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aventurineswife · 1 month ago

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I just got an idea, the hsr men (you're choice) with a reader who is like Miyo from the Netflix anime my happy marriage

Echoes of a Heart Unseen

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Argenti x Reader, Miyo Saimori (from My Happy Marriage) based Reader, Comfort, Self-worth, Emotional healing, Tenderness, Insecurity, Gentle encouragement, Character development, Slow burn.

Warnings: Mild emotional distress (insecurity, self-doubt), Sensitive themes (self-worth, past trauma), Heavy themes of emotional growth, Gentle romantic undertones.

Aventurine leaned casually against the door frame, his eyes watching you with interest as you timidly set about preparing a meal for him. There was an elegance to your movements, even in your silence, something that drew his attention despite himself. He wasn’t used to people who lacked a strong sense of self, but there was something undeniably captivating about the quiet resilience you carried.

He had always prided himself on reading people—their fears, desires, and the lies they told themselves. Yet, with you, it was different. Your shy demeanor and hesitant actions spoke volumes of a painful past, one that had made you doubt your own worth. He couldn't quite place why, but there was something about you that awakened a strange sense of protectiveness within him.

“You know, for someone who claims to be… timid,” he remarked with a playful smirk, “you certainly know how to command attention with that cooking.”

You flinched at his words, lowering your gaze to the dish you were preparing. It was a quiet act, one that spoke of years of practice, but he could see the insecurity in your shoulders.

Aventurine took a slow step forward, his voice softening just a fraction. “I don't know what kind of cruel world you've lived in, but it’s obvious to me that you're capable of far more than you think. Don’t you realize how much of a gift it is to make something so beautiful with your own hands?”

His words were layered, calculated, but they lacked the usual mockery. For once, he wasn’t gambling with words; he was being sincere. The compliment, though simple, left you speechless, and he found himself intrigued by the way your eyes flickered with uncertainty, like a bird unsure whether to take flight.

“You don’t have to be silent all the time, you know," he added, his smile a little softer. "There’s strength in your silence, but there’s also power in your voice, should you choose to use it."

You looked up at him then, hesitation swirling in your gaze. He’d seen the way you shrank from confrontation, how you seemed to keep your distance from anyone who might get too close, but he saw something else too—something he had never let anyone see: your quiet fight.

Aventurine extended his hand, his fingers brushing against the edge of the table, almost like a dare, but one that seemed to speak more of a challenge to himself than to you. “The question is, will you be willing to take that step?”

For once, his words weren’t a game. There was no mask, no manipulation—only a gentle invitation to someone who seemed so used to being unseen, unheard, and unappreciated. You were so much more than what you allowed yourself to believe, and for the first time in his life, Aventurine was unsure whether he wanted to manipulate that or protect it.

The quiet hum of the Astral Express filled the air as Sunday stood by the window, looking out at the stars. His wings fluttered ever so slightly, an expression of inner turmoil that only he could understand. You stood beside him, a quiet presence that he had come to appreciate in the time you’d spent together.

You were not like the others; you never seemed to expect anything from him. There was a softness in your demeanor, a kind of timidity that reminded him of a part of himself he had long buried. You lacked the confidence that so many around him carried, but Sunday knew better than anyone that there was strength in the quiet ones—the ones who didn’t shout for attention but instead stayed in the background, offering support in their own way.

"You’ve been awfully quiet today," he murmured, his voice like a gentle breeze. He didn’t need to ask why; he could sense the weight you carried. It was something about the way you moved, how you kept your head low and your gaze averted.

You hesitated, your fingers nervously twisting a small piece of fabric in your hands, but Sunday didn’t push you. He waited patiently, the calmness of his presence offering a silent invitation for you to speak when you were ready.

“I—I just feel like I’m not good enough,” you confessed softly, almost too quietly for him to hear, but he caught the tremor in your voice. "I don’t know why I feel this way, but sometimes I feel like I’m just… a burden to everyone around me."

Sunday’s gaze softened, and for the briefest moment, you saw the vulnerability in his eyes. He had always been the one to hide his own pain, to bury it beneath layers of idealism and grand ideas, but in that moment, it felt as though he saw something in you that mirrored his own struggles.

“You are not a burden,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “You matter. More than you realize.”

He stepped closer, though he didn’t touch you, his presence felt like an embrace. “Sometimes, the world makes us believe that our worth is defined by what we give, by what we can do for others. But that’s not the case. You are valuable just by being you.”

You looked up at him, your gaze meeting his, and there was something in his expression—something beyond his usual composed demeanor—that spoke of his own battles with self-worth.

“You are more than enough, and no one should make you feel otherwise,” he continued, his voice a whisper now, meant only for you. “You’re not alone, not while I’m here.”

His words, so quiet yet so certain, gave you something you hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. The faintest flicker of confidence began to stir in your chest, like the first breath of wind before a storm. It was small, but it was real, and it was yours to nurture.

The world around you often felt too loud, too harsh. People rushed past without a second glance, their voices carrying burdens of words you didn’t quite understand, much less have the courage to speak. Yet, the silence around you was different when you were with him.

Argenti was a man of honor, clad in armor that shimmered with an almost ethereal light, his eyes glowing with conviction and purpose. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to him. His presence was like a steady flame in a cold room—comforting, reassuring. He was everything you weren't: strong, confident, self-assured. It made you feel small and fragile, but at the same time, he never treated you as if you were anything less than worthy.

You had been struggling lately, the scars of your past still fresh and raw. The years of emotional neglect and the unspoken words of doubt that echoed in your mind every time you looked into a mirror made it hard to believe in yourself. You were still that person who had been beaten down by life, who thought of herself as a burden to others, as nothing more than an invisible shadow.

But with Argenti, things were different.

"Are you troubled, my dear?" His voice was soft, a stark contrast to the strength in his posture. His gaze was warm, understanding, though he said little. He never pushed you to speak, never demanded more than you were willing to give. Instead, he waited, patiently, allowing you the time to gather your thoughts.

You sat on the stone bench, your hands clasped in your lap, your heart racing under the weight of his stare. "I… I just… I feel like I’m not enough. That everything I do… doesn’t matter." The words spilled from you, as if they had been trapped inside for so long that they could no longer remain hidden.

Argenti knelt in front of you, his armor making a soft clang as it settled. He reached out, his large, gloved hand gently lifting your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes shimmered with a tenderness you had never expected to see in someone like him.

"You are enough," he said, his voice firm, unwavering. "You are a work of beauty, not because of how others see you, but because of the heart within you." His thumb brushed over your cheek, the touch so soft it almost seemed unreal. "You may not believe it now, but there is strength in your quiet, in your gentleness, in your ability to care even when others have hurt you."

You felt the knot in your throat tighten, the tears threatening to spill. You didn't deserve his kindness, yet here it was, like a blanket wrapping around you, soothing the very parts of you that had been broken.

"Your past does not define you, nor does the way others treated you. What matters is the path you choose now." Argenti’s words were like a balm, healing wounds you had long forgotten you carried. "You have the power to become the person you want to be. And I will walk beside you, guiding you, protecting you, if you will let me."

His words felt like a promise—a promise that he would never leave you, never abandon you like so many had before. There was something in the way he looked at you, something that told you he saw you for who you truly were, not for the brokenness you thought you held.

"I… I want to believe that," you whispered, the uncertainty still lingering in your voice. "But I'm so afraid of being wrong."

"You are not alone," Argenti said, his voice a low, soothing hum. "We are all afraid. But it is in overcoming that fear that we find our true strength."

With those words, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. You weren’t perfect, and you never would be. But in Argenti’s presence, you could begin to accept that you didn’t need to be. All that mattered was the journey ahead.

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