The Astropolis coastline had never looked this alive.
Lanterns strung between the palm-lined boardwalk swayed with the sea breeze, throwing gold light over a crowd that smelled like sugar and salt water. Somewhere behind you, a brass band was murdering a festival tune in the most enthusiastic way possible. You didn't mind. You'd been told to wait by the pier, and waiting had never come with a better view.
Then you saw him, and the whole boardwalk may as well have gone quiet.
Aventurine cut through the crowd like he owned the tide itself — which, considering the way heads turned, he might as well have. Gone was the sharp cut of his usual coat, the careful architecture of a man dressed for negotiation. Instead: a loose, breezy shirt hanging open over his collarbones, sleeves rolled, shorts that had no business looking that expensive. Sun had caught in his hair and turned it molten. He looked less like a Stoneheart and more like something that had wandered out of a summer you weren't sure you deserved.
"You're staring," he said, before he'd even fully closed the distance. That grin — the one that always looked like it knew something you didn't — was already climbing onto his face.
"You're new," you said, because it was true, and because it bought you a second to remember how words worked.
"Waveflair." He said it like he was introducing a hand of cards, spreading his arms just slightly, giving you the full reveal. "P46 now, if you can believe it. Sponsored shoot, three festivals, and somehow I still ended up assigned to this island right when you were here. Funny how the odds line up sometimes."
"Nothing about you is odds, Aventurine. You'd have found your way here even if they'd shipped you to the other side of the galaxy."
That caught him. Just for a breath, the performance flickered — the easy showman posture softening into something a little more real, a little more unguarded, the kind of look he only let slip when he thought no one else was close enough to see it. You were close enough. You were always close enough.
"Careful," he murmured, voice dropping out of its stage register. "Say things like that and I might start thinking you actually missed me."
"I did." No hedging. No teasing lilt to soften it. Just the truth, handed over plainly, the way you'd learned he needed it sometimes — the way flattery slid right off him but honesty always landed somewhere underneath the ribs.
He didn't answer right away. He reached for your hand instead, thumb brushing once over your knuckles like he was checking you were really there, then laced his fingers through yours properly. The cornerstone at his throat caught the lantern light, and for a second you thought he might say something about luck, about odds, about the games he liked to dress his feelings up in.
Instead he just said, "Walk with me. Storm's supposed to roll in later — something about a grand festival stirring up trouble, if the higher-ups are to be believed. I'd rather spend the calm part of it with you than working."
"You? Skipping work?"
"For you? I'll call it a strategic reallocation of resources." He tugged you forward, toward the water, toward the noise and the lantern-light and the whole loud, golden evening. "Don't tell my superiors."
You let him pull you along, watching the way the breeze caught that stupid, gorgeous new shirt of his, the way he kept glancing sideways at you like he was checking his cards were still good. He looked lighter out here. Not the practiced lightness he wore like armor in the casino halls — an actual, unguarded ease, sand between his toes and salt in his hair and nowhere in particular he had to be except beside you.
"You know," you said, "for someone who deals in odds, you sure like giving yourself away for free."
He laughed — really laughed, head tipping back, gold eyes catching the last of the sunset. "Only to sure bets."
The tide came in behind you both, and neither of you moved to outrun it.
summary: you were taken by surprise when the aventurine of the ten stonehearts requests a private match from you. although, a gamble with him requires high stakes, and even higher rewards.
tags: smut, gambling, praise, degredation (if you reaaally squint), p in v, cunnilingus, use of sex toys, public sex, petnames (sweet girl, pretty, doll), not proofread (i drank too much last night mb fam)
wc: 2.2k
“so the winner of this next round takes all?” you clarify, unsure if the man in front of you has gone insane.
“spot on, pretty. if you win, i’ll be your loyal servant for the rest of the night. although if i win… you’ll be mine.” yeah. he’s lost it.
you’re currently in a private sector for the eclipse’s executives. it’s slightly elevated from the rest of the floor, almost like a private balcony with a gorgeous view of the grand casino. how you ended up here? you don’t even know. you were sipping on a sweet cocktail when aventurine, one of the ten stonehearts, requested a game from you. his assistant didn’t give you time to react as he led you away from the central casino and toward a far more private, lavish, hall.
ever the gentleman he is, aventurine picked you up there and stole you away to the balcony you now find yourself at. seeing as it was too late to decline, you figured you should get the most out of this experience as he explained the rules to you.
a standard game of poker shouldn’t be too hard, right? is what you tell yourself, despite struggling immensely against the man in front of you. you’ve only won… twice? out of the many rounds you’ve played and you’re getting worried, you can’t keep losing like this. almost on cue, aventurine suggests one final round to decide the winner, which is how you’ve ended up in your current predicament.
you eye the cards in your hand, desperately trying to keep your expression neutral. aventurine lounges across from you, one arm draped over the back of the sofa, his other hand casually toying with his chips. he’s confident. too confident.
“ready, pretty?” he’s teasing you at this point. the dealer, not making a sound, reshuffles the cards before sliding them your way. you glance at your hand and immediately regret your decision, but you don’t lose hope just yet.
the dealer reveals the first three cards on the table: jack of diamonds, queen of clubs, seven of spades. your stomach drops. aventurine smirks. it’s over.
with a hand like this, you shouldn’t even bet, but you go all in anyway, hoping the bluff works. of course, it doesn’t. he meets your bet, then raises.
the final card flips. king of hearts.
aventurine reveals his hand—ace and ten.
a straight.
you blink, stunned. aventurine leans forward, that damn smirk widening, “looks like you’re mine now.”
this was it, your fate had been sealed. only god knows what this man has planned for you. you let out a long sigh, accepting your defeat before locking eyes with him, waiting for his orders.
with a quick snap of his fingers, the dealer leaves the room, disappearing through the door without a word. “stand up,” you oblige, adjusting your short dress and hair as you rise from your chair, facing him. he does a one-over on your body, taking in every inch and curve, staring like a starved man.
the room suddenly feels much smaller as you’re left in aventurine’s company. he’s still lounging on the sofa before you, but this time, a more terrifying aura radiates from him.
his next command is simple. with a predatory smile and commanding tone, he orders, “your panties, take them off.”
for a second, you thought you didn’t hear him right. you hesitate for a moment, but the look in his eyes leaves no room for argument. slowly, you reach through your skirt, your hands trembling slightly as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and push them down.
he holds out his hands, glancing at the panties before his gaze shifts back to you. you hand them to him as a blush creeps up your cheeks. his hand grazes yours as he takes them from you, stuffing them into his pocket with a victorious smile playing on his lips.
“oh, one more thing,” he reaches over to a small box resting on the table, opening it and taking out a small vibrator. “you’re a smart girl so i’m sure you understand what i’m getting at. if you manage a few games without cumming, i might even reward you,” he coos. “you like the sound of that, doll?”
even if you wanted to refuse, you know you couldn’t. begrudgingly, you put the vibrator in your, now naked, pussy, letting out a soft sigh as it enters you. as much as you should be disgusted right now, you’re filled with nothing but adrenaline facing the man in front of you. the fear that you once had now slowly turning into excitement.
he sets up the next round of poker, shuffling a new deck of cards and sliding some your way. “no need to bet with chips anymore, if you manage to win as much as one game, i’ll make sure you’re cumming on me tonight.” his voice suddenly shifts into a darker tone “although, if you fail… we’ll keep up this little game of ours until you're begging on your knees for me.”
the hums of the vibrator fill the room as he turns it on from the small remote in his hand. any fear you should’ve felt from his threat going straight to your core, letting out a small moan at the danger.
the next few hours we’re nothing but agonising pain. you played his cruel game, as he abused the power he had over you, making you crumble for him. you were close? too damn bad, he turned the vibrator off, leaving you whimpering in agony. you tried bluffing? he saw right through it and set the vibrator to pulse inside of you, only switching it back to normal once you confessed your lie. sometimes you’d even be so distracted by the sweet pleasure between your thighs that your hand would accidentally slip, giving aventurine a complete view of your cards. but lady luck was on your side today as somehow, somehow, you beat him. maybe he let you and you didn’t notice as you were too distracted by the vibrating pleasure or perhaps you just got lucky. either way, you celebrated your victory, excited for what came ahead.
“congratulations, sweetheart,” he leaves the sofa for the first time tonight, slowly approaching you. “i’m a man of my word,” he kneels in front of you, pushing your legs apart. “i won’t stop until you’re cumming all over my tongue.”
without any further warning, he removes the vibrator, leaving you empty, only to replace it with his tongue.
he eats you out like it’s his last day alive. sucking, biting and slurping on your pussy. “so good,” he muffles, “you taste so fucking good.”
he continues to lap your folds, stuffing your cunt with his tongue and sometimes nibbling on your clit. he’s so shameless too, not attempting to hide any noises he makes while drinking you up. the longer he eats you out, the more dissolved his words get. filthy encouragements and teasing praises slowly turning into incoherent babbles, growling against your cunt. each vibration going straight toward your impending orgasm.
“you close, pretty? can feel you shaking around my tongue,” he says with one last lick on your folds before you come undone all over his face. your orgasm hits you like a wave, your juices crashing down on aventurine’s mouth.
he pulls back, slowly rising from his knees. “fuck– you taste divine,” he licks any excess juices from his face, “could eat this pretty pussy every day.” he grabs your hand, pulling you up from your chair and bringing you to the sofa he was once lounging on, “but that wouldn’t be any fun now, would it?” he bends you over with your back to the casino table, giving you a perfect view of the central casino.
“try not to attract too much attention, sweet girl.” with that, he hikes up your tiny dress and enters you in one slow, painful thrust. you moan at the sensation, definitely attracting a few curious eyes from below, but you’re in to deep to care anymore. he lets out a sigh of relief as he bottoms out, feeling your tight cunt already squeezing him.
“hah– so tight f’me,” he started to rock into you at a slow pace, taking his sweet time destroying you. as much as he desperately wanted to give into his primal urges, rutting into like there’s no tomorrow, he wanted to keep his promise. he wanted you to completely come apart on his dick, turning you into his little fucked-out doll. his one hand rest on your hip, keeping him steady as he moves inside you while the other snakes its way down to your clit, teasing your overstimulated bud.
the pleasure is overwhelming, leading you closer to your orgasm by the second, moaning out praises for the blonde behind you. “aah~ so good– i’m so close!” you can barely get the words out, but once you do, he can’t hold back anymore. “gonna make a mess on my dick, pretty?” he speeds up, thrusting at a faster pace, fingers working harder too.
“you close, doll?” he vibrates against your ear, “that’s my good girl… go on, cum on my dick, make a mess for me.”
that was all it took to push you over the edge, you clenched him tightly as your second orgasm hit you. moaning out his name as you gripped the balcony railing, letting yourself come undone for him. it didn’t take him long until he was also reaching his high, swiftly pulling out and releasing his cum all over your ass and back, staining your dress.
after he releases his grasp on you, you collapse on the sofa, breathless and still sensitive from the little game you both played. he takes his place next to you, moving your legs to rest on his lap. “looks like your dress is stained,” he traces a line down your leg. “give me your number. i’ll arrange a replacement.”
after exchanging numbers, you clean yourself up as much as possible before heading to the exit.
“oh, and sweetheart,” he calls out to you before you can leave. “call me when you want your rematch.”
hii! i recently found your blog and i really enjoyed all your headcanons so i wanted to ask if you could write dating hcs for gyro with reader who is like riding alongside him in the race? tysm!!
gyro zeppeli x reader h/c’s!
tw: added a tiny dash of spice because it’s gyro ദ്ദി •⩊• )
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gyro zeppeli loves loudly and fully. rarely will there be a dull moment between the two of you, and if there is, he’s happy to fill it. you hold the entirety of his heart in your hands.
mirroring how he was with johnny, he was rather indifferent when you first met, but was attracted to the sheer grit and skill you displayed during the race. there was a brief period of awkwardness and uncertainty, possibly exacerbated by his attraction to you before warming up. once he does, it’s like you’ve met an entirely different person. sure, that dignified focus and determination is there, but his goofy and colorful nature comes at a bit of a shock to you. it’s what really drew you in, you think–he wasn’t afraid to be himself.
if you’re someone who enjoys silence, be prepared to put up with his near-constant yapping. this man can and will talk about everything and nothing all at once. he’s very opinionated too, and you will always be the first one to know how he’s feeling.
constantly vying for your attention. he craves it. sometimes this leads to him doing weird shit just to get your attention. he’ll call your name like he’s at death’s door only to show you the two leaves he stuck to his upper lip. you and johnny share a look.
“you called me over here for this?”
“funny, right!?”
it’s endearing in a way. you can never stay irritated at him for too long. for gyro, your attention validates him; it tells him that you’re choosing to let him be a part of your world, choosing to see him and only him. stinky man is needy.
if you’re ever upset, he will try and cheer you up before hearing you out. sometimes you have to tell him if you want him to just listen, since trying to get you to smile is often his default. making you laugh is genuinely one of his favorite pastimes. he’ll make stupid ass faces or gently run one of his steel balls across your skin to make you squeal.
loves trying to “serenade” you with a song. it’s usually a variation of the same pizza pizza, mozzarella bullshit.
“pizza~ pizza~…mozzarella!…for my bella~!”
“oh my god…”
“now for the second verse!”
and there is always a second verse. he will make you listen to all of it and eagerly await your reaction. if you tell him you loved it, he’ll sing it again. if you tell him you hated it (don’t do this pls), he’s gonna just redo it. you will not win here. embrace the cheese song.
drama queen. always clutching his theoretical pearls. likes making a fuss of random shit too, and it’s really funny.
if you’re also a goofball, you two will be the epitome of chaos poor johnny. your personalities bounce off one another’s so easily, like some chaotic game of ping-pong.
he always has an eye out for you during the race. if you’re a man, he gives you a bit more leeway, but if you’re a woman, or clearly presenting as one, he never strays far. he knows that the race attracts all kinds and will ensure your safety as best as he can. he has no reservations about being confrontational; he is more than happy to fuck someone up and tell them to eat shit afterwards.
a biter. do with this info what you will.
a tease. he knows exactly what he’s doing, too. he knows what to say, when to say it, and just how to say it to get the reactions he oh so craves. playful banter is one of his many love languages, and he is happy to go back and forth with you anyday. you could tell this man the dumbest thing ever, and he is already doubled over, slapping his knees and all. johnny doesn’t bother suppressing his eyeroll.
personal space? lmao good luck. he’s stuck to you. when you break for camp, he places his bedroll right next to yours. he actually attempted to squeeze himself into yours, ripping it in the process. you don’t let him live it down.
johnny camps out a little farther from both of you when he thinks ya’ll are gonna go at it. which is often. he is not slick about it either. poor johnny x2.
likes whispering dirty stuff in your ear lolll.
gyro zeppeli is no stranger to romantic escapades. he never truly considered who slipped in and out of his bed until you came along. you’re something else entirely to him, someone he sees himself building a future with. when all this is over, he decides, he’ll take you back to Naples and marry you.
pairing: nagumo x afab!reader
summary: nagumo takes you back to his place...and doesn't intend to make it an easy night for you.
rating: explicit 18+
tags: annoying!nagumo, eye contact, cunnilingus, TEASING, petnames, creampies, multiple reader orgasms, swearing, no plot, kinda self-indulgent so prob slight ooc :p
wc: 1.5k.
a/n: this is my first fic on tumblr! i'm also new to the platform and am still learning. not only am i new to the site, i am also a new(ish) writer of fanfic in general. so, if you have any advice for me, please do not hesitate to give me any!
proofread by my lovely friends
banners and dividers made by yours truely
The door slams shut, your back against it. You didn't have time to wait, you find yourself entangled with him. Your hands running through his dark raven hair, and his roaming around your body. His hands follow the shape of your curves, making their way to your hips. You release your hold on him, letting yourself catch some air.
His breathing is slow and shallow, but something about this sight is so captivating.
“Even if it's just tonight, let me have you all to myself.”
He picks you up—effortlessly, taking you to his room. Putting you down gently, he kneels in front of you to help take off your shoes. Grabbing one of your legs, he kisses your ankles all the way up to your thigh. A desperately needy noise escapes your lips as his mouth moves higher and higher–moving closer and closer to your growing heat –then he stops.
The sudden stop makes you quiet.
“Why?”
“Hm? Is there something wrong?”
Another smirk creeps up on his face. The look of satisfaction—he knows what he’s doing to you.
“Be patient; you still have your clothes on.”
Back on his feet, he tugs at his tie, releasing it, and unbuttons his shirt. You watch him for a bit before you start undoing any of your clothes. He notices your lecherous gaze..
“Something catch your eye? You can stare if you want,” he teases you, while still sounding seductive. “I think I need some help with the rest. Would you mind getting those for me?”
He gets closer, his body only inches from your face. He bared it all in front of you, tattoos all over his well-maintained body. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in. He leans into you, his hands pressed against the bed holding him up. Your arms slinging around his shoulders.
You pull him down, now lying on your back. He pushes himself up from you, once again grabbing your leg and leaving small kisses up it. Making his way to your inner thighs, his attention lingers a little too long. Leaving small red marks on one,he makes his way to your other thigh.
Your breathing comes out in small gasps that are closer to moans. Your body gets hotter and hotter as he takes his time with you. The suspense is too much; he’s toying with you, and you need more.
“Please, Nagumo.”
He lifts his head up in satisfaction, recognizing your body’s sheer need for him. “Please what? Is there something you want?” His voice low–the words hanging in the air with sweetness. “I can’t tell what you want if you don't tell me.”
He lowers himself back down onto you, placing a kiss on your clit. You feel a slight suction as he starts to suck on the hard bud. His hands move, parting you open. His tongue makes small deliberate strokes over your already wet cunt, focusing on your clit. Your back arches up from the pleasure as you let out indecent moans, his name escaping your lips like a desperate plea. He keeps this pace, tipping you right over the edge.
As he makes his way back up, you see his intentions clearly on his face. Nagumo has no plans of stopping, his only want is to please you. He sits up, pushing you further into the bed. His cock placed between your slick folds. He grabs it, rubbing the tip against your clit and then dragging it down to the opening, covering it in your wetness before he enters you.
“Fuck…you feel amazing.” He lets out labored groans
His hands are placed on the groove of your hips, holding on so tight like he's afraid you’ll disappear. His thrusts are slow, but hard. He wants to make sure you feel all of his length as he savors the way your tightness is swallowing him whole. The pleasure comes in waves as you greedily take his cock. Your body yearns for more and more. Watching his cock slide in and out of you made it more obscene but that only excites you more. His pace becomes faster, hitting all of the sweet spots no one other than him can reach. You're close again, the walls of your cunt tighten around his cock.
He grins at you, pushing the few strands of stray hair from his face. Hand moving down, he uses his thumb to draw circles on your clit. It was too much. The intense pleasure coming from him ravaging your walls and the sensation of your clit being toyed with makes you come. Your walls tighten, making him lose his composure. He continues his pace, to fuck out the high from your orgasm.
“Your pussy is gripping onto me so tight, it’s practically wringing my cock out.” His voice dripping with attraction. “It’s like you want me to come inside.”
He thrusts himself harder into you, a rush of his warmth fills your body.
It wasn’t enough for him—not nearly enough. He pulls himself out of you, the mix of your cum and his dripping off of his still hard cock onto your stomach. A feeling of emptiness and a desire to fill it.
“Turn around, hold onto the headboard for me, baby.”
You listen, not that you really want to deny him. You are far from finished with him too.
He leans over into you, a hand pressing on your stomach and the other grabbing your chin, forcing you to turn your head. A thumb rubs your mouth, asking to be let in—and you do. He gently caresses your bottom lip. Finally moving his thumb to hold your face, he goes in. Another passionate kiss—Sloppier than the last.
He backs up, his breaths heavy from the passion you two had shared.
Nagumo lines up the head of his cock against you, entering your dripping cunt. A moan leaves your lips as he settles himself inside.
A hand on the curve of your hip, and the other still on your stomach. He presses down, making sure you can feel how deep inside of you he is.
The pressure alone was too much, the pleasure from it—wanting to chase that high again. You're both getting impatient; moans roll out of your throat as he grunts in your ears. The mixture of the pleasure and the indecent sounds of your bodies colliding fills the room. Your body is overwhelmed by the pleasure of another orgasm, and he can tell.
He pulls out of your aching cunt another time, a small whine comes out of your mouth. You turn to face him, his back against the frame of the bed, and you settle yourself onto his lap, taking in his full length.
Nagumo's head lolls back as he lets out a breathy moan of your name.
His neck is fully bare and unclaimed. Not daring to let the chance slip, you put your face in between the crook of his neck, kissing and sucking on it, leaving red marks on him. You release your hold on him. You back up, to see him gazing at you, practically entranced by you. Your hand is now placed on his cheek, your lips clashing while more and more moans come out of you. Drunk off the moment is bringing. Taking your hand from his face, his mouth brushes your wrist with a slight kiss, finally letting go of it.
His hands start to roam up and down your frame, a nipple in between his tattooed fingers, while his tongue laps up and down the other. Occasionally moving around kissing your chest. Making sure to keep eye contact with you, he couldn't stand another second without your pretty eyes staring at him. He’s satisfied with his work, marks of red scattered across your chest, and saliva dripping from your hardened nipples. His hands hold your hips, following the shape of your curves.
“Fuck… just like that, sweetheart.” He breathes out. “You look good like that, riding me marked up.”
His words—dirty and yet so arousing, you've been so utterly desperate to come. His breathing gets faster, his hold on you even tighter. He is close, but you are too. In a final effort, he starts to thrust himself up into you as you’re still riding him. Your insides quiver as you start to come, and a warm rush of his seed fills you up, forming a small ring of white at the base of his cock.
Your body collapses into his chest as he holds you close.
His hand cups your cheek, smiling at you before he leans in for another kiss.
“I’ll go get a towel and new sheets, you made quite the mess,” he teases. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
Summary: People sigh in disbelief when the topic of the Ratnik's spouse is brought up. They think you're imaginary, a figment of Flins' thoughts but little do they know, his spouse is very much real. As a traveler, you're rarely seen with your husband but tonight you decide to pay him a visit.
Tags: Fluff, established relationship, traveler!Reader, domesticity, gossiping spirits, lovey-dovey stuff
A/N: ong this was a fire idea, don't ask me what happened with the delivery 😓
Your marriage to Flins had always been the sort of union that drew quiet awe and whispered disbelief. A human and a fae, bound together in a way that few could ever understand. You traveled often, venturing beyond Nod-Krai for business and errands, while Flins remained behind, tending to the deceased and keeping watch over the Final Night Cemetery. You had asked him to accompany you on your journeys, promising wonders far beyond the borders of the island, yet he declined, his duties anchoring him. And still, his heart belonged to you.
Every night, your letters arrived. Neat, precise, yet filled with affection. In them, he confessed things he rarely admitted aloud: Aino’s exasperation at his constant mentions of you, Illuga’s silent nodding, his own exhaustion from the endless reports, and the quiet comfort your letters brought him. Sometimes, his words made you laugh so hard you had to sit down; other times, they sharpened the ache of absence into a sweet, lingering pull in your chest.
Tonight, you had finally decided to visit him. The spirits of Nod-Krai were restless, whispering your name even before your boat brushed the shore. The Lightkeeper heard them as he always did, his brow furrowing slightly, lips twitching in an involuntary smile. You’re coming. The ghosts speculated endlessly, convinced he had gone mad for loving an invisible spouse, for no one had seen you, and yet his attention, his every action, betrayed him.
Flins moved faster than usual through his duties, finishing reports with unusual swiftness, fishing twice the usual catch, fussing over his hair with meticulous care. He lingered at the edges of the island, scanning the horizon as if he could sense your arrival before it occurred. The spirits argued among themselves about his sanity, muttering and whispering, but Flins only smiled faintly, humming under his breath.
When you finally reached the shore, the cemetery seemed to quiver in anticipation. And then, with a surge of blue flame, Flins emerged from his lantern, hovering silently behind you. As your hand brushed the lantern, flames flared briefly before his arms wrapped around you—solid, warm, unyielding. “My love,” he murmured, voice low and trembling with a quiet delight, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. “You’ve finally come.”
You laughed softly, brushing your fingers over his chest. “I told you I would. Did you miss me that much?”
He pressed his forehead to yours, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Do you think a man like me can survive months without seeing you? Foolish question, my dear. I’ve been counting the days, imagining every moment until your return.”
You smiled, reaching for the satchel of offerings in your hand. “Well, I brought things for you. Fishes, some dishes from the regions I’ve visited… and a few gemstones I thought you might like.”
His eyes softened as he took them, fingertips brushing yours in that lingering, tender way he always did. “You spoil me,” he murmured, holding your hand against his chest, guiding you gently by the small of your back. “But I will not deny it… I have missed you more than words can say.”
Later, you found yourselves at the quiet corner of the island where Flins kept his workbench. Silver wires, delicate tools, and gemstones were laid out meticulously. “I thought I might make something for you,” he said, voice soft, a faint quirk of mischief in his smile. “Perhaps a pair of earrings, or… something to remind you that you are mine, even when you travel so far.”
You leaned over the bench, watching him work, the lantern casting dancing blue shadows over his hands. “I like it already,” you murmured, smiling. “But only if I get to wear them as soon as you’re done.”
He chuckled, lips brushing the back of your hand again. “Always my love. Always.” He worked in silence for a while, humming faintly, pausing occasionally to glance at your face. His touch was constant—fingers brushing your wrist, resting on the small of your back, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. “You make even this lonely place feel alive,” he murmured. “Even the ghosts notice, I think… and they talk endlessly about you. They think you’re imaginary.”
You laughed softly. “So you’ve been pretending to be sane all this time?”
He smirked faintly, tilting his head to study you. “Pretending? Never. I am fully, utterly, irrevocably… myself when you are near. Perhaps they are the fools.”
Hours passed in quiet intimacy, filled with laughter, whispers, and the gentle clinking of tools and gemstones. At last, he led you to the lighthouse. The wind was bone-chilling, but the blue flames merged with his body surrounded you in warmth, and you felt safe in his arms. The two of you lay on his tattered bed after a seemingly endless conversation. Exhaustion finally claimed you, and you drifted to sleep on his chest.
Kyryll watched you, heart fluttering with a delicate, exquisite ache. Nights upon nights, he had imagined this: your head resting against him, your hands loosely holding his, your soft breathing mixing with the whispers of Nod-Krai’s spirits. Now, it was real. His spouse had returned, alive and warm, in his arms. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, murmuring, “My dear… you’re home.”
The lighthouse was silent, save for the sighing of the wind and the soft crackle of blue flame. Flins settled back, holding you closer, his long fingers tracing the line of your back. Even the chill of Nod-Krai could not reach you; you were enveloped in him. His heart thrummed with quiet, perfect joy. And as sleep claimed him too, he held you as if he would never let go, as if the world outside could wait—because for the first time in months, everything was exactly as it should be.
spoiler-free, gender neutral reader, written with fem in mind, could be sagau if you squint, heavily based off of his iconic scene
if you enjoy, please consider reblogging !
imagine encountering flins during the wild hunt.
abyssal whispers haunt your ears. they promise power and knowledge in one breath, each dangerous temptation a threat wrapped delicately in a sweet offer. the energy that these creatures give off permeates into your bones like how water poured over a sponge seeps deep into it. it's an uneasy, sickening feeling that makes your stomach clench and your heart race; one that compares to no other.
just as you raise your weapon, a blur of purple and blue flies past you in a wisp of ethereal light. it's otherworldly, but far unlike that of the abyssal monsters that taint nod-krai like a wicked resting ground. this is gentle. an assurance like no other. electro crackles in the air and tickles your cheek as it flies past you from behind. it's like fingertips against your skin, tracing your skin so tenderly it's like a caress. within the darkness, a light burns and offers guidance and relief within the darkness.
and there he stands: a ratniki. flins.
his fingers work effortlessly as he spins and slashes his polearm, shifting cutting through the haunting mist given form. his back remains towards you for all of a few seconds before he turns his head, just slightly. enough that a golden eye framed by blue locks find its way towards you. there's a firmness in his eyes, but the corners become something...gentle.
he swivels. his boots crunch against the dirt with each languid step he takes closer to you. slow. patient. calculated. the metallic pieces of his attire clink gently like they're tiny bells, but also almost silent. then he stops once he's only an arm's length away and he's gazing down at you as though you are the moon itself. the hand that clutches his weapon falls behind him while the other extends to you with his palm skyward. flins leans forward in a bow, a gesture that's far more formal for the current situation.
"come," flins speaks, voice soft as a whisper yet firm like an offer impossible to refuse, "take my hand."
your hand slides into his. the leather of his glove is a tad rough and smooth like silk in a bizarre combination. as soon as you accept his gesture, flins' fingers curl around yours. you dare say his thumb caresses your knuckles in slow and delicate strokes. a silent assurance. or maybe just an indulgence. then he tugs you close. so close, in fact, that your chest bumps into his. it's a bit abrupt, but it doesn't shatter the allure.
it goes in a blur after that. flins moves like he is dancing and has drawn you into the waltz of battle and the symphony of bloodshed. you spin to a song belonging to the two of you alone, with steps matching in perfect rhythm. the cloth of his jacket flutters and curls around you like a shield in a promise of protection. the long strands of blue flutter and if you wanted, you could reach out and curl your fingers into them. instead, you clutch at the front of his attire and the way he glimpses down to follow the action lasts for a moment. it would be easy to think he didn't look at all.
it's strange — the way you're granted his attention so effortlessly. like a moth to a flame. or spoils of treasure dragged to the center of an anemo vortex. your eyes struggle to leave his, not when you're so close that you can feel each steady breath he takes against your face in even puffs. flins' gaze flickers left and right, back and forth, tracking the wild hunt. his polearm is wielded with the experience of one accustomed to the territory of wandering between life and death, blocking the strikes that would have landed upon you with a swish of his wrist and a well-timed position of his weapon.
the battle feels like it lasts forever. maybe it does. would you care? when flins cradles you so tenderly with an unshaken confidence and bravery it's easy to forget that the wild hunt was offering sacrilegious temptations with its claws at your throat moments prior. flins slows to a stop and brings you with him, the flowing strands of hair and bustling cloth falling still behind him. the air is stagnant and no longer as stifling.
flins finally looks back down to you and his polearm lowers until the blade hovers above the dirt. he hums so quietly it almost doesn't reach your ears and murmurs something in a language beyond your knowledge. it sounds ancient, but elegant in equal measure. flins leans down until he's at eye-level and mouth hovers beside your ear, his breath tickling your skin. it's like a kiss. his mouth might as well be on you at this rate.
♱ | after witnessing a night out drinking with varka, you come home to a sulky flins and your intial plans for your anniversary is thwarted out the window.
𖤝 including ⠀! ⠀flins ◟ 𖤝 warnings ⠀! ⠀established relationship, potential ooc, slight spoilers for flins's character, no beta we die like the lightkeepers
𖤝 notes⠀! ⠀i miss my silly elector man please come back soon
❝ tags ⚜ . @axolotsofluv @millucid @dawnsigil
you never thought you’d see the day flins get upset with you come to actually pass. your lover has always been so considerate and kind to every situation by nature, it never really occurred to you that he could put his foot down and jut his chin at your direction as a challenge.
you’re a little star-struck to say the least. flins wasn’t exactly upset per se, rather, he was being sulky after you went out drinking with the favonious grandmaster — without him. so now, here you were, back at his residence where he sat in his — rather dusty — office. the pout on his lips hidden behind the high collar of his coat, his deft hands flicked from one page to another as he actively ignored you trying to coax him out with your usual bribes of an apology kiss and some wine.
“flins… come on.” you tried once again, the two wine glasses clinking in your hold as you steadied your grip on the wine bottle in the other. you shot him your most earnest smiles in hopes you butter him up, but alas, he merely hummed in response and continued reading (you’re sure he isn’t actually reading and more so waiting for you to get on your knees and grovel). “i told you i’d be out that night. is it really that big of a crime?”
“oh, i don’t know. maybe you should ask your dear grandmaster varka what he thinks.” flins rebutted, sinking further into his seat and giving you one fleeting glance — those eyes of his that reminded you of the full moon lacked their usual mirth and adoration. his brows taut in unease and his shoulders tensed to keep up appearances.
you sighed. you don’t comment further to not make the situation worse and opted to place the wine glasses on the edge on his desk, the wine bottle followed as your hand lingered above his that now laid dormant near some maps. “if i had known you’d be upset then i wouldn’t have looked for the grandmaster.”
the confirmation that you consciously sought out varka irked flins even more. before he could fully process his inkling frustration (re: jealousy), he opened his mouth and barked out: “well, what was so important that you decided to seek the aid of the grandmaster varka instead of me, your lover? surely, i have the same — if not better — qualities as him.”
flins, for the first time tonight, finally raised his head long enough to catch your gaze. and you watched as he flexed his jaw, trying his hardest to remain stern under your teasing smile. you let out an amused huff involuntary, and the small motion had flins recoiling back in his sulking state.
while flins tried to bury himself into his chair, you reached over the desk to grab the wine bottle. with quick ease, you popped the cork open and poured yourself a glass. “it’d ruin the surprise then.” you murmured, taking a sip from your glass and watched flins from the corner of your eyes and how his ears perked up in curiosity. you suppressed the smirk that threatened to break free from your lips and sighed instead — all airy and dramatic, hoping to appeal to flins’s nosy nature.
“pray tell,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. his own little act of defeat under your pretense of rejection. “what could you possibly want from the grandmaster that i wouldn’t be able to give?”
you paused in your actions — a breath’s away from finishing the remaining wine in your cup as you heard the desperation in flins voice. when you turned to him fully, he sat up straighter. shoulders still taut and guarded, brows furrowed and there’s a slight wobble in his lips as he opened and closed his mouth, not able to find the words he really wished to say at this moment.
“i love you.” you exclaimed, setting your cup down on his desk once more as flins’s eyes widened. “i had commissioned grandmaster varka to retrieve any surviving literature of the snowland fae, here in nod-krai. i had wanted to surprise you for our anniversary,” you admitted with a chuckle. flins remained still in his seat, eyes boring into yours as you rounded his table and stood face to face with him. “though it was rather fruitless. the texts were too archaic to translate in our modern tongue. the fact that i could say those three words is but a mere miracle — however, i doubt i said it properly.” you cast your gaze down on the floor, watched as the tips of your shoes slightly nudge your lover for a response. when flins remained quiet, you almost took it as a sign to leave him be and come back another time.
but as you’re about to take a step back, he suddenly muttered. “i love you.”
“pardon?” you asked in surprise.
flins reached for your hand and kissed where your pulse drummed. he laid his face at the heart of your palm and nuzzled his nose closer. “it’s pronounced a little airier than how you would normally say it. usually, it’s said in one go — as if to accentuate that you only have limited time to say it.”
you nodded and stepped closer. by habit, flins wrapped his arms around your waist and let his head rest where your heart remained encased by your ribs. “i love you.” you took his advice and let your tone soften completely and tried again, feeling the way flins hum rattled goosebumps on the skin of your arms.
“a little faster, my love,” flins instructed. “like this. i love you.”
you gulped and tried again. it came out a little shaky, a far cry from how confident you were when you first said it. the moment felt a little too fragile, and you were afraid the mere sound of your voice would shatter it into oblivion. “i love you, flins.”
flins hummed again. you could feel the way his head bobbed as he nodded and how he gripped your hand a little tighter. “better, but it could use some polishing. the language of faes have always been a little harsher on the human tongue. best you keep yourself hydrated if you want to practice speaking it.”
“well, i do admit, my throat does feel a little scratchy after only a few attempts.” you chuckled under your breath. fingers threading into flins’s hair and you feel him mutter the same three words again and again. the sound brought sudden warmth to your cheeks as you hastily try to stop him. “okay, okay, i get it flins. i’ll practice.”
“i’m sorry.”
you tilted your head curiously. tried to peek at flins who now refused to let up from where his head rests. “flins? what does that mean?”
“it means ‘i’m sorry.’”
you blinked in confusion. “why… are you apologizing?”
“i’ve ruined your surprise,” he glumly replied. “if i hadn’t been so hasty in my assumptions, you could have gone through with your plans for our anniversary. instead, i let my emotions get the best of me. for that i’m truly sorry, my love.”
“hey, hey, hey! it’s okay flins,” you slipped your hands to cradle his face, peeled him off your chest, brushed the strands of his hair that obscured his eyes. he avoided your gaze, lips tugged down in a guilty frown. with a sigh, you pecked the corner of his lip and reassured him. “flins, come on, won’t you look at me? i promise that it’s really okay.”
“aren’t you upset? perhaps even tired?”
“tired of what exactly? you?”
when flins nodded, you stood there a little dumbfounded. a minute of silence lapsed around you, your hands still cradled his face gently as you let out an incredulous huff. you pull his face closer and planted your lips dead center on his forehead and murmured, “you’re so stupid sometimes, you know? i’ll never get tired of you, flins. you’re stuck with me for life.”
he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his own hands encompassed your own as flins finally looked back at you. “i love you, [name].”
you smiled at him and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips, stomach flipping inside and out as you physically feel him melt under your touch. “i love you, too, flins.”
“if you ever want to know more about the fae, please, just ask me.” he pleaded. “no need to go through such trouble of commissioning the grandmaster.”
you chuckled, gave him one final kiss on the nose before reaching over back to his desk to retrieve your wine glasses. “i promise. now, what about a drink? i think i owe you as much for giving you so much trouble.”
chapter 1. flins gives you a proposal you can't refuse.
(masterlist with general content warnings / ao3 mirror)
cw: female mc, suggestive, minors DNI. (i genuinely do not know if i should tag this as reader or oc—she has a backstory, but her appearance and name is very rarely mentioned. i do not particularly mind or care if you choose to project on her.) wc: 1.2k words.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · A week before.
“I mean, I just don’t really get the hype behind it, that's all.”
You're tipsy, leaning against Flins for support as you stumble a little. The Fire-Water has loosened your tongue—you wouldn't be talking about this if you were sober, much less to Flins, of all people. But perhaps it’s because it's Flins that you're saying this, because he might understand. He never looked interested when the Ratniki share suggestive jokes by the firelight (and there were many, because life-threatening situations had a way of bonding people). He always looking politely bored, perhaps too proper to participate in risque jokes. that, or the fact that he seemed to live a practically sexless life compared to the other ratniki, although you probably didn’t have a leg to stand on.
Surprisingly, tonight he entertains you. “Have you ever been with anyone?”
You gasp in mock surprise. “Sir Flins! How could you ask this question of a lady? I never kiss and tell. But, if you really must know—” You think about it a little, the alcohol muddling up your brain so it takes significant effort to process your thoughts, and also because: “—it's complicated?”
“Ah. My sincerest apologies. I shouldn't have asked.”
“It's okay!” You pat his hand, stumbling over your feet a little. The ground kind of… floated… beneath your feet. Maybe you went a little overboard with the drinks. “I don't mind. I like talking to you. Anyway, hmm… it still doesn't appeal to me, but maybe I just haven't found the right person, if they ever plan on coming along.”
“I’m sure they will,” Flins said, ever so polite even after several glasses of Fire-Water. You thought that was all, a perfunctory assurance after listening to your woes—you really needed to shut up before you said something you regretted tomorrow—but Flins surprised you entirely by continuing on. “You're dilligent in all you do, meticulous even when it comes to matters others may think tedious. Your loyalty and determination shines when carrying out your duties. And your empathy—your ability to put others at ease and bring hope during trying times is something I greatly admire. A fool may mistake an unpolished gem for common stone, but anyone with a discerning eye will recognise its value.”
“Flins!” You said, delighted. You were so touched that you almost teared up. It was rare for you to receive such praise, you didn’t really know what to do with it other than thank Flins. “That's the nicest thing anyone has ever told me! If you don’t stop complimenting me, I might get the wrong idea.”
“What sort of wrong idea?”
“Ah… hm…” You scratched your head. This conversation felt like… like… the first time you tried a windglider and ended up tumbling through the air. (You were starting to feel bad, like you guilt-tripped Flins into paying you a compliment, and now you were implying that he had ulterior motives in doing so.) Discussing dating and sex with your coworker (you would call him a friend, although you weren’t too sure if he considered you one; he rarely referred to others by such labels) was not on your to-do list. Was it too late to pretend you were too drunk for this conversation? No, Flins wouldn’t buy it. He’s seen you win (and lose) drinking games with the Knights of Favonius. Today’s round of drinks barely compared to the time you got competitive and tried to out-drink the Grandmaster. (Key word: tried. Terrible, bad, no good decision. You admit your defeat.)
Somewhere along the line you lost track of your train of thought. Flins was still looking at you, expecting an answer.
“What sort of wrong idea?” he repeated.
“Well, keep complimenting people like that, and they’re going to think you have ulterior motives.”
“Ulterior motives? Such as…?”
Did he really want you to spell it out to him? There's no way he's so dense. But a quick look at Flins reveals that he's hiding an impish smile. You swat his arm lightly. “You already know what I mean! Don't pretend otherwise!”
Flins laughs softly. “Forgive me when I say that your reactions are rather amusing. I couldn't resist. But… speaking of ulterior motives—to which I will assure you that there are none and I spoke from the heart—would it truly be so bad if I had one?”
“Hm?”
“I'm saying I wouldn't be averse to the idea of a night with you.”
It was like the world had suddenly stopped spinning, and so had your brain’s neurons stopped firing. “I—I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“Would you be amenable to spending a night with me?” Flins said, and you started to wonder if the Fire-Water had really got to you and you were having the weirdest dream of your life. “I promise, I'll ensure you are… satisfied. And if you decide that it's truly not for you, I won't be offended.”
You open your mouth. Close it. “I mean… that doesn't sound like a fair exchange.”
“An exchange?” Flins laughs. You look up at him, more than a little confused, and when he catches your eye his gaze intense in a way that makes you want to look away, but you can't. “Trust me… I will be very compensated.”
You blush from the roots of your hair. It was hard to argue with a tone like that. “Oh. I. I mean—you want—now?”
“Perhaps not now,” Flins said, coming to a stop. You realise that somehow, over the course of that conversation, you've managed to make your way back to your uncle’s place. “Master Sousi might kill me.”
You shudder. “Ah. Well, he might not kill you, but—yeah, definitely not here. Should—should we go back to the Flagship?”
“There's no rush,” Flins said, lifting you away from where you were leaning against his shoulder so you could lean against the door instead. “Besides, I would rather you sober. Would be a shame if you forgot everything in the morning, no?”
“I'm not that drunk,” you say, offended at the idea of you not being able to hold your liquor. “I’d definitely remember.”
“Good,” Flins smiles, and you realised you've walked yourself into this—you wouldn't be able to pretend that this never happened when you wake up tomorrow morning. “I'll see you tomorrow, then.”
He presses a kiss against the back of your hand. “Now go back inside. Have sweet dreams, my dear.”
You stumble inside robotically, ignoring the way your hand tingles where his lips met your skin.
“Flins,” you gasp, tugging at his hair as he kisses down your chest, leaving butterflies in his wake. There's a fire alight in you, a want for him you didn't know was possible for you to feel. His hands grip at your hips, trying to keep you still, but you shiver uncontrollably.
His long hair tickles your thighs where he's nestled himself in between your legs, and he edges downwards, pressing kisses on your stomach now. You gasp his name, a wordless beseeching, as he edges closer and closer to—
You wake up frustrated and valiantly resist an urge to bang your head on the wall. You needed a drink. Then again, a drink was what got you here in the first place, so maybe you needed to cut down on them instead.
The time Flins spoke his native language, one belong to the Faes, is where you asked him to tell him his utmost desire while he uses his native tongue just for you to challenge yourself to decipher on your own to figure out the context of his answer.
“I want to taste the warmth between your thighs, to feel you clench around me while your breath breaks against my ear. Not crude hunger, but deliberate—every thrust, every kiss, a symphony I intend to play upon your body until you forget the meaning of restraint.” He said all of that with a straight composure.
You, on the other hand, tilted your head curiously. “Ooh, I wonder what you’re trying to say.”
Flins awkwardly coughed behind his hand, his pale cheeks immediately heatens up at your adorable obliviousness, and replied. “There is no need. It is nothing but unimportant matter.”
Tags: steamy but also lq fluffy?? idc aventurine is a simp change my mind, but he is also a menace, gambling, established relationship, lots of yearning and physical touch, who’s seducing who (spoiler: yes), is it really cheating if he lets her cheat
Summary: She didn’t know the rules, didn’t know how the hands worked, didn’t know what made one gamble wise and another foolish. But she knew that she wanted to understand what he was doing, how he bent the world to his rhythm so easily.
masterlist
She’d been to lounges and casinos before — once or twice, dragged along by friends — but she’d never cared for them. The air always seemed too thick with perfume and smoke, the glittering lights too artificial, the laughter too sharp around the edges. She’d never understood the pull of it. She’d never understood why people lost themselves in the spin of a wheel or the flip of a card.
That was until she met Aventurine.
She’d seen the way people looked at him when she first started accompanying him to lounges and outings. The lingering stares, the sharp glances. Half awe, half fear.
With him, the whole room bent in his favor. The man who could charm you out of your fortune, ruin you without raising his voice and smile as you thanked him for it. He could walk into any lounge or casino, slide into a chair at any table, and within moments the atmosphere around him changed. Dealers straightened, players faltered, hands trembled just slightly when he cut the deck, the air itself sharpened as though sensing that something dangerous and dazzling had entered the game. The weight of his presence in a room was like gravity.
Every smile was bait, every laugh a hook, every flick of his jeweled fingers a signal.
And she, always just outside the circle, found herself watching, admiring. Not the cards. Not the chips or the stakes. But him.
The way he spoke, light and teasing, but sharp enough to cut when he wanted. The way he seemed to breathe confidence, as though losing was simply not part of his design. And the way he looked when the dealer flipped the final card, head tilted, grin flashing, as though he’d orchestrated the entire moment.
Maybe he had.
But, the real way he dominated the table wasn’t in the numbers or the odds; it was in the people. He didn’t just play the game, he played them. The timid ones who folded too early, the arrogant ones who thought they could bluff him, the reckless ones who overplayed their luck— he read them all like open ledgers, balancing their tells against his own carefully constructed lies.
He always knew when to lean forward, when to let silence stretch, when to laugh too loudly just to make someone second-guess their confidence.
Time and time again, she would sit at the edge of the table next to him, glass in hand, pretending not to stare, while her chest tightened with something unnameable. Every time he leaned back in his chair with that lazy, glittering confidence, every time he slid a card across the felt with deliberate slowness, every time his grin widened just before the stakes rose to the point of no return— she felt caught, like the whole room was under his spell, and she wasn’t immune.
Sometimes, during a game, he’d tip his head slightly in her direction as though to share the thrill of a private joke. The way he spoke to her in those moments, the way his voice dropped, quiet and razor-sharp, the way he smiled like a saint while cornering men into ruin, the way his hand sometimes brushed her knee under the table in casual claim—it all made her ravenous. Once, he leaned close while the dealer shuffled and murmured, “Don’t look so tense, sweetheart. It’s just money.”
She’d barely managed a reply. It was never “just” anything when it came to him.
And maybe that was the most mesmerizing part. It wasn’t the chips piling up in front of him or the murmurs that followed his plays. It was that Aventurine was always in control. The kind of control that made even failure look like a choice.
She didn’t know the rules, didn’t know how the hands worked, didn’t know what made one gamble wise and another foolish. But she knew that she wanted to understand what he was doing, how he bent the world to his rhythm so easily.
So when they were home one quiet evening, away from the noise and perfume and neon, just them in the privacy of their apartment, she couldn’t keep it in anymore.
He was on the floor in front of the sofa, idly playing with and shuffling a deck of cards, the familiar click of paper against the coffee table filling the silence between them. The domesticity of it made the sight almost surreal— the same man who could command any floor with nothing but his smile, now lounging in their apartment unraveled and undone, playing with a worn deck as though it were second nature.
She tracked every movement from her place on the sofa, content to just admire the scene in front of her, until he broke the silence.
"You've been awfully quiet tonight,” he said after a long stretch of stillness, voice light but threaded with interest.
“Mhm, just tired,” she lied, avoiding his questioning glance.
He tilted his head, assessing her with a hum. Something in his gaze sharpened— predatory and amused. “Is that all?”
Their eyes locked. Words slipped out before she could stop them. “I don’t know the first thing about gambling.”
Aventurine arched his brow, attention now fully on her, mouth curving in amusement. “And here I thought you were just pretending to be bad at cards so I wouldn’t rope you into a game.”
“I mean it,” she pressed, drawing her knees up on the couch and hugging them, eyes fixed on the hypnotic shuffle. “I don’t even know how to play… what’s it called? Poker? Blackjack? All I’ve ever done is watch."
He continued to play with the deck, eyes glinting. “Watch me, you mean?”
Heat flushed her cheeks at being caught, yet she couldn’t seem to look away. "Maybe. But can you blame me?”
His laugh was low, indulgent, cutting through the stillness. “Well, you know not to play against me. That’s wisdom enough to keep your wallet intact.”
That should have been the end of it— a joke, a warning, another one of his casual vows of untouchability. But she held his gaze, unblinking, something restless and bold sparking in her chest, that small stubborn thread that had always refused to be merely entertainment at his side, some deeper kind of yearning. “Teach me.”
He gave her a long, slow look, the kind that made her feel like he was peeling her open in silence, taking stock of her tells.
“And why,” he drawled, smile dangerously amused, “would you want to learn a cheat’s trade from me? Planning to start your own little gambling empire? Bluff me out of my fortune?”
She met his eyes with a scoff, bold despite the way her pulse stuttered. “What? Are you scared that I'm gonna be better than you?”
The shuffle slowed. A single card slipped from his fingers, landing face down on the coffee table with an intimate snap. Aventurine’s smile widened invitingly— sly, dangerous— but his eyes lingered on her longer than the comment should’ve allowed. As if she’d just stepped into the circle at last. As if she’d made her very first gamble, and he was deciding how high the stakes should go.
He’d seen far crazier bets; he’d taken far worse odds. And yet she felt, absurdly, as though she had just walked into the center of his map.
He leaned a fraction closer. The warmth of him brushed across the space between them like a promise. “Careful,” he murmured, voice dropping so low it felt private. “Once you ask to sit across from me, you’re playing my game.”
She swallowed. The apartment hummed. In the pause that followed she tasted risk and something sweeter—anticipation, warm and dangerous as wine. She wanted the thrill, or maybe she wanted the teacher; either way, she’d already placed her bet.
Time to follow it through.
She lowered herself to the floor beside him, knees sinking into the carpet, the soft brush of the fibers grounding her even as her pulse ran wild. With a practiced flick of his wrist, Aventurine spread the deck into a wide, perfect arc across the coffee table, each card glinting under the low lamp.
“First things first,” he said, tapping the suits with one jeweled finger. Click. Tap. Drag. “Hearts, diamonds, clubs, spades. Try not to mix them up. After all, they are standing between you and bankruptcy.”
She leaned forward, following the lazy path of his fingertip, though truthfully, her eyes kept snagging elsewhere— on his hands, on the glint of light across the rings he wore like armor, on the deceptive ease in every motion, the casual precision of his movements. He handled the cards the way he handled everything else: like the world was pliant in his grasp, bending to his will without effort.
“So, how do I win?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
His answering chuckle spilled warm and smooth, silk and honey. “Easy now, sweetheart. Didn’t know you were so eager."
She bristled at the comment, but it was half-hearted at best. He slid a card toward her, both serious and entertained by her urgency, gaze piercing like he already planned out how the night would end. “Pay attention. Everything matters. Every symbol, every flicker, every twitch. The table is a stage, and even the details you think are meaningless are cues someone else is waiting to read.”
Then he flashed her another grin— too sharp, too knowing to be harmless. "Or if you don't want the hustle, just get lucky. Like me."
She tried to focus on his words, but he was too close now, his shoulder brushing hers. The faint heat of him seeped through the fabric of her sleeve, as if proximity were another trick in his arsenal. Her throat tightened.
“I don’t think I’d be very good at that,” she admitted.
“Of course you wouldn’t. Not yet.” It was said matter-of-factly, but accompanied by that lethal charm that made her grateful that she never found herself desperate, playing at the table across from him. “But that’s what I’m here for.”
He reached for her then, long fingers circling her wrist. His touch was maddeningly careful, an indulgence rather than a necessity, as he adjusted her grip until the card nestled just the way he wanted between her knuckles. The correction was barely a touch, but it lit her nerves like a struck match.
“Relax your hand,” he murmured, close enough that she felt the hum of his voice. “You’re clutching it like a lifeline.”
“Maybe it's just an excuse for you to fix it,” she heard herself saying before she could stop herself.
The corner of his mouth twitched, wicked and amused. “Careful, sweetheart. Talk like that, and I’ll think you’re flirting.”
I am, she thought, pulse drumming in her ears. Aeons help me, I am. But aloud, she only tipped her chin, bold in spite of the heat in her veins, and said, “Or maybe I am bluffing.”
His laughter was soft, a silken threat that curled around her. “Better. That’s the spirit.”
They played clumsy hands. She kept fumbling, dropping cards, confusing the order, mixing up the values until frustration burned at the back of her throat. Her brow furrowed deeper with every mistake, and more than once she had the violent urge to fling the entire deck across the room.
But Aventurine, infuriating as he was, never looked impatient. If anything, her growing frustration only seemed to feed his infinite amusement. He lounged against the sofa as though he had all the time in the universe, gleefully entertained at her expense. He was the perfect picture of careless ease, leaning closer, offering corrections with a quiet hunger that was far more dangerous than any raised voice.
“No, no.” His voice was soft, indulgent. “Don’t show me your tells so easily.”
Her head snapped up at the rebuke, but there was no heat behind it. His eyes were on hers, attentive and sharp, half-concealed behind an unruly golden lock that fell across his forehead. “You glanced at your card just now— dead giveaway. If you can’t control your eyes, at least smile when you do it. Make people wonder why.”
She tried. Aeons help her, she tried— lips stretching into a grin so stiff, so strained, it must have looked like a grimace. His chuckle brushed like velvet over her skin.
“Not like that. Here.” He reached out, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. The touch was deliberate, unbearably slow, coaxing her mouth into a softer curve, very much akin to the unreadable tilt of his own lips that she glimpsed so often on his face.
“Think of something you want but can’t say aloud,” he murmured. His touch lingered, almost too long, thumb grazing her lower lip with a subtle pressure that set her pulse stuttering. “Let it sit in your smile.”
Her breath caught. Something I want? She didn’t have to think hard. The thought was already there, right in front of her, immediate and insistent. She was barely able to concentrate on anything else.
He finally pulled back, his grin lazy and self-satisfied. “Now that is a poker face if I ever saw one.”
He showed her how to hold the deck properly, how to shuffle without flashing the corners, how to slide a card across the felt without betraying tension in her wrist. Every correction came with a brush of his fingers, a steadying touch at her elbow, the faintest graze of his rings against her knuckles.
The lessons blurred together. The rules sank in slowly, but the real truth was something else entirely— the way he leaned in when he spoke, words tickling the edge of her ear. The precision with which his gaze followed every flicker of her face. The deliberate pauses he carved into the air, forcing her heart to trip and stumble just to fill the silence.
It wasn’t just a game. It was a performance, an intimacy disguised as instruction.
And Aventurine was a master at it.
She was supposed to be learning the game. But all she could think about was the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his shoulder when it pressed into hers, the way his laugh always came low, private, like it was meant for her alone.
“You’re not paying attention,” he said at one point, eyes flicking up to catch hers while she was distracted.
“I am,” she protested, too quickly.
“No, you’re watching me.” He tilted his head, that sly, knowing grin curving his mouth. “I can always tell.”
Her only answer was an embarrassed scoff. She wanted to deny it, to throw the accusation back at him, but her pulse betrayed her— quick, frantic, beating faster under the weight of his gaze.
The lessons unravelled after that, slipping into laughter and small victories— her managing a proper shuffle at last, without spilling half the deck. His mock applause that had her rolling her eyes. Her smug little smile after her first good hand that made him lean closer, eyes bright with something more mischievous than amusement.
And then, just when she thought the game might dissolve entirely into nothing more than fun and unspoken tension, Aventurine leaned back and flicked a card across the table, the motion practiced, sharp and elegant.
“Let’s make this interesting,” he said, voice rich with promise.
Her pulse jumped, and she crossed her arms, suspicion warring with curiosity. “Why do I feel like this is a bad idea?”
He rested his chin on his hand, deceptively innocuous, studying her with the slow indulgence of a predator who’d already cornered his next feast. “Let's place a wager. If you win a hand, you can ask for anything— anything you like— and I’ll deliver.”
She arched a brow. “And if I lose?”
His grin sharpened, wicked and languid. “Hmm. I might have a few ideas.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Isn’t the discrepancy between us a little unfair?"
He raised his hands in mock surrender, a look of complete innocence on his face. "I promise I'll go easy on you."
The room seemed to shrink around them, the silence between his words loud with implication, sinful almost as much as his seemingly benevolent smile. She should’ve laughed it off, called him a cheat and refused. Because she knew better— there was no way Aventurine would ever go easy on her. He was a merciless tease as much as he was a relentless negotiator, never making an offer without some hidden angle or an ulterior motive.
Yet, despite being fully aware that agreeing to his whims was akin to striking a bargain with the devil himself, her mouth was already moving before her mind caught up, unable to resist his pull. "Okay, then. Deal.”
They both took their positions at the table. The cards clicked as he began to shuffle again, every motion deliberate, every glance like a spark thrown onto tinder.
The first round lasted less than two minutes.
He dealt with elegant flicks of his fingers, sliding cards toward her with a precision that seemed almost mocking. She sat straighter, palms pressed to her knees, determined not to look rattled. He wanted her flustered; he always did. That was one of the first things she had learned about Aventurine: nothing delighted him more than drawing out a reaction from her. She picked her hand up carefully, glancing once, quickly— too quickly— down at the cards in her grip, unsure whether the pair of eights she was holding meant her salvation or her doom. It wasn’t a terrible hand. Maybe it was good enough.
She dared a quick look at Aventurine, but of course his expression was aggravatingly unreadable. He was perfectly relaxed, one arm draped along the cushion of the sofa, that infuriating half-smile playing on his mouth like he’d been born with it.
“You look nervous,” he said, almost like a purr. "You’re thinking too hard."
“Isn’t that the point?” she shot back, clutching the cards too tight, unsure whether to rise or fold.
“The point,” he drawled, delighted, “is to make everyone else think too hard. You? You’re as transparent as glass.”
The game moved fast after that, or maybe it only felt that way with her pulse rushing in her ears. She tried to mimic the little tricks he’d taught her— keeping her face neutral, making her movements smooth, smiling when she wanted to frown. For a moment, she thought she was doing well.
But Aventurine thrived on hope before ruin.
She had seen him clean the table in casinos with no remorse, watched him bankrupt others with the same infectious ease.
She’d seen, but seeing was nothing like knowing. Like feeling it on her own skin.
She thought she knew what to expect.
She didn’t.
And when the final card slipped from his fingers with an elegant flick, when he laid his hand down with a flourish, it was merciless— a perfect, impossible straight flush, shining in the lamplight.
It was so smooth and theatrical that even without knowing the rules, she would've instinctively known that she had lost.
“Sorry, darling,” he said, though the apology sounded anything but. “Looks like you’ve lost.”
She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, sharp and disbelieving. Curse him and his luck. “You said you’d go easy on me.”
“I did.” He leaned in, his grin wicked, voice dropping low. “You should see what I’m like when I don’t.”
She shook her head and sighed. Her stomach twisted as she accepted her fate, bracing herself and praying she wouldn’t look like too much of a fool. “So, what do you want me to do?”
His grin spread, slow and full of dark promise. “Come closer.”
She blinked, suspicious. “That’s it?”
“Mhm.” His voice dipped, lazy and coaxing. He patted the space next to him on the floor. “Just come closer.”
Reluctantly— or pretending to be reluctant, because her pulse was already racing— she slid across the floor until her thigh brushed his, and she could feel the heat of him soaking into her skin instantly. He glanced down at the contact, then back at her face, satisfied.
“Better,” he murmured. “Shall we deal again?”
The second hand she lost even faster. She hardly had the time to blink before it was over. And to her utter frustration, he didn’t even look at his cards until the end, seemingly all too happy to watch her squirm, as though the outcome had already been written the moment she touched hers.
She groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I’m hopeless.”
“No, no,” Aventurine laughed, gently tugging her wrists down until he could see her face again, flushed and frustrated. “You’re just inexperienced. There’s a difference.” His eyes gleamed, mercilessly teasing. “Which means you’re an open book. Very useful for me.”
She narrowed her eyes, swatting his arm away. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Guilty.” He inched closer and rested his hand on her thigh, thumb tracing idle, maddening circles along her skin, the gesture light but thick with a teasing sort of possession. “Now, for my prize...”
Her groan was half-despair, half-laugh. “What do I owe you now?”
He leaned in just slightly, tilting his head as though weighing his options with exquisite care, gaze settling inevitably on her mouth. Then, with disarming softness, he whispered: “Give me your hand.”
She frowned, surprised again, but offered it. His fingers closed around hers, warm, sure, holding her in place with a steadiness that stole the breath from her lungs. And without once breaking her gaze, Aventurine lifted her hand to his lips.
His mouth brushed her skin, soft at first, deceptively tender… then sharper. A teasing scrape of teeth, a wicked little nibble at her knuckle.
She gasped, the sound breaking into a startled laugh, though it dissolved almost instantly into something softer, breathier—half-shock, half-pleasure. The sting was fleeting, but the warmth it left behind pulsed up her arm, leaving her skin prickling, her whole body alive with it.
When he pulled back, he didn’t bother to hide the glint in his eyes. Calculated, smug, deliberately cruel in its playfulness.
“Perfect,” he said, voice velvet-smooth, grin dangerously charming. "Exactly what I wanted."
Her throat tightened. The air between them felt suddenly too heavy, too intoxicating. The cards, the rules, the game — all of it receded into something that felt much more dangerous.
She leaned in before she could think better of it, lips near his ear, ready to dare him closer, but he lingered in the limbo on purpose, savoring the way her body leaned toward him without thought. “You’re insufferable.”
His laugh was a low, genuine thing that vibrated against her skin. “And you are a sore loser. Come on, let's deal again.”
The third round she fought harder.
Aventurine shuffled with his usual elegance, but there was something slower in it now, deliberate in a different way, as if each flick of the card was another turn of a cog. He had a way of drawing the focus to him without even trying. Every shift of his shoulders, every faint curl of his mouth, every loaded silence — it all set her nerves on edge.
She tried to steady herself, staring at her cards like the answer might materialize if she glared long enough, trying to recall the rules he’d explained, forcing herself not to look up too often. But in the end, under his watchful eye, it was all useless.
His amused sigh was remorseless. “You really are easy to read, sweetheart.” He was watching her in that scarily perceptive way of his again, the faint tilt of his smirk telling her she’d already betrayed herself long before revealing her hand.
She clenched her jaw, fighting to smooth her expression. “Maybe I’m letting you read me on purpose.”
“Oh?” He leaned in, voice honeyed and sharp. "Well, seeing as I find it very hard to believe that, you might very well be a better liar than I am."
Once again, the game unfurled with cruel swiftness. And when the final card slid into place, the truth was undeniable.
An incredulous groan tore from her throat. “Unbelievable.”
“That's another loss,” Aventurine purred.
She turned toward him, expectant, anticipation rushing through her. The tension now was so thick it could be cut with a knife. “What's the prize this time?”
This time, Aventurine didn’t lean back with lazy amusement or a witty quip. Instead, he leaned forward until the space between them was nothing but charged air. His hand found her thigh again, not a fleeting tap but a firmer claim, fingers spreading against fabric, tugging her gently towards him. His gaze flicked down, sharp and unrelenting, lingering on her mouth, close enough that she could count every fleck of color in his mesmerizing, luminous eyes, before dragging back up to meet her stare with a glint that made her stomach curl. For once, the smile he wore wasn’t mocking. It was softer, hungrier.
“Hold still,” he said, almost reverent.
Her breath stuttered, caught between suspicion and anticipation. “Why?”
He didn’t answer right away. His hand trailed higher, not rushing, not greedy, but with the kind of maddening control that made her want to either shove him away or drag him closer. His touch stopped just shy of scandal, lingering at the edge of permission.
The rules of the game no longer mattered. She could feel it in the air— that the stakes had shifted, that what he wanted from her now was far more dangerous than any card could decide.
And the worst part was, she wanted it, too.
He reached out, slow, deliberate, as though daring her to make the next move. Fingers brushed her jaw, thumb grazing gently at the corner of her mouth, lingering as if testing the curve of it, like he had all the time in the world to map out something so simple. Almost in a trance, he bent down, lips ghosting over hers, close enough that she swore she felt the whisper of his kiss across her skin.
This was it—she swore this was it. She braced for the rush of warmth, the slow press of a kiss that had been simmering in every glance, every tease, every stolen breath between them until now. Every muscle in her went taut, desperate need surging through each nerve. She could only feel him, the game forgotten, chest aching with the effort of breathing evenly.
Then suddenly, and almost just as fast, he leaned back— cruelly, casually— satisfaction tugging at the edges of his grin, leaving her skin prickling with the absence of him. “Let's not get distracted now.”
A choked groan escaped her. Frustration and want tangled tight in her chest. By the fourth hand, she wasn’t even sure what she wanted anymore — victory, or perhaps another loss.
In the end, she’d lost track of how many hands she’d thrown away to him. Seven? Eight? Each one had pulled her closer, let him touch her more freely, and left her flushed and wanting. Each one had chipped away at her defenses until she wasn’t sure if she was even playing to win at all anymore. They were both stuck in this proverbial dance of quiet, intoxicating need, but neither of them wanted to be the first one to fold.
She was still reeling from the almost-kiss, lips tingling, the ghost of it clinging to her like perfume, impossible to shake. She should’ve been embarrassed at how easily she kept losing, at how obvious it must have looked. Instead, the sting sharpened into determination. Every hand he took from her felt like proof of his unshakable composure, his maddening smugness, and she hated how deeply it flustered her. All those losses in a row— they piled up. And she couldn’t let him keep winning forever. Not if it meant surrendering piece by piece without ever fighting back.
She wanted to win. To wipe that calm look from his face, to make him falter, to make him feel even a fraction of the fluster and hunger he so easily drew out of her.
Not just wanted— needed.
It wasn’t just pride. It was the fact that he never slipped. Not once. No matter how many times she faltered, flushed, or fumbled, he remained infuriatingly calm, smooth as glass, toying with her. He’d made her reel, left her undone in increments, and still he lounged back as if the fire he stoked under her skin had no effect on him.
So when he dealt the next hand, she set her jaw and made a silent vow: she was going to beat Aventurine, no matter what it took.
Her eyes narrowed in contemplation as she picked up her cards. Nothing. Utter trash. Disappointment rushed up her throat, bitter and sharp. Of course. Of course, the universe—or worse, his damn luck—wouldn’t even give her the chance.
She stole a glance at his expression, aggravatingly serene once more, lounging back like he had no care in the world. The corner of his mouth curved, and she had the maddening sense that he was savoring not just the game, but her frustration.
For a moment, she sat perfectly still, fingers curled around the worthless hand, staring at the cards as though sheer will might transform them. Her pulse throbbed with indecision. To play straight and lose again? To keep letting him corner her, peel her open one glance, one touch at a time?
No.
Something rebellious and reckless surged through her. She wanted a chance to gloat as well, and if fortune refused to give her a weapon, she’d craft one herself. If she couldn’t win fair, she’d cheat.
After all, hadn’t one of his lessons been to use every advantage, every trick at her disposal? Then why not turn his own teaching back on him?
And Aeons, if she pulled it off, the look on his face would be worth every risk.
She shifted in her seat, holding her cards close to her chest, trying not to be too stiff. Her fingers itched to fidget, but she forced herself into stillness, doning the air of someone resigned, maybe even a little desperate. She tossed a card away with what she hoped looked like careless frustration, though in truth, it was deliberate, calculated.
She waited. Patiently, painstakingly, willing her pulse to slow as she tracked every flicker of his expression. She told herself she’d move only when it was safe—only when he was distracted. Except, Aventurine never truly looked away. His attention was like the glint of a blade, sharp even in stillness, and she felt every brush of it scrape along her skin.
Usually, she welcomed his undivided attention with open arms, craved it almost as much as air, but right now she just needed one opportunity.
A dangerous idea sparked, suddenly, reckless and bright, growing with each passing second: if she couldn’t beat Aventurine with luck, she’d use the only weapon she had left.
Herself.
Slowly, as to not raise suspicion, she let her knee brush his beneath the table. A simple touch, nothing that couldn’t be written off as careless proximity. He didn’t move— of course he didn’t — but she caught the subtle flicker of his gaze downward, registering it.
Her lips twitched.
When he leaned forward to place his bet, she mirrored him, deliberately close, her shoulder grazing his arm, the faintest scent of her perfume drifting between them. She pretended to fix her cards, to tap her fingers on the table in concentration. Then, she let her hand wander, slow, aimless, until her fingertips ghosted across his wrist.
The effect was immediate. His tapping stilled, a hitch so slight most would miss it. But not her. She felt it in her bones, the small fracture in his glass-smooth composure.
Emboldened, she traced the line of his hand with idle care, brushing over his knuckles, toying with the edge of one jewelled ring as though distracted. His skin was warm, the rings cool against her touch, and when she lingered, he let her.
A dangerous game. All or nothing.
So she escalated.
Her fingers trailed higher, brushing along the inside of his wrist where his pulse beat steady and strong, past the jewellery, then skimmed up his forearm as though by accident. She tilted her head, feigning concentration, while her touch slid over the fine fabric of his sleeve, memorizing the shape of him beneath. And when she slotted her body completely next to him, he still didn't stop her.
Her pulse thundered. Was this permission? A test?
She still pretended to study her useless hand, but slowly, carefully, her palm drifted down beneath the table. A casual slide over the expensive fabric—until it stilled, bold and dangerous, resting against the solid muscle of his thigh. Her nails traced the faintest curve against him, a teasing drag as though she were absentminded, distracted, when in truth she was watching him for the smallest fracture.
He didn’t flinch. A tremor of awareness crackled through the air, the only sign she’d struck a fault line. And Aventurine—Aeons, Aventurine leaned into her. Not much, not enough to give himself away fully, but enough. Enough that she felt the deliberate press of muscle beneath her palm, the unspoken invitation to keep going, to see how far she would dare.
Her lips curved into a secret smile. He wasn’t untouchable, not completely.
She shifted even closer, her shoulder pressed firm against his arm now, the line of their bodies brushing with every breath. Her hand stayed planted on his thigh, deceptively steady, though her pulse hammered like a drum. It slipped higher still, fingertips brushing just long enough for him to pay attention to her instead of the cards. It was barely a heartbeat, barely a sliver of time. But it was the only opening she’d been given all night.
She moved. A shift of her weight into a more comfortable position, as though her legs had grown stiff from sitting on the floor. A little sigh of feigned comfort, hair veiling her gaze, body angling just so. Innocent movements, carefully constructed, all designed to tilt her vision enough to catch a glimpse of his hand.
She was quick, innocuous, gaze flicking back and forth once, calculating. The angle of his cards, the rhythm of his tapping thumb, the slight curve at the corner of his mouth when he held something good. Details she wasn’t supposed to see, but she gathered them anyway, carefully, greedily, like secrets pocketed in the dark.
Triumph surged bright and sharp.
She snapped her gaze back to her own hand immediately, rearranging her cards with deliberate, exaggerated care. Her heart thudded at the risk of it, at how brazen it was. He’d flustered her enough tonight—turned her inside out with every look, every languid word. She wanted to see him unsettled for once. Even a little.
She could only hope he would be as distracted as she was, preferably too lenient with her to notice her foul play.
Next to her, Aventurine glimpsed the entire performance as if it were staged for his eyes alone, like a man enjoying a private show from the best seat in the house. The attempt was so achingly obvious that, for a split second, the urge to end it right then and there nearly overpowered him— to reach across the space between them, tilt her chin up, and whisper the truth against her lips just to wind her up and watch her squirm under the weight of being caught. But he restrained himself. There was no thrill in ending her attempt so soon. No, the fun lay in letting her think she’d gotten away with it. And watching her scheme was almost just as entertaining.
So he indulged her, perfectly composed even as hunger coiled hot in his chest, watching the careful rearrangement of her cards, the too-bright gleam in her eye, the smirk she couldn’t quite contain.
Every shift of her body closer to his, every graze of her fingertips as they wandered—first across his wrist, then up the firm line of his arm, and finally down beneath the table to his thigh—was another log thrown onto the pyre she’d built between them. And Aeons, he wanted her. Wanted to drag her into his lap right there and devour the smirk from her lips. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to.
His lips twitched, threatening a grin, not mocking but wicked with delight. “Careful, sweetheart. Is that a good hand I see?”
She froze, feeling like a doe caught in headlights. She lifted her chin, mustering up all the audacity she had left in her, and pulled her cards closer to her chest, away from his gaze, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.
The boldness of her. The nerve.
He drummed his fingers lazily on the table, eyes alight with mischief. Her heart pounded, almost certain she gave herself away, but there was no reprimand in his eyes that would reveal he was onto her, only something akin to molten heat. She bent over her cards again, every muscle tight with focus, as though sheer determination might carry her through.
Aventurine just let her. He didn’t call her out, didn’t stop her— he just leaned even further into her touch, let himself sink into the warmth of her, into the closeness she offered under the guise of strategy, utterly shameless and indulgent, luxuriating in her recklessness. He savoured every brush of her fingers, every shift of her body, every stolen glance, watching her with the sharp delight of a predator amused by its prey’s escape attempt.
And when he called the end of the round, she slapped her hand down with more flourish than it deserved, chest heaving in a way that was half pride, half relief. Her smile was wide, ridiculous, triumphant — the sort of grin that felt like committing a perfect crime and getting away with it.
“Well, look at that,” she said, voice too defiant in the stillness. “I win.”
The silence stretched.
Aventurine didn’t even glance at the cards she laid down. He just watched her, gaze unreadable and steady, terrifyingly intimate in all the best ways. Then he chuckled, sound that brushed against her skin like a caress— deep, low, deliciously mocking.
“You win,” he confirmed, deceptively soft, as though the words themselves were a test, loaded with a weight she couldn’t name. He leaned forward, just slightly, elbow braced on the table, chin resting against his hand, appraising her with a look equal parts captivated and hungry, as though her little victory had only sharpened his appetite.
Her own smirk widened, reckless and prideful. She’d done it. Beaten him at his own game, however clumsily. Excitement and something like giddy satisfaction surged through her at her successful endeavour. “Don’t sound so surprised. I guess Lady Luck just smiled down upon me.”
“Oh, I’m not surprised,” Aventurine said smoothly, velvet voice warmed with humor. He gave the faintest shrug, maddeningly unbothered, gaze bright with something softer than smugness. His eyes dipped meaningfully to where her hand still lingered on his thigh. “The shameless cheating kind of clued me in."
Her heart skipped. She snatched her hand back, mouth falling open in embarrassment. “…You knew?”
“Sweetheart...” The word was an amused drawl as he leaned in without hurry, hand lifting to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His knuckles skimmed her cheek, brushing so lightly it made her breath falter. “I make a living spotting liars across the table. But you wanted it so badly, I couldn’t bear to ruin your fun.”
The way he said it— indulgent, almost tender— made her pulse quicken for reasons that had nothing to do with the game. He studied her like she was something both dangerous and precious, the most captivating puzzle in the world.
Despite herself, her gaze fell on his mouth— the way the corners curved, subtle but undeniable, teasing, promising. She tore her gaze away, steadying herself and puffing out her chest to hide the flutter in her stomach. “Well, you didn't stop me.”
"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" His smile was sharp, dangerous— and yet softer than any she’d ever seen from him. "Though, I wonder who taught you to play that dirty?"
“You told me to use every advantage I had,” she shot back, bravado and heat mixing until she didn’t know which feeling led. "And a win’s a win. Which means I get a prize.”
Aventurine’s smile softened into something more approving, more cunning. He clutched his chest in mock-outrage. "Demanding a prize after exploiting my weakness so shamelessly? I'm afraid I've created a monster.”
"A monster?" she echoed, lifting her chin with a theatrical scoff, though the warmth in her cheeks and her growing smile threatened to betray her. “You’re just bitter that I finally won.”
“Oh no, sweetheart.” His voice dropped, silken and low, the kind that curled down her spine. “Bitter isn’t the word I would use."
Before she could quip back, his hand slid around her waist, smooth and unhurried, and with one effortless tug, he pulled her straight into his lap. Her gasp tore free, sharp and startled, though the sound melted quickly into something caught between protest and want. Her pulse beat a wild rhythm against her ribs, hands splaying against his chest for balance, every curve of her pressed into his frame as she straddled him. Instinct had her clutching his shirt, the fine fabric crumpling between her fingers. His eyes pinned her, mischievous, consuming, and she realized with a heady rush that he had been planning for this moment since the beginning. He’d expected it. Maybe even counted on it.
Everything else— the cards, the rules, the witty wagers— blurred into background noise. All that mattered was the slow press of him against her, the weight of him beneath hers.
“Aventurine—” she scolded, though the word came out ragged, less like a warning and more like a plea.
The lamp cast golden shadows that softened his features into something sinfully tempting. The urge to push against him warred with the need to hold on, to feel him beneath her hands, and desire—thick, raw, undeniable—surged up so fast it left her dizzy. He arched a brow, smug, completely unbothered, one arm finding the small of her back and settling there possessively, as if it had always belonged there. A low sound slipped from his throat— approval, need, and something darker that set her skin alight. “What? You won, didn’t you? I’m just delivering your prize.”
“This—” she began, trying to sound stern and unaffected, but her voice came out breathless. “This isn’t what I asked for.”
“No?” His grin curved dangerously, eyes burning as they trailed up from where she was straddling him, to the quick flutter of her pulse at her throat, to her face. “Seemed to me you wanted it badly enough to cheat.”
Her breath caught. “That’s not—”
“Not true?” he interrupted smoothly, fingers drumming idly against her hip, the jewelled rings biting faintly through the thin fabric as his hand slid higher along her spine, anchoring her against him. “If not this, then, tell me darling, what is it that you want? Or shall I choose for you?”
She tried to answer, she really did, but everything about him was too distracting. He really was too beautiful for his own good. Her mind, already hazy from the press of his hand at her waist and the velvet curl of his voice, scrambled uselessly. She’d also been so focused on beating him that she hadn’t planned this far ahead.
But, if he was insisting...
Her throat worked, swallowing. “You said anything?”
“Anything,” he echoed smoothly, but his voice stayed quiet, a whisper of desire, as though there wasn’t a single thing he wouldn’t give her if she asked. "Anything you want."
She already had everything she wanted right here. Still, she tapped her chin, feigning deep thought, when really her playful grin was already tugging at her lips. Aventurine sat back, perfectly pliant under her, watching with maddening patience as if waiting to see just how bold she dared to be.
“You'll say yes even if I ask for something outrageous?” she said at last, trying to sound imperious, but her teasing tone gave her away. “Like a whole Starskiff? Or a diamond necklace heavy enough to make me sink if I fall into a pool.”
“Done,” he said instantly, without even blinking.
She faltered. “…What?”
“Done,” he repeated, utterly nonchalant. “Would you like sapphires with it? Emeralds? A matching bracelet?”
Her eyes widened, composure cracking. She had been joking, but the sincerity in his voice made her giggle nervously and lightly slap his shoulder. “Stop. I wasn’t being serious. I don’t need anything.”
His laugh came rich and unrestrained, head tilting back against the sofa. When he looked at her again, it was with a conspiratorial gleam that made her stomach tighten. “Oh, I know— that’s what makes it fun. The more outrageous the request, the more I enjoy saying yes.”
She narrowed her eyes, mock-affronted and incredulous. “Don't joke about this. I can't believe I have to lecture you about spending your money wisely.”
“Sweetheart,” he said, pulling her closer now, his smile sharp and glimmering, “I’ve wagered more expensive things on a single hand before breakfast more times than I could count. This is hardly worth mentioning.”
Her breath hitched at the heat in his voice, but she covered it quickly with a smug little smirk, raising her arms to wind around his neck, fingers tangling in the golden strands of his hair. “Well, had I known you would be so generous, I would've cheated more.”
Aventurine tilted his head to give her better access, his answering chuckle pure indulgence. "And had I known you would be so greedy, I would've let you."
She tried glaring at him, but the fire in her eyes was betrayed by the way her body leaned more into his, desperate and wanting, like gravity itself had already chosen sides. For bravado’s sake, she tugged playfully at a strand under her grip, a poor show of defiance that did nothing to cool the heat pooling between them. “Careful. If I win another round, I might demand something even more outrageous.”
He chuckled low, amused, and tightened his hold— not harshly, but just enough to draw them impossibly closer until his lips hovered just beside the shell of her ear. “I'm listening,” he murmured huskily, voice a velvet-rich dare. “Should we make a list?”
Her composure fractured into a laugh, breathless and incredulous. “You’re impossible.”
“No,” he corrected, pressing the faintest kiss under her jaw, more taunt than tenderness. “I’m selfish. Especially with you.”
And if it meant letting her gloat afterward— if it meant giving her an excuse to demand prizes, to tease him with lavish requests, to play this ridiculous little game longer— well... That, too, was its own reward.
Summary: First time with a human s/o, headcanons
Pairings: Flins x Fem!Reader
Contents: Soft Flins, switch Flins, MDNI, 18+, possible grammar errors(oh no)
-There are many questions that he wishes to have answers to, yet his tongue fails to voice these concerns, and what little he does voice is trivial enough for you to answer with a giggle and "don’t worry, it is okay - it will be okay".
-His heart feels warm and riddled with scattering insects that have nowhere to run. His heart this pounding, he realizes as you drag him over you, your lips never too far away from his own, stealing his breath as well as his focus that he so diligently wanted to maintain
-Your hands are undoing his coat, he’s helping you do it, stripping him down to bare flushed skin and you are standing before him in the same state
-He isn’t wholly experienced, he doesn’t hesitate to reach out and caress your hips, your sides and to cup your cheeks as to kiss you. But your hands are needed to guide him other places, to show him where you want him, where it is okay to touch you
-Humans are odd beings, and they never failed to surprise him no matter what he witnessed in his long life. And your eagerness, ever growing in that moment, is making his mind falter every other heartbeat, reducing him to mere instincts and pure needs of body
-His eyes fall shut as he buries his face in your neck, breathing in your scent after you had him lay down to kiss him, his lips grazing over your pulse point and warming his kiss-bruised lips
-Flins wants to please you, to make this as special for you as it is for him, even if he may not know what exactly makes you sing. His hands dip down between your legs, finding your wetness and watching for your reactions - his eyes boring into your own as he slides his fingers here and there and until he finds that nub of nerves, sensitive under the pads of his fingers and he focuses onto it. His cock is twitching from simply watching you ride his fingers and chase your pleasure, a drunken smile coming onto his lips
-He speaks to you in a soft, almost shy rasp “Does that feel good, my love? Take your pleasure, I’m here”
-In some dizzy depths of his mind he knows he wants to see you break, but that would be for another time when he’s more… skilled in bringing you this pleasure
-When you direct your focus to him, grasping his leaking length in your hand and sliding your hand up and down and across the sensitive vein he keens and arches his back. The pleasure is even more intense when you reward his previous actions by sinking down onto his length wholly, your walls welcoming him and squeezing him. Flins could swear he has never felt pleasure as intense as this - it is turning his head into a raging ocean.
-His hands are on your hips, more so to hold on than to do much else.
“Does this feel good, for you too?”
-He is a groaning, moaning mess, your hands on his chest and your lips on his neck, sending shivers down his spine. He is sure he’ll combust into flames
-Upon your request he sits himself up, his arms wrapping around you and holding you flush against him as he presses his chin to your chest, between your breast, his breath hot and heavy and laboured as his hips jerk up in a pace unfamiliar and untrained
-For a moment his mind clouds more than it should and he takes a bold leap of faith by rolling the two of you over with him ending on top and rutting into you at a pace slightly faster than the one you set
-He asks again whether this feels good - this time his words are broken between breaths and sweet sounds of pleasure. He needs to hear you, he needs you to talk to him to tell him about this - he is unsure but too deep into it to stop
-His clarity has all but been lost to these carnal desires
-He bends down, being welcomed into your arms around his neck and your nails in his back now spur him on until he breaks, coming before you do but he doesn’t stop until you tell him you had enough. He is too drunk on you, too intoxicated to leave you be
Ⓒ starrydragoness. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.
kyryll noticing how responsive you are whenever he speaks in fae language, and using it to seduce you. his ‘𝓲 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾’s always coming out of his lips in reverence as haunting as the syllables that seemed to ring in the air as they materialize into the breezy air of nod krai. praising you with choked breaths whenever you’re making him feel go good and warm all over. using them whenever you’re at the peak of your release, ancient words whispered into your ears as if he’s not caressing your deepest spots with the head of his cock.
was it intentional or a subconscious effort from his part? you’re not sure, but you have your suspicions whenever he throws you such innocent-looking eyes whenever he speaks in the accursed language and you feel your panties dampen. in the end, perhaps you are just a pavlovian dog bewitched by a mischievous fae.
desc. (req.) the two times you were oblivious to enjin’s flirting and the one time you were not. contains slight angst & self deprecation on the readers end ending in fluff. audio jump out the window by big sean. wc 1241. reqs. open. library.
before this situation (if you could even call it that), no one within the cleaners would ever dare to call you oblivious or any thing else of that nature. while not necessarily a genius intellectually, as a member of the infamous team danger you were renown for your fighting abilities and level headed mindset that allowed you to complete missions solo, and often times without the help of any supporters.
now, as aformentioned, as a member of team danger you did carry some similar qualities as other members of your group, such as having an… interesting personality (to put it nicely) that not everyone was fond of. oddly enough, there was one blonde haired captain that had a certain affinity for you—yet you somehow failed to notice despite his continual and obvious efforts to gain your affection and attention. that didn’t stop him from trying though.
one enjin is lying on the floor… for some reason that you currently can’t determine at this point in time. it’s a rare day off for him, rudo is visiting canvas town with other members of team kid, and the other members of team akuta are additionally enjoying their free time—but you still can’t understand why he’s here, spending time with you.
he could quite literally be anywhere else right now, especially out chasing other women, an activity he frequented doing up until a few months ago when your unlikely friendship became closer. initially you just assumed it was because you made a lightly teasing comment about his womanizing tendencies, or maybe he randomly just decided to change his ways? it honestly wasn’t something you were going to put much thought into.
that still begs the question, why is he still lounging on your floor of all places? it’s not that you were uncomfortable with his presence or didn’t want him in your room (you didn’t really care to be honest), you just didn’t know why he was still there in the first place. earlier in the day he had caught you eating lunch in the dining hall, and decided to join you for the meal, which wasn’t all too out of the ordinary.
the only difference being that afterwards your conversation took you down the hall where he helped you retrieve your laundry so you wouldn’t have to take multiple trips, eventually staying in your room as you began folding and replacing your clothes in their respective drawers. despite questioning if he was comfortable in his spot lounging on the floor next to where you were kneeling, he assured you that he was fine and continued lying on his side, his head supported by his hand as he looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
semiu and riyo had both spoken to you about how they personally felt that enjin was interested in you romantically, but you still could not see what they were talking about. while you could agree that he was naturally flirty, that didn't necessarily mean he was seriously interested in dating you. besides, even if he was in fact interested he would probably move on to someone else in less than a week.
as you continued folding the last shirts you had into a nearly full drawer, you placed your hands into your lap and looked at him with a cocked eyebrow as he let out a yawn. “tired?” you asked, watching on as he struggled to keep his eyes open.
“yep, I'm thanking about taking a rest right here." he patted the empty space next to him on the carpet. "care to join me?" you gave him an incredulous look before returning to straightening up other areas your room, eventually paying him no mind as the minutes went by and soft snores filled your ears. the floor couldn't have been comfortable, but if thats what he preferred you didn't mind. friends took naps in each others rooms right?
two outside of the assumption of your friends you did not find enjoin unnatractive in any manner, anyone could admit that he was pretty attractive even if he wasn't necessarily their specific type. to their surprise you could even admit that he was in fact your type (which was simply, may I add, tall, blonde, tattoos... need I say more?), but stubbornly, you still didn't think he was interested in you at all. according to them he was, but you didn't want to get your hopes up about a well known player.
shuffling papers on semiu's desk and listening to music as you organized them, you failed to even notice that someone was approaching until they leaned over on it directly. enjin looked smug as usual, and noticeably his spherite friend was not with him today. this day being one where he was assigned a mission, you could only assume he was here to pick up the mission details that semiu had left for gris—yet enjin was still the one who showed up to retrieve them...
“got my mission details for me?” he wiggled an eyebrow as you pulled open the filing cabinet underneath the desk, grabbing the stapled packet and handing it to him.
he returns to his full stature before running a hand through his hair and placing the packet under his arm. “thank you baby.” he sends you a wink and a smile before turning on his heel and leaving. maybe there was some truth to what riyo and semiu were saying after all?
the realization at this point, enjin is beginning to grow frustrated. he had been pulling out his most subtle moves on you to get you to understand how he felt and clearly it still wasn’t working. deciding it was time to do something bold, he planned on doing something about it the next time he saw you, which ended up being later on that day.
there was no easy explanation for what was going on in this exact moment. you still weren’t sure how you ended up here yourself, but you did know that your friends beliefs were confirmed and they ended up being correct. “you don’t get it do you?” he sighs from where he’s standing, not moving the hand he has flat on the wall next to your head.
he’s given you enough room to escape if you wanted to, with his other arm hanging slack at his side. he looks frustrated, but as he looks down at you, there isn’t any lingering anger in his expression—only an uncharacteristic flush on his cheekbones and a slight weariness. “I get it.”
“then why have you been acting so freaking oblivious all this time?” he inches closer to your face but it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, and the look of relief in his features causes an unfamiliar swell under your ribs.
“I didn’t think you were being serious. it’s not exactly like you’re known for staying long lasting relationships.” noticing the slight dip in his lips at your comment you decide against rambling on about his former behavior and instead focus on the present. “I just didn’t think you’d want to seriously be with me.” he leans down and rests his forehead against your shoulder.
“psh. if only you knew. I’ve been trying to catch your eye for a while now.” he picks his head up and delivers a light peck to your forehead before returning to eye level and grinning. “that enough evidence for you?”
Synopsis — After a long, exhausting mission, you return to your quarters only to find Enjin already sprawled across your bed, claiming he “mistook the room.” Too tired to fight him off, you let it slide—only to discover that sharing the space with him isn’t as simple, or as innocent, as it seems.
────────── ୨୧ ──────────
You came back late. Boots heavy, shoulders sore, head still buzzing from the mission. It had been one of those days—long, loud, too much running, too much trash stink in your lungs. The kind of day where you only think about bed. Not food. Not even a shower. Just bed.
So when you shoved open your door, already tugging at your jacket, you froze.
Someone was already there.
Enjin.
He was stretched out across your bed like he owned the place, hands tucked behind his head, one leg crossed over the other. Even his damn umbrella was propped against the wall like it had gotten comfortable too.
“Well, what do you know,” he said, voice warm and too damn smug. “This room comes with a janitor service.”
You just stared. “Enjin. Why—why are you in my bed?”
His head tilted, all fake-consideration, like he might actually have an answer. “Pretty sure I, uh… mistook the room.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “Yeah? You ‘mistook’ the one with my name on the door?”
“Didn’t notice.” He rolled onto his side, propping his cheek on his hand now, utterly unrepentant. “But hey, comfy mattress. Soft blanket. Could get used to this.” His gaze drifted, slow, to the empty space beside him. A smirk tugged. “Plenty of room, too.”
You groaned, already too tired to deal with this nonsense. Normally you’d argue until one of you gave up, probably him, but right now? You didn’t have it in you. You shoved your boots off, dumped your gear in the corner, and collapsed onto the mattress without even trying to be graceful.
Enjin laughed under his breath, low and pleased. “Didn’t think you’d cave that easy. You must really like me.”
“Shut up,” you muttered into the pillow.
He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind. Bed’s warmer with company.”
You were seconds from sleep, so you didn’t care. Didn’t even fight it when the blanket shifted, tugged over both of you. Didn’t care when you felt him roll closer, broad chest brushing your shoulder. Just warmth. Big, steady, solid warmth, like a furnace that wrapped around you and made your body finally, finally unclench.
By the time sleep dragged you under, his arm had found your waist. Careful. Casual. Like it wasn’t on purpose. But his hand stayed there, heavy and sure, and the last thing you remembered was how safe it felt.
Morning would bring questions. Teasing, probably. Tomorrow he’d be all smirks and cocky remarks again. Tonight it was just the dark, the heat of him pressed close, and his breathing, slow and steady.
HIII I saw that req were open so why not 🤪 can you do nsfw and sfw headcanons for enjin from gachiakuta 🫠🫠
X🩷
─── 𝔯𝔢𝔮.l𝔦𝔫e ─ hello hello and thank you so so much this is a great first request !!! i really hope i did it justice :(( thank you again and enjoy these few headcanons 🪽 （ mdni ）
🧸 :⠀❪ sfw headcanons ❫⠀
he might make you tea or coffee in the morning and hand it to you without a word. that would be his way of saying good morning.
if you're struggling with something, no matter what it is, he steps in right away. i think this also ties in with the fact that he really enjoys showing you the things he is good at and the ways he can help you and make your life easier.
he doesn't rush. he takes his time to read you. its actually unnerving how well he can predict your reactions.
when you're alone i dont think he would ne overwhelmingly touchy, but he does enjoy it when you initiate it, like if you lean your head on his shoulder to sleep, when you play with his fingers, or trace his tattoos.
he love, love, looves teasing you. especially on little things. maybe if you drag your feet when you walk he'd make it a running joke between you two. or when you're being stubborn on something and finally let him help. he's the 'i told you so' kind of boyfriend.
he doesn't interrupt, even when you ramble. he loves listening to you talk no matter what it is about.
he won't outright say it, but he does get pretty jealous, especially when you're out and he doesn’t get all of your attention.
if you're upset or stressed, he doesn't bombard you with advice. he just lets you lean on him and cry it out.
🪷 :⠀❪ nsfw headcanons ❫⠀
he never yells. when he tells you something you obey. easy as that.
he loves dragging things out. edging, making you beg. he loves seeing you squirm all at his mercy. he likes having the reins. you don't need to think, just follow his orders.
ties, cuffs, even makeshift restraints. he prefers you immobilized, again, so he can take his time with you.
"pathetic little thing" but also "you're doing so so well for me."
you don't get to come until he tells you so. he likes you desperate and crying.
he knows you are obsessed with his hands, so he makes use of them. holding your wrists down, fingering you until youre actually about to faint ( from overstimulation ), pinning your hips down when he fucks you, or wrapping them around your throat.
for him, eye contact is holy. he feels really connected with you during sex and eye contact just multiplies that feeling.
for aftercare he is surprisingly tender, especially after all of that mean dom shit he just pulled. he doesn't say much but he'll help you get cleaned, wait for you to fall asleep first, etc etc.
