#“On the Care and Keeping of Gamblers” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seelestia · 10 months ago

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✧ the gambler and his knight.

aventurine can't stand having his outfit exposed to the elements nor to the rude hands of clients that won't cooperate – 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! ★

★ 〜 masterlist.

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 – finds it to be amusing a great deal, actually. keep it up, newcomer!

“heads or tails?” he asks, flipping a coin in the air and catching it seamlessly. a routine for him, you would've figured from the sight. “that's. . . an odd way of saying hello,” you point out but your tone bears no hint of protest. he notices that.

“i've heard that one before,” aventurine tilts his head with a smile, nonchalant. “so what's your guess?”

“tails,” 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. “heads for me then,” he whistles.

aventurine opens his palm. it's heads. you frown as if to suspect foul play—but you don't because you know about his notoriously good luck—and your new boss chuckles, almost placatingly.

“looks like i win,” he grins without a care in the world at all. “aren't you starving? let's fetch ourselves a meal, friend.”

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 – only to drop some 200k credits to your account. “a tip for doing a good job,” 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 – 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 – 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 “knight in shining armor” 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? “it sounds corny,” you tell him with a grimace—and maybe, yes—but he just chirps coyly, “dunno. i think it's fitting.”

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 – 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.

“what's your favorite color?” 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, “why do you wanna know?” 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).

“for the bandages,” 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. “so that the next time you ask, i'll have some in your favorite color for sure.”

“how. . . thoughtful of you,” 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 side—is your job description the only reason why?—or 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 – 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 “why not?”.

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 – 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.

“a shame i didn't get to the fun part,” 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. “that was close, hm?” 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.

“. . .why did you say yes?” you respond with a bitter question. “you could've died. you almost died,” you try to hold back a shout – 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.

“oh, relax,” he lets out a chuckle, one that sounds so ignorant of the taut tension in the air. “it's just some russian roulette. why so serious?” 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.

“it is serious. . .” you bite your bottom lip. he sneers in return, “yeah? since when?” as if to challenge you to give an actual answer. his life is full of risks, to say otherwise would be a lie. “you're sweet for worrying but you don't actually care about me that much, do you?” 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 saddened—you do care, a realization that has been left unsaid—and 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.)

“c'mon, you—” 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. “. . .worry too much. you've seen me play a handful of games before. i've never lost a wager, remember?”

you don't look convinced at all. in fact, you look as if you've arrived at the brink of seething. “and if you do? for once in your life, you lose?” you prod him for more. for something, for anything – perhaps, for a promise that he won't do it again.

(but you know aventurine, you know there would be no such promise.)

“then i lose,” he says, final and resigned. “there's really nothing else to it,” he tries to offer you another smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “hey. at least, you'll be there to witness my spectacular fall, right? it'll be a show to remember.”

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 – 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.

“don't say that,” 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: “you hired me to protect you,” you shake your head unrelentingly, “so i'll do it. until you throw me away, i won't let you die.”

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 – but would you let him? would this lead you further down the rabbit hole that is him? in the end, he decides against it.

“. . .i'm sorry,” 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 – 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 “i'll see you tomorrow.”

on his way 'home', regret and relief clash to form something inexplicably hollow inside kakavasha's chest. he wanted to wipe away your tears—what a regret—but if he did, they would've burned on his skin and became another mark to haunt him—what 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 live—all his fault, he allowed himself to get too close—but 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 jests—so you'd stay and save him from the deafening silence in his head—and 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 – 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 void—such hypocrisy, really—but at least, those pesky voices in his head know how to shut up when it comes to work.

“penacony. . . is diamond finally ready to do something about it?”

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 – not even a second after he steps out of the meeting, his neon eyes finally meet yours. “so, how does a trip to penacony sound?” 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.)

— thanks for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. why don't we all sob over this man like it's a cryfest ♡

#hsr x reader #aventurine x reader #—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x you #hsr headcanons #hsr imagines #hsr fluff #hsr angst #seelestial.inks #gambler & knight 🎲

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sitepathos · 2 months ago

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From Gold to Mold

Chapter 12: The Fight (Warning: this chapter will feature blood and violence. Proceed at your own risk)

“Look at all this,” you whisper as you take in the sights of the Strip, all the various casinos and hotels lighting up the night sky. “I returned to Nevada four years ago and I’ve never been here before. What the hell was I thinking?”

(You were trying to set up your new life, which was the responsible thing to do back then. But, we agree, coming here sooner would not have been unwelcome. This city seems to be a source of endless entertainment.)

You had finished the DLC for Salvage Rights earlier today and to celebrate both its release and its positive reception, you decided to treat yourself by going to Sin City and indulging in its various casinos and restaurants; you have the knowledge and experience of countless gamblers from Gotham, so you should be able to play blackjack and poker with the best of them.

You thought you were prepared to handle and glitz and glamor Vegas has to offer, but seeing it with your own eyes has left you speechless. The lights have you mesmerized and you’re loving it! Everywhere you look, there’s something beckoning you, like a moth to a flame and right now, you don’t care if you get burned.

“Hey, look over there,” you say, stopping to look at something above you in the distance.

The sight is a towering building proudly bearing the name “Caesar’s Palace” in lights. During your brief research for your trip to the Strip, you read Caesar’s Palace is one of the most popular casinos in the city and is also a popular destination for dining.

(You did say you wanted the “full Vegas experience.” Going to one of the largest establishments in the city would be a step in the right direction.)

When you first thought of this little excursion, you wanted to have fun, but didn’t want to get trapped in the larger ones and lose all the money you brought in with you, instead opting to stay in the smaller casinos. “Keep it simple, keep it safe,” you said a few hours ago.

Now, the lights of the massive casino before you has ensnared you and is luring you towards it like an angler fish does with its prey.

“Ave, true to Caesar,” you say as you begin the trek towards the towering monolith.

If the outside was mesmerizing, then the inside is absolutely enthralling! As expected of a place named after a Greek emperor, the interior looks like a palace plucked from the Greek Empire, complete with marble and gold, making you feel like royalty.

(We take it we are going to play here?)

“Damn right,” you say as you enter the casino part of the resort, taking in the seemingly endless rows to slot machines, card tables, and other various gambling set ups.

As you look at each slot machine and table, you’re flooded with information from the Megamycete’s archives on what you want to see when playing slot machines and when is the best time to stand when playing blackjack. While Gotham doesn’t have shit on Vegas, it did have a passable gambling scene, which attracted many expert gamblers to that City of the Damned.

With your newfound knowledge in hand, you exchange the thousand bucks you brought with you for chips and make your way to a roulette table with only one other person.

“Good evening, sir,” the dealer greets you as you situate yourself of the other side of the table, away from the other player. “Will you be joining us?”

“Deal me in,” you respond, pushing a few chips on the table to test the waters. You may know the basics from playing Fallout New Vegas, but this is real life with real money being risked and this time you don’t have a maxed out Luck stat to cheat the system with.

A few hands in and you can say for sure you love gambling. Sure, you’ve lost a few rounds, ruining a couple hot streaks, but right now, you have more money than you came in with.

“Fifteen, odd, black,” the dealer says when the ball finally stops spinning before giving you the pot, much to your delight.

“Goddamn it,” the other man exclaims, shoving himself away from the table and storming off, hopefully towards the exit as tonight has not been his night.

“I apologize for that display,” the deal says as he readies the spinner for the next round. “Will you be playing another round?”

“Definitely,” you respond, sliding three-hundred dollars worth of chips onto red.

“Have room for one more,” a masculine voice rings out next to you.

You tense up when the voice registers in your head and you look to your right to see Bruce fucking Wayne, looking down at you with that fake ass smile he gives the idiots of Gotham. Your anger only intensifies when he places a thousand dollars worth of chips into the pot.

What the hell is he doing here?

(How dare he,) the Megamycete practically growls. (This is a night meant for you to enjoy yourself and he intrudes upon it, and in your city no less.)

“Welcome, Mr. Wayne,” the dealer says as he spins the spinner after the bastard places his bet.

“Hello, Y/N,” he says to you, his focus on you and not the spinner. “I have to say, I don’t peg you as the gambling type.”

You say nothing, not wanting to give him any sort of satisfaction, and focus on the game.

“It’s a very dangerous habit if you’re not careful,” he chides you as the baller begins to slow down. “And coming to a place like Vegas? It’s not safe for someone like you. You should be back home, where you belong.”

You know the “home” he’s referring to isn’t your house in Goodsprings, but Wayne Manor in Gotham and it’s taking all your willpower not to pimp smack the shit out of him right now. This was meant to be a night for you to have fun in Vegas and you’re not gonna let him ruin that like he did the night you won your award.

“Gotham has plenty of high-end casinos where you can play all the games you want. I could take you to each of them and make sure you get the VIP treatment.”

“Vegas is far safer than Gotham,” you retort. “Here, the biggest threat you face is losing your money when you don’t know when to quit. In Gotham, you have nut jobs running around killing people on a nightly basis and the biggest nut job of them all beating the crap out of them.” You give him a mocking look, knowing something that would get under his skin. “No one in their right mind would live in that cesspit of a city. If you ask me, that place should be nuked to hell.”

While he manages to hide it well, you can see just the faintest of winces and you let your smirk show. For whatever reason, he thinks Gotham is the best place on the planet and is worth protecting. You learned about Gotham’s seedy history from its early days as a colony established in 1635 and you can say for certain that area is cursed. If you had your way, a giant wall would be built around Gotham and everyone inside would be left to kill each other and rot in that cursed city, especially the Waynes.

“Gotham has its flaws, sure,” he responds. “But I’m able to look past its dark side and see a bright future for both the city and everyone that calls it home. As you know, Wayne Enterprises has been the vanguard of breathing new life into the city.”

“Oh, that reminds me, I heard WE’s stock has practically become worthless in the last few days. Rumor has it all major stockholders are demanding for you to step down as CEO.”

“I’ve been in tight spots before and I’ve always come out on top. This will be no different. I’m sure things will turn back around in no time.”

“Six, even, black,” the dealer announces, bringing you back to the game. “Congratulations, Mister Wayne.”

You roll your eyes as the pot goes to the son of a bitch. You mentally shake your head and place your chips on the table for the next round.

“Maybe you should step down,” you say as the dealer begins the round. “I was stuck in that manor of yours for over a decade and I know it’s a mess. You should really get your house in order before you go around ‘fixing’ Gotham.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my family,” he growls. “It’s perfect the way it is.”

“No one’s buying that story anymore, Mister Wayne. I take it you haven’t read Lois Lane’s latest article?”

“Of course I have,” he says, glaring at you and it makes you want to laugh knowing how you’re testing his limits. “How could you say those things about your family?”

“You’re not my family,” you snap. “You all made it quite clear I wasn’t a part of it over and over. The only family I’ve ever had was Momma and she was taken from me.”

The anger in his eyes fade and he was silent for a moment. “I know we made mistakes during your time with us and we’re sorry about that.”

“It’s too little, too late, Mister Wayne.”

“Twenty-four, even, black,” the dealer states, clearly more interested in your conversation than the game.

You can’t help but smile as the chips make their way back to you and you place a bet of five-hundred for the next round. Of course, Bruce doesn’t go way and instead places another bet.

“Please, Y/N, come home,” he pleads as the spinner is spun. “We all miss you. Especially Alfred.”

“He’s welcome to visit me whenever he wants. The rest of you can go to hell.”

“Like it or not, they’re your siblings, Y/N,” he growls, getting closer to you. “And I’m your father. You will show them, and me, the respect that entails.”

“Respect is earned, not given,” you retort, getting close and looking up at him. He may terrify Gotham’s criminally insane, but you know you’re better than him in every way, so you’re not scared. “And don’t get it mixed up, you’re a sperm donor, not my father. God knows you never acted like it.” You lean close so that your face is mere inches away from his. “If you want, we can take this outside, Mister Wayne. Just remember what happened last time things got physical between us.”

“Now, now, gentlemen,” the dealer says. “Let’s keep this friendly. We’re all here to have fun, right?”

(Listen to him, Y/N. Do not let him ruin your first trip to Vegas. There will be plenty of time to put him in his place after we have had our fun.)

You continue to stare at him and direct all your anger and hatred towards him until he finally concedes and backs off and you do the same, just in time for the ball to finally stop.

“Nineteen, odd, red,” the dealer says as he slides the chips to you.

“I just want to make things right,” he says as he places his bet. “I know I treated you wrong and I want to fix that. So we can be father and son.”

You roll your eyes at the pathetic words and even more pathetic look as you place your bet and the deal begins the round. “You’re not sorry, Mister Wayne, you just feel guilty. Whatever conscious you have in your twisted little soul is making you feel bad and you can’t stand it, so that’s why you’re humiliating yourself trying to earn something I can never and will never give you: my forgiveness.”

He winces enough for both you and the dealer to see, but you find yourself taking no joy in fracturing his mask. This was supposed to be a night of fun and games, but he had to come all the way from Gotham and ruin it. It’s actually made you despise him even more, a task you thought impossible until now.

“Twelve, even, red,” the dealer states as he slides the chips towards Bruce.

It’s then you notice that you and him have almost the same amount of chips and the sight of it ignites an inferno of competition, which fuels your desire to assert your superiority over this pathetic creature before you.

(We are with you,) the Megamycete states firmly. (Show this interloper his place!)

“Tell me what you want, Y/N,” he says as you place all your chips on red, your mother’s favorite color, glaring at him as you do. It’s then he does the same thing, but places his chips on black, the color of the Bat.

How predictable.

With both your bets placed, the dealer spins the roulette, signaling the final round between you two. When that little ball stops spinning, one of you will take all and the other will lose all.

“Please, there must be something I can give you to show you I’m sincere. And you of all people should price is no object for me. Just name it and it’s yours.”

(How pathetic! He thinks all those years of abuse and neglect can be erased by buying you some insignificant trinket? Does he think you some whore that can be bought? Show him how wrong he is, Y/N!)

“You want to know what I want, Mister Wayne,” you ask, malice dripping with your every word, as the ball begins to slow down and clatter around. “I want you to know that I hate you more than anything else on this world; I want it to rattle around in your head for the rest of your life, from when you’re around your collection of misfits to when you lay your head down at night, that there’s no word or phrase in any language that has ever existed or ever will exist on this planet that can fully express how much animosity and hatred I have for you.”

It’s then that you get in his personal space has he had done with you earlier and use the mold so you can stretch your body ever so slightly so your face is almost touching him and stare into those eyes you’ve come to despise so much and they stare back at you, full of hurt and shock.

In the background, you can hear the ball beginning to slow down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the game. Right now, all that matters is conveying just how much you hate Bruce Wayne.

“I want you to grow old and die knowing that, in the end, I was the one that rejected you.”

His response? Nothing but the widening of his eyes and stepping back, as if you had struck him.

“Seven, odd, red,” the dealer says, obviously shocked at what you just said.

You say nothing as you gather your chips and walk away, leaving Bruce Wayne behind to reflect on your words.

As you walk, you notice your heart is beating enough to burst out for your chest and your face is molten hot, even without touching it. In the moment, you had no idea how your words affected you as much as they apparently did that bastard.

(Perhaps we should return home,) the Megamycete suggests. (The night has been ruined and you need to rest after that interaction. We can always return another night for entertainment.)

As much as you hate to admit it, it’s right; after that display, you’re not in the mood to see what else you can get up to in your first night in Vegas. Being around him has brought back much of the anger you thought you had finally buried after moving back to Goodsprings and getting your life together and it’s killed any desire for gambling, dining, and everything in between.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice sounding weak even to you. “Let’s go home.”

You quickly cash in your chips and pocket the check the cashier gives you before making your way towards the exit. From there, you walk around until you find an alleyway tucked into an isolated and desolate part of the city to sprout mold armor and wings before taking off into the night sky.

“You know, the city looks even more breathtaking from up here,” you remark as you enter the vast expanse of the Mojave.

(Indeed. Maybe when we return, we will earn enough money from playing games that we can stay in the highest level of the tallest hotel of the city and see it again.)

“Yeah,” you respond with a throaty chuckle. “That’d be nice.”

You look down at the desert beneath you when you feel something hit your wings, slicing through and severing them, leaving you to fall to the ground. You shout as you harden your armor just in time as you impact with the sand, creating a deep crater.

(Are you alright,) it asks as you climb your way out.

“Yeah,” you respond with a groan. “What the hell happened?”

You get your answer once you make your way to the top and see Bruce, donned in his Batman gear, looking down at you.

“Are you alright,” he asks, as if he wasn’t the cause of the incident.

You dismiss your mold helm and look at him square in his eye slits, taking a deep breath and exhaling before saying, ever so calmly, “I’m going to kill you now.”

And with your intentions declared, you summon a new pair of wings and launch yourself towards the bastard and before he can react, you grab him by the face with one hand and propel the both of you backwards, using to wings to fly as you forcibly shove his head into the sand and push him forward, creating a trail in your wake.

His hands fly to yours and attempt to free himself from your grasp, but you don’t give him the chance and throw him towards a nearby rock formation as hard as you can.

He can only flail around like a rag doll as he flies through the air and lands on the rock formation with a satisfying crash, sending debris and sand flying in all directions.

Unfortunately, it’s not enough to keep him down as he’s quickly back on his feet. He reaches into his utility belt and throws a batarang at you and you respond by creating a similar object out of mold and send it flying towards it, the two of them hitting each other and falling to the ground.

Of course, he’s quick to act and before you can see it, he’s thrown something at you and you’re trapped in some kind of cable.

“What the hell,” you exclaim as you try to break free of the wire, but find yourself unable to.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says as he closes the gap between the two of you. “But you’re coming home and I’m gonna find a way to get rid of this thing inside you.”

You’re already pissed, but the way he says something so batshit crazy with a tone similar to one that you’d use to calm a startled animal enrages you even more.

How he can still be so determined to drag you back to Gotham when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate him and his family after everything they’ve done to you is nothing short of astounding.

(He seeks to separate us,) the Megamycete practically hisses. (Do not let him! Kill him, Y/N! Kill him!)

Your rage towards the man before you explodes like a blast furnace and you reduce your body to a murder of crows and fly towards Bruce at top speed.

He raises his arms to protect his face and you use your mold hardened beaks and talons to slice into his suit, leaving at least two dozen bloody cuts all over his body.

(Good! Hurt him even more! Bleed him dry!)

Your murder of crows fly around him, forcing him into a defensive posture, and you gather them all so you can reform into your armored form right behind him. He realizes what’s happened, but he can only turn around to face you when you grab his wrist as hard as you can, and wave him around in the air and slam him into the rock below you over and over, taking pleasure in the sounds of rock breaking with every hit.

It’s then you slam him into the rock and summon a mold sword. When he looks up at you and realizes what’s about to happen, he raises his hand just in time for your sword to go through his hand and the tip of your sword pierce the hardened Bat symbol on his chest; you know the symbol is the strongest part of his suit so it can protect whatever he has beating in his chest, but you’re determined, so it begins to crack and crumble as you drive the sword deeper in.

He tries to say something, but the damage you’ve done to him takes its toll as he can only gurgle something as blood begins to seep from the corner of his mouth.

You dismiss your helm as you lean down towards him, a vicious, bloodthirsty grin etched across your face, and the sword goes down just a little more.

“Let’s get rid of this, shall we,” you mock, grabbing his cowl, ignoring the shock the suit gives you in response. “I want to see the life fade from your eyes!”

And with that declaration, you rip the cowl off him, exposing his face, marred with bloody cuts and bruises, before you.

When you look into his eyes, you can see past the look of struggle is fear and terror.

(He knows this is the end! Finish him! Put an end to the Bat!)

“Goodbye, Mister Wayne!”

Just then, you see something fly past you and it’s then you realize the arm holding your sword has been sliced through. Bruce takes advantage of the situation and kicks you a few feet away from him and he backflips so he can put even more distance between the two of you.

You quickly collect yourself to see the source of the disruption: Dick and Cass, donned in their vigilante gear.

“You ok, B,” Dick asks as Bruce joins them.

“I’m fine,” he grunts out. “What are you doing here?”

“Alfred told us you were coming here and we knew something like this was going to happen. We all wanted to come, but we knew we couldn’t all leave Gotham, so we drew straws.”

The way he sounds so joyful pisses you off even more. How dare he! You were so close to putting an end to him and Dick had to come and ruin it!

(You should rip his limbs off! Strip him of his wings and cast him into the dam!)

Cass looks at you and you instantly know she’s analyzing you, determining possible strengths and weaknesses. When she sees that you’re missing a limb, her eyes widen.

“Oh,” Dick exclaims when he follows her gaze. “I’m so sorry, baby bird! I didn’t mean to do that! I just wanted to get you off of Bruce!”

You look down to find the severed appendage lying near your foot and go to pick it pick it up. While Dick is spouting endless apologies and pleas for you to stay calm, you merely place the limb where it once was and it begins to stitch itself back together. Once your arm is reattached, you fix your gaze back to them to find that they’re starring at you in shock at what just happened.

“Oh,” Dick manages to spit out after a few seconds of silence.

“This is between me and him,” you say as you take a few steps towards them. “Fuck off.”

“You need to stop this, baby bird,” Dick retorts. “We’re family, you shouldn’t be doing this!”

“You’re kidding, right,” you say with a mocking chuckle. “You people are constantly fighting with one another! If you’re not giving each other black eyes, you’re either breaking bones or slitting throats! You’re all a bunch of emotionally constipated psychopaths who belong in padded cells with the rest of Arkham’s lunatics! And I want nothing to do with any of you! So, for the last time, leave me the fuck alone!”

The only answer you get is the three of them getting into combat postures, indicating they’re ready to go on the attack.

“I give you the chance to walk away, and this is the thanks I get,” you sigh.

From the bottom of your feet, you command two mold tendrils to burrow into the sand below and snake their way over to them and once in place, you order them to burst out from beneath them; such a tactic would spell the end for normal people, but the Waynes are anything but normal, so they somehow knew you were up to something and scatter just as the tendrils emerge.

Still, you put them on the defense by ordering the tendrils to lash out at them, separating them from one another and forcing them to put all their focus on the tendrils while Bruce and Dick are dodging the lashing tendrils, you make your way to the nearest vigilante: Cass.

Just as you near her, she turns around and counters the slash of your mold sword with a blade of her own. You quickly realize that the few dozen people that possess any type of sword fighting prowess pale in comparison to Cass’ and decide to swap to hand-to-hand combat by punching her in gut when your blades were clashed together, sending her flying several feet.

She quickly recovers by the time you close the gap and she not only evades most of your punches, but she manages to give you a few.

What the hell, she shouldn’t be winning.

(Her fighting style is more advanced than anything we possess in our archives,) the Megamycete responds, sounding shameful. (We are unable to find a successful counter to her assault.)

Of course, it makes sense now! While Gotham may have attracted a few dozen experts in fighting over the centuries, Bruce has been trained by masters in every form of combat, including Ra’s Al Ghul, whose lifespan makes the Megamycete seem infantile in comparison. And he’s no doubt taught all of them his fighting style.

Just then, you feel something hit your back and explode, sending you flying. When you recover, you see Bruce and Dick have cut your tendrils and are now heading towards Cass to reinforce her.

(Their armories also seem to be more than we can handle,) it says as it repairs the damage done to your armor. (We have hardened your armor as much as we can, but it seems their tools will be able to penetrate our defenses.)

Shit, so that leaves you vulnerable to their fighting styles and their gadgets.

“Alright,” you mutter to yourself as you ready yourself. “We’ll just have to rely on the one thing none of them have ever had: powers.”

You repeat what you had done before and disperse your body into a murder of crows and send them flying around the Bats, causing them to huddle together and raise their arms in an attempt to protect themselves. You have enough crows continue to fly around them to keep them distracted while the rest of them form together to form your body, but with the addition of four, oversized spider-like legs extruding from your back.

You allow yourself to fall to the ground, the legs pointed down to form four very sharp stabbing implements. They look up just in time to see what’s about to happen, so they force their way through the swarm just as you land where they once stood. The remaining crows reintegrate into your body as you make your way towards them, jabbing your spider limbs in an attempt to stab any of them.

Dick and Cass have narrow frames, so they’re harder to hit, but Bruce’s more bulkier body makes him a more feasible target, so you shift your focus to him. After a few failed slashes, you manage to land a decent hit that causes him to fail onto his back. He tries to reach for his utility belt, but you use two of your limbs to pierce his shoulders and he lets out a pained yell s he struggles in vain to free himself from beneath you.

He looks up at you, a painful expression etched on his face, while you summon two small tendrils from your back, ready to deal the final blow.

“If I can’t rip out your non-existent heart, I’ll just have to settle for your head!”

But, just as you’re about to make good on your declaration, you feel something attach itself onto your back, throwing you off balance.

“Y/N, don’t,” a voice says from behind and it’s then you realize it’s not something on your back, but someone.

Specifically, Dick.

“Get off me, circus freak,” you snarl as you begin to struggle with him.

Deeming Dick the bigger threat, you shift your focus from Bruce to shaking off the acrobat any way you can, flailing around and reaching out to grab him so you can finally finish him off; while you want to kill Bruce more than anything right now, you want him to suffer before you shed his blood.

Making him watch as you rip his golden child’s head off while he’s powerless to stop it? Yes, that’ll do the trick.

It’s then you feel something at your spider feet and when you manage to look down while holding Dick at bay to see Cass, batarang in hand, cutting the feet pinning Bruce to the desert floor in an attempt to free him.

(She attempts to free the bastard,) the Megamycete hisses. (Kill her! Kill her now!)

But in typical fashion, Dick butts in where he’s not wanted and hurls himself towards you, latching onto your upper body, forcing you to brace your back spider legs to prevent you from tumbling down.

You watch in pure frustration as Cass slices off the parts of your legs pinning Bruce down and before you can react, the two of them hurl themselves onto you, joining Dick in trying to wrestle you to the ground.

You grab Dick with one hand and Cass with the other and just as you ready to summon a tendril to deal with Bruce and stabs you with some type of syringe, making you howl in pain at the sensation; instead of injecting you with something, you feel your blood being drained from you.

“Enough,” you hiss, hurling the two smaller vigilantes as far as you can before grabbing Bruce by both his shoulders and pulling him up so that the two of you are eye-to-eye.

It’s at this point your rage reaches its apex; this was suppose to be a night of fun out on the Strip, but the man before you not only had to ruin it by showing up, but now he’s come full circle on his batshit craziness by blasting you out of the sky and try to apprehend you like you’re one of the crazies from Arkham.

And to make matters worse, he had to bring two of his children, Dick being one of them! While you will always hate Bruce with every fiber of your being and Damian being an extremely close second, you’ve always had a strong resentment towards the eldest Wayne son. While the bastard will always say he loves all his children equally (minus you, of course), you know Dick will always be number one in Bruce’s heart due to him being the first child and being a capable Gotham socialite and vigilante.

And to add insult to injury, everyone always says Dick is everything an eldest brother should be: reliable, responsible, and doting. For years, you could nothing but cry as you saw him going out of his way to help and hang out with the other Wayne children, no matter how loudly they tried to reject it. Watching such the love and affection you craved be handed out so willingly and carefree to anyone but you made you think you would never be loved by anyone other than your deceased Momma.

You let out an inhuman howl in Bruce’s face as you shove your head into his right shoulder and latch onto it with your teeth with enough force to rival a hydraulic press. He lets out a pained yell and attempts to pull you off by your hair, but you apply more force until you eventually pierce through the armor, followed by the skin, then the muscle, and finally bone.

You pull your head back, bits of bone and flesh dangling from your teeth. You look to see his right arm practically dangling from just the barest of flesh and blood oozing from it like a waterfall. You shift your gaze from your handiwork to Bruce’s face to see the most delicious expression of pain etched on it and his complexion is pale and clammy.

At this point, you’re a crazed animal, chomping at the bit to go in for the kill on the wounded prey before you and rip it apart until it’s unrecognizable.

(Yes,) the Megamycete roars, its voice a symphony of bloodthirsty cheers. (Do it! Exact your vengeance upon him!)

Before you do anything, you feel something hit your back and explode, but unlike the first one, this one sends some sort of freezing gases scattering across your body, sending feelings of burning as your armor and spider legs rapidly freeze.

You howl in pain as you drop Bruce so you can slap at the affected areas, trying to find some way to relieve yourself of the freezing feeling.

(Hurts,) the Megamycete hisses. (Hurts!)

You rid yourself of your armor and spider legs by ripping it off your body, the frozen mold constructs shattering upon impact with the ground.

It’s then you realize you’re exposed and quickly turn around, ready to defend yourself when you see the three of them flying away on the Batwing at top speed. You could go after them, but after the fight with the Bats and their freezing grenade, you can only fall to your knees, trying to catch your breath.

(We had no idea we possessed such a vulnerability to the cold,) the Megamycete says, its voice sounding weak. (The winters of Gotham drove us to a state of near hibernation, but this is the first time we have ever had a reaction like that.)

“And now you know,” you manage to gasp out. “And so do they.”

You can only watch as the vehicle flies away as fast as it can, carrying three of the Bats away where they will no doubt share what’s happened here with the others, which will no doubt lead to even more encounters like this in the future.

“Shit.”

In the Batwing, Bruce knows Dick is talking to hi, his words quick and high pitched as he tries to dress his wound, but right now, he can’t bring himself to take his focus off the syringe filled with your blood.

When he set out for Vegas, he was determined to find a way to provoke you into showing him your powers and obtain a blood sample so he could perform more tests, but he didn’t think he’d discover a major weakness in your defenses.

While he hated to see the cryo grenade caused you so much pain, he can’t help but rejoice at the knowledge that there’s a crack in your armor and if he approaches it at the right angle, he can have you home far sooner than he anticipated.

And when you’re back home, he can find a way to get that damn thing out of you and return you to normal. And when that’s done, he can begin to make things right with you.

He grips the syringe harder, seeing the key to making his daily whole once again within your blood.

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#from gold to mold #yandere batfamily #male reader #batfamily #batfamily x male reader #batman #dc x male reader #yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere dc #yandere barbara gordon #yandere cassandra cain #yandere damian wayne #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere stephanie brown

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vxnuslogy · 11 months ago

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𐙚 wipe your tears.

— or in which you receive some comfort when you cry.

— warnings: angst if you squint

— author's notes: self-indulgent, once again credits to @.cafekitsune for the banners.

𐙚 AVENTURINE

aventurine is familiar with tears. he knows the stinging feeling at the corner of your eyes as you roughly wipe them away. aventurine might not want to admit it, but he's a sensitive man at heart; just the sight of you desperately trying to shy away from him rekindled that vulnerable piece of him he's tucked under his refined mask.

it's a fruitless attempt because with just one gentle touch of his fingertips on your cheek shattered all the walls you've been building up over the years.

the way his arms came to envelop you in a warm hug, his shoulder slowly dampening with your tears, it truly broke his heart to see you in such a state.

aventurine’s gambler like persona crumbles away as he whispers soft comforts in your ears while his hand rubs continuous circles on his back. shushing your cries but never once trying to dismiss the feelings that wrack your body.

aventurine never had a shoulder to cry on after he escaped his cruel fate, he understands what it feels like to bottle up every and any emotion that shakes his very being. he doesn't want you to turn out that way, so he’ll be the shoulder you can cry on.

𐙚 VERTIAS RATIO

dr. ratio isn't the brightest when it comes to tears. the way his brows knit together and the way he bites his lip in frustration when his hands ghost over your curled body.

but despite his inexperience in comforting, he wrapped his steady arms around your body, grounding you; reminding you that he's here by your side.

dr. ratio doesn't whisper soft nothing's into your ears — he isn't sure what to say to lift your spirits. he just stays quiet and hopes that it'll suffice.

and it does. despite what many would believe, veritas ratio is kind. kinder than anyone could ever imagine.

no one will ever come to understand him the way you do, that's why in this very moment, with your most vulnerable self, veritas ratio repays your patience and commitment to him with quiet solace as you continue to cry on his chest. free from all the judgment the world has given you.

𐙚 WELT YANG

compared to anyone else, welt has seen more tears than he'd like to admit. tears from himself, the people that took him in, and the girl he'd trained under his wings until she herself could fly on her own. welt never fails to offer a comforting shoulder to those who cry, and you are no exception.

you try to curl yourself away from him, arms tightly gripping the sides of your legs as you refuse to raise your head. welt kneels in front of you as he strokes your head, voice soft and just above whisper. careful to not upset you further.

he doesn't question you on why you're crying, he's just that understanding. you often wonder what you did to deserve such a person in your life.

he doesn't urge you to get up, instead he sits beside you quietly. keeping you in his silent company. you don't know how long the two of you stayed like that, but it wasn't long when welt felt a weight land on his shoulder and instinctively, he wrapped his arm around you. smiling softly as he asks if you're okay now.

𐙚 ARGENTI

the room was cold and you felt very, very lonely without your lover by your side. you knew of the consequences of taking a knight of beauty as a lover, he is always on the move to spread the word of his aeon. he himself has warned you about this but you shrugged your shoulders and told him you'll be fine.

however, tonight, as you let the winds caress your cheek at your front porch, you wish for nothing but argenti’s embrace to distract your mind from your insecurities.

“what's the matter, my love?” an armored hand came to wipe away the stray tears that escaped your eyes. the way your vision blurred as you threw yourself in his arms was brief, it didn't take long for argenti to wrap his arms around your waist and bury his head in your hair.

the knight alternated with whispering apologies and reassurances in your ear as you both stood on your porch. the two of you sway as if you were about to start a waltz. in the end your tears began to dry and a light giggle bubbled from your throat.

that's right. argenti might always leave to spread the word of his aeon to the vast galaxies, but he'll come back to you and your little house by the hill.

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moodient · 6 days ago

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DEEPLY INTOXICATED

relationship: sevika and reader

tags: drunk!reader, kissing, piggyback ride, cuddling, self-care

summary: you and sevika hang out at The Last Drop, you basically get completely wasted and sevika takes care of you.

a//n: started writing this drunk, finishing it sober with a small headache. enjoy babies! <333

it was a night like no other, sevika's gambling and you're sitting right next to her, head rested on her shoulder, watching contently. sevika has no problem with you being around her. it's always either your head on her shoulder, or you're on her lap but tonight you chose her shoulder. you were definitely a good luck charm for her, no doubt.

"sevika and her gambling friends decided to take a small intermission and that's usually when sevika gives you all of her attention. "why don't you get something to drink, baby?" she looks at you, rubbing your cheek. she hands you over a small bag of coins and continued playing her game.

little did she know she made one of the biggest mistakes of her life.

"ooh, seviikkkaaaa~" you come walk towards her, legs wobbly almost tripping on your feet. she looks up and sighs deeply. just as you came over, she looks at your face, analyzing it. your face was also red, skin felt like it was burning, your eyes were glossy and droopy, but you could barely keep them open.

"gimme a kiss baby~" you slurred, grabbing her face and kissing sloppily on the mouth, she unfortunately becomes weak whenever you kiss her, if she wasn't sitting in that chair she'd probably would be on her knees. as much as she likes to have the reputation of being this big bad wolf, she becomes an absolute softie when it comes to you. she kisses back, pulling you into her lap.

"okay, okay.. i can smell the alcohol in your breath, how much did you drink?" she chuckles at you, rubbing your lower back softly while her other hand wrapped around your waist.

"well, me and thieram had a bet on who could drink the most and as you can see.." you giggled, pointing back at the bar. sevika looks at the bar, to see thieram absolutely passed out with four shots remaining and on his left side, all the shot glasses were empty. so in total, you had about 12 shots of pure vodka. you were reaching for sevika's glass that had some alcohol in it, and she quickly pushed the cup back.

"jesus you're going to give yourself alcohol poisoning." she says, grabbing your hands.

"i'll be fine with just a little bit more.. i promise i won't have anymore.." you pouted at her.

"oh no, we're going home." sevika says, grabbing all the coins she won and holding your hand, walking towards the door.

"ohh but seviikaa, just one more drink." you whined, she pulls you towards the bar door and waved her fellow gamblers bye.

as you walk home, the brisk and cool air kissed your nose and tickled your arms as sevika held your hand. letting the alcohol sit and ingest, you're starting to feel sluggish, your legs start to feel weak. your footsteps are slowly getting softer and softer as you walk behind her.

"ugh, sevi.. i can't walk right now." you said as your legs grew tired. you looked like a baby doe walking for the first time. she sighed and let go of your hand. you genuinely thought she was going to leave you, until you see her poncho wrapped your shoulders and she squats.

"hop on, baby." she says, looking back at you. you giggled like a little teenage girl and jumped on her back. she wraps her arms around your legs and stands, walking. as soon as you got too comfortable, you immediately felt sleepy. your eyes were slowly closing as you softly lay your head on her shoulder. sevika realized that you've completely passed out on her shoulders, only indicators are your soft breaths and the drool slowly dampening her shirt. gross.. but cute.

when you guys finally made it home, sevika took her time with you, gently removing your makeup showing your bare, precious face. she can't help but to kiss your eyes and your nose, watching your face slowly wrinkle. she changed you out of your clothes into one of her shirts that fit way too loose on you, but she knows you love her scent on you. she laid you in bed, kissing you all over the face and cuddled up next to you.

she watches your chest, rise and fall softly. her heart completely melts watching you, softly smile when you feel her kisses, unconscious but you know it's her. she knows you can't really hear her when you become intoxicated, which is why she tells you how much she's devoted to you while you're deeply sound.

"I love you baby, almost too much to the point my heart hurts. It beats for you and only you, and I cherish you so much.. sleep well, my love." and with that, she also begins to fall asleep, feeling safe and content with you.

#sevika x reader #sevika #sevika x female reader #arcane sevika #need that #moodie 💫#sevika my love

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prone-to-fleeting-obsessions · 11 months ago

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Dating Aventurine hc's

At first he hates the realization he's actually falling for someone

It eats away at him every second, this reminder that he's not, and likely never will be, in a great position to just have a normal life...

He's a pawn, always has been, so why would he put someone else through that?

Especially you...

But God if it isn't impossible not to love, to keep his fluttering heart from hoping, yearning for just your warm touch

Just the sight of you is enough, he decides to himself, as if that makes any difference in the end

It's obvious he dotes on you, his teasing remarks and genuine smiles are impossible to miss...

He follows you around in his free time, happily inserting him with a smug little grin, as if it's completely normal to have a IPC executive tailing you constantly

You're entertaining, or that's his excuse

He has to keep you safe, it's not like he trusts any of these other idiots to do it, and getting to watch you huff at him paying for everything is only a bonus

In that stage he enjoys being subtly possessive

You're not his, sure, but seeing you in his hat and sunglasses, or maybe with one of his cute little calling card chips fastened into a necklace, constantly on you...

His arm around your shoulder is enough to denture most people immediately, definitely not looking to get into a scuff with the "loose cannon of a gambler" he's generally seen as

When you're finally together he's not keen on taking his hands off you

Whether it's a light arms around your waist, just securing his spot by your side with an occasional squeeze, or his hand grabbing desperately at your hair as he focuses on pressing a kiss to every inch of your face with steadfast resolve

His favorite thing is just resting his chin on your shoulder, his pretty eyes staring up at yours endlessly

It's the perfect position, of course, arms around you with easy access to your neck, and it usually ends with your face hot to the touch by his intimate little kisses pressed so lovingly to your skin

He does have an appearance to maintain, so self care days where he paints your nails, washes your hair in a joint shower or bath, and drags you out to buy expensive clothes are must

Money is meant to be gambled or spent, it's not for hoarding, and that's abundant obvious by how he throws it around

It's another form of possession, really, seeing you decked out in what he's bought you, it gives him a sense of pride

It's hard for him not to project his childhood fears onto you, too

Like if he notices you're not eating, not drinking enough, brushing off a small injuries

He's seen plenty of people die to all those, and fighting down those blaring alarm bells can be difficult at the best of times

You'll often find a glass of water and small snack with a cute little note when you wake up, if he can't be there himself to make sure your needs are met, and he's expecting a text as soon as you're up to confirm you're fine

Anytime without contact for too long will consume him, gnawing at his insides, eating him slowly until he sees you again

He hates it, it's such a painful disadvantage in his line of work, but god if he can't help it...

He's very quick to scoop you up and pepper kisses to your pulse points immediately after, nuzzling against the physical feeling of your heartbeat and your warmth

He also can't help shaking off the mindset that he's merely a chip, to be used when useful and discarded after

He knows that's not the case with you, knows it... But it's impossible to not feel a bolt of pure fear when you're unhappy with him, as if his worth is tied to his ability to be perfect for you

Pet names are obviously a must, and you might start to joke he doesn't actually know your real name with how rarely he uses it

You're his "darling love", his "perfect match", and, of course, his "adorable sweetheart"

He'll pout a bit if you don't reciprocate the absurd level of endearments on your end too

He probably won't even respond to "Aventurine" after a while, pretending not to hear you with an unmistakable smile, until you properly address him

He's left wondering how he's ever lived without you, and if he ever could again

#honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #my hcs #i love him your honor #i could write a literal book on hcs for him #x reader

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aventurineswife · 5 months ago

Note

Hi! Could you make a fallen angel-like reader(similar to a halovian) with Aventurine, Sampo and Dan heng please?

-🩵

“You're my fallen angel in the dark”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Emotional Vulnerability, Slow Burn(?), Fluff and Angst, Gentle Romance.

Warnings: Mentions of Past Trauma, Themes of Isolation and Loneliness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Gambling and Risk-Taking (Aventurine), Light Tension and Danger.

In the dim light of his office, you leaned back on the sleek leather couch, wings folded gently as Aventurine sat across from you, his vibrant eyes fixed on you with that familiar playful spark. The soft glow of city lights framed his figure, lending an almost ethereal hue to his features.

"So, tell me," Aventurine leaned forward, fingers steepled, "what does an angel from the heavens need in a place like this? Surely you aren’t here to save me."

A smirk tugged at your lips. "Maybe I thought you could use a little saving, Aventurine."

He chuckled, the sound rich and smooth, like a well-aged vintage. "Oh, I’m a lost cause, trust me." His tone was light, but you sensed the depth behind it—the carefully guarded wounds he hid behind his charm and wit. As you brushed your hand across the roulette detail on his coat, you noticed his breath hitch, just for a moment.

"But perhaps…you’re not," you murmured, brushing a feather along his hand, sending a ripple of warmth over his cold skin. Aventurine’s hand slipped into yours, fingers interlocking as his eyes held yours. His usually mischievous demeanor softened, vulnerability slipping through the cracks.

"Maybe," he said, his voice softer now, "just maybe. But I think if anyone could change my mind… it might be you."

In that moment, you saw through his mask, felt his hand squeeze yours just a little tighter. And for once, Aventurine felt like more than just the gambler he pretended to be.

The streets were bustling with noise and color as Sampo sauntered beside you, his bright green eyes glinting with his usual playful mischief. You cast a cautious glance his way, aware of his reputation, but something about him—perhaps that underlying sense of survival and charm—had drawn you in, despite your better judgment.

"So," he drawled, nudging you with a grin, "an angel with clipped wings, huh? Seems we’ve got something in common, don’t you think? Both of us can’t quite keep our feet out of trouble."

You chuckled, rolling your eyes as you noticed his hand slide a little too close to your coin pouch. “Funny you’d say that,” you replied, catching his wrist. “Though I think you’re more of the rogue variety than the fallen kind.”

“Guilty as charged.” He shrugged with a shameless grin, freeing his hand but remaining close, as though walking away was the last thing on his mind.

Curiosity sparked within you as you leaned closer, wings shifting around you both like a cloak. “What if I told you I could offer you something better than coins or trinkets?”

“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “And what’s that, my angel?”

You took his hand, feeling his pulse quicken beneath your fingers. “Trust, Sampo. Someone who sees through the act.”

For the first time, his laughter faltered, and he stared at you with an expression you’d never seen before—a mix of awe and hesitation. “Careful now, sweetheart,” he whispered, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “You might just get more than you bargained for.”

It was a quiet night on the Astral Express. The stars glowed softly outside the window as you stood beside Dan Heng, wings folded behind you, as silent as the mystery that shrouded him. He glanced over, his blue eyes momentarily meeting yours before he returned his gaze to the starry void.

"I’m not quite sure why you’re here," he murmured, his voice low and reflective. "A place like this… doesn’t seem suited for a celestial being like you."

A soft smile touched your lips as you moved closer, reaching out to brush his hand with yours, gentle and cautious. “Fallen, not celestial,” you corrected. “I lost my way a long time ago.”

He looked at you, and in his gaze, you saw the reflection of his own scars, the history he carried but rarely shared. “And yet, you don’t seem lost,” he said. “You have… a presence.”

You chuckled softly, wings shifting. “I think we have more in common than you realize, Dan Heng. We’re both haunted by what we’ve lost, both searching for something we can’t quite name.”

Dan Heng’s gaze softened, and he allowed himself the smallest, rarest of smiles. “Maybe. But you… have given me something I didn’t think I’d find again.”

You met his gaze, feeling a warmth bloom between you as he reached out, his hand resting against your shoulder—a silent promise, a shared understanding. And there, under the glow of the stars, you knew that neither of you were as alone as you once thought.

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pearlymel · 9 months ago

Note

I don’t know if your request are open rn but I was wondering if you can do Boothill, Gallagher, and Argenti, and Aventurine with an Actor reader, considered the silver screen queen of Penacony and The Robin of “Film”.

If you need inspo, I was thinking the vibe and style of Judy Garland, Audrey Hepburn, and Marilyn Monroe. (No pressed)

Synopsis : you're the famous person they fell in love with.

Includes : Boothill, Argenti, Aventurine, and Gallagher.

Notes : afab!reader, no pronouns except being called "princess" in Aventurine's. Sfw, All fluff. My dear anon i hope this was what you requested (from what i understood.) Ty for the request, it was pretty creative. Quick reminder that my requests are closed for now!! This is just old requests im trying to finish. feel free to send in your thoughts or thirsts instead. ♡

↳ AVENTURINE.

You were in the acting industry, a known star across penacony that everyone would scream to have a picture with.

Fairly, you don't even know how you ended up with this gambler. Despite you having the money, he still spoils you rotten.

Aventurine is not surprised (or he acts to) that he managed to bag you with his charmness, even though internally he was just one of your die hard fans at heart.

To this day, he's still confused how you returned back his feelings.

Like many other times, Aventurine leads you out of a shopping mall. He’s carrying some bags, and he always makes sure to pick out the heaviest ones to show off how strong he was. He always liked to make a show of his wealth, especially with you.

“You bought so many things today,” he grins. “What’s the matter? Is your current wardrobe that empty?”

"Just things for my family, and you, of course." You grin back.

You didn't expect Aventurine to spoil you at some yacht this time, he puts an arm around you and guides you forwards. All formal butler's at your service, bowing down elegantly just right outside of it. It’s expensive—he wouldn’t dare to spend money on anything less perfect, after all.

He makes a habit of keeping his hand close to the small of your back. He likes to feel the warmth of your body, the way your clothes feel against his touch. He hums lowly from beside you. “I have a surprise for you,” he comments, his tone low and teasing.

"You're full of surprises today."

“Only the best for a diva like you,” he responds back. He can’t help the smirk on his face as he leads you towards the yacht. He’s certainly proud, because he knows how perfect it is. Every part of the exterior is luxurious to suit your taste.

Aventurine climbs on it and holds a hand out for you. “Careful while you board. You don’t want to trip and ruin your pretty face, don’t you?”

You roll your eyes playfully, taking his hand in a firm grip, "Oh don't be dramatic."

He guides you up the small set of steps and grins, his thumb running over your knuckles.

Aventurine leads you further into the cabin. It’s clean and spacious, a large bed on one side. There’s a door leading to a bathroom, and a large screen on one wall.

He sets the bags down and sits on the edge of the bed, patting the empty side of the bed while giving you a smile. “Come here, princess.”

You laugh, dashing towards him and jumping right on him, pushing both of you down on the bed and he grunts dramatically, but laughs along with you. His hands move to rest on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

He adjusts himself so he’s laying on the bed with you on top of him, and his eyes soften.

"I'm happy," you start, "It's not about this, how thankful i am to be experiencing this. But i love spending every moment with you, the good and bad."

Oh, stop giving him that expression. He's going to melt and giggle like a highschooler.

“And I love spoiling you,” he answers. “I love making you feel loved and appreciated because it’s what you deserve. Especially after dealing with me, princess.” he finishes it off softly, pressing a delicate kiss to your cheek.

"Sooo, you rented this yacht just for both of us to enjoy the view and eat good food?"

"Do you like it? Y'know what, scratch that. I'll buy the yacht if you love it. So we can come back here everytime."

↳ ARGENTI.

To you, You were just a normal dancer, following your love and passion for this field.

To Argenti, you were the most elegant, and beautiful human to ever have the pleasure of laying his eyes on.

He has been admiring you, at a distance, for a while. So when this gentleman approached you on his knee with a rose on his hand, you were pretty shocked and flustered.

"I apologise if I startled you," Argenti gently spoke as he offered the rose, his voice smooth and warm like velvet, his redish-green eyes locking onto yours. "But your beauty caught my eye while you were dancing. It is not often that I am rendered speechless, but your grace in every movement bewitched me."

You take the single rose from his hand with a wide smile, your thumb and forefinger toying with the stem and rolling it as you lift it and near it to your lips and nose to inhale it's fragrance.

"I love it," you whisper in awe.

Argenti's heart melted further as he observed your smile and the way you brought the flower up to your face. It was like a vision straight out of a dream for him, and it fuelled the desire within his heart even more.

"It brings me joy to see you like this," the knight replied, "Might I have the honour of knowing your name?"

And you utter your name out, the words leaving your tongue like it was made of silk.

A name as beautiful as the one bearing it, he thought to himself. "A name that reflects your grace and elegance," he responded, "As for myself, I am called Argenti. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"You may stand up, dear Argenti."

Argenti's heart fluttered at your endearing address towards him, and he immediately obliged to your request. He rose to stand up, his stature proud and imposing.

"As you command, my dear" he voiced, his gaze remaining on you. He made a subtle, respectful bow.

That day, you agreed to go on this little date with him, courting you was his next goal.

The sun finally settled beneath the horizon, casting the world into the soft, silver-tinted embrace of night. A gentle breeze gently ruffled his hair, the faint scent of the rose you held earlier wafting around.

"It appears our meeting is coming to an end, isn't it?" Argenti mused as he silently studied your delicate features, silently committing the image to memory. "Thank you for taking me out today, Argenti."

"It is my pleasure to have spent this time with you." He whispered back, ending it with a murmur of your name.

"This evening has been a moment of clarity for me. May I have the privilege of seeing you again sometime in the future?"

↳ GALLAGHER.

Gallagher was secretly your lover, despite his status as a bodyguard to you; the famous popstar singer.

You chuckle to yourself when you watch how he talked off some unwanted guests prying at your personal business, which was just drinking at some small coffee shop.

Gallagher sensed your amusement, catching your smile in his peripheral vision. He took a step closer to you, his hand resting discreetly on the small of your back. "Something funny, pretty?" He spoke first, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

"Just the scene of you handling the situation is amusing." You say before taking a long sip from your drink. He gave a subtle scoff, his lips forming a wry half-smile. He knew that he probably looked like a protective dog, "just doing my job," he replied in a lax tone.

"Because you're my bodyguard or because you're jealous?"

"Both," he muttered, his eyes flickering over the place, still scanning for potential threats. "I'm your bodyguard, so it's my job to keep others from getting too close. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little...jealous."

You pat his shoulder, looking around before resting your chin on his shoulder, "I'm all yours, nothing to be jealous of." you whisper into his ear.

Gallagher's firm expression softened even further at your reassurance. Your words reassured him deeply, erasing any traces of jealousy from his features.

"You're damn right about that," his hand moving from your back to subtly wrap around your waist, as he drew your seat a little closer. "You're all mine, no one else's."

"And if they start being suspicious of our relationship?"

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, his expression growing a bit more serious as he considered your question. "They can speculate all they want," he shrugged, his eyes flickering over the quiet area before returning to you. "S’not like we're doing anything wrong. I'm your bodyguard, but I can't help how I feel about you. There's no harm in a little...physical closeness. No one's going to catch on as long as we keep it subtle."

And it was your turn for you to turn all soft, "you know.. i wouldn't care if they find out. I'll gladly show you off to the world."

↳ BOOTHILL.

"My love, this is too much."

"Too much? Nah."

But Boothill's demeanor changes as he senses your guilt, your guilt of recieving loads of expensive clothes and gifts just for you. His strong hands gently grip your shoulders, his gaze fixed on you. He hated whenever you tried to protest or object to his generous gestures.

Leaning in a little closer, he adds in a soft voice, "It's not too much if it's for you, darlin'. You deserve everythin' that money can buy. So don't you dare feel bad, alright?"

Everything he brought to you was to your taste, as a fashion designer. How did he even manage to get these majestic attires for you?

"It's my turn to spoil you, i will make sure to look pretty for you." You promise, and his heart skips a beat at your promise to make yourself look beautiful for him. He gives a low chuckle, "Darlin', you're already the most radiant sight a fella like me could ever want." He steps a little closer, his eyes roaming over you for a moment, taking in the sight of you.

"But I'll still be lookin' forward to seein' you all dolled up," he adds with a sly smile.

And you do, entering the bathroom to change then coming out and giving him a private show of you modelling the clothes he got you.

He lets out a low whistle, a smirk on his face as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes roam over your form, appreciating the curves and the elegance you exude.

Boothill's jaw practically hits the floor.

"My sweet darlin', you look like a vision straight from my wildest dreams."

"Mhmm, and you're the chosen man."

"And I've never been more grateful for that title in my life, darlin'. You look like a piece of heaven right here in my arms."

You roll your eyes at his words, your hands on his shoulders as you look down at his seating figure, "You're exaggerating."

Boothill lets out a hearty laugh, enjoying the banter between you. He playfully pulls you even closer, his hands roaming unabashedly over the curves of your body.

"Exaggerating? Sweetheart, I may have a flair for the dramatic, but in this case, I speak nothin' but the truth." His eyes roam over you once again, "You could be wearin' a potato sack, and you'd still be the most beautiful sight to my eyes."

You narrow your eyes at the idea, "i will wear that potato sack next time."

He grins, "and I'd still be achin' to get up close and personal, darlin'." he says, his voice low and sultry.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fluff #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr x you #aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #argenti #argenti x reader #hsr argenti #gallagher #gallagher x reader #hsr gallagher #boothill #boothill x reader #hsr boothill

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blueysobssesions · 9 months ago

Note

Part 2 of hsr men voice lines about you please

Note: sorry for not updating the hsr voice lines part 2- My house is flooded- wahhhh

HSR MEN VOICEL LINES ABOUT YOU (2)

Characters: Aventurine, Dr. Ratio, Jing Yuan, Boothill

Aventurine (ooc?)

— Y/N? They mean a lot to me, of course. As much as I don't show it, I... Ahem care for them deeply. Do you take her to your gambling sessions?? — Y/N isn't particularly fond of gambling, so I don't often take them along. However, they sometimes join me when there's a special occasion or if they're really curious. She's my lucky charm ~

— There was this one time when Y/N and I went out for dinner, and they accidentally spilled their drink all over her dress. It was a mess, but we both couldn't stop laughing about it. Her dress was worth 90 thousand credits, of course I had to buy her another one ~ ! Which was worth 100 thousand. —- she's so... *sigh*

Boothill

— Well, she ain't just any 'lucky girl', she's a star herself. Pretty, smart, and she brings out the best in me. — She's the kinda person who makes the galaxy seem a little bit brighter, y'know? She challenges me in all the right ways and keeps things interestin'. — I would sometimes see her wear my hat chuckles now, that's cute ain't it? How do you show your love to your lover? — I reckon it's all about them little things, you know? Like bringing 'em their favorite tea when they ain't feelin' the best or takin' 'em on a stroll through the stars on a clear night. Love: To Y/n Ah, darlin', you look just as lovely as a starry night under a clear sky. Love: To Y/n (2) Ain't no words that can capture the way you take my breath away, but I reckon I'll spend a lifetime tryin'.

Dr. Ratio

— That- gambler, told you didn't he? sigh — One thing about her that stands out is her patience and understanding. It's... a quality I value greatly Soft Spot — I... care for her, if that's what you're implying. It's not as sensational as you're making it out to be. Who fell first? Y/n: He did ~ ! — And is this information necessary to share? How do you show your love to Y/n? — I show my affection in my own way. It's not... overt displays of gestures, but in the little things. — I... make sure she's not overworked. Take care of her needs discreetly. It's about being there, without needing to make a show of it.

Jing Yuan

— We met when I was in the middle of a meeting, in the Seat of Divine Foresight. She’s a new resident in the Luofu, that day was probably her first day here and she mistook the entrance of the Seat of Divine Foresight for a café’s. What does he love about y/n? —Oh, many things. She’s hardworking, kind-hearted, understanding… silence well, she’s also quite pretty — She always get's flustered when I compliment her… especially if tell her that I love her.. Who fell first?? — Y/N fell in love first, while I began to fall later on… chuckles — There are many moments I cherish. Whether it's a simple walk under the night sky in the gardens of the Seat of Divine Foresight, or moments where we share a quiet moment over a cup of tea...and sleeping sessions…

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kisblle · 7 days ago

Text

Dark Paradise II

Pairing: Low honor Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Word Count: 5,292

Summary: You want more with Arthur, but you find your relationship with him nothing more than territorial.

Tags: Smut, pnv, porn with plot, toxic relationship, low honor Arthur, heavy angst, MDNI 18+, mentions of birth control

Content may be triggering for some readers.

Trigger Warning: This story contains themes that may be sensitive to some readers, including references to sexual assault. Please proceed with care if this topic may be triggering for you.

Part One

Author's Note: I have decided to turn this into a short series, it won't be anything more than five parts but I do promise it will have a happy ending. However, I do realize that this chapter gets pretty heavy, as I had a hard time writing it myself. That is why I put the trigger warning. I wouldn't say it's as fun as the last one, just a super angsty Arthur and takes low honor to the next level.

Tagging @zae-heeyyy because she asked (sorry it is not as silly and girly pop as the last one but I promise it will get back to there.)

The bridge of Arthur’s nose presses firmly against yours, his lips trembling as his eyes squeeze shut. His strong, veiny hands clutch the headboard as the rickety bed frame rattles with each powerful thrust - loud enough for the whole damn Valentine hotel to hear.

Within moments, he pulls back, one hand leaving the headboard as he fists himself over your stomach, a deep, guttural groan tearing from his throat as cloudy liquid erupts from him onto your stomach.

Utterly spent, he collapses beside you, chest rising and falling with each shaky breath, sweat beading along his forehead and trickling down his temple. And for moment he looks up at the ceiling with a toothy grin, knowing he had done a good job.

It had been a month since the gang left Colter - four long weeks since that awkward encounter with Dutch, and exactly twenty eight days since Arthur had silently claimed you as his.

Yet, after everything, your relationship with him felt nothing but lonely.

For a while, it had been nice not being hidden away. He finally let you sleep beside him in his cot, and some nights he’d even pull you into his lap by the fire, resting a rough hand on your thigh in front of anyone who might be paying attention.

But he had never said anything to the gang - not directly. He just made it known: you were his - no one else’s.

But the more time passed, the more you realized that was all it was. A claim. Like you were some thing - a piece of territory he’d pissed on to keep other men away like some wild animal.

And God forbid you even act like you're in a relationship with Arthur Morgan, he'd made damn sure you knew your place. You weren’t his wife, nor his partner. Just something he's claimed, his play thing.

And as Arthur quickly got up from the bed, striding to the water basin in the corner of the room to wash off, the cold truth hit you once again.

“Gotta go take care of somethin'," he mutters, splashing a few handfuls of water onto his manhood before tugging on his jeans that had been discarded in the corner hours earlier. Quickly, he pulls on his shirt, fingers working the buttons as if he was in a rush. He soons fine the rim of his gambler's hat, placing it onto his head as he turns to you.

“Probably be back in an hour or two. Get yerself a hot bath or somethin’ in the meantime," he suggests as he digs into his satchel, tossing an old quarter on the mantle like it was some grand prize before walking out - his fresh spend still warm on your stomach.

You exhale, slow and shaky, then push yourself up from the bed. Your hair was a tangled mess, your thighs sore from rough, reckless sex, and your heart aching even more than your body.

You wanted to believe you enjoyed the game - the push and pull, the heat of it all, the way you couldn’t keep your hands off each other no matter how much you fought. But deep down, you wished things were easier. You wished you didn’t feel so empty after everything. You wish had you respected yourself more than to be just used like some object.

As you slowly drift to the corner of the room, you pick up the damp rag from the water basin and start to clean Arthur's finish off your stomach, catching a glimpse of your sad reflection in the cracked mirror.

…

An hour passes before you make your way back up the stairs of the hotel, skin warm and clean from a hot bath. The smell of sweat and sex was finally gone, and your body felt a little lighter, yet your mind still weighed heavy on your relationship with Arthur.

You quickly sit down on the edge of the bed, combing through your damp hair with ease. Soon reaching for three strands and mastering a french braid down your back as the hotel door swings open.

It's Arthur.

He steps inside, obvouisly in some type of mood as he hides a scowl under the rim of his gambler's hat. And without a word, he starts to gather your things - your ribbon, your book, even the brush straight from your hand - shoving them all into your woven bag and throwing it over his own shoulder.

“Thought we were stayin’ the night in town?” you ask half startled as he grabs at your forearm, pulling you to your feet.

“Plans change,” he huffs, dragging you toward the door. “Gotta get you back to camp. Gonna be gone a few days.”

Your stomach sinks. You’d been looking forward to some time alone with him - to talk, to connect, to figure out what this thing between you really was and if it was worth continuing.

But you didn’t argue.

You knew better by now. Questions always seemed to irritate him - he’d tell you he didn’t owe you answers, didn’t have to explain himself to a woman like you.

So you stayed quiet, a silent bitterness erupting through your chest.

It wasn't long before he lifts you onto his mare, mounting himself behind you, as he rides back to the doomed outlaw camp.

...

Arthur doesn’t even bother to say goodbye. He just takes your bag from his shoulder and tosses it onto your cot with careless force before tipping his head in your direction as if he was sending you a farewell. Your heart pounds as you stand there, nose scrunching in irritation, as you watch the outlaw walk over to Dutch Van Der Linde’s tent with ease. For just a few moments Arthur speaks to the gang leader, his shoulders tense and wide as they converse.

For a second, you could swear Dutch glances in your direction - but you brush it off completely. Too focused on Arthur nodding his head at Dutch before he leaves in a hurry - without even a nod in your direction.

...

Three days pass.

You sit beneath the shaded canopy of the wagon with Mary-Beth, still no word from Arthur. Still no explanation for why he left in such a hurry.

But you’re not worried.

It wouldn’t be the first time he vanished for a few days. Wouldn’t be the first time he ignored you, either. It was just part of having him in your life - but it didn’t mean it hurt any less.

Instead, you keep your eyes and mind on your needlework, trying to stitch a clean line into a shirt you’re patching for Hosea. Focusing ought to help. Or at least that's what you tell yourself as you try to get your mind off a certain someone.

“So,” Mary-Beth chimes, her voice sweet as cherries but laced with a sense uneasiness. “Where’d Arthur run off to?”

You roll your eyes, your needle making a pass through the fabric again. “Dunno,” you mutter, trying to sound indifferent. But your act slips - bitterness curling off your tongue before you can stop it. “Doesn’t tell me much anyway.”

Mary-Beth shifts beside you, sitting straight on her stool. “I thought he was sweet on you?”

You let out a short, humorless snort. Sweet? No. Whatever you and Arthur had - it sure as hell wasn’t sweet. You’re surprised Mary-Beth, of all people, hadn’t picked up on it by now.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘bein’ sweet,’ Mary-Beth,” you reply, eyes fixed on the stitch you’re making. “Arthur ain’t like that.”

She looks over at you, her face soft, and puzzled. Swiftly she glances down at her lap, as if she’s holding something back. “I was just wonderin’ 'cause…” she trails off. “Nevermind.”

You pause, brow furrowed, curiosity peaked. “What?”

She sighs, lips drawing into a thin line before she finally opens her mouth again. “Wasn’t gonna say anythin’." Her eyes widening as she refuses to meet your gaze. "Normally wouldn’t..."

Your eyes narrow in confusion.

“I was in Valentine a few days ago,” she continues, “and I ran into Mary Linton of all people.”

Your stomach drops.

“Mary Linton,” you echo, disbelief heavy in your voice.

Mary-Beth nods sympathetically. “I don’t even know how she recognized me, but… she gave me a letter to give Arthur. So I did. Didn’t think nothin’ of it. Until I overheard him talking to Dutch right before he left - said Mary needed help, and he’d be gone a few days…”

You feel it immediately - that sick, gut-twisting wave rising up your throat. Your chest tightens, rage and jealousy clawing their way through you like fire. And you knew you did a poor job at hiding the bitterness too.

“Mary Linton?” you repeat, raising a brow like maybe you hadn’t heard her right.

“I - I’m sorry,” Mary-Beth stammers. “I didn’t think he’d actually go see her-”

You cut her off with a bitter laugh, sharp as a shard of glass. “No. Thank you for tellin’ me, Mary-Beth,” you say as you stand, dropping the half stitched shirt to the ground.

You didn’t know much about Mary Linton, but you knew enough. She was the one woman Arthur had ever loved. The one who’d shattered his heart and made him into the cold, guarded man you knew today. And as messy as things were between you and him, it had made them a million times worse.

He didn’t just leave.

He abandoned you.

For another woman no less.

And it burned.

Your hands shake as you try to swallow down the tears, trying to guide yourself to your tent so you could settle yourself in private. But the thought of curling up in that cot, the one that still smelled too much like him - made your stomach churn.

No - what you needed wasn’t rest.

It was whiskey.

You find yourself wandering over to the campfire as the sun begins to dip behind the trees, casting long shadows over the clearing. Sean MacGuire sits nearby, his hands fiddling with a knife and stick. You put on a hard face before opening your mouth.

“You fancy goin’ into town and gettin’ drunk tonight?” you ask, voice caught somewhere between a plea and ask.

Sean looks up from the fire with a sly grin. “Don’t reckon you got permission from your Englishman, eh?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “He ain’t my Englishman. And I need a damn strong drink right about now.”

He rises to his feet, tall and confident, offering you his arm with a grin.

You take it without hesitation.

And just like that, you're on the back of Sean MacGuire’s mare, riding off toward Valentine - leaving the mess of your relationship with Arthur Morgan behind you.

...

The air was brisk and dry as Arthur rides back into Valentine, the clock already creeping toward the dead of night. He ties his mare to the hitching post and makes his way up the stairs to the saloon’s porch, each step heavy with the weight of his thoughts. The jingle of his spurs whistle against the old wood stairs, a stark contrast to the cheers and music echoing from inside the saloon.

Leaning against the building’s rough wood, Arthur lights a cigarette as he stares out at the empty street. Watching shadows perch on the buildings from flickering lamps as several horses shift beneath the night sky. But his mind wasn't on a cigarette or a shadow - it was on a damn woman.

Arthur knew he was a fool.

A no good one at that.

And when Mary-Beth had handed him that letter from Mary Linton, he had known exactly what he was getting himself into the second his eyes fell onto her poor handwriting.

He hated that he couldn’t say no to her, like he was some loyal dog begging for his master's attention. Even now, after years, after you; he’d always be at her command no matter how much his heart tried to resist her.

The worst part? He could even bring himself to villianize her no matter how many times she broke his heart.

So when she’d asked him to help get her brother back from the Chelonians, Arthur didn’t even think about it. He didn’t hesitate for a second. He’d been a fool for her once, and he’d be a fool again.

But after days of tracking that damn cult through The Heartlands, nearly getting killed by wolves and whatever else that wondered out there - he’d expected more than a cold thank you. He deserved more than the words, “You’ll never change.” Her voice cutting deeper than he wanted to admit, a harsh reminder for every reason why'd they never work.

And as Arthur flicks the ash from his cigarette, he lets the burn settle deep in his chest. Maybe it wasn’t just Mary who hadn’t changed. Maybe she was right, he didn't either.

Arthur quickly straightens, tossing the butt of the cigarette into the muddy road with a final exhale, smoke twisting from his nose like a ghost. What he needs now is a drink - something strong enough to drown out her memory from today, drown out her memory for good.

In a single second he pushes through the saloon doors, the creak of wood greeting him like an old friend. He barely lifts his eyes before he hears it first.

The piano pounding some loud, rickety tune.

Boots stomping.

Glasses clinking.

Voices shouting, hooting, howling.

Rowdier than usual.

Then he sees it.

And it damn near knocks the wind out of him.

You.

You’re on top of the bar like it’s a damn stage - skirt hiked up, corset tight, bottle of whiskey in one hand with a wicked grin spread across your lips. You’re pouring liquor straight into the mouths of a crowd of drunken men, laughing like you don’t have a single care in the world - like you belong to no one. One of the bastards grabs your leg, and with a smile on your face you let a stream of whiskey run down your thigh and into his open mouth as the man takes in the liqour excitingly.

Arthur’s chest goes tight. Heat crawls up his neck and into his jaw.

Arthur completely forgets about the mess with Mary Linton.

All he sees now is you.

You, flaunting what’s his.

Letting them look at you like that.

Touch you like that.

You knew better.

Arthur doesn’t think. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. He shoves his way through the crowd, eyes locked on you like a man possessed. Drunken fools stumble back, parting for him like the red sea as they can smell the fury rolling off his shoulders.

You spot him a second too late.

Your smirk fades.

But you don’t let his presence spoil your fun. Locking eyes with Arthur, you crouch low, pouring a shot of whiskey into the mouth of a cheering man. A little of it dribbles down his lips - purposefully so. With the outlaw still watching, you reach out, drag your finger slowly along the trail of spilled liquor, then bring it to your mouth, sucking the bitter taste off with deliberate sensuality.

Making sure that Arthur saw everything.

Making sure he got the message.

But that pisses him off more than anything.

He grabs you rough from off the bar top - no warning behind those ocean eyes of his. And throws you over his shoulder like you’re nothing but a rag doll as the crowd starts to boo.

“Hey!” you shout, fists slamming against his back. “Put me the hell down!”

A drunk stumbles in front of Arthur, half heartedly placing his palm on the outlaw’s chest as if he was trying to stop him. “Hey, man,” he slurs. “The lady don’t wa-”

Arthur doesn’t let him finish.

The cowboy’s free fist crashes into the man’s jaw, dropping him flat with one brutal hit. The saloon goes momentarily quiet, only the ragged sound of the piano still plunking somewhere in the background.

Arthur doesn’t say a word.

He storms out with you slung over his shoulder, the cold night slapping both of you in the face as he stalks toward the alley off the side of the building

Only when you’re out of sight does he set you down.

“You tryin’ to disrespect me?” he growls, voice low and sharp. “That what this is?”

You rip your arm out of his grip, stumbling a little but holding your ground, eyes fiery. “Disrespect? That’s rich, comin’ from you.”

He stiffens.

You cross your arms, no matter how drunk you were you had not forgotten the reason for your outburst. “How’s Mary?”

His expression shifts - just for a second. You see it. That wall he's always carries so heavily - cracking, but just as quick as he exposes himself, he builds it right back up.

Arthur squares his jaw, “You followin’ me now?” His voice deep and gutteral; scary but familiar.

You scoff at his tone of voice. “Don’t flatter yourself. Ain’t had to follow nothin’. Word gets around. Camp talks.”

“You ain’t my woman, anyway” he snaps.

You knew what he said was true, always had. But that didn't make his swift reassurance feel any better as his words shut you up. For a moment you stand still, wondering why you're even entertaining him bitching at you if you weren't even his to even begin with. So before your pride fell any lower, you turn around, to leave.

But Arthur's hand catches your wrist, hard and tight like he gave a damn. His grasp pulling you into his chest, his hand finding your back as if he didn't want you to leave. “You really wanna go back in there?” he seethes. “Alone? With those men? Thinking all those dirty thoughts bout' you?”

You shrug with a scowl, your voice as sharp as a knife as you bark, “I ain't alone, Sean’s in there.”

Arthur lets out a dark, bitter laugh. “Sean? You think that fool gives a damn bout' you."

“I don’t need protectin’ if that what you're on about,” you bite back. “Least not from them.”

Your eyes flutter from the shoes on Arthur's feet to the hat that sits upon his head.

His eyes darken as your words pierce at his soul. “But you do from me, huh?”

Your jaw cocks at the outlaw. Your eyes blurry from the liqour and your heart bitter from the conversation. The two of you just stare each other down, no further words exchanged as heaviness lingers in the air between you.

For a moment his eyes flicker to your lips, taking a step closer to you as you stand your ground.

"What'r gonna do?" you half-ask, half-joke out of bitterness and sarcasm. "Hit me like I'm some man who done you wrong?"

Arthur's jaw just cocks.

"Or..or you gonna shoot me? Just because you're pissed?"

Arthur huffs a heavy laugh, but there's nothing funny about it "I oughtta," he growls. "With the way you were actin' in there." His voice as rough as the gritty beard he wears on his chin.

You don't move, don't stutter. "Then do it," you challenge, words flowing off of you as if you were betting him.

But he doesn't.

He wouldn't dare.

Instead, he pulls you in and kisses you.

Hard. As if it was a punishment.

And there you find yourself back in that pattern of the push and pull.

His right hand flies to the back of your neck, crushing against you like a wave, other hand reaching for your hips. It's messy and unforgiving - it's full of anger, jealousy, regret, and need.

And you hated how easy your knees seem to weaken when he touched you like this, when anger showed that he atleast cared enough to get mad

You gasp against his mouth, fingers knotting in his shirt, pulling him closer like you need him against your skin. Your back hits the wall behind you with a thud, but you don’t care - you wrap your legs around his hips, mouth parting as his tongue finds yours.

He growls into the kiss, low and primal as if the flick of his lips were some sort of punishment for mocking him - acting as if you weren't his.

“You tryin’ to drive me crazy?” he mutters against your lips, dragging his mouth down your neck. “Paradin’ around like that…”

“You don’t own me,” you gasp - but your hips roll into his, your body betraying every word your tongue throws at him.

His hands slide lower, gripping your thighs tighter. “No?” he growls, biting at your jaw. “Then why the hell do you feel like mine?”

In an instant, Arthur drops you back onto your feet, only to spin you around and shove you forward - your stomach hitting the old wood wall. His calloused hands are rough and fast, hiking your skirt up around your hips, fingers fumbling with your bloomers before sliding them down one leg. The cold air bites at your bare skin, but it’s nothing compared to all the emotions running through you.

"Does Mary let you have her like this?" you hiss, voice dripping with jealousy and venom as you perk your ass out for him as if you were bait.

Predator to prey.

Arthur freezes for a beat, jaw clenching so tight you can hear his teeth grind at the very mention of Mary Linton. Then he growls - deep and guttural - unbuttoning his jeans in a frenzy. He’s already hard, already throbbing when he pulls himself out of his pants, burrying himself into you with almost no warning.

You cry out, biting down on your lip as your hands brace against the wall of the salloon.

He leans in, his chest pressed to your back, his chin resting on your shoulder. The rhythm he sets is brutal, hips slamming into you with force, fingers digging marks into your waist.

“I don’t fuck her at all,” he mutters into your ear, voice like gravel, soaked in guilt and truth.

His hand snakes upwards and palms your hair into his hand, yanking your head back until your jaw points skyward. You gasp, lips parting as he pounds into you harder. The sounds of your combining bodies echo down the alley, mixing with the muffled hum of piano keys and drunk laughter from inside the saloon.

You hate him.

God, you hate him.

Hate the way he ruins you every time.

Hate the way he can.

That he knows exactly how to use your body like it belongs to him.

Like he always has.

But Mary…

Mary fucking Linton.

If you couldn’t have him emotionally, you’d take what you could - make him remember why he's burried in you and not his ex-fiance.

You claw at the wall as he slams deeper, your breath hitching, thighs trembling, pleasure crashing over you like a wave you didn’t see coming. Your walls pulse around him, and Arthur groans into your ear, thrusts growing faster, more erratic with each push of his hips.

With one final thrust of his hips, he gutterly moans into you ear.

But this time he doesn’t pull out.

He stays buried deep as he spills inside you, hips stuttering, breath ragged as his release floods your core. You moan at the warmth as he fills you up, his fingers softening against your hips as his moans become soft, weak, and breathier each second he stays buried deep in your hilt.

The cowboy stays like that for a few moments - forehead pressed to the back of your neck, chest heaving with each breath as if he had found comfort in you. His eyes looming on his cock burried inbetween you legs, pretty as a picture.

But just as quick as it all started, it ends.

Arthur withdraws from you with a rough exhale, tugging your skirt back down with a flick of his wrists. You turn around, panting as you expect to meet his gaze.

But he ignores you.

Instead, he buttons his jeans, grabs his hat from where it had fell, and under the brim - his dark eyes meet yours for no more than a moment

“Let’s see how much those bastards in there still want you,” he mutters, voice low and mean, “with me drippin’ down your thigh like that.”

The words hit like a slap.

Your stomach twists.

He had never been this way - the argument had always ended after a good rough fuck as a way to say 'I'm sorry."

But this time, he has no problem walking away. He spends no time before he fixes his hat, stalks down the alley, and mounts his horse like he didn't just fuck you raw and hard out in public like that - and it burns, the way he so easily disregards you.

“Arthur!” you call out, rushing after him, panic threading through your voice as you feel his spend dripping out of you and onto your inner thighs. You stop him before he's able to leave, grabbing at his mare's reigns. Your voice is worried and full of question as you're able to choke out, “you really just gonna leave me here alone?”

He turns his head just enough to glance at you. Cold. Detached. Even with a small smirk building on his face.

“You got Sean, don’t ya?” he says, rough and mocking. And then before you can respond he digs his spurs in, riding off without another word, leaving you standing there- raw, aching, filled with him and nothing else.

...

You wake in the Valentine Hotel - your head pounding, hips aching.

A loud snore cuts through the stillness, but thankfully, it isn’t coming from beside you. Instead, it rumbles from across the room, where a fully clothed Irishman is slumped in a chair, dead asleep.

Sean MacGuire had always been a lot of things.

A drunk.

A fool.

A walking headache most days.

But above all that, he was kind.

When you’d stumbled back into Smithfield’s - glassy eyed and cheeks stained, Sean took one look at you and knew it was time to leave. In a moment of chivalry, he had no problem giving up the last dollar in his pocket to pay for a room nor did he complain about taking the chair in the corner. He didn't even bother to ask about your sudden change of mood, just let whatever you were dealing with be

And that was the best part.

Because you didn’t want to talk about it.

Letting Sean sleep, you slip quietly from the hotel room and make your way to the doctor’s office in the early hours. Your head still pounding from liqour and your eyes crusted over from tears - but you couldn't care less about how you looked in this exact moment.

Your mind was occupied of something else completely - preventing a pregnancy.

The doctor is kind. Nodding out of understanding when you hand him three measly dollars, passing you a small paper bag and murmuring instructions - boil it into tea, and drink all of it. You nod, pocketing the herbs, and turn on your heel to leave before any familiar eyes could recognize you.

You didn’t want a child. Not after last night.

Not with Arthur Morgan at least.

The way he’d finished inside you and then left you there, discarded like a common whore in a back alley -

No.

You’d never bring a child into the world with a someone like that.

You swallow hard, making a deal with yourself that no matter what Arthur says - or does, you'd never go back to him. Ending your relationship with him was the least you could do to start respecting yourself.

...

An hour later you ride back into camp on the back of Sean’s mare, multiple sets of curious eyes laying upon you the two of you as the Irishman jumps down from his horse.

“Easy now,” Sean murmurs, steadying you as your boots hit the ground. “Wouldn’t want ya toppin’ over after the night we’ve had.”

You flash him a weak smile. The exhaustion in your bones running deeper than any sleep could fix.

But it doesn’t take long before the storm of Arthur Morgan makes itself known.

Boots thunder through camp, and before you even turn, you feel him - Arthur, charging through Horseshoe Overlook with fire in his chest and chaos in his eyes.

His shirt hangs open, half-buttoned in a rush, chest heaving as if he ran from one side of the world to the other. His face is twisted, rage and worry knotted tight beneath his brow.

And he’s coming straight for you.

“Where the hell have you been?” he roars, hand flying out to snatch your forearm with a tight grip. “I’ve been up all goddamn night waitin’ for you!”

You wrench your arm back, voice sharp. “You knew where I was -“

But he cuts you off, spinning his anger on Sean instead.

“And you,” he snarls, storming toward the Irishman. “Takin’ my woman into town, gettin’ her drunk like some fool -"

Sean lifts his brows, clearly not in the mood for Arthur’s fury. “Easy now, She's the one who came to me.”

But Arthur doesn’t hear it - doesn’t want to. He closes the distance by taking his fist and balling up the front of Sean’s shirt in his palm, pulling him just inches away from his clenched jaw.

You wouldn't say Sean was a small man by any means, but compared to the mountain of a man Arthur Morgan was - the Irishman looked nothing more than tooth pick.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Arthur spits, nose nearly brushing Sean’s. “Tryna get her into your bed, weren’t you?”

Sean lifts both hands, palms open. “Christ, Morgan! Nothin’ happened! I didn’t even look at her dat way! I may be a fool, but I ain’t got a death wish.”

Arthur doesn’t answer. He just shoves Sean hard to the ground, the Irishman grunting as he lands flat on his back.

“Arthur!” you shout, stepping toward him, but he turns on you again, this time grabbing your wrist and dragging you from the field of hitching posts to the treeline.

“Come on,” he growls. “We’re gonna talk, you and me.”

“Let go!” you snap, yanking at your arm, but his grip is firm. You’re stumbling behind him through the underbrush, brushing past low limbs that scrape at your bare arms - pulling your further into the nearby forest.

“Out all night,” he mutters, more to himself than you, voice low and poisonous. “Dancin’ in saloons like some cheap whore just to get under my skin.”

Your heart lurches, tears puddling in your eyes. “What did you just call me?”

“You heard me,” he barks, flipping himself around and bending down in your face. “You want me to feel bad for leavin’ you, when you’re up on that bar flashin’ your thighs for a room full of men? You’re actin’ like a goddamn whore.”

The word hits like a slap.

Your breath catches, and for a second, the tears you’ve been holding back finally break free. “You son of a bitch,” you whisper, trembling. “I only did that ‘cause you left me. Cause you were too busy crawlin’ back to Mary Linton.”

Arthur flinches at her name as if it burned him. “That’s got nothin’ to do with you - ”

“Doesn’t it?!” you shout, voice breaking. “I lost myself trying to break down your walls, tryin' to find something more than just sex with you. Just for you to run off....back to her...while I sat here, waiting for you like some love sick fool that don't know any better."

Arthur runs a hand through his hair, face cracked with frustration. “We ain’t never serious like that” he mutters, tone softer now, but still jagged. “You know that.”

You let out a bitter laugh through your tears. “Then why do you act like you own me? Why do you throw fists at the man that helps me, when you don’t even want me yourself?”

He doesn’t answer. He just stares, chest still rising and falling like he’s trying to catch a breath he lost somewhere along the way.

“One day you push me away, the next you’re draggin’ me through the woods like I belong to you. I’m sick of it,” you hiss, voice shaking. “Sick of bein’ used, tossed aside, and then claimed like I’m your goddamn property only when you feel like it.”

Arthur’s jaw flexes. His silence is the only answer you need.

"I have feelings Arthur," you cry. "I am a god damn woman with feelings, I ain't no animal. I'm not like you."

Your words sting, but he doesn't reply.

“I’m done,” you say, your voice hollow now. “I’m done disrespectin’ myself for a man who can’t decide whether or not to treat me as a human or property."

You turn your back to him, wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of your coat.

“I mean it, Arthur. Don’t follow me. Don’t look at me. Don’t speak to me again.” You start to sob, tears erupting from your eyes like a flood.

“So that’s it?” he says at last, voice low and confused. Still convinced you liked the push and pull of it all. "After all this?”

You swallow hard. “That’s it.

And you walk away, leaving Arthur Morgan alone in the silence of the woods, regret clinging to him as the sun starts to rise high in the sky over Horseshoe Overlook.

...

Arthur sits outside his tent, journal balanced on his knee, pencil hovering above the page. But he’s not writing. Not really anyway. His eyes keep drifting to you instead - to the curve of your back as you crouch near the fire, steam rising from the pot between your hands.

He wishes he could say he didn’t feel like hell about everything. But he does. And God knows Hosea didn’t raise him to treat anyone the way he treated you. Worse than dirt on a boot. Somewhere along the line, he let himself believe you were like him - that you thrived on the sparks, the bickering, the hot and cold rhythm of it all. That none of it had to mean anything deeper than a woman he could use as he pleased.

But he’d lost sight of the fact that you were still so damn young. Still had that light he once held himself. Wild and beautiful, too bright for a man like him. If he’d met you when he was younger - ten, fifteen years back - he knows he would’ve given it all up in a heartbeat just to be yours. No gang, no Dutch, no Mary. Just you.

But that was then.

And this is now.

And now… he’s loyal to a man who’s slowly losing his mind. Haunted by the memory of a woman he never quite stopped caring for, no matter how far she's drifted. Broken beyond repair, unable to handle a healthy relationship. And you - well, you deserve someone who’s whole. Not a man held up by nothing but empty promises.

He lifts his gaze again. You’re at the fire, pouring hot water into a tin mug. Your hair slips down your back. You reach into your coat pocket, draw out a little brown paper bag, shake the contents into the water and stir slowly.

He knows that tea. Has seen enough women take it. Bought it enough times himself, when things got too complicated or he had a little too much fun.

Still it hits him like a weight.

He’s relieved, in a way - glad you had the sense to care for yourself.

But shame creeps in right after. Deep and sharp. Him finishing inside you out of punishment and not love was just wrong. It was pure filth. Animalistic at best. And just thinking about the act disgusted him, guilted him into knowing something about him had to drastically change - he couldn't act this way.

Not with you.

Not with anyone.

No wonder you don’t want anything to do with him.

No wonder you can’t even look in his direction.

Because in the end, he’s nothing more than a bad man who did a bad thing to a good girl.

And it wrecked him knowing he had started to become the shadow of his biological father.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead smut #arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fanfiction #smut #red dead redemption two #rdr2

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apolocheesy · 17 days ago

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𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑯𝑪𝒔 - 𝟐!

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝟎𝟎𝟕𝙣𝟕 (𝙨𝙚𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚) 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

|| hi yes I’m alive consistency is hard!! Anyway! Lmk if you want anyone next! (Whoever’s praying on my downfall STOP YOU WIN1!!1 IM SICK AGAIN) sorry this took so long I write late at night and then drift off to bed ��

𝙫𝟏 (𝙫𝟐)

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 ✮⋆˙🎲.•.⭑𓂃

I’ve used it once… and I’ll use it again! “Sugar” just seems right to me

Alongside that, I think of “pretty baby” and “darling”

As per usual, he’s spent the night at his family’s casino. It’s what a gambler does! And once Chance had their thirst fulfilled, they’d come home to a sleeping beauty, such as yourself. But tonight, he was met with a surprise.

At first, you couldn’t quite make out the fussing outside. You’d been fighting your eyes open all night, mindlessly watching the clock ticking down without any sign of Chance. What had you been doing at this hour? Well, you spent the evening carefully crafting a pattern into a shiny gold coin. Now, it was only a matter of time until you could give it to them.

Then came the same rustling. Your head perked from the armrest of the couch. That sure woke you up, because now you’re staring attentively at the door. A dash of excitement filling your heart.

It wasn’t long until it swung open with the weight of a spent Chance, quickly held back by his hand from slamming against the wall. They knew better to keep quiet, especially when there’s a darling waiting for him to join them in bed, supposedly. You pulled yourself to sit straight. “There you are,” a smile crept across your lips, the groves intricately carved into the coin resting between your fingers.

Chance stood there dumbfounded, yet glad. Even though he wore sunglasses, you could tell his eyes were happy too. He ran a hand through his hair before putting his fedora down, swiftly making his way to you. “Why aren’t ya asleep, pretty?” Chance spoke softly, massaging your shoulders. They were sure you would be sound asleep by the time they came home. However, he made you wait. And god did he wish he didn’t. Your time is just as, if not more important than his own according to Chance. You were wasting precious energy on him, how could they be so careless?

“There was something I wanted to give to you, I just couldn’t wait.” You answered, slowly opening your hand to reveal the golden coin. It shimmered brightly, reflecting the light in the dim room.

“Sugar…” They trailed off. Chance wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms, brush his fingers over your cheeks, cradling your head close, devouring the moment. If it weren’t for you being all washed while he was freshly outdoors, he would’ve. They courteously took it from your hands, slow and deliberate; careful not to touch your skin. “I love you, pretty baby, and I’m sure you know that better than anyone else in the world.”

𝟎𝟎𝟕𝒏𝟕 ⌨ᝰ๋࣭𝜗᭡

“Dear”, “my love”, two classics for the old guy!

I do feel like he used to unconsciously refrain from calling you pet names… you probably had to ask about it for him to realize.

It was never a problem. Though your curiosity got the better of you. 007n7 never called you by any pet names. Naturally, you used them less, too. Understandable, but it never hurts to ask; ever.

“Hey,” You quietly called out to him. After a long day, there was nothing like sharing a quiet moment in bed, with nothing but each other’s company. Hands held together in between the warmth of your bodies, your fingers clasping his.

007n7 fluttered his eyes open, wearily looking at you. Your breath hitched, face flushing. Grey irises with an irresistible charm that couldn’t be replicated by anyone else. Full of his experiences, entirely unique to him, and you were lucky enough to gaze into them every day.

A moment of silence ensued, his eyes never leaving yours. You drew a breath, finally asking the question that had been on the tip of your tongue. “Why don’t you ever use nicknames or… anything like that?”

His lidded eyes widened. He had never thought of it. “I… I’m sorry.” 007n7 whispered a hollow confession, furrowing his brows. You held his hands a bit tighter, rubbing circles with your thumb.

“There you go again, apologizing when you don’t need to.” You cooed. He didn’t know how tense he was until you tucked a stray strand behind his ear. If he was being honest, it felt natural for him to hold back. He understood that not many like him, leaving him to become a shell of his past-self, nothing more. And now, it’s like you pulled a tab that was holding him together.

He worried for the day you would eventually leave him. That you would realize your worth, abandoning the former hacker. It only made him feel selfish. A creep for even liking you.

“I just- I don’t know.” 007n7 admitted, his chest growing tight. He shut his eyes, tears emerging from the sides. His answer wasn’t directly to your question. It also went for the barrier he set out of fear. The barrier you didn’t mind, delighted to climb over. Because you knew that the other side would make it all worth it.

007n7 felt the featherlight touch of your fingers, dancing up his nape. They embraced him close right below your chin. “Shh…” You stroked his hair with gentle breaths. “Don’t worry about that, just you being here is more than enough. We don’t need nicknames.” He shook his head in your arms.

“No, you deserve so much more.” 007n7 punctuated his words with a hand grazing your jaw. “My love, dear, anything you want, let me return the favor.”

#forsaken x reader #chance x reader #007n7 x reader #actually kind of enjoyed writing this !!

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falling-star-cygnus · 9 months ago

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did we all forget that Ratio can hover for some reason

how. literally how is he doing that. why is he doing that? why does he never do it again

it does put a rather cute Ratiorine scene in my head though:

[occurs after Aventurine leaves the Nihility] [Aventurine and Ratio ran into each other, and decided to catch up in a more secluded area- think the hangar where Ratio hangs out for some reason. The blond stumbles] Aventurine, holding his temple: ack- my head.. Ratio, steadying him on instinct: Gambler- [Aventurine tries to wave him off with a strained smile, but Ratio keeps a firm- gentle- support on his elbows] Aventurine: I'm fine, doc. It was just a dizzy spell Ratio, scowling: Must I remind you that a 'dizzy spell'- as you put it- should not fall under the category of 'fine' [They go back and forth for a minute or two, before Ratio just scoffs and heaves Aventurine close to his chest. The blond stills just long enough for the doctor to get his feet in the air] Ratio: That's enough, Aventurine, really. Since you're apparently so averse to taking care of yourself, and clearly cannot be trusted to do it on your own, I suppose I will have to make you. We can 'catch up' another time. Aventurine: ...since when can you float-

#tried to make it cute then realized churin is allergic to feelings #y'all i need fanfiction on their little habits pls #hsr #honkai star rail #ratiorine #aventio #raturine #veritas ratio #dr ratio #aventurine #hsr aventurine

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fizzyapplecandy · 2 months ago

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The one where you fall in love with a pirate

Hyung line X fem reader

Genres and warnings: short imagines, fluff, mature language, humor, so many kisses

Word count: 4k

I've been on a roll with our hyung line, and I can't stop thinking about a pirate au. Maknae line will be out shortly.

Lots of love, and happy reading X

Hongjoong

Your relationship with the Captain has always been a bit strained. He wasn't too fond of a female crewmate, but his fellow pirates adored you. He, for the life of him, couldn't understand why. Women weren't meant to be out on the sea, and you'd proved his point many times. You were constantly sea sick, the rocking causing your nausea. You hated getting wet, which happened a lot on a pirate ship. You also hated how out of touch you were with the world all the time.

Sure, you cooked for them. You even payed attention to all of their preferences, always making a variety of dishes. You kept the deck pristine, and the boys now had clean clothes, sewn together where needed, always neatly stacked in their cupboards.

Wooyoung pleaded with him to take you in, stating how cruel the townspeople were towards you. Your father was a gambler, and people were after you to pay his debts.

To this day, Hongjoong doesn't know what came over him to say yes. Maybe it was the terror written so clearly on your face, or the bruises visible on your arms. Or the fact that you were... Pretty. Soft spoken, well mannered, and a much needed addition to their ship.

He would never admit it out loud.

One night, he couldn't sleep, so he went out on the deck to get some fresh air. He was surprised to see you there, sitting on a barrel in your nightgown. The flimsy material wasn't enough to keep you warm, he thought. Nights in the open sea could get extremely cold.

Without much thought, he took off his coat and placed it over your shoulders.

You weren't aware of his presence until he did so, and it startled you for a second.

"Oh, Captain! You don't need to do that, you'll freeze!" You were about to take it off and give it back, but Hongjoong stopped you, placing his warm hands over your cold ones.

"No need. I can handle it. You on the other hand..."

He took in your red cheeks and pale lips, your whole body shivering, teeth almost clicking together.

You chuckled and wrapped the coat tighter around yourself.

"You're right. Silly me, I was in such a rush..." You stopped suddenly, turning your head away.

Hongjoong leaned on one of the pillars, gaze fixed on you.

"In a rush? Care to explain?"

You swallowed, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. Hongjoong was intimidating, and you experienced first hand why the called him the 'Sea Monster' in your town. However, the amount of care he put into his crew, the sheer worry on his face whenever one of them wasn't okay... It told you much more about the stoic Captain than he liked to show.

"Well... I kind of... Have nightmares. They aren't that bad anymore. I think being on this ship with all of you helps." You glanced at him, noticing how he hasn't moved an inch, paying attention to your words.

"Sometimes I need to feel present. I need to know that it was just a dream. So the cold kind of... It lets me know I'm here, and I'm safe."

You stood up and turned towards him fully.

"Does that sound weird?"

There was a pause between you. No words were said, but your eyes never left eachother.

"No, it doesn't sound weird. But getting hypothermia isn't the best solution, you know?"

Did he just joke around with you? That's a first. Before you could help it, a giggle left your mouth. You quickly covered it with your hand, eyes widening.

"Am I amusing you, Miss Y/N?"

Hongjoong's tone was relaxed, and you felt like he was almost mocking you, but not in a bad way.

"Ah, no, no! Sorry! It's just... I haven't talked to you like this... Ever. So, you know..." You trailed off, not knowing what to say.

The Captain made his way over to you, now inches apart. He took in every little detail of your face, as if he finally gave himself permission to indulge in his curiosity towards you.

"We talk. You just don't listen to me. Maybe you find me boring compared to the others?"

You flailed your arms around, shaking your head.

"Of course not! You're not boring! I mean, your the Captain! You always tell these amazing stories, and you're so kind towards everyone, even though you don't like to admit it. You... You saved my life that day, and I'm forever in your debt."

Hongjoong didn't know what came over him. One moment he was watching how your chest rose and fell after your energetic exclamation, and in the other, his hands were on your cheeks, lips firmly planted against yours.

You made a noise of surprise, not expecting the kiss, but you certainly didn't mind. In your head, it kind of happened differently, but now that you were wrapped in each others embrace, you wouldn't want it any other way.

There was no saying who pulled away first, but you were both breathing heavily, and your giggles filled the air again.

"Oh my Captain... That was..."

"Yeah... I... Y/N..."

You shushed him, grabbing his cheeks between your palms, placing another sweet kiss on his lips.

That night, in the warmth of his embrace, you were rooted in the moment, and it was the best one in your life so far.

Hongjoong just had to make sure the next one would be even better.

Seonghwa

Of course he had the task of keeping the princess occupied. He figured they'd make Yeosang do it, but he would have probably freaked you out with his staring.

Seonghwa watched as you shifted in your seat, back straight, hands crossed in your lap. You were the epitome of royalty, and you stood out like a sore thumb in the dingy old room on their ship.

For someone who's just been kidnapped and held at ransome, you seemed pretty calm.

"How much money did you ask for?"

Seonghwa's eyebrows furrowed.

"Excuse me?"

You turned towards him, your stance as perfect as ever.

"Money? You did ask for it in favour of giving me back? Otherwise this would be a ridiculous way of courting me."

The pirate stood flabbergasted. A smile was about to make it's way on your face, but you managed to control your emotions.

"Well..." He started, voice a bit unsure. "Our Captain does the deals, but I assume you're worth a pretty penny."

You nodded, and he thought you'd go back to being poised, but you managed to surprise him again.

You shot up from your seat, startling the poor man. The crown you wore was ripped from your head, and you placed it in front of Seonghwa.

"Here, this is worth more than a pretty penny. Go give it to your captain, and ask him if he needs a maid or a cook on this ship."

"What?"

Seonghwa watched the woman, noticing how her expression hasn't changed. She was dead serious about this.

"You heard me. I'm sick and tired of living like Rapunzel! You probably don't know who that is, but nevermind. I want to sail around the world, go on adventures, you know? I don't want to marry a prince, and I cannot stand being in dresses like this anymore!"

Seonghwa didn't know whether to be scared or turned on by you. You were a strong willed woman, and you weren't backing down. For some reason, he couldn't help but feel intrigued. Maybe keeping you with them wouldn't be such a bad idea?

He stood up from his seat and grabbed the crown from the table. Without another glance towards you, he went to the door.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Oh come on! You literally don't let me do anything fun around here!"

"Yeah, well, that's because you get into trouble more than I anticipated. Now let go!"

You and Seognhwa were playing tug of war with your favorite bag. The boys went out into town to gather supplies for your next trip, and you wanted to go with them. Seonghwa was stuck babysitting you again, and he wouldn't let you leave.

"Please! Do you hate me? Do you not want to see me happy! Come on Hwa!"

It's been about three months since you ran away with them, leaving your castle and princess status behind. Seonghwa asked you from time to time if you regret your decision, but the answer was always a strong 'No'.

"Princess, I've about had it with you! Can you please just let go and sit still for once!"

Now, that wasn't the tone of voice he usually used with you. He was accustomed to your antics, and he let you do whatever you wanted, but he never once sounded as serious about saying no as now.

You slowly loosened your grip on the strap, and you could tell something was wrong with him.

"Hwa? Hey, I won't go. See? Here's the bag, take it. I'll stay on the ship."

He only nodded before turning around and marching to the other end of the deck. You quickly followed after him, trying to look at his face, but he wouldn't turn your way.

"Seonghwa? I know I'm a bit tough to deal with, but something's up with you. Wanna tell me before we start a guessing game?"

His hands gripped the railing tightly, and he tried to calm down enough to look at you. Seonghwa knew his fear was a bit irrational, but it wouldn't go away. He also knew he had to tell you before you started freaking out.

So, he took a deep breath and turned to look into your eyes.

"Listen. I know you love it here. I know you love the boys, the ship, the food Wooyoung makes, the strange animals San sometimes brings aboard... But what if..." His gaze fell to the floor.

"What if, one day, you venture out into the city and realise you miss it? What if you want to go back?"

Seonghwa paused, noticing how quiet you were. As if sensing his unease, you came closer and took his hands in yours.

"Go on." You whispered.

"I can't let you go, Y/N. I... You've made me so happy. Even though you give me constant headaches, I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Oh Seonghwa..."

Before he could tell you to let him down easily, he was surprised with your lips pressed onto his. He quickly gathered himself, wrapping his strong arms around your waist, getting lost into the passionate kiss between you.

You pulled away first, and he was about to chase after you, not wanting it to be over, but you placed a finger on his lips.

"I just want to say... I will never leave you. Yes, I love exploring the city, but I've found my home now."

You leaned your forehead onto his.

"You are my home, Seognhwa."

After that, he let you wander off as much as you wanted, because he knew you'd always come back to him.

Yunho

"Hey! Get back here you son of a bitch!"

Yunho never ran so fast in his life before. His legs were about to give out, but thank goodness the dock was close.

You see, he may or may not have gotten into a slight altercation with a merchant.

The man wanted Yunho to pay for the compass, whereas Yunho... Well... Didn't.

Now, he was in a chasing match with said merchant, as well as three of his friends. They were surprisingly slow, and he thought he was in the clear until he bumped into something.

Or more precisely, someone.

The basket you held flew up in the air, and it was raining apples all around.

"I think he went that way boss!" The men were coming closer, and Yunho cursed from his position on the floor. You on the other hand dusted off your skirt before kicking the man in the leg.

"Hey, I'd say you have about five seconds before they catch you, so why don't you hide in my shop?"

His eyes widened, and he quickly got up and followed after you. You ushered him behind the counter and motioned for him to stay quiet.

There was noise outside, and the door of your shop opened.

"Hello there Miss Y/N. You didn't happen to see a mongrel with long legs running around?"

Yunho glanced at you from his crouched position, and you seemed casual enough.

"No, I can't say that I have. Sorry gentlemen."

They grumbled, but soon enough, the shop was enveloped in silence. You glanced outside, seeing them going back where they came from.

"All clear now big boy. You can come out."

Yunho poked his head up, and you chuckled. The tall man gave you a youthful vibe, and the smile on his face made you stop in your tracks.

"That was a close one. Thank you, little lady. I'm sorry about your apples."

You waved him off while he curiously looked around your bookshop.

"Wow, quite a collection. Are you the owner?"

"My father is. I just help around when I can. Now..." You stepped closer to him, examining his handsome features.

"What did you do? That was one hell of a chase."

Yunho laughed, but he stopped abruptly to check his pockets. He let out a sigh of relief as he took the small compass out. He extended his hand and held it over to you.

"Oh, wow. Did you steal it?" You watched as he nodded, expression almost sheepish.

"I didn't bring any money with me, and I know my Captain wouldn't let me go back for it because we're in a hurry, so..."

He trailed off, but you got his point.

"Ahh... I see. Well, in that case you might want to hurry to your ship before Mister Jung finds you."

His eyes widened and he rushed past you towards the door. You were almost sad to see him go.

"Thank you, again. I wish you all the best!"

He was out before you could reply, but you followed after him to watch as he ran down the street, an apple from your basket in his hand as well.

"What a silly boy..."

It's been about a month since your encounter with the gentle giant, as you called him. You couldn't stop thinking about his handsome face, and it made you sad every time. You figured he was a pirate by the way he dressed, and he only confirmed it when he mentioned his ship.

Your father always knew you were a free spirit, and he was sad you chose to stay in the city and spend your days in the bookstore. He knew you felt uneasy about leaving him, but he couldn't convince you to change your mind. That is, until he found a young man curiously peeking through the shop window.

The tall man came inside, and he could sense his nervousness in the air.

"Hello there... Is... Is the little lady somewhere around here?"

Your father smiled. "Oh, my daughter. She went out to get us some fruit. You're welcome to wait inside."

Yunho nodded, and went over to one of the shelves to browse. It didn't take long for you to return, and you almost dropped the basket of pears you were holding.

"Oh..."

Yunho turned towards you, a big smile spreading across his face.

"Hey there! Long time no see!"

You glanced at your father, and he nodded slightly before smirking. After that, he stood up and went to the back to give you some privacy.

"Yeah, long time... What are you doing here?"

You placed the pears on the counter, offering one to... Well you didn't know his name.

"Well, I... I had to go and settle my debt with Mister Jung. I also..."

He took the fruit from your hand, fingers brushing yours. You looked into each other's eyes, unconsciously coming closer.

"I had to see you again. I know it might sound crazy, but I can't stop thinking about you, little lady."

Yunho leaned in slightly, his voice almost a whisper.

"What's your name? I need to know the name of the girl of my dreams. Mine's Yunho."

"I'm Y/N." You managed to mumble, eyes still fixated on his.

"Say, you two, why don't you go back to our house and start packing Y/N's bags?"

You let out a startled noise, and turned around to look at your father. He was standing behind the counter, a wide smile gracing his features.

"Dad? What..."

"Yunho, I assume you're here to ask my daughter to come with you, is that right? I know how you pirates get."

Yunho stood frozen, surprised at how easily her dad got him figured out. He was right, he did come to ask Y/N to travel with him. His life was on the sea, has been for a long time, but she... She was something he felt was missing.

"I can really go?" You went towards your father, not believing what was happening.

He gently placed his arms around you in a hug, whispering into your ear.

"You were never meant to love a mundane life, my sweetie. Go now, before I become too sentimental."

It wasn't long after that your bags were packed and you were waving at your father from Yunho's ship. As the town you grew up in got smaller, your eyes filled with tears.

A pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, and a kiss was placed on top of your head.

"Everything okay little lady?"

You turned around in Yunho's embrace, placing your hands on his chest. Without much thought, you got on your tiptoes and placed a soft kiss on his lips. He stood frozen for a moment before his arms tightened around you, deepening the kiss.

When you finally broke apart, you placed your head above his heart, listening to the steady beats.

"Everything is perfect."

Yeosang

Yeosang loved being a pirate. He loved the freedom he had, the laughs he shared with his shipmates, who he now viewed as brothers. He loved everything about his life. Apart from the times they had to wreak havoc in a random town.

They tried to bring justice where they could. Once they found out about groups doing harm on the townspeople, they intervened in no time.

Tonight wasn't any different from their usual agenda, if he excluded you.

They were seated in one of the more problematic bars in town. Hongjoong told them the job was simple - Get in, take out the bad guys, get out. There was one man, Han Sehun, and he was known for intimidating the lower class people into giving him their well earned salaries, as well as harassing women.

That's where you came into the picture. You were working the night shift at the bar tonight, and you hated it every time. Sehun was adamant on making your life hell, but you couldn't complain because you needed the job. Your parents were long gone, and there wasn't anyone in town you were close with.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't notice the handsome men making an entrance. You could tell there was something different about them.

One in particular caught your eyes the most. He had a blonde mullet, and he seemed like the calmest of them all. As if he could sense your eyes on him, he turned his head, but you managed to look away in time.

"Yeosang, stop staring at the pretty lady. You'll scare her." Wooyoung chuckled after pinching Yeosang's cheek.

He swatted his hand away.

"I'm not staring."

Wooyoung smirked. "Sure you aren't."

Without another word, Wooyoung stood up and went over to you. He smiled at you, showing you eight fingers and motioning to their table. You nodded, giving him a thumbs up.

Yeosang was nervous all of the sudden. He knew they were on a mission, so what was Wooyoung doing.

"Relax, Sangie. The pretty lady will bring us some drinks in a second."

Hongjoong pinched his nose.

"Now is not the time for drinking, or staring at girls. Get it together."

Wooyoung held his hands up, and Yeosang remained still. That is, until you came to their table holding a tray with eight beers.

"Here you go boys. Enjoy!"

His mind must be playing tricks on him, because it seemed like your eyes only met his before you went back to the counter.

Before he could dwell on it, Sehun started causing a scene at the bar.

"Oh come on Y/N, when will you give it up? You know I can show you a good time."

"For the last time, please leave me alone."

"Still trying to act tough? Just wait until I fuck the attitude right out of you!"

Yeosang had the sudden urge to march over an fuck up his face, but Hongjoong's glare kept him at bay. They had to wait for the perfect timing, otherwise they would cause a ruckus.

The night went on like this with Sehun's comments getting even worse. Yeosang felt immense relief when he saw Hongjoong nodd, and the plan went into action.

Soon enough, the bar was turned over upside-down. Sehun was in handcuffs, and you were hiding under your counter. The officers would be here any moment, and the boys had to run.

Yeosang glanced at his crewmates as they went down an alley, his chest tightening.

"I have to do something quickly. Meet you at the ship."

"Yeosang!" Their voices were now faded into the background as he re-entered the place they wrecked.

"Hello? Miss?"

You slowly lifted your head from your hiding place, glancing at the handsome man from earlier. You should have known they were pirates, his outfit basically screamed it in your face.

"H-Hi?"

He turned his head towards your voice, a small smile gracing his features.

"There you are. Come out, I won't hurt you."

For some reason, you believed him. After all, they managed to take away your town's biggest problem.

You carefully got up, and he could tell your dress was ripped in some places. Probably got caught in one of the broken tables.

"What do you want?" You asked, voice trembling.

He approached you, paying attention to your body language. You were still apprehensive, but slowly loosening up.

"I'll cut right to the chase. Want to come on a little trip with me?"

It's been about a month since you took Yeosang up on his offer. You weren't sure what came over you to say yes so quickly, but you felt like he was trustworthy.

Honestly, you didn't have much left in the town, and you felt like you weren't leaving anyone behind. You only gained another family, a bit rowdy, but definitely lovely and supportive.

You also gained something else along the way, and you hoped Yeosang was feeling the same.

"Hey there treasure. What's got your head in the clouds?"

His voice brought you out of your daydream, and you could feel him beside you, gripping the railing. The sea was calmer than usual, giving you a sense of peace.

"Oh, nothing much. Just thinking about you."

Yeosang let out a startled noise.

"M-Me?"

You turned to look at him, noticing the slight blush on his cheeks.

"Yeah, you. I don't think I ever thanked you properly for taking me away from my miserable life."

Yeosang stayed silent, observing your expression. You looked... Happy.

"So, forgive me if I'm reading this wrong, but I just can't hold it in."

Before he could get a word in, you placed a kiss on his cheek, lightly catching his lips. It took him off guard, but he wanted to make sure you knew the feelings were mutual.

So, as you went to pull away, he grabbed your waist and placed a proper kiss on your lips.

You just looked at each other, smiles stretched out from ear to ear.

"I can't hold it in either."

#ateez #ateez imagines #fluff #imagine #ateez seonghwa #ateez hongjoong #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #pirate au #ateez pirate au #ateez x female reader #mature language #kisses #short imagine

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