Hi! I love your writing smm <3 Hope you have a great day
If you dont mind, can I request an Aventurine fic with a reader who isn't used to interacting with others (socially awkward, stumble upon their words often)? Thank you!
Between Trust and Treachery
Summary: At a grand and opulent gala brimming with power and pretense, you feel out of place, awkwardly navigating an environment you’d rather avoid. Your discomfort doesn’t go unnoticed by Aventurine, a dazzling yet sharp-tongued stranger that seem to pierce through your soul. Intrigued by your authenticity in a room full of masks, he offers you a quiet escape and a surprising proposition: to teach you how to navigate the games of power and deception. As the conversation unfolds, you find yourself caught between uncertainty and curiosity, unable to resist his magnetic pull.
Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Social Dynamics, Court Intrigue, Mysterious Stranger, Opposites Attract, Mentorship, Subtle Tension.
Warnings: Light Manipulation and Power Imbalance, Themes of Social Anxiety and Discomfort.
The grand ballroom was a whirlwind of polished marble, glittering chandeliers, and muted chatter. A testament to IPC’s opulence, it was a space that seemed designed to overwhelm anyone unfamiliar with its games of power and pretense. You, however, had no desire to play. Just the thought of navigating the crowd made you tug at the edges of your formal attire, regretting the decision to attend.
You didn’t belong here. Your tongue twisted over greetings; every attempt at polite conversation felt like a stumble through a verbal minefield. Yet, duty—or rather, someone’s suggestion that you “mingle for professional growth”—had dragged you into the lion’s den.
A hand lightly brushed your shoulder, a weightless touch that nonetheless froze you in place.
“Pardon me,” came a rich, lilting voice. You turned, only to meet magenta and cyan eyes flecked with secrets and mischief, framed by the slitted pupils of someone whose gaze seemed to read more than what you said. “But I couldn’t help noticing you seem rather... misplaced.”
He smiled, dazzling but sharp, and every nerve in your body screamed that this man, Aventurine—you reminded yourself—was someone far beyond your ability to handle.
“Oh, um... I, uh—” The words tangled before they could leave your throat. His grin widened.
“Perfect,” he purred, stepping closer, his attire glinting with gold accents as he moved. “No one plays a better hand than the one who doesn’t realize they’re in the game. Shall we talk?”
“I—what?” You blinked, unsure whether he was complimenting or insulting you.
“You don’t have to speak,” he said smoothly, tilting his head. A peacock feather ornament on his hat caught the light. “Your expression says plenty. A rookie among predators, floundering, but oh, so fascinating.” He tapped his chin with a theatrical air. “Though I admit, I might be projecting. You do look like someone trying not to flee.”
You laughed awkwardly, unsure how else to respond. “That obvious, huh?”
“Darling, obvious is my specialty.” His voice dipped lower, conspiratorial. “But don’t fret. I find it endearing.”
He motioned toward the side of the room, where velvet drapes shielded a quieter alcove. You hesitated.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he added, his smile softening ever so slightly. “I’m not asking for your trust. Just your company. Even I can tire of this charade.” He gestured at the bustling crowd, his tone betraying a faint but unmistakable disdain.
Against your better judgment, you followed him. The quiet corner felt like an oasis, though the man sharing it with you exuded enough intensity to make up for the silence.
“So,” Aventurine began, leaning against the wall, “what brought you to this gala of lies and alliances? Certainly not the socializing.”
“No, I...” You fidgeted with your sleeve. “I mean, someone suggested I should, um, network. But I’m not good at—”
“Ah, the old ‘step outside your comfort zone’ nonsense,” he interrupted, rolling his eyes dramatically. “As if comfort isn’t what makes us thrive.”
You blinked, startled by his bluntness. “I... guess so?”
He studied you for a moment, his gaze almost too focused. Then, as if sensing your discomfort, he broke into a softer smile. “You intrigue me. You’re honest in your awkwardness. Most people here wear masks, yet you...” He gestured vaguely toward you, his rings catching the light. “You stumble, falter, and still manage to be more authentic than anyone in this room.”
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult,” you muttered.
“Oh, it’s definitely a compliment.” Aventurine’s grin returned, razor-sharp. “You’re refreshing. A puzzle in a world of pretentious pawns. That’s a rarity.”
Heat crept up your face, and you looked away. “I’m not... anything special.”
“Ah!” He clapped his hands together lightly. “And yet, you underestimate yourself. A classic move.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do you know the secret to winning a game? Most people think it’s about control, but it’s not. It’s about making others underestimate you.”
“I uh... I don’t think I’m playing any games,” you replied weakly.
He chuckled, rich and low. “You are, whether you realize it or not. But don’t worry.” He straightened, adjusting his hat with a casual flair. “I’ll teach you.”
“Teach me?” You blinked up at him, confused.
“Of course. Consider it an investment in your potential. You’ll find I’m quite the tutor.” His eyes gleamed. “And who knows? You might even surprise me.”
You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but the sheer confidence in his tone left no room for argument. “Why... why would you...?”
“Because I enjoy a good gamble.” His enigmatic smile softened into something almost genuine. “And you, darling, are a gamble worth taking.”
For the first time that evening, you found yourself smiling back, even if just a little.
Summary: Hura navigates the liminal estuary, blending with brackish currents and mangrove shadows, observing loyalist mer-Astartes, training his young companion, and asserting silent, predatory control over a domain teetering between life, decay, and chaos.
Warning: Violence (implied predation and tactical combat), Dark, chaotic themes, Body horror (mer-Astartes mutations, decay, corrosion), Predatory behavior. LMK if I need to add anything else.
The brackish water swirled around Hura’s massive form as he glided closer to the tangled mouth of the estuary. Mud and silt churned under the current, mixing with the faint tang of salt from the open sea. The smell of decay was stronger here—Grandfather’s influence leaking into the water, fertile for rot yet potent with danger. Hura’s claws sliced through the half-darkness, the edges catching the sunlight in shards as he moved.
The estuary was alive with sounds—small, scuttling creatures hiding in the reeds, the low hum of diseased currents, and the faint, almost imperceptible hiss of other mer-Astartes moving in the depths. Hura’s multiple eyes flicked rapidly, scanning the shadows, counting, measuring, anticipating. The brackish water distorted shapes, making them appear closer or farther, friend or foe.
“Precious little ones, do not stir the waters recklessly,” Hura cooed softly to the currents themselves, almost as if speaking to a flock of sentient fish. His voice rippled with low undertones, a resonance the water carried for meters, drawing smaller, curious mer-creatures closer. They flitted around him like motes in the sunlight, daring to peek at the massive Chaos Marine without touching, yet somehow feeling the weight of his presence.
Ahead, near a half-submerged mangrove, Hura sensed movement—a smaller pod of loyalist mer-Astartes had arrived, hunting through the estuary for signs of infestation or prey. Their scales glinted in the murky water, hints of cerulean and silver, faint but recognizable even through the brackish haze. Hura flexed his claws, curling them just enough to stir the water, making his shadow loom larger.
“Brackish currents are tricky,” he whispered to the water itself, almost as a meditation. “They hide what they do not wish to show, yet reveal what they cannot contain.” He arched his fused wings slightly, feeling the drag of the salt-and-freshwater mix on the membranes. A shift of tail, a flick of fins, and he moved closer, careful to disturb nothing but the light silt.
A hiss broke the reverie—Darsas, still recovering but now curious, had followed along, his bulk causing ripples that made smaller creatures scatter. Hura’s gaze softened, just slightly, and he beckoned the younger marine forward with a tilt of his head.
“Do not fear the Loyalist, little one. They are as children here—confused by these waters as you were once. Observe them, learn, but do not engage without my say-so.”
Hura circled the estuary carefully, letting the brackish water swirl around him, tasting its currents with his senses. Every ripple carried a message—disturbance, hunger, allegiance. Here, in the liminal zone between fresh and salt, life and decay, he felt closest to Grandfather’s gift. The water pulsed with potential: new blessings to offer, new allies to guide, and threats to crush before they could form.
Then, faintly, a new scent—iron and ozone. Another pod, larger, moving fast, reckless, unaware of Hura’s presence. He tensed, spines and claws flexing as the water churned around him. “Oh, precious brackish waters,” he murmured, “you hide so much, yet whisper everything.”
With a powerful flick of his tail, he propelled himself deeper, submerging among the mangroves where twisted roots wove labyrinthine tunnels. The brackish mud clung to his armor, the green-grey corrosion of Chaos blending seamlessly with the murky environment.
Here, Hura could watch, wait, and—if necessary—strike. His bonded human’s pearl glimmered faintly in his mind, a tether to the shore and the sanity of the world beyond the estuary, grounding him even as he became the apex predator of this brackish domain.
And in the distance, the younger loyalist scouts would never see him coming.
