imagine varka slowly losing his grip on chivalry over the course of time he spends with you. like he's REALLY trying to be a gentleman, but you just make it way too difficult to keep his thoughts completely pure. how is the grand master supposed to focus when he gets a peek at a sliver of your flesh when the hem of your top rides up during one of your sparring sessions? he swears up and down to himself it was just an innocent glance and nothing more.
not to mention how his eyes tend to wander down to your hands as you share drinks at the end of the night after one of your longer days out on patrol, noting the palpable difference in size between you two. what would your fingers feel like with his weaved between them? would you mind his calluses? did the scars bother you?
at the end of the day, none of that really mattered to him, because he thinks the one beside your pinky would look far better with a ring on it.
Some Actually Useful Questions to Get to Know Your OC Part Two
âł What lie do they tell themselves to sleep at night?
Seriously. Whatâs the little piece of denial that keeps them functioning? Do they pretend they donât care what people think? Tell themselves theyâre over that one person? Convinced theyâre not the villain of someone elseâs story? We all lie to ourselves; your OC is no exception.
âł Whatâs their emotional kryptonite?
A specific thing that absolutely shatters them, like someone crying? Being ignored? Praise from a parent figure? The sound of an old song? The smell of something nostalgic? Find it and use it against them (lovingly, of course).
âł When do they feel the most alive?
Is it mid-battle, mid-baking, mid-breakup? Does adrenaline light them up, or do they find joy in the quiet, mundane things, like folding laundry while listening to sad girl music? This can reveal a LOT about what drives them.
âł What would totally ruin their day?
A bad haircut? Someone touching their stuff? Or is it something deeper, like being reminded of their failures, or seeing someone else succeed where they couldnât?
ⳠWho do they think they should be? And who are they really?
This oneâs juicy. Do they think they should be a hero, but keep acting like a villain?
âł Whatâs the one thing theyâd never admit out loud, even under duress?
The shameful thought. The inappropriate desire. The thing they desperately want but donât think they deserve. DONT FORGET: Characters are built on what they repress.
ⳠWhat are they petty about?
Donât pretend your OC is above this, I mean everyoneâs petty about something. Do they hold grudges over stolen pens? Get irrationally jealous of someoneâs hair? Still mad about a game of Uno from 2007? Petty makes them fucking real.
âł How do they act when they think no oneâs watching?
Do they let their mask slip? Dance around the kitchen? Talk to their cat in baby voice? Cry a little?
âł What would make them snap?
Where is the breaking point? What line has to be crossed for them to finally say âEnoughâ? Is it injustice? Betrayal? Feeling powerless? Youâll know youâve found it when it scares you a little (Or a lot).
âł If they had a theme song, what would it be?
No, seriously. The vibe of a characterâs soundtrack says a lot. Is it Angsty indie rock? Bubblegum pop masking deep pain? Make a playlist. Your OC will tell you who they are... <3
âșâș refuse to admit theyâre sick while literally swaying on their feet
(âIâm fine.â immediately crashes into the couch and doesnât get up for 2 hours)
âșâș that stubborn little forehead crease when theyâre trying to pretend theyâre not in pain but they definitely are
âșâș saying âIâm not coldâ while shivering like a leaf and glaring at the blanket youâre offering like it insulted their honor
âșâș wearing like⊠3 hoodies. and a beanie. and a blanket cape. looking like a lump of denial with a nose
âșâș flinching when they cough too hard, like it surprised them and they feel a little betrayed by their own body
âșâș that specific exhausted way of blinking, slow and confused, like their brain is buffering every time you ask a question
âșâș apologizing for being sick. like their immune system personally offended you. like they shouldâve scheduled it better
âșâș getting clingy in that low-energy, wordless way. like reaching for your sleeve or sitting closer without saying anything
âșâș drinking tea like itâs a punishment. making a face after every sip but still doing it because someone made it for them
âșâș trying to pretend theyâre still useful. doing tasks badly. insisting on helping and then immediately sitting down like âokay I need a nap nowâ
âșâș using exactly zero words to communicate for three days. just grunting and side-eyes and one finger raised when they need something
âșâș being deeply offended by how gross they feel. muttering âI hate thisâ every few minutes like their own mucus is their nemesis
âșâș standing up too fast and doing the classic âwhoa. gravityâs intense todayâ stagger
âșâș texting you things like âbring soup. i am dying. goodbyeâ but then surviving anyway, unfortunately for the drama
âșâș finally accepting help after pretending they didnât need it, and getting weirdly quiet when someone tucks the blanket around them just right
âșâș looking genuinely surprised when someone takes care of them. like it never crossed their mind that anyone would
Trying out some different tropes. If there's a trope you'd like to see some prompts for in the future please let me know.
"Stopâsomeone might see us."
"You told them. YouâI can't believe you told them about us. I trusted you."
"That fucking hurt!" "I'm sorry. IâI panicked when they walked in. I don't want to get caught!"
"Come on, you have to admit, sneaking around like this is kind of... fun."
"Someone saw us last night. They saw us. God, what if they tell?"
"I don't care! I don't care. I can't do this anymore. The lying, the sneaking around. I can't bear the thought of anyone else touching you, of anyone thinking... I want everyone to know you're mine."
"I love you." "You take that back." "No. I'm done hiding. I love you, and I want the entire world to know you're mine."
"Would it really be so badâgetting caught?" "Yes!"
"We have to stop." "What are you talking about?" "We can't keep doing this. We're going to get caught." "I don't care."
"Why won't you admit it?" "Because I'm scared, dammit! I'm terrified of what this means. I'm terrified to want you, to need you, to... love you. Because if anyone ever found out... God, it would destroy us."
"We were doomed from the start. But you know what, I wouldn't change a damn thing."
"Loving you was never the problem. It was pretending I didn't that killed me."
aventurine can't stand having his outfit exposed to the elements nor to the rude hands of clients that won't cooperate â luckily for him, he has you to take care of it all. { aventurine with a bodyguard!reader. }
⯠fluff & angst. 2.9k wc. headcanons w/ some written scenes. the plot is vv subtle but it's there a.k.a aventurine simps for you (jokingly) but you both end up catching feelings (not jokingly). mentions of violence, death & russian roulette. pre-penacony timeline. a self-indulgent piece to celebrate this blog's 2nd anniv! â
aventurine who graciously welcomes you under his employment with a game. just a little something to ease your nerves and get you used to his ways. you look at him with such incredulity as if he just fell and hit his head silly. he pays no mind to this â finds it to be amusing a great deal, actually. keep it up, newcomer!
âheads or tails?â he asks, flipping a coin in the air and catching it seamlessly. a routine for him, you would've figured from the sight. âthat's. . . an odd way of saying hello,â you point out but your tone bears no hint of protest. he notices that.
âi've heard that one before,â aventurine tilts his head with a smile, nonchalant. âso what's your guess?â
âtails,â you reply without any delay. it's a mindless answer; getting it wrong this way would prove to bear less disappointment compared to putting actual thought in it. âheads for me then,â he whistles.
aventurine opens his palm. it's heads. you frown as if to suspect foul playâbut you don't because you know about his notoriously good luckâand your new boss chuckles, almost placatingly.
âlooks like i win,â he grins without a care in the world at all. âaren't you starving? let's fetch ourselves a meal, friend.â
a loss rewarded with a prize? you blink. with grace so in contrast to the whiplash you feel, aventurine walks past you with a trail of expensive perfume in his wake. obviously, he expects you to follow and you do after a moment's reluctance.
(this guy is more confusing than the stellaron.)
aventurine who grows quite fond of seeing you acquiesce to his wishes, whether serious or trivial. could you ward off those reporters? could you pour him a drink? could you play a game of poker with him? could you join him for lunch? you're always so professional that he starts to find some mirth in pushing your buttons (never too much). unlucky for you, he does it to be affectionate and lucky for him, you always say yes even if you roll your eyes every single time.
aventurine who trusts you with his credit card. . . to a worrying degree. when asked if he's sure about this, he just waves it off and says it'll be safer in your hands. seriously, this card has been in your possession longer than it's ever been in his. sometimes, he does ask for it back â only to drop some 200k credits to your account. âa tip for doing a good job,â he'd wink casually while you're flabbergasted beyond belief.
aventurine who finds it extremely attractive whenever you step in to protect him from harm. dealing with uncooperative clients is a day in his life, yet some are so brutish they resort to getting physical â but he has you to make sure their hands stay off him. a gun in his direction? knocked off before the trigger even has a chance to get pulled. reaching out to grab him by the collar? they're already on the ground, your foot threateningly pressed on their back as a warning. what a dashing sight â and thanks to you, his pristine outfit has been saved more times than he could count at this point.
aventurine who likes to call you his âknight in shining armorâ teasingly. awh, you don't like it? he thinks you're more than deserving of that title with the way you always swoop in to get him out of trouble. if the thousands of credits he gives you aren't enough yet, won't a cute title suffice? âit sounds corny,â you tell him with a grimaceâand maybe, yesâbut he just chirps coyly, âdunno. i think it's fitting.â
aventurine who makes it his responsibility to check on you after a rough mission. credits are no problem, he'd even reserve the most expensive private doctor in the cosmos if that means you'll recover faster. sadly, he has little to no medical skills â so the most he can offer you is bandages. sure, you can take a bullet to the stomach and handle a punch or two, that's your job, but what about tiny scratches? . . .don't tell him you're about to reject his kind offer.
âwhat's your favorite color?â he queries, somewhat out of the blue considering the situation where he is helping you tend to a minor cut on your finger. you raise an eyebrow, âwhy do you wanna know?â as he gently plasters a plain-colored bandage on your skin (which he's only been granted permission to after minutes of begging you to let him do it).
âfor the bandages,â aventurine answers. he finds no need to hide his intentions as he runs a thumb over the bandage, softly as to not hurt you, to keep its position secure. âso that the next time you ask, i'll have some in your favorite color for sure.â
âhow. . . thoughtful of you,â you snort, amused.
(briefly, he resists the urge to ask if he can place a kiss on your cut for 'luck'. but if he does, you might have his head. so, he'll try another time.)
aventurine who slowly begins to find a sense of comfort in your company. maybe, it's the way you scoff at his quips with a smile or the way you always tell him to be careful. maybe, it's the way you take him seriously or the way you stay by his sideâis your job description the only reason why?âor maybe, he's just pathetic and reeks of so much loneliness you feel sympathetic. he can't tell, but he hopes the luxuries he has can persuade you to stay just a little longer. even if you don't actually care. (you do.)
aventurine who notices how anxiety brims in your gaze when you watch him gamble at the table â with a sum too high to be considered sane and sometimes, his own life. he can see it all; how your hands shake as if you want to reach out, how your lips tremble as if you want to tell him to stop. but this is what he's made for, is it not? he'll survive one way or another. . . until fate decides the bill for all his past good fortune is finally due. and when the time comes, he'll be ready for it. (will you?)
a game of russian roulette.
it always starts with thrills only to end with carnage spilled all over the table. luck is the only thing worth praying for at that point and oh, is luck not the dearest friend aventurine ever had? hence the reason why he always agrees, not with a yes but with a âwhy not?â.
you're there as his protector, yet utterly condemned to the role of a witness as soon as aventurine nods along to that darned game. panic rushes through your veins as the gun is passed around so relaxedly, so easily with laughter all around. aventurine's next in line, you realize grimly. the next decision that comes after is spontaneous, so different from your usual calculated nature â you drag him out of the casino in a frenzy before the weapon even lands in his hand. in your head, there is no other thought louder than: he could've died.
âa shame i didn't get to the fun part,â you hear him hum from behind you, too disturbingly calm for your liking. the bustling noises inside the establishment have all but faded into the background. âthat was close, hm?â he laughs, a sound you would've found endearing if this was another occasion. any occasion that doesn't involve teetering dangerously on the precipice of death.
you stop in your tracks and aventurine, behind you, naturally follows. your silence is something he first takes note of and the way your hand shakes as it holds his is the second. you still haven't let go. what's going through your mind? he calls out your name softly, perplexed at your lack of explanation.
â. . .why did you say yes?â you respond with a bitter question. âyou could've died. you almost died,â you try to hold back a shout â yet, your words are spat in such a fusillade he feels a seed of guilt starting to bloom inside his lifeless heart. he discards it in favor of putting on a frivolous smile.
âoh, relax,â he lets out a chuckle, one that sounds so ignorant of the taut tension in the air. âit's just some russian roulette. why so serious?â he shrugs as if to physically brush off any seriousness clinging to his figure. his remark gives off the assumption that every single hint of your worry has flown over his head.
âit is serious. . .â you bite your bottom lip. he sneers in return, âyeah? since when?â as if to challenge you to give an actual answer. his life is full of risks, to say otherwise would be a lie. âyou're sweet for worrying but you don't actually care about me that much, do you?â he snickers to himself. like the thought of your caring about him can't possibly be true, like it's all just a terrible joke.
but he's the only one laughing.
aventurine falls quiet and finally, genuinely meets your gaze for the first time that night. he doesn't like what he sees. your lips are downturned, unamused and saddenedâyou do care, a realization that has been left unsaidâand all remainders of levity in him are replaced by immediate dread. it only now registers that the anger, concern, frustration on your face are for him; they're the unavoidable consequences from caring about him.
(his eyes widen. no, no, no.)
âc'mon, youââ he covers it up with a carefree smile, as feigned as it came. he shoves his hand in one of his pockets. it's shaking. â. . .worry too much. you've seen me play a handful of games before. i've never lost a wager, remember?â
you don't look convinced at all. in fact, you look as if you've arrived at the brink of seething. âand if you do? for once in your life, you lose?â you prod him for more. for something, for anything â perhaps, for a promise that he won't do it again.
(but you know aventurine, you know there would be no such promise.)
âthen i lose,â he says, final and resigned. âthere's really nothing else to it,â he tries to offer you another smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes. âhey. at least, you'll be there to witness my spectacular fall, right? it'll be a show to remember.â
he nearly doesn't manage to keep up the façade. it's already as precarious as it can be. you don't reply to him this time â instead, you let go of his hand to wipe at your cheeks. his gaze trails after your fingers and it freezes upon seeing the pearly tears falling free from your eyes.
aventurine has never seen you cry before. you're always so stone-faced, so hard to break that he recalls almost cheering when he heard you laugh for the first time. that was when you finally won a round of poker against him. a pity, he would've reminisced about the memory more. . . if only the matter of losing and winning a game isn't as serious as it is now.
âdon't say that,â you mutter, harshly wiping away at the incessant tears pouring from your eyes more than you'd ever allow them to. some make their way into your mouth, they taste just as bitter as your current frustration. does he truly value his life so little? you can't fathom it, you can't fathom him at all.
but there is one thing you were certain of, at the very least: âyou hired me to protect you,â you shake your head unrelentingly, âso i'll do it. until you throw me away, i won't let you die.â
you've stopped crying then. aventurine feels remorse; the tears that you shed because of him are starting to dry. the selfish part of him wants to reach out and brush them away with his thumb â but would you let him? would this lead you further down the rabbit hole that is him? in the end, he decides against it.
â. . .i'm sorry,â he sighs instead, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. whatever it is he is apologizing for, he doesn't have a clue either. he lets his eyes slip shut. he can't bear to look at you, can't bear to look at his pitiful reflection in your eyes.
(he's not worth caring about, can't you see? he dances hand in hand with death â there is no need to subject yourself to being a spectator.)
the two of you then part ways that night with shallow pleasantries on your tongues. no inside jokes, no evident yearning for the other to stay, no more than an awkward exchange of âi'll see you tomorrow.â
on his way 'home', regret and relief clash to form something inexplicably hollow inside kakavasha's chest. he wanted to wipe away your tearsâwhat a regretâbut if he did, they would've burned on his skin and became another mark to haunt himâwhat a relief he didn't. and frankly, if destiny is about to reap his debt, he'd rather go with no regrets at all.
whether those regrets include you? he doesn't have an answer just yet.
(the name at the bottom of his contract with fate is signed as kakavasha. but you wouldn't recognize that name. not as him, at least.)
aventurine whose eyes can't flutter close at night ever since thoughts of you fill his mind more than they already do before. you care for him, you want him to liveâall his fault, he allowed himself to get too closeâbut these realizations are rooted in too deep and refuse to leave. what to do, what to do, what to do?
it isn't supposed to turn out like this.
what he and you have is meant to be transactional; he'd be spared from unnecessary scuffles and you'd be compensated with monetary payment. he means to keep it superficially fun; for him to tease you with jestsâso you'd stay and save him from the deafening silence in his headâand for you to dismiss him with that adorably annoyed look on your face. just some silly banter, that's it.
so then, since when are there rounds of poker where he'd coo over your frown when you lost? or the sound of your lecturing after he secretly got you a high-end item? or meals shared together where you'd bicker over the bill? or bandages in your favorite color kept inside his bedside table? since when do you start to care? . . .since when does he start to care?
think of something else.
kakavasha tosses and turns in his bed, but the soft pillows and blanket do nothing to quell these bothers of his. are feelings always this complicated? he places a hand over his eyes, tired and exhausted, and stares at the ceiling as if it could provide him with an answer.
but there's no use.
in a moment void of logical thinking, he reaches for his phone and hovers a finger over your name in his contacts. he is usually good friends with bad ideas â but not this time, he sets his phone down and lets out a frustrated sigh that only his expensive pillows are there to hear.
(for gaiathra's sake, he hasn't even told you his real name yet.)
aventurine who becomes awfully distant the next time he sees you. you accompany him to meetings with clients per usual, but it's different. . . he talks to you succinctly, not verbosely with that trademark grin of his. his face is bereft of the things you grow to like seeing on him. a sincere smile instead of one just for show, for example. but even that's difficult to ask for since he only speaks to fill the silence with empty chatter. he doesn't look you in the eyes either; you feel a pang of hurt, you've always loved his eyes.
aventurine who discards all thoughts of you as soon as he steps inside pier point to be assigned a project. a conclave between the stonehearts is a matter of top confidentiality and you, dutifully, are ordered to wait for him outside the office. though, he'll admit; your absence by his side actually does leave a gaping voidâsuch hypocrisy, reallyâbut at least, those pesky voices in his head know how to shut up when it comes to work.
âpenacony. . . is diamond finally ready to do something about it?â
aventurine rests his left hand on the small of his back, fiddling with the clubs-shaped detailing on the fabric there. it looks like an act of idleness from afar, but anyone observant enough would know it's a way to subdue whatever nerves he wishes to hide.
he waits for the person in front of him, gazing at the purplish-red sky of pier point at sunset, to speak. for their next words shall mark the start of his next journey in fate's course.
aventurine who hesitates to let you come to penacony with him at first. but it'd be poor reasoning not to, since some might have a bone to pick with him as the corporation's representative. . . and he knows you'll protest to come with anyway. fine then, situationship discomfiture be damned â not even a second after he steps out of the meeting, his neon eyes finally meet yours. âso, how does a trip to penacony sound?â he announces with a confident smile. you blink, noticing how his lips are wobbling at the sides. you don't say no, however. (if only the two of you know what sort of ride you're getting yourselves into.)
â thanks for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. why don't we all sob over this man like it's a cryfest âĄ
100 Dialogue Tags You Can Use Instead of âSaidâ
For the writers struggling to rid themselves of the classic âsaidâ. Some are repeated in different categories since they fit multiple ones (but those are counted once so it adds up to 100 new words).Â
blakekathryn
titsay
areudirty
discoholicmusic
romaincrisis
annaxmalina
dededos
2087
