your expression. Although you suspect Aventurine’s banter has a way of getting on other people’s nerves, you find that you appreciate it more than anything. It’s refreshing to have someone talk to you without poorly-concealed sympathy woven into their tone. Everyone else speaks to you as if you’re delicate — as if you have an ailment of the heart, and one wrong word is enough to break you.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“For being receptive to advice? Again, I’m just trying to fulfill my duties.”
For the first time in a while, you find yourself laughing. Not the polite, practiced laugh that you’ve rehearsed thousands of times as a way to respond to uncomfortable conversations about your condition. Something genuine.
“Mhm. So enlighten me. How did your escapade tonight have anything to do with chores?” you question him as you gasp for air.
Aventurine shrugs. “I was just having a look around. It’s not often that I have time during the day to familiarize myself with the layout of this place, so I’ve started taking leisurely strolls around when I’m off the clock. I figured knowing more could be useful if there’s ever an emergency.”
“Oh, so you weren’t kidding when you said you were serious about your responsibilities.”
“Of course,” Aventurine responds, making eye contact with you. “You wound me,” he presses a gloved hand over his heart dramatically. “What do you take me for? A liar?”
“My mistake,” you concede, another round of laughter racking your body. You can’t remember the last time you felt this light. “Maybe that means I don’t know enough about you as a person. Care to tell me a bit more about yourself?”
“Your interest is flattering, but I’m afraid that my answer may disappoint you,” he drawls. “Unlike you, I’m just a regular old servant. If there’s anyone worth discussing here, it’s you. You’ve been the talk of the town for two decades now.”
You know he’s deflecting, redirecting the conversation towards another route, but you choose not to press any further. A part of you wonders if there are parts of his past that he prefers not to revisit. However, you doubt you’ll find the answers to your questions anytime soon. In just a short time, you’ve come to understand that beneath sweet talk and witty remarks, it’s difficult to gauge what Aventurine is really thinking.
“Is there anything about me that the people don’t know?” you ask. “My life has been a spectacle since the moment I was born.”
“Well for one, I’d like to know what you think of everything,” Aventurine elaborates.
For a second, you stare at him, perplexed. “What I think of… everything.” you echo hesitantly, as if you had never considered articulating your opinions before. “What I think of my life.”
Aventurine nods. “All I ever hear about is how other people feel about your story. Their sorrow, their pain, their remorse on your behalf — they never fail to drown out your voice.”
He’s right.
No one has ever truly heard you. You know you’re loved, adored by your family and the majority of your subjects. Yet amidst their coddling and concern, your truest wishes tend to fall on deaf ears.
Opening up to someone you met mere minutes ago feels bizarre, but no one in your life has ever been willing to just listen, so you decide to confide in Aventurine.
“I know the people around me mean well,” you start, “but it’s a bit tiring at times. Everyone thinks they know what I need, but sometimes I just want a sense of normalcy. No more unreasonable bedrest, no more being swarmed by staff the second I so much as show the slightest sign of discomfort. I don’t want to feel like I’m just surviving — barely getting by. I want to live.”
Aventurine hums in acknowledgement.
“I get it,” he says, taking your hand. “And I’m here to help. Allow me to make you an offer. One you can’t refuse.”
SCENE 2.0
Everything goes off without a hitch. By the end of the week, Aventurine is appointed your personal attendant, and he’s perfectly-poised to continue on with the next phase of his plan. Although it would be ideal to go through with the murder sooner rather than later, he knows that he’ll be playing the long game.
If he attempts to assassinate you during a peaceful period like last night, your cries could alert the attention of the royal guard, and his entire operation would end in a bust. He needs something big to happen before he even so much as tries to lay a finger on you, so until then, all he can do is win you over.
Your parents seemed quite eager to have someone keep an eye on you throughout all hours of the day when you relayed the idea to them. Naturally you recommended Aventurine for the position, as he’s been far more permissive than anyone you’ve ever met. With him in charge of monitoring you, freedom no longer seems to be a distant dream.
“Thank god you came around when you did,” you muse as you guide Aventurine towards the forest near the outskirts of your family’s property. “Normally my recovery periods tend to last for a few more days, but it seems like my parents are a little more lax now that you’re here to watch over me. I thought I was going to go crazy if I had to keep sneaking out.”
“Is that so?” Aventurine asks. “Then I guess we’ve both been blessed by fortunate timing.”
He hears you hum in agreement as you find yourselves in front of a singing stream, its aquamarine waters glistening as they catch sunbeams filtering through the foliage above. It doesn’t take long for you to spot a few stones peeking above the pristine surface of the rivulet forming a path to the other side.
“Do you think we can cross from here?” You inspect the rocks more closely, noting that they’re spaced out just enough for you to walk across the expense comfortably.
“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Aventurine affirms, nudging you gently. “Why don’t you go first? Test the waters a little.”
“And here I thought you were supposed to be the one protecting me. Not the other way around,” you huff. Despite your snide remark, you step out onto the first stone, carefully gaining your footing so as to not slip off. One foothold at a time, you gradually inch closer to the opposite bank, and Aventurine follows you from behind.
As fate would have it, you end up slipping right as you make a leap from the final rock to solid ground. Aventurine watches it all happen in the moment. Time dilates in a way that makes it feel as though the world is moving at a pace that is paradoxically slow and quick at the same time.
In an instant, Aventurine calculates his stakes. On one hand, he could let you fall and suffer a potentially fatal injury. But if you end up surviving, your parents will almost certainly replace him as your personal staff once they hear of what transpired today. Besides that, you had told them where you were going before you set out today. They’re aware that you’re alone with him, so if any harm befalls you, Aventurine will have to suffer the consequences.
The choice is obvious. Aventurine lunges forward, grabbing your arm to steady you before you’re met with the freezing embrace of the waters below and an unruly bed of jagged rocks.
“Careful now,” he warns, his tone teasing despite the danger of the situation you’d been in just moments prior. “Wouldn’t want me to lose my job on the first day, right?”
He can tell you’re still rattled, so without another word, he passes you and reaches the other side with ease.
“Let’s try this again,” he says, extending a hand. “This time, allow me to help you.” He flashes you a reassuring grin.
You draw a shaky breath in and intertwine your fingers with his. The surging accelerando of your heart finally calms, settling at its regular pace as you tighten your grip. Once again, you take a leap of faith, and this time, you make it to the other bank safe and sound.
“Thank you,” you nod, your voice still slightly ragged due to the close call. “Sometimes I can be a little bit uncoordinated,” you admit. “It’s not something I usually like to talk about, but I guess it comes with experiencing frequent nausea.”
“Nausea?” Aventurine inquires, allowing a note of concern to work its way into his cadence. His mesmerizing eyes cloud over with feigned worry, gauging your expression. He wouldn’t mind getting you to elaborate on your weaknesses.
“Mhm,” you confirm. “Honestly, it’s nearly-constant, but I’ve learned to live with it. I’m not going to let my condition stop me from experiencing as much as possible before I’m gone.”
Aventurine finds it almost bitterly amusing how you’re polar opposites. From a young age, he had learned that he was meant to be a survivor, whether he wanted to embrace that title or not. Life has a way of twisting itself into an unsightly mess of chaos and misery when you have nothing left to cling onto.
But you — from the moment you were born, your fate had been ordained. You were dealt a hand that means nothing but misfortune to others, but despite it all, you’ve made the most of what little you were given. No matter the severity of your curse, you’ve learned to see beauty in everything that belongs to a world that has long since forsaken you.
Against his own will, a small flicker of respect graces his heart before he stamps it out in a panic. In the depths of his soul, he knows that you’re braver than him — that you’re willing to live in the present as your uninhibited self instead of dwelling on a painful past or a tragic future.
He tells himself that you’re nothing more than a target, but he’s already far more intrigued by your resilience than he cares to admit.
SCENE 3.0
Starvation is a feeling that Aventurine has come to detest. Emptiness — the sense that he has anything less than excess. It reminds him of a bygone era of his life he’d rather not revisit. Yet disliking the feeling of hunger doesn’t mean that he’s unable to handle it — quite the opposite, actually. Aventurine resents how well he has come to physically tolerate the sensation of being starved because he only picked up the ability out of necessity.
However, despite his efforts to do anything in his power to avoid his past, there are days where he finds he’s too busy to nourish himself properly. Between serving as your personal attendant, meeting with your parents, and being summoned for smaller chores, Aventurine finds that his schedule has become nothing more than an amalgamation of duties.
Skipping meals is becoming increasingly common, and it doesn’t help that Aventurine refuses to overindulge in front of watchful eyes, even at times when he hasn’t had enough to eat. Though subtle, his attitude towards food reflects a piece of his past, and putting his memories on full display is the last thing he wants.
No one can hurt you if they don’t know anything about you.
As expected, no one notices anything unusual — for a while, that is. Everything changes on a lazy afternoon when you confront him.
“Isn’t it time for you to take a break? You’ve been running around all day without any proper meals,” you say, raising an eyebrow as you scrutinize Aventurine. Your gaze is filled with quiet suggestion, a spark in your irises that subtly screams at him to rest for once.
“I appreciate your concern, but I know my limits,” Aventurine shrugs, trying to brush off your worries.
A pause ensues as silence permeates the air, deafeningly loud as you carefully select your next words.
He sincerely hopes that you don’t notice the tautness that settles in his muscles or the discomfort that etches itself across his features for just a split second. Aventurine comes to understand that you’ve been observing him, watching, tracking his patterns and familiarizing yourself with his habits. It’s unsettling — the idea that you care enough to pay attention to him.
It feels like it’s been forever since someone has been this attentive towards him.
“I’m not sure you do, so you’ll be having a meal with me. Right now. That’s an order by the way,” you add. “Take better care of yourself. Seriously, how am I supposed to expect you to protect me if you can’t even keep yourself alive?”
“You’ve got me there,” Aventurine chuckles, phoney amusement dripping off each laugh, “so I guess I have no choice but to comply.”
You squint your eyes as you continue to observe him.
“That’s right, and make sure you eat enough too. You never ask for more than what’s served to you, even when you’ve been running on nearly nothing for a whole day.”
Again, that same perceptiveness causes fractals of ice to settle deep within Aventurine’s body. It takes everything in him to suppress a shiver. Intent to harm can scratch the surface — carve wounds, draw blood, and leave scars. But care is so much worse. Care penetrates bone, sinew, and viscera divine, stripping away everything until all that remains is vulnerability.
Despite it all, Aventurine finds that the beginnings of warmth blaze to life in the disastrous aortic masterpiece concealed beneath all that he presents himself as. It’s nothing much, but the possibility of mattering to someone after so long is both touching yet petrifying.
So he’s quick to shut it down without a second thought.
SCENE 4.0
Fear of the dark is really just fear of the unknown — the things that lurk in frayed edges of achromatic oblivion. There’s a sort of helplessness that comes with facing an unseen threat.
While Aventurine isn’t scared of the shadows themselves, he finds that on worse nights, they serve as a reminder of how he’ll never outrun his own helplessness. Slumber resurrects ghosts of a past that he doesn’t quite want to face, and the waking world that greets him feels bleaker than ever afterwards.
He’s used to facing everything alone, holding himself until the first rays of pale morning glow peek above the horizon and ward off the nightmares. With each new day, he slips back into a persona that’s meant to distance him from everything he’s been through. Aventurine prefers it this way. No one has to see him at his lowest, the ugly truth beneath a plethora of beautiful lies.
But as with all things these days, you end up defiling any sense of security that Aventurine has ever established.
On this particular evening, Aventurine wakes up in cold sweat. Oxygen is bitter on his tongue and poison in his lungs. Yet again, his dreams have decided to remind him that he can’t evade his past forever.
Just as he’s ready to accept that the next few hours will be spent in painstaking recollection, a knock rings through the air, reverberating off the walls of his bedroom.
A part of Aventurine doesn’t want to answer it, but he knows that he’ll only be digging himself into a deeper hole if he acts unusual in any way. So he takes a moment to brace himself, steadying his breathing and fixing his unkempt appearance by the glow of candlelight. In a blink, the facade is back in place, and he’s ready to embrace the theatrics of it all once more.
Or so he thinks.
When he opens the door, he finds that it’s you. It’s always you these days. Sometimes you show up unannounced to get him to help you with one of your schemes. It’s become increasingly common as of late, as he’s gradually becoming your partner in crime.
He stares at you, struggling to string together a sentence that feels like something the Aventurine you’ve come to know would say.
Calm. Cool. Collected.
He just has to hold a normal conversation.
“Oh? What a surprise,” Aventurine remarks, trying to gauge what you want from him by the faint moonlight breaking through his window. “Did you miss me that much?”
Play it up. It’s possible to conceal anything so long as you choose the right words.
“You act as if I don’t do this all the time.” You roll your eyes, breathing out a feigned sigh. “I’m sure you know why I’m here, so you can drop the act.”
He knows you don’t mean it like that, but something about how your phrasing gets to him. Against his own will, he finds himself drawing in a sharp breath. It’s a momentary lapse in judgement, but it proves detrimental.
You notice.
The same way you’ve been picking up on various small details about Aventurine ever since you first met. There’s still much you have yet to learn about him, but you’ve already read further into him than anyone else has in years, and it unsettles him.
“Is something wrong?” you question Aventurine, tilting your head to study his face. The feeling of being watched, dissected feature-by-feature, is enough to send shivers down his spine.
“Of course. What? Are you implying I look disheveled? Unsightly?” It doesn’t take much time for Aventurine to slip back into his usual role, the retort coming to him without much thought.
However, Aventurine can tell you’re not ready to fully drop the matter yet, despite his attempt at humour.
“You know what? Never mind,” you shrug. “I couldn’t sleep, so I was going to ask if you wanted to accompany me to the woods tonight. I’ve heard whispers of a rare bird settling by the outskirts, but it’s a little too cold to go searching tonight. Why don’t we just… play chess instead?”
Aventurine is aware that you’re granting him a mercy. You want to stay with him — make sure he’s okay. But the instinct to refuse you, push you away in his moment of weakness, is strong. Despite everything, he attempts to quell his fears, locking them away but never truly dispelling them.
“Sounds like a plan,” he agrees.
You’d find it odd if he said no. He can’t allow you to continue speculating, so he accepts your request.
By the luminescence of moonbeams, you keep each other company throughout yet another sleepless night. And for once, Aventurine doesn’t have to face his nightmares alone, no matter how hard he tries not to acknowledge it.
SCENE 5.0
Aventurine quickly learns that in spite of your determination to defy the limits imposed on you by your illness, you have your worse days as well.
He’s only been working for you for a month, but your immune system has already failed you a second time in the short period you’ve known each other. At the moment, he’s confined to sitting in a chair beside your bed as knights stand guard outside your room and other staff rush in and out.
As he looks out the window, he sees twilight hues beginning to paint over the previously-cereulean sky. Shades of salvia, marigold, and forget-me-not bloom across the heavens above as if the sun is trying to show the world one last display of splendor before its departure. It’s only then that he realizes it’s been a whole day already.
Slowly but surely, the number of servants visiting your private quarters each hour begins to dwindle until only Aventurine and your guards remain. Without the previous buzz, Aventurine realizes you look smaller than ever, enveloped in piles of blankets and shaking uncontrollably. You’re usually so lively, so to bear witness to you powerless and lifeless is chilling. For the first time, he feels a twinge of remorse on your behalf.
He’s not supposed to. He knows that this is dangerous, so he chooses to bury everything within the recesses of his heart. To feel for someone is to be vulnerable, and that’s the last thing he wants.
Perhaps it’s time for him to retire to his own bedroom. He doesn’t like seeing you like this. It makes his skin crawl, and his own thoughts feel as though they’re defying him — undermining everything he’s supposed to be.
One of the other staff offered to watch over you earlier, suggesting that they could work in shifts alongside Aventurine. All he has to do is pull away and inform them that he needs them to step in. However, as he tries to get up, he sees you reach out a shaky hand.
“Don’t go.” Your voice is hardly a whisper, so soft that it’s almost lost amongst the evening’s quiet ambience. “Please?”
Every part of Aventurine’s brain screams at him to leave immediately. For once, he’s met with a gamble that’s not worth the risk, yet foolishly, he decides to make a wager. Adrenaline floods through his veins as he sits back down. No matter how hard he tries to remain calm, his heart can’t help but race.
He hates this, but he knows abandoning you now will only look bad on his part, so he stays.
Aventurine takes your hand — out of obligation, he tells himself, trying not to linger on the way his fingers tremble slightly. This is all so that he can win your trust and fulfill his mission. That’s all there is to it.
Through the thin fabric of his gloves, Aventurine feels your burning touch. You cling to him like a lifeline, and it takes everything in him not to tear himself away from your grasp. This shouldn’t be so difficult.
Between gritted teeth and tensed muscles, Aventurine is able to keep himself in check until your breathing evens out and your eyes fall closed. His presence helps you drift into slumber, lulling you into the comfort of an oneiric world far away from the hardships of your everyday life.
Gently, Aventurine untangles your fingers, clutching his own hand as if it had just been scalded.
The starlight breaking through your window caresses every dip and curve of your features in a way that makes you look serene yet unguarded. For a moment, Aventurine takes it all in.
You, beneath all the smiles and stubbornness.
You, whose most desperate wish is to cherish the life you’ve been given.
You, whose blood will eventually come to stain his hands in due time.
A wave of resentment washes over him.
Nothing would be this complicated if you weren’t like this. You’re everything Aventurine believes he could never be. He feels like a coward in your presence, and it makes the idea of him ending your life all the more absurd.
Hatred, envy, and an emotion that he doesn’t want to attach a name to coalesce in the pit of his stomach, gnawing at him, destroying him from the inside out.
Being in your presence is sickening.
SCENE 6.0
It takes a few weeks for you to recover fully, yet even after you’re better, your parents insist on keeping you under lock and key for just a few more days.
Aventurine can read the exasperation that laces your voice whenever someone informs you that your quarantine period has been extended. He has little trouble interpreting the longing glances you shoot outdoors. Things are back to the way they were when you first met, and frankly, Aventurine doesn’t mind. You don’t look quite as pitiful anymore. Instead, you’ve returned to your usual antics.
Case in point: tonight you’ve decided that you want to directly disobey your parents’ orders, and you’ve recruited Aventurine as an accomplice.
“Is it your life’s mission to stress me out?” Aventurine asks you as he scans the halls for any sign of someone approaching. You’re hidden behind the corner, waiting for his signal.
“Maybe,” you giggle. “Since you work for me, you’re technically obligated to follow my orders. Within reason, of course.”
Aventurine sighs, shaking his head as he motions for you to follow him. It’s a miracle that he was even able to distract the knights posted by your doors long enough to allow you to slip out into the halls beyond.
Despite the fact that getting involved in your mischief is far more than what he had bargained for when he had accepted his mission, he finds that it keeps his mind off thoughts that he’s been trying to flee from over the past few days.
“In all honesty, I don’t mind,” he shrugs. “After all, what’s life without a little risk?”
Aventurine allows his words to linger in the peaceful atmosphere, opening a large window as silence falls over you once more. It’s the perfect escape route — unguarded and inconspicuous. No one will suspect a thing. With a flick of his wrist, he gestures for you to climb through before following suit.
“This way,” you whisper as you grab Aventurine’s wrist, pulling him away.
As you drag him through the dark, Aventurine realizes how ridiculous all of this is. Even though you’re supposed to be his target, he feels like he’s the one blindly trusting you right now. In spite of everything you’ve done for him so far, there’s a part of Aventurine that still remains guarded. You could be taking him anywhere right now.
After what feels like an eternity awaiting an answer, you finally stop at a mess of hedges concealing a wooden gate. Verdant ivy crawls along the surface of the door and through its cracks, decorating the structure in a beautiful tangle of imperfections.
You step forward and grab the handle of the gate, pulling it open.
The sight that lies beyond the mundane entrance is breathtaking enough to make even Aventurine stop in his tracks. Given his affiliation with wealthy clients and his affinity for gambling, Aventurine is no stranger to luxury and opulence — the best the world has to offer.
But this is something else entirely.
Lamps illuminate the garden, delicately accentuating each petal bathing in their radiance. Rows of flowers lie before the two of you, ethereal as they sway in the soft breeze and drink in the light of a full moon.
“I found this place years ago,” you explain as you take a seat on an old bench that can’t help but creak as you sit down. You pat the spot next to you, and Aventurine takes the hint immediately. “As far as I know, no one else comes here, so these flowers have survived all on their own for a while now. Aren’t they beautiful?”
“They are,” he hums, turning his head to take everything in. “This truly is a place of miracles.”
You nod enthusiastically, pointing at each patch of flowers and relaying obscure facts about the flora as if you have no other cares in the world. Aventurine finds himself studying you as you talk excitedly, noticing the way the joy in your eyes seems to reflect the ribbons of starlight that cascade down from the skies above.
He shakes the thought off as his hand moves subconsciously to his pocket. Immediately, he’s met with the sensation of cool metal beneath his fingertips. Although Aventurine doesn’t want to find himself trapped further in a web of his feelings, he knows now is not the best time to draw his weapon. You’re still on palace grounds, and he’s absolutely sure that someone will hear if you call out for help.
Aventurine tells himself that’s the only reason trepidation wins over the need to complete the task assigned to him right now. Logic. The order to get out of this in one piece. He repeats it like a mantra even though he knows he’s doing nothing but deceiving himself.
“Hello? Earth to Aventurine,” you wave a hand in front of his face, finally snapping him back to reality. “Are you fine?”
“Please, forgive me. I’m just a little tired tonight.”
“Oh, woe is me. My personal attendant was bored by my spiel about plants,” you sigh as mock offence finds its way into the phrase. “Let’s head back if you’re already falling asleep.”
Aventurine doesn’t protest. He’s starting to think that maybe he’d be better off spending less time alone with you from now on. Before you leave, however, you crouch down to pick a single rose tinted the colour of late afternoon sunbeams.
“This is for you,” you say as you hand him the flower.
Friendship. He’s become more than just an attendant to you.
“How very generous of you, your highness,” Aventurine graciously accepts the gift. “It’s only fair that I pick one out for you in return, isn’t it?”
You nod, seemingly eager to see Aventurine’s selection. For a minute or two, he scans the garden, examining every florette and flourishing blossom with the utmost precision. Finally, he settles on a hyacinth that looks as though it’s been dipped in the essence of celestial luminosity — its petals dyed a faded purple. He tucks the flower behind your ear, his breath ghosting over your skin, before making a start towards the gate.
“What an interesting choice,” you mutter. “Do you have anything you’d like to confess to? Any instances where you’ve wronged me over the past couple of months we’ve known each other?” For the most part, your tone carries the air of someone who’s merely teasing, but there’s a small glimmer of concern hidden beneath it all.
“What do you mean?” Aventurine inquires. “Have I done something to offend you, your highness?”
“Not at all. It’s just… Do you know the meaning of this flower?”
“I can’t say that I’m aware. Is it that bad?”
“No, it’s fine,” you decide. “I like to think… one way or another, there’s beauty in all things, even if they carry the weight of painful emotions. Now I’ll think of you, my dear friend, whenever I see this specific flower.”
“What an honour,” he smirks as you leave the garden together.
Aventurine will never tell you that his ignorance was feigned, fabricated with precision. He’s received purple hyacinths before — several times at funerals. Over time, he’s come to understand their meaning.
Sorrow or a plea for forgiveness.
SCENE 7.0
Aventurine is aware he’s been dragging this on for a while now. It’s already been three months. Although there have been times where refraining from doing anything too drastic was founded on reasonable grounds, he’s also come to understand that the client that got his superior to assign him this mission has been becoming increasingly impatient.
Everything comes to a head one evening when he sees a note lying by his windowsill catching the firelight emitted by a freshly-lit candle right next to it. The parchment is crinkled, still partially folded in on itself as if whoever left it there had to go in a hurry.
As Aventurine opens it, he catches sight of familiar yet messy handwriting bleeding into the page, lines upon lines scrawled in a monochromatic rush. His eyes scan every inch of the note, taking it all in before deciding that it’s trustworthy. Every convention that he’s been taught to look for in his superior’s messages is there.
From what he can gather, their client has requested a meeting with him personally in the woods at midnight. Aventurine already knows what they want before he sets out, but he decides to humour them anyway.
Tonight, lunar radiance has intertwined to create a faint halo overhead, far dimmer than usual no matter how desperately the waning moon tries to illuminate the world below. Everything is shrouded in obscurity, and it’s become more difficult than ever to discern if the shadows are just that — illusions created by a trick of the light.
Still, Aventurine braves the woods without any sort of lamp. If any unwanted parties were to see a faint glow in the distance, chances are they’d investigate. The fabric of his clothing catches on sinister thorns and jagged branches, almost serrated in nature, creating a few tears in his flawlessly-ironed outfit, and various objects on the forest floor prove to be tripping hazards, but he has no choice but to continue on.
After a few minutes of stumbling around, vision impaired by the pervading darkness, Aventurine finally comes to a clearing where moonrays shine upon a single individual standing in the centre of it all.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, friend,” Aventurine says as he steps into the light. “My sincerest apologies for taking my time to fulfill your request.”
“So you’re self-conscious enough to realize you’ve been keeping me waiting,” the client scoffs, his gruff voice ringing out like a dissonant note debasing the tranquil night’s symphony. “Let’s cut to the chase. How much longer are you going to stall this operation? This kingdom can’t wait forever for a new heir to be trained.”
“I know,” Aventurine responds, enunciating the last syllable with a crisp finality, “but haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘patience is a virtue’? I can guarantee that this will all be worth it in the end.”
“I’ve already been more than patient with you,” the man complains, letting an exasperated sigh fall from his lips. “What on earth have you been doing this whole time?”
“Gathering intel. Gaining trust.” Aventurine’s tone remains cordial — confectionery and cloyingly-sweet, almost overly-pleasant despite the client’s attempts at escalating the situation. “My friend, you need to understand that this line of work is all about biding time and waiting for a precise moment to strike. While I don’t really care about what happens to me if I’m caught, the royal family will definitely trace your scheme, and I think I’d be correct to assume the idea of living in fear isn’t all that appealing to you.”
Although the man before him doesn’t outright admit defeat, he begrudgingly nods.
“But when exactly will that moment come?” he asks, the hostile edge ebbing from his voice. “I won’t try to rush you any further, but a rough timeline would be helpful.”
“I’ll level with you. I can’t guarantee anything,” Aventurine draws each word out, scanning the other man’s face for any shifts in expression. Thankfully nothing. “But there’s a grand celebration coming in around two months for the queen’s birthday,” he notes. “The heir considers me a friend. Isolating them shouldn’t be much of a challenge. From what I’ve gathered, defences will be strengthened outside the palace and in the ballroom at the cost of stationing knights throughout every other wing.”
“So you’ll lure them to a secluded area and make brief work of them,” the client concludes.
Aventurine concurs. “That’s the plan. As long as nothing goes wrong, you can expect this all to be over soon.”
“Good. I’ll be on my way then.”
With that, the man steps away, allowing shadow to consume him once more as he vanishes into the night. Aventurine sighs. Despite the risks that came with infiltrating palace grounds, his client really had decided to put himself in danger just for an unproductive conversation. How foolish.
Aventurine starts making his way back to his quarters, but just a few minutes into his trek, he hears the faint rustling of leaves in the distance, the sound permeating the serenity of the forest with a sense of foreboding. Something strange is happening. Branches snap, and rapid footsteps seem to approach him.
Someone must have heard him trudging through the woods. Someone knows he’s here.
Aventurine picks up his pace, but it’s to no avail. A voice rings out behind him.
“Stop right there. Intruders will not be tolerated.”
Despite the order, Aventurine doesn’t hesitate to disobey. Talking his way out of situations has always been his speciality, but even he knows that this is a lost cause. There’s no reasonable way to explain why he’s out here in the dead of night, dressed in a way clearly meant to conceal his identity. He breaks out into a run, crashing through the foliage clumsily.
He hates this. Lacking decorum, feeling powerless. Fleeing is nothing short of pathetic, but it’s something he’s all-too-familiar with.
It feels as though he’s going in circles, diving through narrow openings between branches whilst narrowly-avoiding tree roots that threaten to throw him off his rhythm below. In the middle of his frenzied escape, Aventurine hears an arrow soar by. He only realizes that it’s grazed him when he feels a flash of hot pain bloom in his left arm.
Agony sears every rational thought in his mind, clouding everything in a daze of blinding ivory, but his instincts keep him going. He’s not exactly sure how, but after what feels like an eternity of twists and turns, he manages to lose his pursuer.
Without another thought, Aventurine finds himself leaning back against a nearby tree and sinking to the ground, his breathing shallow and uneven. While the wound is far from severe, it still hurts like hell. However, Aventurine knows that time is of the essence. Being discovered in this state is tantamount to his worst fear, so he makes quick work of tearing off a piece of his cloak to use as a temporary bandage. With a shuddering effort, he gets back to his feet and silently finds his way back to the palace.
SCENE 7.1
The first person Aventurine seeks out for help is you.
He tells himself that it’s because he can’t risk anyone interrogating him over how he sustained such an injury. You never pry, and besides that, the two of you have been holding onto secrets for each other for a while now, so Aventurine doubts you’d reveal anything concerning this particular incident to anyone else.
Even if you were to slip up, people tend to talk at you, not to you. Any mistakes on your part would only be met with dismissal.
Rationalizing his decision to place his faith in you feels easier than accepting the truth — admitting that he might be starting to trust you, accepting that you’re someone who makes him feel safe.
Aventurine takes a deep breath, burying all his unwanted thoughts before knocking on your door. The sound reverberates for a few seconds as if to ward off silence. A few moments later, he hears shuffling from the other side, and the entrance swings open to reveal you, still disoriented and rubbing one eye as if to adjust your vision.
“Hey, come in. What are you doing here at this hour?” you mumble, ushering Aventurine into the room. You shut the doors behind you with a firm click.
Even though he’s already made it this far, Aventurine can’t bring himself to confess that he needs help. Instead, he opts to tell you the hard way.
“I was feeling restless this evening, so I went out to our usual spot.” Perhaps he’s twisting the story slightly, but it’s just a little misdirection so you don’t suspect anything is up. “For some reason, the patrols were irregular tonight, and one of the guards saw me from a distance. They were quick to resort to violence without warning,” Aventurine explains, suppressing a wince.
“Are you okay?” you interject, failing to conceal the concern that bubbles to the forefront of your words. “Injured anywhere?”
That’s when Aventurine steps into the light of your window, allowing the stars to reveal his bandaged arm.
“I was grazed by an arrow, but it’s nothing too serious,” Aventurine says. It takes everything in him not to shudder when he feels your eyes scanning his wound — a visible weakness, vulnerability manifested in its physical form. He’s uncomfortable beyond words, but he has no better options at the moment.
“Nothing too serious?” you echo, frantic. “You’re covered in blood, and you want me to act like this is just a minor mishap?”
“Trust me,” Aventurine says. “I’ll be fine… and hey, at least you know your knights are extra enthusiastic when it comes to protecting this place,” he adds, attempting to lighten the mood.
You don’t seem amused.
“Just give me your arm,” you sigh, holding a hand out.
Aventurine hopes you don’t notice the brief moment in which he pauses before he complies, apprehension gnawing at the edge of his conscience. He can’t let his fear slip through the cracks of his composed facade — it would ruin everything he’s worked to build.
Carefully, you untie the fabric wrapped around his arm and examine the scrape. A few tears in his clothing surround the mess. The pristine snowy hue of his shirt blooms with shades of rose, his blood painting its magnum opus upon every ruffle of his sleeves. For just a fraction of a second, your breath hitches and you pull back.
Aventurine feels sick to his stomach.
“Wait just a second. I have proper medical supplies in my cabinets.” You continue speaking as you walk over to your storage, trying to ground yourself for Aventurine’s sake. “As you already know, I’m prone to getting hurt, so over the years, I’ve learned how to take care of my own injuries. I guess what I’m trying to say is… you came to the right person.”
Despite your attempts at trying to make conversation, Aventurine’s mind is blank. He’s lucky you’re probably chalking up his lack of responsiveness to pain.
As you sit down next to him, you fully peel back the makeshift gauze drenched in red. The scent of iron fills the room, and Aventurine becomes hyperaware that this is really happening.
You’re in front of him, dressing his wounds, bearing witness to his frailty. Rivulets of scarlet stream down his arm — the product of his still-beating heart, a reminder that he is very much human. Vulnerable.
With every sting of disinfectant and every gentle touch, there’s less and less room for Aventurine to deny that your presence makes him feel secure. You’re close, but he doesn’t push you away. Aventurine can’t bring himself to chase your warmth, so he lets it linger, savouring the moment even though he knows your story is fated to end in disaster.
Then it hits him. What’s more terrifying than being weak in front of you is the idea that he’s beginning to think that he’s fine with it.
For once, he’s putting down all his defences and letting someone in. Willingly. And that’s mortifying.
SCENE 8.0
Being in your embrace doesn’t feel right.
But a chill settles over Aventurine’s body despite the endless aureate sunbeams filtering into the room when he realizes it doesn’t feel wrong either.
Preparations for your mother’s birthday have been ramping up lately, and for you, that means polishing your waltz. Being bedridden as often as you are means that you tend to find yourself out-of-practice, and as such, you need to make a conscious effort to rehearse during periods of respite.
The convenience of having a personal attendant wasn’t lost on you when you asked Aventurine to help you refine your skills. His arm has healed for the most part, so the task of dancing isn’t too laborious for him anymore.
Despite his background, Aventurine has learned a thing or two about formal events from his missions, so he finds that he’s able to keep up with you fairly well. However, you still have to take the initiative to guide him at times, as apparently a few crammed practices for the sake of crime can’t measure up to a lifetime of being taught proper etiquette.
“Move your arm a little,” you remark, adjusting his posture slightly.
Aventurine can’t help the way his breath hitches slightly at the intimacy of it all, but he makes a point to hide it well. Touch isn’t something he takes lightly — in fact, he’s almost become averse to it after experiencing a scarcity of warmth over the past few years of his life.
But somehow it’s different with you. Everything is in a horrifically-beautiful way.
“You’re making good progress though,” you compliment Aventurine. “Come to think of it, you’ve never talked about your background before. Do you have experience with this type of thing?”
“None at all,” Aventurine lies. “I guess you could say that I’m a natural.” He smirks at you, his expression sly in spite of his inner turmoil.
“You know, I never quite liked the other royals at these types of events,” you remark. “They’re always so… pretentious. Not to mention all the hidden agendas.”
Aventurine fights to keep his expression from shifting — controlled, precise. In some ways, he’s no different.
“Sounds like a pain,” he sympathizes.
“It is,” you sigh. “So maybe I should just have you fill the role of my permanent dance partner from now on.”
The proposition is absurd, yet Aventurine still finds himself imagining what it would entail for only a fleeting moment before he shuts the idea down. Staying close like this — by your side for countless other events.
It’s an alluring impossibility, but that’s all it is. Soon, all of this will come to an end.
“How forward of you. If you want me to yourself, you can just ask,” Aventurine teases you, brushing off the thoughts plaguing his mind. “I’m all yours.”
SCENE 9.0
Aventurine stares down his reflection, scrutinizing every detail of his attire and smoothing over each wrinkle that acts as a blight on the perfection that he’s worked so hard to craft for tonight.
It’s finally time for the closing act. Aventurine isn’t prone to stage fright — how could he be when his whole life is becoming adjacent to a show? Yet right now, he finds himself looking for excuses to avoid the spotlight, stalling for as long as he possibly can in the privacy of his room.
Adjusting and readjusting his shirt’s intricate neckline, tugging on his gloves, fixing the dove white ruffles on his clothing as if time will suddenly decide to freeze if he keeps avoiding the inevitable. He thumbs the verdant stone settled in the middle of his collar absentmindedly.
It’s your own knock that ultimately dooms you.
“Hello? Aventurine? Are you in there? I know vanity is important to you, but this is a bit too much,” you joke giddily, seemingly in high spirits.
It’s nauseating, repulsive even, to hear you so euphoric just hours before your pre-ordained demise. Nonetheless, all Aventurine can do is bear with it, stay ahead of his feelings until it’s all over.
“Forgive me for wanting to look my best, your highness,” he retorts, checking the mirror one last time before slipping on a swallowtail coat. “I just think it would be humiliating if I looked like an eyesore on your mother’s special day. Wouldn’t you agree?”
As Aventurine finally leaves his quarters, a sense of dread settles in the pit of his stomach. He knows the plan — lure you away, finish you off using the commotion of the celebration as a cover-up, and then return to the ballroom while waiting for them to find you.
No one will suspect him. Not after bearing witness to the bond you’ve formed over the past months. He’ll resign peacefully, claiming that this place holds too many painful memories, and all of this will come to an end at last.
It’s simple in practice, but even now, doubt is beginning to fill Aventurine’s conscience. He tries to ignore it, yet with every pressing moment, the feeling only intensifies.
His train of thought is interrupted when he hears you gasp.
“Woah,” you start. “You look…”
Aventurine quickly snaps himself out of it. He needs everything to go off without a hitch.
“I look? Go on now.”
A pause. Before you suddenly speak again in a flurry of rushed words.
“Never mind. I think you already know.”
Aventurine can tell you’re flustered, so he decides to lean into it. If you’re embarrassed enough, you may just overlook the way his fingers twitch ever-so-slightly and his eyes struggle to meet yours.
“But I want to hear it from you,” he insists. “Let’s try this again. How about striking? Stunning? Flawless?”
“That works,” you hum, looking anywhere but at him. “It’s like you can read my mind.”
Aventurine laughs, but the air is anything but light. Tonight, it feels as though there’s a weight dragging him down, causing him to fall further and further as he spirals.
SCENE 9.1
As expected, the ballroom itself is decorated in a way that is nothing short of exuberant, exemplifying abundance and luxury with its gilded intricacies and gemstone-encrusted detailing.
But for once, Aventurine can’t bring himself to focus on his surroundings. Instead, his gaze remains locked on you, tracing your every move as you converse with guests and dance with various nobles. He tells himself he’s just doing his job — in more ways than one — but beneath all the lies, he knows that it’s the guilt of knowing what’s to come that keeps him from looking away.
It doesn’t take much time for you to grow tired. An hour or two after the opening ceremony, you head back to the table where Aventurine is seated, sinking down into a chair.
“Water?” Aventurine asks, holding up a glass that he had filled up ahead of time.
“That would be nice. Thank you,” you nod.
Aventurine hands you the cup. He tries to ignore the brush of your fingers against his, your warmth seeping through the fabric of his gloves. In a few hours, that same warmth will dissipate, leaving nothing but skin kissed by frost, frozen in death.
“As your humble servant, I’m happy to see that you’ve been enjoying yourself,” Aventurine remarks.
“Aw, really?”
“Really.”
“Well, I’d hate to break it to you, but none of the other people at this party are quite as fun as you,” you tell Aventurine. “So I haven’t been having much fun.”
“How flattering. You’re that entertained by my company?” Aventurine muses.
“I am. That’s why I want at least one dance with you. Exactly like we rehearsed.”
Aventurine finds himself fixed in place, the world seemingly slowing, time contorting as he takes in your request. On any other day, he’d be fine with what you’re asking of him, but today, it feels as though the world is doing everything in its power to make a mockery of him. It feels wrong.
The problem is: he’s already come this far. He can’t give up now, so he gets up and extends a hand towards you, guiding you over to the dance floor as you accept.
“What an honour,” Aventurine drawls, trying to cover up all the discomfort that threatens to rise to the surface of his composed demeanour, “to be waltzing with the heir.”
“Oh, quit being dramatic,” you lightly nudge Aventurine before settling one hand on his shoulder. “I thought we were already past all the formalities.”
Aventurine doesn’t like the implications of that statement at all. For one, he knows it’s true, no matter how desperately he wishes it wasn’t. And besides that, it means you’re getting to him. For the first time in years, you’re bridging the distance he’s put between himself and everyone else in his life.
“My apologies, your highness,” he whispers into your ear as your feet begin to move, following the lead of the symphonic masterpiece filling the ballroom.
“You can ‘your highness’ me all you want, but your attitude says everything I need to know about our relationship.”
On this particular evening, your touch feels like hellfire. There’s perhaps little in the universe that could hurt Aventurine as badly as being close to you in the moment. Being forced to see the light in your eyes from such a proximity before it fades into nothingness, to witness the life that fills you just hours before he’s fated to watch it ebb away.
It’s cruel, yet the feeling isn’t entirely unfamiliar to Aventurine. Death is an acquaintance he’s all too familiar with. The difference is, he’s never held anyone with full knowledge that they’re hurtling tumultuously towards the end of their life until now.
It takes everything in Aventurine not to recoil, yet a quieter, suppressed part of him also wishes you would pull him in. Instead, he holds you at arm’s length, unwittingly committing you to memory.
You, while you still glow with the radiance of everything the world will take from you in due time.
You, someone who’s made him feel far too much over the months you’ve known each other.
Envy. Sympathy. Hatred. Fear.
And admiration.
But soon, he won’t have that problem anymore.
SCENE 9.2
“Tired?” Aventurine questions as you finally start to slow down, his grip on your hand loosening as he pulls away.
You nod in response, catching your breath.
You’re not able to waltz for a prolonged period of time due to your general frailty, so Aventurine steers you away from the centre of the commotion. You move sluggishly away from the cacophonous din; you’re fatigued.
As luck would have it, a golden opportunity has graced Aventurine.
(But he doesn’t feel fortunate.)
“Let’s go somewhere less… chaotic,” he tries, looking around to ensure that no one is watching you. Inconspicuously, he leads you to the door, weaving through crowds before exiting the room. Not a single soul knows you’ve left the party, and now he has you all alone.
There’s only one thing left to do.
“It’s so empty out here,” Aventurine comments as he entangles you further in his trap, leading you further away from the festivities and towards an isolated wing of the palace. He knows exactly where to go. He’s been planning this — gathering intel from other staff and your very own parents for this specific moment.
“It is,” you agree, “but I don’t mind being alone together. There was so much going on back there, so I’m glad I can experience a moment of peace with you.”
Moment of peace. While Aventurine’s heart is filled with the purest adrenaline.
For once, words laced with charms and decorated with pleasantries escape him. There’s nothing he can say to make this situation better, but he tries his best anyway.
“Me too,” he admits plainly, willing his voice not to tremble. “You’re a remarkable partner in crime, friend.”
Perhaps he can allow himself this one moment of weakness — a peek behind the curtain, a glimmer of his true emotions behind the pretty fantasy he’s forged. It’s not like you’ll be able to use it against him once you’re gone.
“Look at you,” you start, “acting so sentimental. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you were planning to do something drastic.”
White hot fear courses through Aventurine, but he fights to keep it down. Regret finds him in a blink. Do you know? Have you figured it out?
He quickly regains his footing. The show must go on.
“Is it so wrong for me to casually express my admiration for you?” Aventurine counters, his tone smooth, velvety, practiced. “And here I thought you said we were on friendly terms.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” A grin finds its way onto your visage as streams of flowing moonlight pass through a nearby window to light up your face. “Then feel free to keep going,” you tease back.
Although Aventurine’s fingers inch closer and closer to the dagger concealed under his coat, he refrains from drawing it just yet. He needs time to brace himself. To prepare for the worst of what’s to come. He just has to hold out until he feels ready.
“But that would make this conversation horrifically one-sided. I think I’ve said my piece,” Aventurine brushes you off. His gaze traces each of your features while he speaks, scanning your face for any hint of suspicion.
“So you want me to express how I feel about you now,” you state.
That’s not at all what he wants.
You stare back into Aventurine’s eyes, and when you do, it feels as though you’re seeing a part of him that he has long since tried to bury. Now would be an opportune time to drive the blade into your heart, effectively ending your life, but Aventurine finds that he’s frozen under the weight of your gaze.
He hates this. He hates you. But the irrational side of him doesn’t mind the idea of truly being seen — craves it, even.
“For one, I think you’re different,” you explain. “The first time we met, you didn’t look at me with pity like everyone else. You made me feel alive.”
Aventurine thinks your words are a tragic irony.
“And you take good care of me. I know you’re hiding things from me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been so kind to me, even going beyond the requirements of your role to make me happy.”
He believes you’re placing your misguided faith in the wrong person.
“You understand me unlike anyone else. For once in my life, I’ve started selfishly wishing I could hold onto what we have forever. But you and I both know that’s not going to happen.”
There’s nothing pointed in your voice, yet Aventurine’s fingers stop trailing towards his weapon.
He can’t do it. Not after all the care you’ve shown him and all the memories you’ve made together.
You’ve always had a strange way of making him feel small, vulnerable. He should have pulled away the first time you showed him genuine kindness — then things would have been so much easier. Instead, Aventurine indulged in your warmth, your comfort, for far longer than he ever intended to, and now all he can do is flee from it all.
FIN.
That evening, as the celebration dies down, its final cheers fading into hushed whispers, Aventurine hurriedly packs his belongings, scrawling a letter detailing his resignation in imperfect handwriting. It’s messy and borderline frantic, everything Aventurine claims he isn’t, but he doesn’t have the time to polish the finer details.
On a night just like the one where you first met, Aventurine makes his escape, turning away from the last person in the world with the potential to matter to him. He can’t harm you, nor can he allow himself to fully embrace your light, so he abandons all that you’ve built over the past months.
Despite his heart’s desperate protests, Aventurine chooses to believe that running away is the right choice. You’ve always been doomed, functioning on extensive treatments and borrowed time. Throughout Aventurine’s life, he has learned that to love is to lose. This time, he won’t make the mistake of loving someone who’s already been sentenced to death.
As he leaves you behind forever, a sense of nauseating dread envelopes him, swallows him whole. In spite of your impermanence, memories of you will haunt him for an eternity to come.
i hope someone euthanizes me. thank you for reading!! small note: i wanted to make the last scene with reader and aventurine a little ambiguous!! it's up to you to interpret whether reader actually knew about aventurine's plan or if it was just him being paranoid + making things up so he would have another reason to push reader away.
synopsis : as a baker in the business district under the IPC's ruling, you dream of a better and more flavourful future where fruits are indeed low hanging and ingredient are not limited to resource tickets. but the law is the law and you are not above it. until you find blood splattered along your kitchen floors and a dying man who'd risk it all for you. ╱ word count : 2.3k
characters : rebellion member!blade x baker!gn!reader
content : mainly fluff i swear. dystopian setting / not canonverse. law abiding citizen x criminal kind of vibe. slow burn.
warnings : word count got slightly out of hand. possibly ooc blade. a lot of descriptions of food and baked goods. mentions of blood and injuries, knives, and other weapons in general. mentions of physical violence. i swear this is fluffy though. ooc IPC btw.
join my taglist : @tragedy-of-commons @kazuinvocation @florinoir @dawnsigil @aelatus
notes : happy holidays to you, @millurie, from your stellaronhvnter secret santa! i apologize beforehand if he's ooc; despite also being blade fan i've never written for him up until now! also sorry if my writing flow is a bit messy TT im very rusty kjdfhjkdgf happy holidays!
⟡ 𝐈. 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ⟡
You are a law-abiding citizen. You swear by it.
Settled neatly between the slate greys and muted blues of corporate towers along the street, your bakery stands to be the only splash of colour. Open every day of the week—except Saturdays—it’s also the only bakery and cafe around for the next ten blocks. It’s not that competitors didn’t try to open up near you—the business district is perhaps the best district to direct a food service in—and it wasn’t that you sabotaged them, but just… luck.
The last coffee shop that tried to run its storefront across the street had barely made a dent in your sales. Claiming to be the next best mega brand, regulars crawled back to you and whispered about stale roasts and dry croissants, that the specialty drinks were “painfully chalky” in texture and were “trying too hard to be modern.” It wasn’t long before the shop was deemed “unfit” by the IPC’s code of conduct and their load of grunts that roamed the streets. They shut it down the next month. No one has tried to open since then.
Silky batter gleams under the kitchen lights. Not once over-mixed, not once underdone, your hands tremble with a soft excitement at the perfection resting in front of you. With a careful touch, you evenly divide and pour it into two pre-prepped round cake trays, scraping down the sides of the bowl until it is practically clean, and leveling them to just the right height.
The oven timer goes off right as you wipe your hands of any excess. Nestled in the warmth rests two trays of muffins, each one plump and healthy in serving. Reaching your oven mitt-clad hands into the heat, you pull out one set to reveal their round tops baked to perfection and golden-brown streusel topping. Along them, blueberries have softly burst along the top, leaving behind small puddles of deep purple that soak into the crevices. The second tray comes out with a similar result, though instead of blueberry, the flourishing scent of lemon hits the air. Splitting one open, you examine the speckles of poppy seed dappled about the soft body, marveling at the flawless spacing before taking a bite.
The sun has just begun to peek over the horizon by the time the cake trays take over the heat. You set a quick timer before popping the rest of the muffins out of their confinement and resting them in the front display case. Next come the loaves of pound cake you left off to cool. You make quick work slicing them evenly before they too go into the display case. Cookies are stacked, the cakes from earlier are cooled and iced, the coffee is set to brew, and once everything is in its place, you flip the sign.
The morning rush comes and goes, followed by lunchtime stragglers and the few birthday orders sent in. It’s become rare to receive requests for birthday cakes these days and although other bakeries would turn them down to conserve ingredients, you never do. You bake, you make drinks; you take credits from firm hands and take pity on those who fall short; a fact the Peace Corps never needs to know about; and run the register until the last customer has walked out.
Cleaning up is quick work. A few standing tables, no chairs, the bakery is usually doused in silence aside from the bell above the door and the clinking of credits being passed around. Nobody makes small talk. You don’t start any. The silence, though lonely at times, has become more of a shield than the enemy of your life. Quiet keeps you safe. And safe means no IPC breathing down the back of your spine. Sweeping away the last bit of dust that isn’t really there, you turn off the lights and hang up your apron, ready for the same old thing the next day.
⟡ 𝐈𝐈. 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⟡
Blood and baked bread are two smells that do not go well together.
There’s a hint of rust in the air when you walk into the bakery the next morning. You frown. You’ve never had a problem with rusted equipment and the warranty for everything should still be good to go. You realize what it’s all about soon enough.
A man sits on the floor of your IPC-industrial-standard kitchen. Though his head is lolled forward and his hair shadows his face, you can confirm he is nothing like the done-up corporate workers you’ve grown awfully used to serving. His clothes are dirty in a charming manner and you wonder if he’s from the farming district, far out in the interior. His shirt looks more to be the type of fishers and those by the seaside with a loser cut and linen sleeves. But his shoes tell a different story; too polished and from style alone they seem well above the paygrade of even the richest farmer or fisher. A thief?
Either way, he is not from around here.
District hopping is forbidden by the Peace Corps. You have half the mind to report him. It could get you a sweet bonus of credits. Perhaps even double the usual allowance if he does turn out to be a thief. But the more curious oddity of this man, one that draws you away from the red button pasted to the underside of the counter, lies in the growing pool of red that sits alongside him on the quarry tile. Part of you hopes he just happened to have shattered the jar of preserved strawberry jam you’d been saving for a special occasion. Another hopes it isn’t. Finding that jam was a stroke of luck and you’d hate to see it wasted.
You get closer and crouch by his side. Holding out a finger under his nose, you sigh at the feeling of breath along your skin.
“That’s a good start,” you mutter and poke his cheek in hopes he wakes at the disturbance. He doesn’t.
There are no doctors around you. Calling for one could spell death for the man should you just sit and wait for one. Or worse, send the Peace Corps to your door when you fail to explain what happened.
Laying him fully down on the floor, you slice open his shirt—or what’s left of it—with a knife. The wound is ugly, just under the length of a ruler and running horizontally under his right ribcage, but not that deep. You think. And though you are no professional, you’ve patched up your fair share of aprons and worn socks. Running through the back, taking two stairs at a time, you scramble around your little apartment above the bakery and grab hold of whatever you deem useful before rushing down back to his side.
“Alright, buddy,”—you roll up your sleeves and snap on a pair of gloves—“no dying on bakery property. That’s a biohazard.”
You sterilize what you can—if he gets infected it’s partially his fault for not seeking a medical centre to faint in instead—and as it turns out, sewing up skin is much harder than you imagined. Up and over, you whipstitch the slash close and tie it off with a firm knot at the end. A bit uneven in spacing, you shrug and wipe it clean before wrapping the area in the hopefully clean bandages you’d found.
“Would be really helpful if you woke up right about now,” you say with a glance back at the clock, watching the minutes slip by.
Pushing him into the back corner of the kitchen, you hastily clean up everything. The blood, the sparse medical supplies, the knife you used to cut his shirt open, you leave no trace. And when you dawn your apron right after with your hands washed, it’s like nothing ever happened.
The day is faster than you expected. You bake, you restock the display case, take orders and brew coffees with way too many shots of espresso, all while praying the man in the back either wakes up and leaves through the back door or doesn’t and stays quiet until your hours are over. Fortunately for you, it’s the latter. You practically slam the sign against the glass door when flipping it to “Closed”, tossing your apron onto its designated hook and running back to check on your unconscious guest.
He finally awakes on the third day of his stay. You had set up a makeshift cot in the empty pantry. Shelves that once housed all kinds of special ingredients like flavoured extracts and spices now sit blank and empty. Jumping to your feet, you cross your arms and glare down at his bleary face.
“Look who’s finally joined us,” you say.
His left arm is tied to the leg of the cot, a fact he realizes as he reaches up to push his hair back out of his face. He only looks up at you, silent, and red eyes piercing through yours.
“You… going to tell me your name or…”
You sit back down when he refuses to answer.
“Come on, dude,” you groan. “I saved your life, risked my own life by harbouring a potential district hopper, and you’re not even giving me a th—”
“Thank you—”
You smile, a puff of pride expanding in your chest.
“But you shouldn’t have.”
⟡ 𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⟡
“What’s your favourite dessert?”
Blade’s—you were successful in prying his name free from his mouth eventually and laughed at it right after—eyebrows crease together at the question, lips pursing into a small frown. He looks over and stares at you, his gaze intense as if willing you to look away. Unfortunately for him, you don’t. Three days you watched over him in his unconscious state and for another three he has been sitting in your home. He told you he’s waiting on a message before he can leave. So the least he can do until then is answer a few questions.
“Well?” you prod.
“It doesn’t matter.”
His eyes track you while you bounce from one end of the kitchen to the other, mixing and pouring batters. It’s Saturday, but you’ve been itching to test run some new treats.
“Of course it matters,” you snort. “Desserts can tell you a lot about people, you know.”
When he doesn’t reply, you continue on, cleaning up the mess on the counter.
“Tāngyuán,” you say under your breath. “Mine’s tāngyuán.”
Desserts and foods deemed "unnecessary for human productivity” were struck by the IPC. Ingredients are rationed and monitored with food tickets and any hint of someone reaching too out of the normal was to be swiftly dealt with. That doesn’t mean you can’t dream. The first time you had any sort of baked goods besides standard bread, cookies, and muffins was in the cozy comfort of your grandmother’s house. She had sat you on her lap with a soup spoon in hand, passing you small bites of the chewy rice balls and warm sesame paste. She taught you everything you needed to know about baking, about honouring heritage through food and stomach. You wonder what she would think of life now. You take the sheet cake from out of the oven.
“... My mother used to make that for me,” he replies with a similar whisper to yours.
Spreading a thin layer of strawberry jam and hand-whipped cream, you roll the cake up before slicing it into even pieces.
You smile down at the sight.
“Too bad I can’t make any for us,” you say.
“Mm,” he hums back.
⟡ 𝐈𝐕. 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⟡
“What’s all of this?”
Firefly had warned him about breaking away from the mission, but there was no way he was going to return to camp without leaving the Peace Corps in some sort of disarray. It was just by luck on their part they snagged a hit. He didn’t know how far he ran before they stopped their chase.
But when he awoke, it was to you.
You are an oddity to Blade. Strict to the rules, threatening to turn him in, but not once did you get anywhere near the red button he knew sat under the counter. He could’ve left earlier—he knew the way out of the district, multiple ways even—but he lied instead.
The Hunters had contacted him the minute he went quiet during the scuffle, but he ignored it in favour of staying behind to watch. It was like you opened up new worlds just by baking, entering a headspace that seemed to float above the clouds. Your stitches to his side were sloppy, but you moved around the kitchen with such grace. Not the type of poise crafted by the IPC, but one that showed you truly enjoyed what you did and what you made. He wondered what it would be like to insert himself into that peace you had made and in the end, he couldn’t see himself there.
True to his word, the minute Blade was better, he messaged Silverwolf and left. He didn’t want to stick around for long and leave you in a tougher spot.
But untrue to his self-made promise of staying away, he came back.
“Ingredients,” he says.
“I… can see that, but”—you look back at him—“for what?”
He purses his lips, trying to stifle a frown. He gestures to the bag again.
“Rice flour, brown sugar, ginger… black sesam—wait wait you want me to—”
“You said it was too bad you couldn’t make it for the both of us.” He shrugs. “Now you can.”
You pause and for a moment, Blade thinks you’ll turn him away from the door, curse at him for bringing contraband into the quaint life you’ve tried so hard to maintain.
“Do I want to know what you do for a living?” you huff with a small smile threatening to break your stern face. You go back into the bakery, leaving enough space for him to walk through the door.
He follows.
“Best not to.”
commentary : and then you guys eat tangyuan and it's al happy. man it’s been a while since i’ve written but i hope you enjoyed this! just some extra little bits of info i thought i’d mention when writing this hahah
inspired by: the list by patricia forde, the hunger games series, and heartless by marissa meyer
reader was originally going to be a florist but considering 1) your theme is abt baking and 2) i bake a lot myself and know jack-shit abt being a florist, i thought switching reader’s occupation to be a baker was more fitting
i went through 5 completely different ideas before landing on this one when it came to writing this fic TT
each section (fermentation, rising, etc) is related to the process of baking bread!
i had to cut so much out of this fic to make the deadline because otherwise it could've very well made it to 4.5k kdfjhkjfg so im very sorry if the world building doesn't make too much sense I WENT ON AUTOPILOT AT SOME POINT KFDJH
REI POOKS HI HI 👋🖤 It's been so long since I've last seen you on my dash and even better is that you're returning to the writing dungeons??? WE ALL REJOICED!!!
Can't wait to see what you've cooked up in the morning 🤭 Trust that I will be reading it like my morning papers
ARIIIIII!!!!! ILY!!!!! i am sorry for what i cooked up. i think i did the OPPOSITE of cooking. you're always so endlessly sweet to me though, so thank you very much for being here ougdfhgiuh
❥ pairing: lyney x gn!reader
❥ synopsis: You and Lyney do everything couples do, just without calling it that. He holds your hand, buys you gifts, gives you that look (wink wink). In theory, it’s exciting. In practice, you’ve been doing this for over a year. Dates, hand holding, late nights—everything just blends in. Now you’re left wondering how long you’re supposed to wait for his feelings to catch up.
❥ cw: none, just a little suggestive cuz there's implications sleeping together but it's VERY subtle, also just mild angst, and lyney is a fucking idiot in this fic basically
❥ additional tags: modern au, yearning, unrequited love but not actually unrequited love, situationships, kind of fwb dynamic (THIS FIC IS COMPLETELY SFW HOWEVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NO SMUT I REPEAT NO SMUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
❥ word count: 5.1k
❥ notes: wysty finally releases smth before this year ends wow... i need to do better LMFAOOOO. i've never written for lyney before so i really hope he's in character so idk anymore... anyway merry late christmas @bogglecat-box !! i'm genuinely so so sorry for releasing this so late i had stuff. yeah. i hope this fic was to your liking i couldn't help but indulge in just a bit of mild angst I CANT HELP MYSELF so i hope the ending was to your liking!!! mwah love u!! and special thanks to @papiliotao, @mimomae and @topherssock for proofreading i love u guys sm and thank you for being victim of my crashouts. hehe. AND ESP YOU MAE TYSM FOR HELPING BRAINSTORM THE WHOLE SETTING AND PLOT MWAHHH. i hope all of you had a good christmas and a happy new year. enjoy!! <3
There were three things that kept you from falling asleep: the Christmas lights reflecting outside your car window, the lively tune of Last Christmas looping in your head, and the fact that you were sitting here in your car, waiting. Waiting outside someone’s house.
You looked at your phone once more to read the last texts you had with Lyney.
You
> literally where are you im fr about to drive off
> HURRY YOUR SLOW ASS UP
nuisance
> WAIT im omw!! ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!
> just wait there for me ill be out in a min
Eight minutes ago. A sigh slipped out of you as you leaned your head back against the car seat and felt the cold leather pressing between your shoulders. You told yourself that you didn’t mind waiting; you’d gotten good at it. Still, your fingers tapped against the steering wheel in time with the song playing in your car’s stereo, restless despite yourself.
The song continued to play out.
Once bitten and twice shy…
“I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye,” you murmured along. The words settled just a little too close to home.
The neighbourhood was quiet, in that particular way it only ever got this late. Houses lit up in scattered bursts of colour and your gaze trailed over them. Some displays were extravagant, and it was clear that the owners of those houses worked their fingers to the bone to achieve such a gorgeous setup. Others were quite simple, with just a string of lights along the fence and a glowing star at the window. Even so, it still all seemed so magical, and you found yourself smiling the most at those.
Your breath fogged against the window as you shifted in your seat, tugging your coat a little tightly around yourself. It wasn’t that cold, not really, but the waiting was really getting to you now. You glanced at Lyney’s house once again, half expecting the front door to open—it didn’t.
You just sighed and huffed a quiet laugh to yourself. Of course, what else were you expecting? Lyney was many things, but punctual wasn’t usually one of them. He always arrived when he meant to, on his own time, as if time would just bend to his will. He did say he was a little busy tonight, so perhaps that was the case, right?
Just when you thought you would be waiting for another ten minutes, there was a knock on the outside of your window. You were startled, literally almost jumping out of your seat. Lyney’s face was right on the window with a smug grin that was far too pleased with the reaction he’s pulled from you. He was bundled up against the cold with a loose scarf around his neck, and his violet eyes shone as they trailed over your face.
“Were you planning on waiting all night?” he asked, tapping the window for emphasis. “I admire the dedication, but I do feel a little sorry for you.”
You rolled down the window and almost flinched from the cold air rushing in. “You sent that text almost ten minutes ago.”
“Ah.” Lyney placed his hands on his hips and huffed a laugh. “So you were keeping track. Honestly didn’t think you had it in you!”
That simply earned an eyeroll from you. “I’m surprised I didn’t just drive off.”
He leaned on his elbows against the edge of the door and just smiled softly. “Sorry,” he said, quieter now. “You still up for it?”
“Yeah,” you said. “You get shotgun.”
Lyney walked around the car and onto the street to step into the front of the passenger seat. The door shut with a soft click as he got comfortable settling into the seat. He tugged at his scarf and loosened it, letting it drape around his neck as he glanced around your car like it was the first time he’d been in it, even though it very much wasn’t. You mentally gave yourself a pat on the back at the little ‘wow’ reaction he was giving.
“This is comfortable.” He leaned back and let out a little sigh. “I see you’ve upgraded from last time.”
“You mean last week?” you replied dryly, pulling the car back into drive.
Lyney simply hummed. It was silent for a few moments before he asked, “Can I have the aux?”
“No.”
Lyney just gave you a look. “No? Just like that?”
“You heard me,” you said nonchalantly, keeping your eyes on the road as you turned onto the next street. “Driver’s rules.”
“You’re actually so mean! I could totally set the vibe here. I could be spreading more holiday cheer than you, looping these sad and overused tunes over and over.”
“You are not playing ‘Deck My Balls’ in my car, Lyney. This is my playlist.”
“Come on,” he said lightly, already reaching for the console, “your playlist is suffering from a severe lack of whimsy.”
You swatted his hand without looking which elicited a snicker from him.“You touch that dial and I’m turning the car around.”
A warm laugh bubbled from Lyney’s throat and then the car was quiet again. Though it felt like it had gotten smaller, as if you two were closer. You swore he was closer at least, because his knee was angled toward yours as he relaxed into the seat. Close enough that you were acutely aware of him without looking. You couldn’t explain it, but you whelved these feelings before they could surface back up and make things awkward.
The houses around you grew brighter as you drove, lights spilling across the street with reds and golds and soft whites. There was also a little bit of green too. Lyney craned his neck to look out the window, and his eyes lit with genuine interest.
“Oh,” he said, pointing. “Okay, that one is doing too much.”
You glanced where he was pointing, slowing the car down a little so you didn’t risk crashing. “Too much?”
Okay, maybe he was right because the lights almost blinded you. Gold lights were strewn everywhere across the house, and by everywhere, you meant literally everywhere. The owners managed to wrap the lights around the roof as well, and they certainly didn’t miss a single spot, save for the entrance, where they left a small gap to avoid tripping over the lights.
“There’s a fine line between festive and blinding, and they’ve crossed it,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“You basically thrive on attention, you cannot be talking.” Your eyes were back on the road and you were trying to find a spot to park the car.
“While I do admire their commitment,” Lyney began, raising a finger, “I’ll have you know, I thrive on appreciation. Thank you very much.”
A scoff slipped past your lips. “Sure you do.”
You pulled the car along the curb a few streets down, not far enough so the glow could still be espied from a distance. Lights spilled across lawns and rooftops with every colour imaginable, blinking and shimmering. The whole street was basically dressed up for the season. “We’re here,” you announced as you finished parking.
Lyney straightened in his seat. “Oh! Oh, this is one of those streets.”
“Mhm.” You turned off the engine. “They go insane every year, it’s almost ridiculous. That house we just saw is probably not the end of it.”
He was already unbuckling his seatbelt, practically vibrating with anticipation, excitement written all over his face. “I see, they really are committed! Excess truly is an art form.”
You snorted, grabbing your coat as you stepped out into the cold. While the air did bite at your skin a little sharper, it was all worth it because you were rewarded with the quiet hum of the atmosphere. Only a few people were wandering along the sidewalks and you could faintly discern their low voices.
It was peaceful.
Lyney fell into step beside you without thinking, close enough for your arms to brush when you walked. Neither of you commented on it.
To be honest, neither of you commented on the current status of your relationship either. There were a lot of things you two never spoke out loud.
And perhaps… that was the problem.
It wasn’t that nothing had ever happened between you two. In fact, it was the complete opposite. Things kept happening, though quietly. They happened in ways that didn’t cross this invisible line that you both have subconsciously drawn and pretended existed.
It was moments like these—late night drives, inside jokes no one else but you two understood, changing the wallpapers of your phones to pictures of each other, staying up late to talk on the phone, locking eyes in a crowded room, giving and receiving gifts even when there wasn’t a special occasion, visiting his family’s house for dinner, hell even talking about your futures together.
Even with moments like this, where Lyney walked just close enough that you were aware of the warmth at your side but never close enough to force the question. You told yourself that it was easier that way.
Lyney stopped in front of one of the houses, hands in his pockets as he tilted his head back to take in the lights. Reds and golds reflected in his eyes as he smiled to himself.
“Hm,” he pondered casually, as if he hadn’t stolen all of your attention, “if we’re judging purely based on commitment, this one wins.”
You elbowed his side, laughing as he yelped in pain. “Look who’s talking! Saying that like you’re not impressed!”
“I never said I wasn’t!” He rubbed at his side, frowning. “I just respect the dedication, y’know?”
You just hummed in response, looking up at the lights streaked across the house and the inflatable Santa that was dangling on the side of the roof like its life depended on it. For a second, you two stood there in silence, with your shoulders almost touching. Almost.
You wondered, not for the first time, what it would take to close the gap.
The man beside you shifted, like he was acutely aware of it too. You swore you felt his hand lift to reach yours, but then you could hear the slide of his hand dropping into his pocket instead.
Fucking coward.
“Come on,” he said lightly, already stepping forward. “I reckon there’s worse up ahead.”
You looked down at your shoes as you followed him to match his pace.
A few houses down, the glow from the displays grew slightly dimmer. Warm lights draped neatly along the fences, paper stars glowing softly in windows. Someone had even put the effort into placing lanterns on their doorstep. It was beautiful in a quieter way, less overwhelming than the rest. Still, the lights alone weren’t enough to drown out the thoughts in your head.
Lyney had always been like this. Unpredictable, charming, impossible to pin down, you knew this very well. And somewhere along the way, it seemed that his unpredictability had woven its way into whatever it is the two of you had. It was thrilling at first, but then it became something you had to carefully tread through.
You told yourself you didn’t care, that this was fine. There was absolutely no rush.
But the truth sat heavier than that, because you realised your feelings a while ago: you were head over heels for him. You never said it out loud, obviously, but they lingered. They lingered in the pauses between conversations, in the way your gaze always found him first, in the waiting you’ve supposedly gotten used to doing.
Meanwhile, Lyney just seemed content to dance around it. He was close but not the type of close you could name or label.
It was as if your feelings were in a race, and yours were ahead of his.
You matched his pace without thinking as you stared hard at your shoes, stepping on the concrete sidewalk. Thinking. Pondering. You didn’t know the difference between the two, but whatever it was, you were doing it hard.
Just how long were you willing to wait for his feelings to catch up?
Lyney’s steps slowed. “I like these better,” he said quietly, snapping you out of your thoughts.
“Mm?” you intoned, blinking as you looked up.
“These houses.” He gestured around at the simple displays. “They’re more, let’s see, calming? It’s much easier to appreciate every individual design as they can all stand out.”
You stopped walking without realising it. Lyney took another step before noticing, turning back to look at you. “What?”
“Nothing,” you said quickly. “I just… thought you’d prefer the flashy ones. Because you’re so, like, flamboyant or something.”
He huffed a laugh. “You know what they say,” he added, an easy smile in place. “Sometimes, less is more.”
Huh.
You looked at him again for a few seconds before averting your gaze, feeling the heat on your cheeks. Less is more. He had obviously meant the lights, but you weren’t sure if he had ever realised how often that philosophy seemed to apply to the two of you.
Either way, that thought that he tossed out stung uncomfortably in your chest. If less really was more, then what did that say about the careful distance you two had been maintaining? What did that say about the unsaid things and the almosts that had to be pushed down before they could cross the already-blurred lines?
You wondered if he knew how much you were holding back just to keep it that way.
“Huh,” you said finally, your gaze still away from him. “Didn’t take you for the minimalist type.”
Lyney shrugged, keeping his hands tucked in his pockets. “Surprises keep things interesting.”
And so does honesty. You had to bite back that response that wanted to tumble out.
As you walked, a small park came into view. Lit by fairy lights streaked between the trees and across the archway, you espied families lingering near a folding table set up off towards the side, steam curling up from the thermoses they were holding. Someone had put music on a portable speaker in an effort to make it a tiny bit festive.
“Hey.” Lyney pointed ahead. “What’s going on there?”
“Dunno, looks like free hot chocolate,” you said with a shrug.
His eyebrows raised. “Free?!” he repeated, hoping that he’d heard you right.
“Don’t get too excited.” You steered towards the park’s entrance. “It’s probably lukewarm at best.”
“Don’t care!” he sang cheerfully with a bright grin stretching across his face. “Hot chocolate is hot chocolate!”
He followed you towards the park, and upon entering, seeing it up close made the scene clearer. The folding table was even more inviting up close, with the carefully stacked paper cups next to a large metal pot filled with a rich brown liquid. A ladle rested inside the pot, all ready to be picked up and to serve.
Lyney lingered a step behind you as you approached the table shaded by the trees, taking the whole scene of the park in. “Hey, they even decorated the trees!”
“Uh huh.” You grabbed two cups and passed one to him.
A volunteer stood behind the table, bundled up in a puffer jacket, and seemingly rubbing their hands together for warmth. The moment they spotted you, they smiled brightly. “Two for the lovely couple?”
You and Lyney froze for a moment. “...Uh. Sure,” you answered. You didn’t correct them. Not because it was easier, but because for a second, it felt good to be seen that way. Like the shape you and Lyney made together was obvious to everyone but the two of you.
The volunteer took your cups, poured the drinks, and slid them back towards you, still wearing that shiny smile. Lyney happily took his cup, blowing the surface of the drink dramatically to lessen the nonexistent steam wafting from it. Warmth bloomed in your chest as you gazed at him with your own cup still in your hands. The heat seeped into your fingers, and it grounded you for a moment as you watched his lips meet the rim of the cup, taking a long and slow sip.
Both of you found a dining bench nearby, tucked just beneath the lights, and the two of you sat facing the table side by side, knees nearly touching. You drank your hot chocolate in peace, staring between the trees and zoning out to the sound of the lively chatter of the people around you.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
Taking delicate sips from your cup, you sighed and relished the rich and creamy warmth. Initially, you had to restrain yourself from downing your hot chocolate in one go because you genuinely could not be assed to get up to get seconds. Setting down your cup, you lay your head on the table, turning just enough to steal glances at your ‘date’ beside you, if you could even call him that.
You watched entranced, observing how the steam curled around Lyney’s features every time he lifted his cup. The steam almost made him look unreal.
You smiled to yourself, though bitterly. You always did this. Even with the smallest crumbs like these, you often found yourself eating them up, because they were all that he could give you. You thought that you could savour these, and they could be enough to fill you.
But you knew better. You knew what you wanted, and god what he gave you had never been enough. You were tired of pretending less could ever feel like more.
People have often speculated that something was going on between the two of you, when you knew very well your relationship was nothing serious. For months, you tried so hard to tell yourself that maybe this whole casual thing was meaningful. That maybe, just maybe, if you waited long enough, he would wake up and realise what he had. You thought he was an idiot, that he just needed time to catch up.
But it had been over a year now. A year of late nights and half promises. A year of this mutual arrangement you both wordlessly made. A year of not being official and not being nothing either.
A year of this and nothing had a name. For the longest time, you’ve wondered how much longer you were supposed to hang around before it stopped being romantic and it became humiliating. Would calling him your boyfriend make the waiting feel lighter, or would it only make the silence louder?
“Are you done admiring me?” Lyney asked, tilting his head so you could see him clearly.
You blinked slowly. “Mm? What?”
“You’ve been staring at me for the past minute now,” he said lightly, threading his fingers through locks of your hair. “You got something to tell me, [Name]?”
You just looked at him with half-lidded eyes. Nothing of bite could come out, and you couldn’t retaliate. The words were already sitting on your tongue before you could stop them.
“Do you ever think about us?”
…And it slipped out. At this point, you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. You needed an answer straight up.
The hand on your head stiffened slightly at the question for a second, but it was almost unnoticeable because Lyney managed to compose himself very quickly with a soft laugh. His hand slithered away from your hair (which you normally would chase, if only this position weren’t so comfortable), reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “That’s kind of a big question to drop out of nowhere, isn’t it?”
You exhaled, more tired than nervous now. “Mm. But surprises keep things interesting, right?”
He sighed, looking a little dejected. “Well,” he began, averting his gaze towards his cup now. “I do. I do think about you.”
You knitted your brows together. “So? I do too.”
Lyney hesitated, fingers tightening around his cup before he set it down on the table. The hollow sound of the plastic against the wood echoed. “I think about you,” he repeated slowly. “About us. Just maybe not in the way you’re probably asking.”
There it was. Not a yes. Not a no. He always managed to make everything seem ‘in-between’ and as much as you tolerated his antics, they were starting to irk you.
The music drifted through the air, playing a tune you didn’t bother recognising. You straightened a little, lifting your head off the table. “Then how?” you asked.
Lyney exhaled through his nose, looking up at the fairy lights above the two of you as if that would offer him an answer. “I like what we have. I like you. I don’t want to risk messing this up by… forcing it into something that’s not ready.”
What the hell was he saying? You’ve been here the whole time when you could’ve left a long time ago. Did he realise that you were already risking it by staying?
You let out a breath that fogged faintly into the cold air, dragging your gloved hand down your face. “So, essentially, I’m forcing this?” The tone came out accusatory, but you couldn’t correct it at this rate because you were finally pulling answers out of this man.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, making eye contact with you now. “I just— I just don’t want to ruin what we have.”
You took a sip from your cup and looked down at it, breaking eye contact. “You say that like it’s not already ruining me.”
There was a pause. “I didn’t know you felt that way,” he said.
You still didn’t look at him. “You didn’t know, or you didn’t want to?”
Silence settled over both of you like a blanket. The speaker in the background played a soft holiday tune that felt painfully out of place with the way your chest ached. Cold licked at your face and crept under your clothes, spreading across your skin, causing you to shiver.
Lyney seemed to notice the way you were trembling. “Cold?”
“I’m fine,” you bit back, though unintentionally.
“Why didn’t you bring a scarf?” He was already tugging his free.
“I said I’m fine.”
He ignored you, leaning closer before you could protest. The scarf draped over your shoulders and he looped it around your neck with practised ease. His fingers brushed against your jaw as he secured the scarf.
The warmth was immediate. It smelled just like him, reminiscent of him in your sheets before he disappeared the next morning. The times you tried to hold onto the memory of his lips ghosting over yours every time it happened.
You swallowed down your feelings before they could get the better of you. “See,” you murmured, unintentionally curling your fingers around his in the fabric. “This is what I mean.”
He furrowed his brows. “What?”
“You do things like this.” The hold your fingers had on his tightened. “You hold my hand. You lend me your scarf. You invite me to your house for dinner, Lyney. You do anything!” The feelings were forming a big lump in your throat the more you tried to shove them down. You shut your eyes as your voice trembled. “Anything, and then you tell me you don’t want to make whatever this is into something. Is it out of pity?”
The words tumbled out one by one before you could stop them, each one more biting than the last. You let the silence stretch out after, your chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. You paused for a second, processing the last sentence. Perhaps it was out of pity.
“If you don’t feel anything,” you started, but shit your voice cracked. The whole situation felt so suffocating that you had to look away from his face to blink back the tears that were threatening to form. Hold yourself together, damn it! “If you’re leading me on,” you continued, “just tell me. Tell me straight to my face.”
You waited for him to pull away or to do his mental gymnastics thing or even change topics like he always did. However, Lyney’s hands didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers curled slightly where you were holding them, unsure. Violet eyes searched yours as you gazed into his—those same pools that you found yourself drowning in over and over. “If I didn’t feel anything, I wouldn’t be here.”
You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes and scoff at that. “I mean, yeah,” you mumbled. “You’ve always been here. You’re just not here here.”
Another pause ensued, and when you knew Lyney wouldn’t add on, you continued. “I just need to know that I’m not wasting my time. I don’t want to wait around only to be someone you just move on from.”
There wasn’t an immediate response, not like you expected one anyway. He looked at your joined hands, thumb brushing once over your knuckles in a slow, absent motion, as if grounding himself there.
“I don’t think I could move on from you,” was what slipped out of his lips right after.
Snow had started falling without either of you noticing. Slow, lazy flakes drifted down through the fairy lights strung between the trees, catching in Lyney’s hair and melting against your lashes. In any other moment, you would have laughed at the cheesiness and cliché of it all, but the timing of the situation made it reminiscent of those breakup scenes in the movies.
You sagged your shoulders, your bottom lip sticking out to form a pout. “That’s not exactly reassuring, y’know.”
Lyney blinked as if he hadn’t processed the words he said aloud. “I know,” he admitted. His fingers pulled away from your scarf and you internally wept at the loss. “I’m not the best at articulating my words the, uhm,”—he coughed—“right way.”
“That would be an understatement.”
A corner of his mouth twitched at the retort. He shifted closer to you, not touching you, but just about enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him and his vanilla scent. The pesky cologne that had you in a chokehold for months. “I don’t think what we have is nothing.” He said these words slowly and carefully. He drew his eyebrows together in thought. “I don’t think what we have is casual either. I just didn’t want to name it, because I’m kind of a coward, y’know? I’m scared shitless. I’m scared that if I put a name to it, then I’ll be the one to ruin it.”
You let out a tired huff, and you just couldn’t hold back the sarcastic retort. “Well, personally, I believe that you have made the right decision! Things have been going fairly well—that is, if you ignore the psychological toll it has taken on my mental health, and the number of times I’ve cried whenever you weren’t around. It’s been a real blast.”
He winced. “Yeah, I’ve probably been ruining it by not naming it, have I?”
“Uh huh.”
Silence settled, but it didn’t feel as suffocating this time.
“So like. Uhm.” You swallowed. How many times were you going to swallow down your feelings tonight? “What am I to you?”
Lyney seemed deep in thought for a moment. “You’re the person I look for first,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You matter so much more to me than you think. While I may joke or deflect, I never think of you as temporary.” He glanced away, but you could see the faintest hint of tinted pink on his cheeks. “You’re someone I can truly see a future with.”
“So…” You didn’t know why, but hearing those words formed tears in your eyes. Before you knew it, there was a fat tear rolling down your cheek. Lyney was about to say something in concern when you suddenly punched him in the shoulder.
“Ow! What was that for?!”
“Screw you! I hate you!” You burst out crying now, but your words lacked bite as you were giggling through your tears. Your hands found your face as you doubled over in fits of laughter. “Stupid! I cried thinking you didn’t think of me as someone important, but you did! You were just a pussy!”
“Hey I’m sorr—ow! [Name]!”
“What the fuck, man? I hate you so much!” Lyney tried to confide in you with a hug, but you shoved him away. “Don’t touch me! I don’t need comforting, geez! Let me just—” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in, before exhaling through your mouth.
Snow continued to fall around you, and you could feel some land on your face. After a few moments, you opened your eyes to see Lyney still staring at you carefully. “You good now?”
“Yeah.” You wiped your nose with the back of your gloved hand, sniffling a little.
He sighed in relief. “I don’t want this to just be a temporary thing anymore. I want something more with you.”
Your chest ached in a way that wasn’t painful, unlike the past year with him. “Is this a confession?”
He smiled, though a little nervous. “I think it might be.”
Before you could respond, a soft gasp came from Lyney as something brushed the top of his head. He raised his head, furrowing his brows. “…Huh?”
You followed his gaze, and your eyes landed on a mistletoe. Somehow, impossibly, a small sprig hung from the fairy lights just above the bench.
“No way,” you said flatly. “You cannot tell me that just spawned there.”
“I swear I didn’t plan that!”
“I didn’t even accuse you of anything!”
“Well,” he said, eyes flicking between you and the mistletoe. “I guess fate’s a little on the nose tonight.”
“Mm.”
“So, uh.” Lyney took your hand slowly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Traditions?”
You met his eyes. There was but utmost sincerity in those pools of his. Hesitation clouded your mind for half a second, enough for the weight of everything to press in. It took another two seconds before you found yourself sliding your hands into his hair and yanking him towards you to kiss him.
While you have kissed at least a million times before, this one felt genuine, more warm, and the ripple you felt in your chest felt terrifyingly right. His lips were warm despite the cold, and you felt his free hand snake around your waist to kiss back.
The both of you were doing this in a public space but who gave a shit? You wanted to savour this earnest moment before it could all slip away. It just felt so right.
The moment didn’t last long when you both pulled away, and he rested his head on your shoulder afterwards, earning a stifled chuckle from you.
“‘M tired,” he mumbled. “Can I crash at your place tonight?”
Your hands found their way through his ash blond locks, and you smiled. “Of course, as long as I don’t wake up alone.”
i am allergic to commitment. nvm. i am queuing this fic for 5 am because i'm scared. IT'S A GIFT FOR SOMEONE, AND I NEED A FEW HOURS OF PEACE BEFORE THEY SEE IT.
i am alive. post soon. <//3 this was supposed to be done two days ago. i'll probably be taking some time away after to spend time with family and focus on resting!! so do not worry if i'm chronically offline for like a week!!! i am not dead!!!!!!!!!
The Ten Stonehearts, some of the most professional detectives in all of Penacony. Ever the upholders of justice, their intellect and intuition knows no bounds. When Agent Aventurine is assigned to a task involving you, a master thief who’s set their sights on a priceless object, his life changes in mysterious ways.
Maybe, his heart can be stolen as well.
INFO: wc: ~2k. (detective aventurine x thief reader.) f! reader. reader wears makeup (lipgloss). stonehearts are a detective organization. set in penacony/semi au.
It’s said that only the ones who have gotten lucky in life have the luxury to complain. The ones who’ve been dealt an unfortunate hand by fate do not have the voice to.
As Aventurine sits in Penacony’s most famous bar, beverage in hand and an exhausted expression gracing his usually upturned features, he comes to the conclusion that he, in all his time as a private detective, has never been so effectively silenced. Across from him, an indigo clothed figure swirls her drink around in her glass, watching the golden liquid spill over the rim.
“You have a new case.” Jade muses, resting her cheek on the face of her palm. “It’s quite a difficult one.”
“Do I ever get easy tasks?” The blond haired man asks, laughing dryly. “It’s a part of the job, and it’s what I’m the best at. There’s no point in complaining about it, although, judging by the look on your face, I can tell it’ll be all the more amusing for you.”
“How discerning.” she replies. It’s late, and the idle chatter from the nearby patrons is starting to die down. In the midst of the growing silence, the cunning woman slides a cream colored file across the table, drawing a pointed look from her partner.
“Take a look at this. We’ve compiled a collection of an individual that’s plagued our organization for months.”
Now this catches Aventurine’s attention.
“They’ve given us too much trouble for us to ignore.” Jade’s expression never wavers as Aventurine picks up the envelope and opens it up. Made of heavy, cream colored paper, he can feel the weight of the case even before he sees its contents.
A striking figure stares back at him, and he finally understands. Loose leaflets, photos of extravagant jewelry, a shadowy picture of a figure, and a criminal portrait lie within.
“I see. Of course you’d give this one to me.” He’s sat up almost instantly, initial exhaustion still evident, but now accompanied with a sense of competition. It's a spark that only appears in him when a new job emerges. His demeanor changes as quickly as the flip of a coin.
The smile on Jade’s face grows even wider. “This time, not only will you have to investigate them, you’ll have to capture them as well. You’re up to the task, I take it?”
Aventurine’s weariness has almost vanished; swallowed up by the adrenaline of a case never seen before. “Have I ever failed a case?” he chuckles. “ I have the feeling this is a job I’ll actually enjoy.”
And with that, he stands up swiftly, leaving Jade alone in the bar, drinks long forgotten.
---
Though midnight, Golden Hour is awash in warm light from the various bustling streetlights and shops. People walk amongst each other, laughing and conversing about various topics, but all are unaware of the events that are soon to unfold. In the midst of the city, Aventurine stands in front of the famous opera house, scheming his next move.
A famous opera singer is set to perform today, he recalls. The most popular lady of the opera sits practicing in her studio tonight. Her current rehearsal can be heard all the way from the outside of the hall, the sweet echo of her voice resounding through the area. She’s crucial to the case.
There’s an extremely valuable piece of jewelry in her possession during this particular performance. It's the opening show, and tonight, she’ll be wearing a headpiece holding a multitude of priceless gems, each one more expensive than the riches of the Family themselves.
When he enters, the opera house is already dim and ambient in preparation for the show. Quiet murmurs from the crowd are audible, a perfect cover for the small voice resounding through the hidden communication device in his ear.
“They’re near. Be on the lookout for the clues we’ve gone over.”
Aventurine almost misses the waver in Topaz’s voice. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”
A beat of silence passes before his partner speaks again.
“No. I’m confident in you.”
He lets out a satisfied hum.
“I’ve swept the room twice and created a list of potential suspects.” Topaz continues. “ We don’t have many leads on their appearance, but keep an eye out for anyone that looks like our sketch.”
The show is about to start. The curtains have risen, and the people have all taken their seats. The golden haired man takes his own, a place in the private box seats that Jade had managed to secure for him. Red curtains are fastened neatly with golden tiebacks, and boxes of luxury chocolates are laid out on the mahogany side tables. It's an empty and spacious seating position, with four or five seats unoccupied.
Until they aren’t.
The performance begins. Aventurine turns his back once; only once, and suddenly–
“A Stoneheart.”
The show has really begun, hasn’t it? Sitting in one of the free chairs, hands folded politely and a lazy grin on your face, the booth gets a little bit smaller.
“The renowned cat burglar in the flesh. I see you’ve done your research.” Aventurine stands, moving closer, careful not to make any sudden move. “But who says I’m here for you?”
“Just a hunch. That, and the fact that you followed the trail I left.”
So the evidence file was calculated. “You got me. I followed your clues, and now I’ve fallen right into the palm of your hand. Whatever will I do now, Miss Thief?”
“What you’ll do now is watch me steal those diamonds right in front of you.” You gesture to the woman below, whose voice is resounding through the room. “I’ve had my eye on them for a while.”
Aventurine chuckles. “Well, I can’t let you do that, can I?”
“I’d like to see you stop me.”
Aventurine does not falter. He doesn’t get nervous; it’s not in his nature, is it? His silver tongue is his greatest asset, and he plans to use it to its full extent when with you. Even so, he places a hand to the pocket of his jacket, where his handgun resides. A precaution.
Only to find it isn’t there. The night has taken an interesting turn. If he’s taken aback, he doesn’t let it show.
“I hope you weren’t planning to use this on me.” Your tone is sickeningly sweet as you twirl the handle between your fingers. “Resorting to such violent methods is so ungentlemanly of you.”
The orchestra gets louder, and with it, you get a little bolder. You stand and stride forward, and the man before you takes steps back, but not out of fear. An amused expression stretches across his face as you corner him into the end of the booth, away from any prying eyes that could see you both.
Even in the flickering, soft light, even through his rose colored sunglasses, you can see the mirth Aventurine’s eyes imply. “See something you like?”
A sweep of your leg brings him to his knees, and the gun is flung across the plush carpet. Gloved fingers meet smooth skin as you take his chin in your fingers, tilting his head to get a better look at him.
“Careful. One more remark and I’ll steal the eyes right out of your head.”
“They’re jewel toned. I’m seeing a pattern.”
“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”
Aventurine knows that he’s irked you. Violins ring and the organ weeps a song of sorrow, and the coveted headpiece seems to shine even brighter in the radiant spotlight. The show is coming to a close.
“I’m glad you think you have me in your grasp.” you whisper, voice hushed and barely audible over the symphony of the strings. “But you’ve kept me occupied far too long.”
And with that, you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, your lipgloss leaving blooming color in its wake. It takes him by surprise; the ever beguiling man falters for a second, dropping his facade of indifference. This glimpse of the Stoneheart, in all his professionalism, is truly a sight to behold.
“To remember me. Because we’ll definitely meet again.” You laugh at his attempt to hide his blatant shock, then turn swiftly and disappear as quickly as you came.
Aventurine is still on the floor from your previous actions. His face has returned to its dormant expression, but now, a flush graces the tips of his ears, almost hidden by the soft curls of his hair. Sweet talking a suspect’s never been a problem for him; in fact, he considers it a strength.
Maybe he’s finally met his match in you. He gets up slowly, moving to lean over the railing to get a better look at the performance. The show is over; the singer is curtsying and hurrying off stage, her headpiece still intact on her person. But something’s missing. It doesn’t shine as brightly as it did before, Aventurine realizes with a start. The jewels are wrong. Even from this distance, he can tell.
You had gotten to them before he had even met you.
A sparkle in the corner of his eye catches his attention. He moves cautiously towards it, like the floor is glass about to be shattered. There’s a teardrop shaped stone in the red velvet carpet, he realizes. One jewel out of many that you have just stolen. Leaving it was intentional.
“We’ll definitely meet again.” you had said.
“I did say I never get easy tasks.” he mutters to himself, low and investigative. As he examines the jewel, an electronic familiar voice speaks directly into his ear.
“..You know I heard all of that, right?” Topaz sounds utterly exhausted at her partner’s antics.
Aventurine smiles. “You did, didn’t you? Then, I assume you know what I’m about to say next.”
“Do tell.”
“Tell Jade this is a case I want to work on for a little longer. I have a feeling it’ll pay off in the end.”
Aventurine is far from an unlucky man. His cases are never exactly the same, but they never end in loss. He’s not one to shy away from a challenge, and he definitely won’t start now. As he leaves the opera house, head held high and diamond in hand, his thoughts are only centered on you.
a/n: HEY GUYS. IT'S BEEN A WHILE I KNOW. i've had this idea for so long and absolutely had to write it out, so i hope you enjoy!! this could definitely get a part 2 if enough people want it ...
READER WAS WRITTEN SO WELL. I LOVE THEIR PERSONALITY WITH ALL MY HEART!! i think you made them a great match for aventurine, which i really really appreciated. it made the fic a lot more fun to read, especially since you were able to incorporate so much awesome banter!!
i mentioned this before, but i ADORE how you wrote each character’s dialogue. their personalities are super evident just from the way they speak, which helps bring a lot of life and colour to this fic!!!!! i could literally hear their voice actors when i was reading their lines. you did SO well.
i’m in love with the concept you came up with too skdnskkaks #kicking my feet and giggling!!!! i can’t explain it, but thief reader x aventurine has a grip on me now… it’s sickening (in a good way). i will be thinking about this as i study for my final exams and maybe die.
one of my personal favourite lines was “they’re jewel toned. i’m sensing a pattern” (#twinning with mari). it’s so Him. i love how the reader was slightly ragebaited by it too 😭 THEIR DYNAMIC 🔛🔝
“you had gotten to them before he met you.” also hit HARD. it’s such a simple line in terms of vocabulary and structure, but it’s so incredibly fitting!!! if anything, i think you’re really good at using sentence structure to your advantage to make your writing fire 🔥🔥🔥
overall i rate this fic an all in out of ten. I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!!! I’M A HUGE FAN PLEASE SIGN MY FOREHEAD!!
hi hi rei!! i just wanted to ask if you had a tree i could also boo you on. it's completely fine if you don't!!
i hope you have a good rest of the year <33
i do not!! thank you for asking though!! you’re so sweet to me 😭😭 have a good rest of the year too!! make sure you stay safe and that you’re super super kind to yourself!!!!!!
The Ten Stonehearts, some of the most professional detectives in all of Penacony. Ever the upholders of justice, their intellect and intuition knows no bounds. When Agent Aventurine is assigned to a task involving you, a master thief who’s set their sights on a priceless object, his life changes in mysterious ways.
Maybe, his heart can be stolen as well.
INFO: wc: ~2k. (detective aventurine x thief reader.) f! reader. reader wears makeup (lipgloss). stonehearts are a detective organization. set in penacony/semi au.
It’s said that only the ones who have gotten lucky in life have the luxury to complain. The ones who’ve been dealt an unfortunate hand by fate do not have the voice to.
As Aventurine sits in Penacony’s most famous bar, beverage in hand and an exhausted expression gracing his usually upturned features, he comes to the conclusion that he, in all his time as a private detective, has never been so effectively silenced. Across from him, an indigo clothed figure swirls her drink around in her glass, watching the golden liquid spill over the rim.
“You have a new case.” Jade muses, resting her cheek on the face of her palm. “It’s quite a difficult one.”
“Do I ever get easy tasks?” The blond haired man asks, laughing dryly. “It’s a part of the job, and it’s what I’m the best at. There’s no point in complaining about it, although, judging by the look on your face, I can tell it’ll be all the more amusing for you.”
“How discerning.” she replies. It’s late, and the idle chatter from the nearby patrons is starting to die down. In the midst of the growing silence, the cunning woman slides a cream colored file across the table, drawing a pointed look from her partner.
“Take a look at this. We’ve compiled a collection of an individual that’s plagued our organization for months.”
Now this catches Aventurine’s attention.
“They’ve given us too much trouble for us to ignore.” Jade’s expression never wavers as Aventurine picks up the envelope and opens it up. Made of heavy, cream colored paper, he can feel the weight of the case even before he sees its contents.
A striking figure stares back at him, and he finally understands. Loose leaflets, photos of extravagant jewelry, a shadowy picture of a figure, and a criminal portrait lie within.
“I see. Of course you’d give this one to me.” He’s sat up almost instantly, initial exhaustion still evident, but now accompanied with a sense of competition. It's a spark that only appears in him when a new job emerges. His demeanor changes as quickly as the flip of a coin.
The smile on Jade’s face grows even wider. “This time, not only will you have to investigate them, you’ll have to capture them as well. You’re up to the task, I take it?”
Aventurine’s weariness has almost vanished; swallowed up by the adrenaline of a case never seen before. “Have I ever failed a case?” he chuckles. “ I have the feeling this is a job I’ll actually enjoy.”
And with that, he stands up swiftly, leaving Jade alone in the bar, drinks long forgotten.
---
Though midnight, Golden Hour is awash in warm light from the various bustling streetlights and shops. People walk amongst each other, laughing and conversing about various topics, but all are unaware of the events that are soon to unfold. In the midst of the city, Aventurine stands in front of the famous opera house, scheming his next move.
A famous opera singer is set to perform today, he recalls. The most popular lady of the opera sits practicing in her studio tonight. Her current rehearsal can be heard all the way from the outside of the hall, the sweet echo of her voice resounding through the area. She’s crucial to the case.
There’s an extremely valuable piece of jewelry in her possession during this particular performance. It's the opening show, and tonight, she’ll be wearing a headpiece holding a multitude of priceless gems, each one more expensive than the riches of the Family themselves.
When he enters, the opera house is already dim and ambient in preparation for the show. Quiet murmurs from the crowd are audible, a perfect cover for the small voice resounding through the hidden communication device in his ear.
“They’re near. Be on the lookout for the clues we’ve gone over.”
Aventurine almost misses the waver in Topaz’s voice. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”
A beat of silence passes before his partner speaks again.
“No. I’m confident in you.”
He lets out a satisfied hum.
“I’ve swept the room twice and created a list of potential suspects.” Topaz continues. “ We don’t have many leads on their appearance, but keep an eye out for anyone that looks like our sketch.”
The show is about to start. The curtains have risen, and the people have all taken their seats. The golden haired man takes his own, a place in the private box seats that Jade had managed to secure for him. Red curtains are fastened neatly with golden tiebacks, and boxes of luxury chocolates are laid out on the mahogany side tables. It's an empty and spacious seating position, with four or five seats unoccupied.
Until they aren’t.
The performance begins. Aventurine turns his back once; only once, and suddenly–
“A Stoneheart.”
The show has really begun, hasn’t it? Sitting in one of the free chairs, hands folded politely and a lazy grin on your face, the booth gets a little bit smaller.
“The renowned cat burglar in the flesh. I see you’ve done your research.” Aventurine stands, moving closer, careful not to make any sudden move. “But who says I’m here for you?”
“Just a hunch. That, and the fact that you followed the trail I left.”
So the evidence file was calculated. “You got me. I followed your clues, and now I’ve fallen right into the palm of your hand. Whatever will I do now, Miss Thief?”
“What you’ll do now is watch me steal those diamonds right in front of you.” You gesture to the woman below, whose voice is resounding through the room. “I’ve had my eye on them for a while.”
Aventurine chuckles. “Well, I can’t let you do that, can I?”
“I’d like to see you stop me.”
Aventurine does not falter. He doesn’t get nervous; it’s not in his nature, is it? His silver tongue is his greatest asset, and he plans to use it to its full extent when with you. Even so, he places a hand to the pocket of his jacket, where his handgun resides. A precaution.
Only to find it isn’t there. The night has taken an interesting turn. If he’s taken aback, he doesn’t let it show.
“I hope you weren’t planning to use this on me.” Your tone is sickeningly sweet as you twirl the handle between your fingers. “Resorting to such violent methods is so ungentlemanly of you.”
The orchestra gets louder, and with it, you get a little bolder. You stand and stride forward, and the man before you takes steps back, but not out of fear. An amused expression stretches across his face as you corner him into the end of the booth, away from any prying eyes that could see you both.
Even in the flickering, soft light, even through his rose colored sunglasses, you can see the mirth Aventurine’s eyes imply. “See something you like?”
A sweep of your leg brings him to his knees, and the gun is flung across the plush carpet. Gloved fingers meet smooth skin as you take his chin in your fingers, tilting his head to get a better look at him.
“Careful. One more remark and I’ll steal the eyes right out of your head.”
“They’re jewel toned. I’m seeing a pattern.”
“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”
Aventurine knows that he’s irked you. Violins ring and the organ weeps a song of sorrow, and the coveted headpiece seems to shine even brighter in the radiant spotlight. The show is coming to a close.
“I’m glad you think you have me in your grasp.” you whisper, voice hushed and barely audible over the symphony of the strings. “But you’ve kept me occupied far too long.”
And with that, you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, your lipgloss leaving blooming color in its wake. It takes him by surprise; the ever beguiling man falters for a second, dropping his facade of indifference. This glimpse of the Stoneheart, in all his professionalism, is truly a sight to behold.
“To remember me. Because we’ll definitely meet again.” You laugh at his attempt to hide his blatant shock, then turn swiftly and disappear as quickly as you came.
Aventurine is still on the floor from your previous actions. His face has returned to its dormant expression, but now, a flush graces the tips of his ears, almost hidden by the soft curls of his hair. Sweet talking a suspect’s never been a problem for him; in fact, he considers it a strength.
Maybe he’s finally met his match in you. He gets up slowly, moving to lean over the railing to get a better look at the performance. The show is over; the singer is curtsying and hurrying off stage, her headpiece still intact on her person. But something’s missing. It doesn’t shine as brightly as it did before, Aventurine realizes with a start. The jewels are wrong. Even from this distance, he can tell.
You had gotten to them before he had even met you.
A sparkle in the corner of his eye catches his attention. He moves cautiously towards it, like the floor is glass about to be shattered. There’s a teardrop shaped stone in the red velvet carpet, he realizes. One jewel out of many that you have just stolen. Leaving it was intentional.
“We’ll definitely meet again.” you had said.
“I did say I never get easy tasks.” he mutters to himself, low and investigative. As he examines the jewel, an electronic familiar voice speaks directly into his ear.
“..You know I heard all of that, right?” Topaz sounds utterly exhausted at her partner’s antics.
Aventurine smiles. “You did, didn’t you? Then, I assume you know what I’m about to say next.”
“Do tell.”
“Tell Jade this is a case I want to work on for a little longer. I have a feeling it’ll pay off in the end.”
Aventurine is far from an unlucky man. His cases are never exactly the same, but they never end in loss. He’s not one to shy away from a challenge, and he definitely won’t start now. As he leaves the opera house, head held high and diamond in hand, his thoughts are only centered on you.
a/n: HEY GUYS. IT'S BEEN A WHILE I KNOW. i've had this idea for so long and absolutely had to write it out, so i hope you enjoy!! this could definitely get a part 2 if enough people want it ...
