am i included in this play
most of my mutuals are closer to entering adulthood than reaching my age. das crazy
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âof impermanence and devotion to your sacred withering bonesâ ; sunday
premise â heâll take pieces out of his flesh to mold into your wounds, bandaging you with his skin; he never liked seeing you hurt.
tags â established relationship, religious themes and metaphors, soft and loving sunday (i advocate), mix of the lovely trio (the fluff, the slight angst, and the comfort), reassurance from him, gender-neutral reader, never proofread, 1.1k ; one-shot
note â my parents chose thought daughter so now iâm writing fanfics on a thursday afternoon.
heâll love you like religion.
needlessly, tirelessly, with bruised knees and bleeding palms, with blood-shot eyes and clasped fingers, worshiping, devoting, yearning, calling to whoever will listenâto you who will listen. it suffocates him yet heâll clench at his chest and utter your name even if thereâs no voice in his being and he is left like a pathetic, whimpering dog that was made to be abandoned. heâll dig his own grave with broken nails and wounded hands, a coffin of tender touches, and the earth will fill his lungs and heâll hope for flowers to sprout from his mouth when he plants his confession into the dirt. can you hear him? do you hear him?
âplease take care of yourself more.â sunday says as he reaches for the bottle of disinfectant, pouring enough of it over the cloth he was holding to drench it before gently dabbing the fabric on the area of your wound. it stings and you hissed, clenching the sheets beneath your fingers as you watch him work.
âi only fell and scraped my knee, i donât think itâs anything that bad.â you say in defense to your clumsiness. sunday was all gentle and careful in cleaning and treating the wound on your knee as if you were a child and he was the nurse tending to your âbigâ wound.
(a god does not bleed but you do.)
he sighs, âit could have been worse.â and dresses your wound with a gauze, the material pristine white as no blood taints the material.
âbut it wasnât.â you rebut quite quickly, your gaze firm at his yet he doesnât meet yours. he is kneeled in front of you, an open kit by his side and a chair on his otherâand he chooses to be on the cold ground, his clothing slightly wrinkled and its appearance similar to spilled water on the floor beneath him. he never dares let himself appear as indecent with his disordered clothes and unkempt appearance in the form of an unsymmetrical coat and creased pants but here he is, in all his glory and messiness, laid out like the map of a devoteeâs heart before you.
(heâll beg even for a moment of your gaze but his cowardice will hold his head down to the groundâhe is never like this, he was never his own when you look at him.)
âwhat could have happened if i wasnât there to immediately help you? youâre too careless.â he scolds yet thereâs no hint of harshness in his voice, just gentle and sweet worry lacing into his tone. something lies, seemingly dormant, in the still air that embraces you and he finds himself waiting for something to happen.
âsunday, itâs just a small wound. you donât have to worry, iâm fine.â you assure him, hand cupping the side of his cheek and brushing your thumb over his cheekboneâitâs soft and slow, you feel warm, he feels warm. he leans into your touch, your hand soothing the tension that lies in his bones and his expression softens. silence settles in the room as he basks in the gentle affection that is bestowed on him. he holds your hand he turns his head to kiss the palm of it; his eyes are close and his lips lingered on your skin, comforting, relishing, soft, you.
âi have a question but before that, can you look at me, please?â
âi am,â he whispers, his lips beginning to trace your palm down to your pulse, all the while he keeps his gaze away and shut, âand my love, you never have to beg or plead for anything.â you know heâll give you everything.
(sometimesâalways, he feels like he is undeserving of the divine grace of your attention, of your affection, of your adoration, and you feel like your love is just a meager offering, unable to fulfill him. can you see him each other?)
finally, he looks at youâgolden eyes born from the sun meets yours. his halo is situated just right on his head, pierced wings behind his ears, and his hair reminds you of the sky above you that you once gazed into when you were a child playing in the fields, before you were deemed as his, and now your gaze is held on the ground right where he is kneeling down. stray strands of your hair fall over your eyes and the way the light kisses your skin makes you look delicate, ethereal.
âdo i love you enough?â you ask. have you ever been enough? have you done enough? is your mere and bare existence enough for someone like him?
âsince when have you not?â he answers, filled with gentle affection. his tone is akin of a devout preacher, reassuring like a verse from a scripture.
(sunday never thought of you as lacking, not with the broken and missing pieces of your skin, tainted and muddled by blood and dirt, left to rot in your wake like a sin unrepented.)
âyouâre the wine that overflows my cup,â he says, each syllable of his words carrying the weight of his utter and suffocating devotion, âand iâll continue to consume you even in death.â no grave will ever hold his body down.
you cup his cheeks with both of your hands, his lips leaving your skin yet the warmth of his kisses remains. âyouâre too good with your words,â you say, a small smile drawing on your lips, âperhaps youâre only telling lies to please me.âÂ
âmy dearest,â he murmurs, lightly grazing his hand against your ear as he pushes your hair aside, âiâll lay down my life for you, but i will never deceive you.â
(an unyielding faith of a martyr, his commitment is steadfast and his love is a fervent prayer, uttered and spoken only by him. his thoughts are spilled on the carpet, his confession ringing and echoing back to him as he repents like a sinner for loving you too much.)
âiâm a burden.â you whisper, longing for the feeling of his lips on yours. âiâm afraid iâm too much or too little for you to have.â
âiâm okay with that,â itâs a litany of devotion, his words a sacred vow heâll keep for eternity that will come, âi love you.â
forever become a burden, become human in a fragile and delicate way as if your heart is made to break, so heâll get to hold you in his hands.
also tagging, the one and only @toorurs !! i am dedicating this to u because u LOVE last day of the week guy A LOT and iâm also too lazy to make another section but yeah this is for you my boo, hi beloved youâre the greatest of the greatest, youâre the sweetest of all (i feel like im singing a song wadahell) and i hope you know that youâre very very cool and very very funny and iâm not the type to laugh while texting but i always do it when talking to you. i try not to do a backflip when u like and reblog my posts (i cant even do a headstand dafuq) !! i hope you know that youâre not loser, maybe a hater, but definitely not a user and you have me as a friend always no matter what questionable and weird things you say đ like okay alpha sigma youâre the boss. this feels like the dedication page on a book or the acknowledgment part in research where you say thank you to whoever you want like damn. iâll do the remaining words for dedication on upcoming works so that youâre always reminded that youâre somewhat involved in my life even if youâre like 1826725276 fucking miles away
© azullumi â do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.
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thinking abt reader dying in aventurine arms and saying that they're happy he embraced them in their last moments. oh i think i like see him suffering ehe :>
who tf hurt you????? đđđđđ hasnt he suffered enough already⊠ure so evil for this (i say as i write the idea down,, permission to have this in my writing drafts pls)
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"i see my reflection in your eyes" - aventurine
synopsis: aventurine loathes what he sees in the mirror. he avoids looking at his reflection, be it when looking down at champagne glasses, rain puddles or shop display windows. but how come you on the other hand look at him with such adoration? what makes him so special in your eyes, that the person that is reflected in your eyes looks nothing like aventurine but is none other than him. what do you see in him?
pairing: aventurine x reader (gn) |wordcount: 1.8k | content & warnings: established relationship, insecure!aventurine, aventurine cries a bit at the end, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, use of kakavasha once, dual pov once but only short mainly aven centered, rushed ending (you can tell when i became lazy..), half assed-ly proofread; oneshot
tags: @azullumi "i see my reflection in your eyes" hits a lot. because azul is one of the ppl. whom i look up to and kinda aspire to be. + i feel so understood and never judged by him. thank you, sending u kisses and hugs to you azul <3
a/n: also inspired by "reflections" from the neighbourhood
âârine, come here! how do i look?â
aventurine readjusts his tie once again, the lush fabric is placed atop of his freshly ironed shirt, attached to the collar of the crisp button up shirt. the lavish bracelet, that shimmers like a delicate marble statue beneath the bedroom chandelier, is adorned with a dozen sapphires. his eyes dart over to your vanity which youâre sitting in front of, the mirror reflecting your face, mirroring your beautiful self.Â
he gets up from the queen size bed and makes his way over to your vanity, now standing behind you as he admires you through the mirror.Â
âso?â you look at him through the mirror, two pairs of eyes meeting each other. they find its way to each other just like how the sea longs for the shore and meet each other again and again.
âbeautiful. beautiful as always.â he responds, he tears his eyes away from your gaze just like how the tide sweeps away. (he'll always find his way back to you.)
âyeah? sure that this isn't too much?â one of your fingers starts to fiddle with the strands of your hairs, as if you were trying to fix something.Â
(aventurine is under the belief that thereâs nothing about you that should be fixed, youâre already perfect - youâll always be perfect in his eyes.)Â
âmhm.â he hums.â you look amazing, trust me. thereâs nothing worth fixing.â upon hearing his words you withdraw your fingers from your head and place your hand onto the surface of the vanity again as you stare at the mirror and lock eyes with aventurine again while grinning.
the blond can only give you a sad smile in return. heâs unable to tear his eyes away from the mirror, thereâs something eerie behind you - an ugly monster that is lurking behind you.Â
in comparison to you, he, the monster, looks like a hideous beast. heâs loathsome to look at, datatable even - a sore to the eyes, your seraphic eyes.Â
aventurine doesn't know what you see in him.Â
heâs an outcast that people ignore and resent, but still, you reach out your hand to him and give him a saccharine smile.Â
he's the last kid that gets chosen in a chair circle, however, you're the first one who invites him to join you.Â
heâs the fallen angel that was long abandoned by the heavens and the people, nevertheless you still pray to him.Â
aventurine tends to avoid looking at himself, be it when heâs walking past puddles, mirrors or shop display windows, aventurine doesnât dare to look at them, out of fear to see himself. there are times when he has to look at himself - times when heâs forced to look at himself. Â
those mornings before work, right after he brushes his teeth and spits the remaining tooth paste into the sink and looks up to wash his face and stares at himself in the bathroom mirror - he loathes what he sees.Â
those times when the two of you take selfies together and he stares at his own reflection, so later on youâre able to hang the pictures up in your room - as long as it makes you happy.Â
those times when you ask for his opinion on your appearance and he stands in front of your vanity - just like now.Â
aventurine is convinced that heâs ugly. both on the in-and outside. thereâs nothing good about him. heâs of no use other than being the ipcâs dog that is chained to their leash. he carries no value with him, heâs only worth a little - a mere thirty tanbas. heâs charming on the outside, but on the inside heâs nothing but hollow - an empty shell.Â
he often gets complimented by people, they say he has fair skin, a million dollar smile, a good body.Â
the fair skin theyâre talking about is engraved with scars and burns. itâs tainted with scratches, tarnished in scrapes, stained with wounds thatâll never heal, no matter what.Â
his million dollar smile isn't his, the white teeth that beam every time he grins took him years of perfecting and polishing, until the yellow of his teeth faded away and was good enough to satisfy the people.Â
after all those years, his good body is still emaciated and malnourished, sometimes people would joke about him just being skin and bones and then brush it off by saying that it was a good thing that he was slim and toned.
the person in the mirror is called aventurine, thatâs the name he received by the ipc. aventurine looks good - handsome even, better than kakavasha could ever or will ever be, after all kakavasha is a fragmentum that lies in the past, long forgotten.Â
âaventurine?âÂ
âârine!âÂ
âkakavasha!â
after what feels like an eternity aventurine reacts, heâs caught off guard - itâs been so long since heâs heard that name. he remembers telling you that he goes as aventurine now, kakavasha is a name that ties him back to the past, a time that only he remembers, after all everyone else who he had once known was gone. he recalls that you agreed when he asked you to address him by aventurine now, but hearing his given name spill from your mouth, is a sensation, a certain bliss aventurine didn't know he could experience.Â
âkakavasha, are you alright? you asked, your diligent voice brings him back to where he is - where heâs supposed to be. (with you.)Â
the way his name drips off your tongue is intoxicating, a tune chanted by a siren that lures him in, into the depths of the bottomless ocean.Â
(your eyes are like the wuthering waters, theyâre full of yearning and longing. you wrap him tightly into the blankets of the ocean, even if he were to try to swim away, the tide would pull him back, sinking into unending abyss - you.)
âhm, yes of course.â he tilts his head to the side, grinning as he innocently tries to brush the worry in his and your voice off. âwhy'd you think otherwise?â he asks you as he stares into your eyes, two pairs of eyes locked with each other, like a pair of hands that intertwine and canât seem to let go - just like a boy that canât let go of his past and still hangs on.
âyou know that iâm always here for you right?â you look at him with such devotion as if youâd worship the ground he walks on like a religion. caress his hands so lovingly, ignoring the fact that theyâre soaked in blood. kiss the cheeks that are tainted with blemishes.Â
how?
the person that reflects in your eyes isnât aventurine - it canât be him. he doesnât look like that, heâs not worthy looking at, he shouldnât stand in the way of your cherubic gaze - heâs only a bother; an ugly sight to look at. your pupils dilate as they watch him with utmost love, he doesnât deserve it. your eyes fill with love, like they would with tears, he fears that your love would spill if you were to watch him any longer. he fears that his eyes would well up and release tears, the longer he watches himself in your eyes.
how can you look at him with such adoration?Â
aventurine is a sight to behold.Â
he has always been - heâll always be.Â
heâs the setting sun that welcomes the cold breeze of the night, the vibrant colors of the sunset are like his eyes - polychromatic, full of life. a blossoming flower that awakens as it gets shone upon by the sun, revealing its true beauty.Â
âyour life only revolves around aventurineâ would be a wrong thing to say - after all aventurine is your whole word.Â
you tuck one of his honey colored strands behind his ears, eyes glinting with playfulness as you stare at him. âyouâre so beautiful.â a smile makes its way onto your face, earnest and sincere as you let out a small chuckle.Â
âso pretty.â you hum in amusement as you twirl another lock around your index finger.
his mouth opens but it closes again and he can only chuckle before replying.Â
you never fail to take his breath away, but he doesnât mind, there was never much to say in the first place, after all you already know everything about him.
he lets out a strained laugh. âis that so? well iâm flattered, really.â he tries to give you a reassuring smile, itâs not like itâs hard for him to do so, but it seemed like you always knew what was going on in his head.Â
aventurine doesnât know if he should fear or admire that trait of yours.Â
(to have a person know how you really feel means to become vulnerable around them, for them to see your weaknesses and mistakes, he doesnt want that, of course he wants to be seen, but that can only be done when you see his failures.)
again you see right through him, the palms of your hands immediately plant themselves on his cheeks. âaventurine, you know, i love you a lot. but i despise it when you lie to me.â your voice is stern but the words are full of care.Â
âit's okay if you're not sure what to say. I don't mind - i'd never mind. so i ask you to be honest with me.â you plead at him, why - why are you so irresistible. shy donât you just give up on him, after all he's hard to love and even harder to understand.
âi don't think i can do that.â he mumbles quietly, his gaze swaying away from yours, out of fear that youâd look at him in disappointment. the doubt is clearly showing in his words but he tries to ignore it.
âsee? that wasn't so hard was it?â at that he snaps his head back to your gaze, cheeks still kept in between your hands. you smile at him - why do you smile at him? âyou just told me the truth, you told me that itâd be hard for you to tell me the truth.â you gently caress his cheek.Â
upon that aventurine canât help but bury his head into the crook of your neck, slightly surprising you as you stumble a bit. due to him covering his face you canât see what expression he wears but you feel wet patches form at the crook of your neck.Â
at that you can only run your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalps and drawing circles around the back of his head as you whisper into his ear. âtake it slow, we have all the time in the world.â
he feels himself trembling under you and his voice breaking a bit as he murmurs the words into the crook of your neck.
âthank you.â
okay @azullumi you're getting an additional paragraph cause yeah!! you're super cool and i took a liking to u very quickly, ure sososo fun to talk to and you def have sweetened up the past few weeks for me and also motivated to write a lot! your feedbacks, praises etc. always give me sm motivation which isnt often found on tumblr anymore nowdays so i'm really grateful that you're always here for me. i'm very very fond of you and the same goes for you, i'll always be here for you!! (ps: please take care of yourself more, you're a great student and friend but please be a bit more considerate to yourself and take more breaks and rest well!
e/n: when i had the outline i thought this was abt to turn out so good, well guess who was wrong.. not really content but oh well... as always rbs and comments are vv appreciated!! (and will def be read)
© TOORURS 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is not permitted.
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Cheese for you. đ§
Sorry, today is my birthday and it just happens that I will spend it alone.
So could you please write something small? Something with characters you want and with story you want, just... anything. If it doesn't bother you, of course. It's okay if you don't have time or don't want to, place yourself first please! đ§
OMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! SENDING HUGS AND CAKES AND LOVELY WISHES TO U <33 I HOPE YOUâLL HAVE A LOVELY DAY and even if u have to spend it alone, you can still try to enjoy it on your own !! iâll have something written and done later for u boo !! (dont worry it doesnt bother me and i would be happy to oblige if it makes your day better :)) !! please take care of yourself, stay safe, and stay hydrated!!
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speaks into the mic this but with ratio
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Final Victor lightcone but make it SO much worse
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"orion" ; aventurine
summary : he has lived through many lives, has met many people, has gone through many places, but the shadow of your soul follows him wherever he goes and his eyes would search for a glimpse of your smile everywhere. he continues to look for the light that touches him, not the sun, not the moon, but you.
tags : star-crossed 2024, reincarnation concept, established relationship but also not established in some parts, usage of metaphors, fluff with angst and comfort, crumbs of insecure aventurine, snippets of his lifetimes and how he finds you in each one of them, not proofread sorry, 2.9k words ; one-shot
tagging : @toorurs (hi boo)
notes : i had two ideas in mind but the other was too complicated and would be lengthy so i decided to have this one instead. anwss, i hope you'll like this one!!
Aventurine has recurring dreams of you.
(It was a blessing.)
Ones that feel like fleeting moments in the wind destined to be taken away from him as soon as he tries to hold it. It crumbles into dust and falls to the ground he stands on, and heâll try to pick up your pieces but it doesnât stay in his hands for long. Perhaps it was meant to leave, not to last, and perhaps, heâll hold on to what little is left of the particles in his palms.
In his dreams, youâll kiss the scars on his skin and heâll adore you, clear vivid eyes painted with vibrant hues that capture all his affection for you in his soft gaze (they say the eyes are the windows to the soul and youâll see your reflection in his). Youâll tell him of all the worries that plague your mind, of all the thoughts that bothers you, of everything that youâll think of.
âIf you have 3 lifetimes, what would you do in each one of them?â You speak softly, a soft murmur to the night as you look at him with your eyes wide with curiosity. Aventurine will find himself baffled over your question, eyebrows knitted as he falls into his thoughtsâhe wouldnât know what to say.
âItâs not that hard to answer, is it?â
âHow about you answer first? Iâm a little curious about what youâll say.â
You hum, lips pursed into a smile as if you already know what to say, as if youâve been waiting for the moment that someone will ask you that question; You recount your desires to him on how you want to be a bookstore owner but also a florist, on how you wish to soar the skies but also travel across the seas, on how you want to be everything and nothing all at once. 3 lifetimes would simply not be enough for your wishes.
He likes listening to your voice as you speak, adores the way the corners of your eyes wrinkle when you think of something you like. But somewhere in the back of his head, turmoil creeps into the cracks of his mind and settles on the sharp edges.
âYour turn.â You say, beaming a warm smile at him yet he falls into silence once more. He feels ashamed, humiliation seeping into the gaps of his fingers and traces the lines of his palmsâyou were so full of light, embodying solace in your being, you are what is adored and seeked yet he stands beside you, seemingly like a shadow that haunts your steps, hesitation lingers and tugs at his hand even when heâll try to touch you. Heâs unsure of what he wants in this life even more for the ones that will supposedly come. He finds it unfairâperhaps for youâfor him.Â
âStill no answer?â Your voice sounds reassuring, soft as you lightly graze your finger on his skin, your ghosting touch making his lips shudder. It was comforting, the way that youâll speak to him, the way that youâll touch him, the way that youâll love himâit was all warm and comforting. You brush your hand on his cheek, tucking away stray strands of hair behind his ear; âItâs alright, it was a sudden question anyways. Also, something stupid to ask.â
âNo, itâs notâitâs not stupid.â He stumbles over his words; he rarely stutters, rarely finds himself tripping on the bumps of the letters that fall out of his mouth but he finds himself staggering on the line of vulnerability and uncertainty. You hum, nodding, seemingly encouraging him to spill out whatever he wishes to say because youâll listen, no matter how ridiculous it can be.
âI just havenât thought about it.â Aventurine, though he may not say it, doesnât like thinking of the future. It just reminds him how everything ahead of him is just empty and narrow, itâs as if he has to walk alone.
âBut IâŠâ His voice trails off and yet a thought lingers inside his head, making its way down his throat and clawing the walls of his mouth; the more heâll keep it in, the more heâll taste the blood of his perished words on his tongue.
âIâll look for you in each one of them.â
The wind blows against his and your form and he feels your lips all over his face, pressing delicate kisses all over the lines and wrinkles of his features as if a brush to a canvas. The light would become too bright for him so he closes his eyes, relishing in this moment where you hold his face in your hands as if he was made out of broken pieces carved out of peopleâs miseries, as if he was something fragile, and the dirt that stains the waters of his mind seemingly dissipates like it never existed.
âAnother stupid question, did you know how much I love you?â Youâll whisper against his lips, a smile tugging on the corners of your mouth. Your breath tickles his skin and he canât hide the smile that draws on his face.
âHow much?â
âIâll give the world to you.â
And heâll wake up.
(Or perhaps, a curse.)
Aventurine stands before the colorful blossoms displayed in pots and buckets of different sizes and colors. The essence of spring dances in the air, filling the place with the scent of blooming flowers and the sight of receding snow that unveils the land below; the sight of it is not unfamiliar to him. He has seen thousands of itâthe different seasons that weave its life in his surroundings and has lived through many of them.
He has had many lives and he has been everyone but also no one. He has been a puppet, a poet, a prince, a musician, a gambler. Little pieces of himself merge into the likeness that he sees in front of the mirror everyday. His form is battered, bruised, broken all over, patched and affixed together with nonviscid tape, sewed with delicate threads of fateâthere are days that he doesnât recognize the person standing in front of the reflective glass. Even if has retained most of his features, most especially his eyes, and nothing drastic has changed from what he once was; yet he struggles in seeing himself in the mirror.
âAre you looking to buy a bouquet?â A voice breaks him out of his trance, pulling him back to reality. It must have been weird seeing a man just standing for minutes in front of the displays and staring into space.
âNo, not reââ His sentence breaks off abruptly when he turns his head to the sound of the voice and his eyes meet a pair that causes memories to surge like a harsh tide that pulls everything into the depths; it sweeps him under like a fierce undertow as it drags him back to the profundity of what haunts him. His thoughts that seem like old, faded photographs flicker in his mind, and the sound of buzzing fills his ears as the world comes to a still.
It feels as though the ground beneath him has crumbled away. There you are.
âSir?â Itâs you, itâs you that calls out to him and not a random person that he meets somewhere he canât remember, not a stranger that would approach him and ask for his name, not someone that he thought was you.
âNothing,â Aventurine shakes his head and composes himself, âI would like to get a bouquet.â
âOf course, which flowers would you like to have?â
âIâm not entirely sure. What do you recommend?â If this was his attempt of making a conversation, he lies between the line of failing and succeeding. Heâs not even here with the plans of bringing home a bouquet to give nor decorate his house and heâs not even sure if he has his wallet with him.
You hum as you fall into deep thought and you begin to count tales of different flowers and paint the meanings behind them with your voice, and you come to mention one that made his heart skip like stone in a pond, and his breath hitch. You speak of a certain flower with such tender affection and all he can think of is how you used to adore this very one even back then, and how your home used to be adorned with it.
âIs that your favorite?â The golden-haired man asks, curiosity wrapping around his tone as he speaks despite the fact that he already knows your answer and you smile at him, warmlyâand oh, how much he missed seeing it. Itâs like he has fallen in love all over again and the colors paint all over his once bleak and mellow life. Even after all this time, all these years, all these lifetimes, he still has you carved in his soul, every part of you etched on the bumps of his skin. As if youâre engraved like a scar on his body, persisting, lingering.
âItâs a lovely flower, how could I not?â The sound of laughter forms in your throat and spills out of your lips. Itâs a lovely sound that he has inscribed in the very depths of his mind, one that would muddle his sleep or disturb him in the moments of silence he would revel in, trying to find the wind to ground himself.
Youâre still the same as he remembers.
Memories lie dormant like fragile butterflies trapped within glass jars, fluttering and flickering, casting shadows upon the vulnerable walls of his conscience. Remembering, a troublesome thing that weighs heavy in his mind, tugging on his thoughts, and having a tight embrace on his heart. Sometimes he thinks itâs just a dream, one meaningless and lengthy dream that is meant to harrow him every time that he wakes up. But it was real, all of it is realâthe laughter, the kisses, the touches, the smiles, you. How could he ever deny your existence?
Aventurine is in his nth life, not knowing how many times he has experienced death and the feeling of waking up to a strange and unfamiliar place, while his memories would flow to him like water in a stream. It comes in slow, steady, heâll pick up broken shards of it and keep his fingers closeâit will stab and make his hand bleed.
His hand, it was yours once. Clasped, held, weaved into the small gaps of your own. You held him as if he was yours to haveâand he really is. Heâll walk through the busy streets with a gaze that roams everywhere, holding the anticipation, hope, that heâll catch you amidst the crowds of people whose face appears to be nonexistent to him.Â
(Heâll look for you everywhere he goes, in museums, flower shops, bookstores, in the rivers, in fields, on the ground, everywhere.)
âOh no, Iâm sorry!â
Books came falling, papers scattered all over the pavement, and he saw someone in front of him, seemingly panicking as they gather all of their things; Aventurine wasnât a heartless man nor was he cruel so he knelt to the ground and picked up all the remaining papers before handing it to themâlifting his gaze, to be met by a pair of eyes that he looks for everywhere.
(And heâll find you.)
There was once a moment where you remember him.
It wasnât just a, âI passed by you on the streets and you caught my attention since and I think of you everyday,â but it was, âI know you because you existed in my life before this.â It was something he had never expected, a moment where he had to pinch himself on the thigh to see if this was one of his messy dreams but it hurt and his heart ached.
(In this life, you were lost, alone, not knowing what to do nor what you wished to doâyou simply stood still as you watched the strangers passing by, as everything before you crumbled. In this life, you were nothing but his friend and he was nothing but yours.)
âIâm sorry?â He says, still in disbelief on what he is hearing. Maybe it was just his ears playing tricks on him, his mind playing illusions for him due to how much he misses you. Oh, if only you knew how tight your grasp is on him; it troubles him with the way heâll catch you in the corner of his eye but thereâs nothing there but dust, heâll feel your presence everywhere even when youâre nowhere to be found.
âYouâre him. The one that is always in my dreams.â Aventurine will open his mouth to speak but nothing would come out; he remains silent, unable to find the words to say.
âRine.â His breath hitched. Everything faded into white noise and there was only you in his eyesâthere was only you and him. He has long abandoned that name, taking on different ones in each passing life but even if he has left it behind, he always remembers how you used to call him so sweetly and gently as if he was the only one that matters to you. âI missed you.â
Your voice breaks and he swears, it felt like something inside him had shattered. How long has he waited for this moment? How much has he dreamt of the day that youâll remember him? He didnât think it was possible but he holds on to the thin thread of hope that you will.
âDo you⊠Do you not remember me?â You look hurt at that thought, your gaze wavering as you look at him with tear-stained eyes.
âI do.â He whispers, broken. âI do remember you.â He always remembers you. Itâs a burden that he carries for so long but he will never let goâhe wishes he could, he wishes he wanted to. Your voice, your touch, your laugh, your embrace, your eyes, everything about you will always come to haunt him; you are too entertwined with his soul, threads bound and tangled together in knots that can never be undone.
The two of you talk about everything on this night as the stars above you listen, as the moon will become a witness to the words and caresses. Youâll tell him of all the dreams that you had, memories that will haunt you the same way it haunted him.
âIâll remember you tomorrow and even the days after. Iâll remember you, always, even in the next lifetimes.â You say, certainty and assurance seeps into the tone of his voice and a part of Aventurine feels relieved and broken at the same time.
He smiles, âYou will.â (You donât know it but this too will be buried in the grave of the past and he will come to mourn it in every moment he wakes.)
âKiss me, please?â You didnât have to beg for anything, you will never have to beg for anything. He has looked for the shadow of your form, for the sound of your footsteps and laughter, for the feeling of your hand in his. You will never have to beg him for anythingâheâll give you the world if you ask.
âIâll see you tomorrow?â He whispers against your lips, his warm breath fanning your skinâa contrast to the cold night breeze that brushes against you.
âYouâll hear me tomorrow. Iâll call you, I promise. So please donât keep your phone on silent.â
âI donât. Youâre the only person on my phone.â
You laugh at that, short and sweet. âReally?â
He kisses you once more, a fleeting one but the taste of his lips lingered on yours. âI only have you.â
The night draws to a close and Aventurine waits for the sun with bated breath but you werenât able to fulfill your promise, for on the morning when the sunâs embrace caressed your skin, you remained in slumberâs hold.
Itâs his second life, the life where he first remembers everything and when he is still not tormented by the burden (a curse) that he will hold all of the memories and you will remain in each one of them.
âI have a question.â
You lay your head on his shoulder, all the while your hand plays with his own. Your fingers softly dance across his palm and mindlessly sketches invisible patterns and traces the lines etched on it, while he watches, captivated by the ballet of your touch. Thereâs the fresh smell of shampoo and soap in the air around him, and the warmth of his hands provides a refreshing contrast to the coolness of your skin, still tingling from your recent bath.
In this life, you own a bookstore just like you wish and heâs simply just your lover.
âWhat is it?â He answers, watching you as you draw what seems to be a flower on his palm. He finds it endearing, every moment that he spends with you is all too sweet and dear for him, no matter how small and mundane it can be. He adores seeing you under this light, cherishes the way you melt into his embrace and how you hold him in your arms (he wishes everything would be this simple).
âHow would you know if it was me?â The movement of your fingers comes to a halt as you look up to him to meet his gaze; eyes wide with curiosity and affection, he meets your gaze. Aventurine thinks for a moment before he answers:
âIâll know if itâs you, always.â
You let out a short laugh, your expression breaking out into a soft one. âWhat if I was a worm then?â
âYouâll be the first worm to make my heart flutter.â There was no need for such questionsâAventurine will recognize you everywhere, in different forms, in different light.
âWhat if I was a stone?â
He chuckles, âIâll know.â
© azullumi â do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.
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âof impermanence and devotion to your sacred withering bonesâ ; sunday
premise â heâll take pieces out of his flesh to mold into your wounds, bandaging you with his skin; he never liked seeing you hurt.
tags â established relationship, religious themes and metaphors, soft and loving sunday (i advocate), mix of the lovely trio (the fluff, the slight angst, and the comfort), reassurance from him, gender-neutral reader, never proofread, 1.1k ; one-shot
note â my parents chose thought daughter so now iâm writing fanfics on a thursday afternoon.
heâll love you like religion.
needlessly, tirelessly, with bruised knees and bleeding palms, with blood-shot eyes and clasped fingers, worshiping, devoting, yearning, calling to whoever will listenâto you who will listen. it suffocates him yet heâll clench at his chest and utter your name even if thereâs no voice in his being and he is left like a pathetic, whimpering dog that was made to be abandoned. heâll dig his own grave with broken nails and wounded hands, a coffin of tender touches, and the earth will fill his lungs and heâll hope for flowers to sprout from his mouth when he plants his confession into the dirt. can you hear him? do you hear him?
âplease take care of yourself more.â sunday says as he reaches for the bottle of disinfectant, pouring enough of it over the cloth he was holding to drench it before gently dabbing the fabric on the area of your wound. it stings and you hissed, clenching the sheets beneath your fingers as you watch him work.
âi only fell and scraped my knee, i donât think itâs anything that bad.â you say in defense to your clumsiness. sunday was all gentle and careful in cleaning and treating the wound on your knee as if you were a child and he was the nurse tending to your âbigâ wound.
(a god does not bleed but you do.)
he sighs, âit could have been worse.â and dresses your wound with a gauze, the material pristine white as no blood taints the material.
âbut it wasnât.â you rebut quite quickly, your gaze firm at his yet he doesnât meet yours. he is kneeled in front of you, an open kit by his side and a chair on his otherâand he chooses to be on the cold ground, his clothing slightly wrinkled and its appearance similar to spilled water on the floor beneath him. he never dares let himself appear as indecent with his disordered clothes and unkempt appearance in the form of an unsymmetrical coat and creased pants but here he is, in all his glory and messiness, laid out like the map of a devoteeâs heart before you.
(heâll beg even for a moment of your gaze but his cowardice will hold his head down to the groundâhe is never like this, he was never his own when you look at him.)
âwhat could have happened if i wasnât there to immediately help you? youâre too careless.â he scolds yet thereâs no hint of harshness in his voice, just gentle and sweet worry lacing into his tone. something lies, seemingly dormant, in the still air that embraces you and he finds himself waiting for something to happen.
âsunday, itâs just a small wound. you donât have to worry, iâm fine.â you assure him, hand cupping the side of his cheek and brushing your thumb over his cheekboneâitâs soft and slow, you feel warm, he feels warm. he leans into your touch, your hand soothing the tension that lies in his bones and his expression softens. silence settles in the room as he basks in the gentle affection that is bestowed on him. he holds your hand he turns his head to kiss the palm of it; his eyes are close and his lips lingered on your skin, comforting, relishing, soft, you.
âi have a question but before that, can you look at me, please?â
âi am,â he whispers, his lips beginning to trace your palm down to your pulse, all the while he keeps his gaze away and shut, âand my love, you never have to beg or plead for anything.â you know heâll give you everything.
(sometimesâalways, he feels like he is undeserving of the divine grace of your attention, of your affection, of your adoration, and you feel like your love is just a meager offering, unable to fulfill him. can you see him each other?)
finally, he looks at youâgolden eyes born from the sun meets yours. his halo is situated just right on his head, pierced wings behind his ears, and his hair reminds you of the sky above you that you once gazed into when you were a child playing in the fields, before you were deemed as his, and now your gaze is held on the ground right where he is kneeling down. stray strands of your hair fall over your eyes and the way the light kisses your skin makes you look delicate, ethereal.
âdo i love you enough?â you ask. have you ever been enough? have you done enough? is your mere and bare existence enough for someone like him?
âsince when have you not?â he answers, filled with gentle affection. his tone is akin of a devout preacher, reassuring like a verse from a scripture.
(sunday never thought of you as lacking, not with the broken and missing pieces of your skin, tainted and muddled by blood and dirt, left to rot in your wake like a sin unrepented.)
âyouâre the wine that overflows my cup,â he says, each syllable of his words carrying the weight of his utter and suffocating devotion, âand iâll continue to consume you even in death.â no grave will ever hold his body down.
you cup his cheeks with both of your hands, his lips leaving your skin yet the warmth of his kisses remains. âyouâre too good with your words,â you say, a small smile drawing on your lips, âperhaps youâre only telling lies to please me.âÂ
âmy dearest,â he murmurs, lightly grazing his hand against your ear as he pushes your hair aside, âiâll lay down my life for you, but i will never deceive you.â
(an unyielding faith of a martyr, his commitment is steadfast and his love is a fervent prayer, uttered and spoken only by him. his thoughts are spilled on the carpet, his confession ringing and echoing back to him as he repents like a sinner for loving you too much.)
âiâm a burden.â you whisper, longing for the feeling of his lips on yours. ïżœïżœiâm afraid iâm too much or too little for you to have.â
âiâm okay with that,â itâs a litany of devotion, his words a sacred vow heâll keep for eternity that will come, âi love you.â
forever become a burden, become human in a fragile and delicate way as if your heart is made to break, so heâll get to hold you in his hands.
also tagging, the one and only @toorurs !! i am dedicating this to u because u LOVE last day of the week guy A LOT and iâm also too lazy to make another section but yeah this is for you my boo, hi beloved youâre the greatest of the greatest, youâre the sweetest of all (i feel like im singing a song wadahell) and i hope you know that youâre very very cool and very very funny and iâm not the type to laugh while texting but i always do it when talking to you. i try not to do a backflip when u like and reblog my posts (i cant even do a headstand dafuq) !! i hope you know that youâre not loser, maybe a hater, but definitely not a user and you have me as a friend always no matter what questionable and weird things you say đ like okay alpha sigma youâre the boss. this feels like the dedication page on a book or the acknowledgment part in research where you say thank you to whoever you want like damn. iâll do the remaining words for dedication on upcoming works so that youâre always reminded that youâre somewhat involved in my life even if youâre like 1826725276 fucking miles away
© azullumi â do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.
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Aventurine's CN va says "Take me away" in a really nice whisper in the CN stream
His JP va says "Babyy~ Cutie Honey" in the JP steam
His EN va at the end says "bye bye~" in a really nice voice.
These men know their charm, and they use it to the fullest honestly
- Rabs
RABS MY SAVIOR đ THANK YOU I CAN SLEEP PEACEFULLY NOW AND AAAAAA i wish i was there during the stream it feels like a missed a significant moment in history hahaa.... and i agree, they really know their charm and omg im falling to the floor on my knees
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i want to write jealous aventurine ooooo the voices
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can I req chuuya x reader pwetty pwease
please be specific boo bcs im going to make stoner chuuya and stoner reader đđ
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AAAAAAA IS THAT TRUE AVENTURINE SAY "BABY, CUTIE, HONEY" IN LIVESTREAM?? đđ
I DID NOT FKING WATCHTHE LIVESTREAM WHAT PLS TELL ME URE JOKING
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"baby, stay beside me a little longer" ; aventurine
premise â how you spend your day with him.
pairing â aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)
tags â established relationship, fluff, domestic, not proofread, text messages, 1.7k words ; headcanons
tagging â @toorurs (hi, we don't mention the event fics we have to do hahaha)
note â i miss him and i had the urge to write skincare aventurine. 3 DAYS LEFT UNTIL HIS BANNER
morning
As sunlight streams through the window accompanied with the gentle chirping of the birds outside, thereâs no guarantee that one of you always wakes up first before the other. Sometimes itâs him that wakes up first and sometimes itâs youâit occasionally depends if one of you has plans later on or has a free day.
âWhatâs on your schedule for today?â You ask him, watching him as he buttons his shirt. Daylight illuminates the room and the sound of leaves rustling outside as the breeze flies past fills your morning, albeit you are still laying in bed, not having the desire to move. Aventurine is the opposite of your state right at this momentâalready fresh out of his bath (the faint scent of his soap clings to his skin), dressing into his work clothes, though his hair is still messy. Honey-dyed locks tousled, with some strands sticking to the back of his neck and some on his face.
âI have a client to interview this afternoon. It was scheduled for next week but they changed it to today.â There was a hint of frustration in his tone as he spoke. You could immediately tell that the reschedule caused some issues with his plans so you didnât press on any further. âWill you be home late tonight then?â
âNo, I donât think so. Iâll be home early.â
âWhat do you want to eat for dinner?â You say, remembering that you had no plans for today so youâll just be staying home the whole time. Aventurine puts on his blazer, humming as he thought for a moment, before he answers: âI was thinking of taking you out tonight.â
You beam a smile at him, watching as he fixes the mess out of his hair and sprays perfume on himself soon after, knowing that the scent of it will follow you while heâs gone. âOh, really? Where?â However, he doesnât answer but instead, walks towards you and bends down to your level to give you a quick peck on your lips.
âYouâll see.â
Heâll often ask for your help in tying his tie. He knows how to do it, even much better than you, but he prefers the messy work of your hands than his own. Some of his co-workers would point out how his tie looks messy as if he did it in a rush and while he may laugh and nod, he wonât do anything about it. To him, itâs a reminder of you.
MORNING LAZINESS. It just happens but itâs not always that it doesâyouâre there besides him still too sleepy and grumbling on not wanting to leave the bed yet and how could he refuse? Sure, your hold on him is not that tight and he could easily slip out of your grasp, and sure, you may be close to falling asleep again and you wonât notice if he leaves but your skin is warm and close, your hands are soft on his, and the sound of your breathing comforts him. How could he?
noon
Your middays are often spent separatelyâboth of you accomplishing your own sets of responsibilities. Aventurine would occasionally send you messages asking if you have had lunch already, asking what youâre doing, and telling you about how everything is going for him. Although the conversation doesnât last that long, always being interfered with by either someone or something.
Your phone buzzes and the screen lights up as you receive a new notification. You were expecting a nonsense reminder from one of your apps but instead, it was a message and it was from none other than your lover, Aventurine.
However, on rare occasions that the both of you are at home and have no set plans for the day, heâll spend his time together with you. You want to go on a spontaneous date? Sure, he was going to ask you out anyways. Feeling lazy and just want to be in bed the whole day? Thatâs fine, he wasnât planning on doing anything. . You want to do something together but not want to go out? Perhaps you can bake and try out this new recipe, that is if you have the needed ingredients at your home.
evening
Evenings are saved for the both of you, which means nothing related to work. Itâs the only time of the day where you and he are free from any of your responsibilitiesâunless, of course, he still has some things to do but that rarely happens. Heâll often come home with a gift or a bouquet of flowers that you like; heâll only answer you with, âJust because,â if ever you would ask him whatâs the occasion. Itâs just something that he does, something that you should get used to.
However, there are moments where you have to spend your night alone as he has to come home late and there are moments that youâll wait for him and heâll come home to find you asleep on the sofa. A pang of guilt hits him as he crouches in front of you, brushing a few strands away from your face and whispering an apology that only the moon could hear. Heâll carry you to bed soon after.
The way you spend your evenings with him can varyâit could be a game night between you two which will become heated due to how competitive the both of you can be, or a movie night wherein looking for what to watch can take a longer time than the movie itself, or just something simple and relaxing for the both of you.
âYou always have so many interesting stories to tell.â
âIs it bad?â You answer him, worry lingering in your voice. You were telling him of how your day went and how you saw something fascinating when you went out earlier, and he was sitting behind you, drying your hair since you had just taken a bath. You could feel his fingers run through your hair, the dryer in hand as he pointed the nozzle towards the crown of your head. The air blowing from it feels warmâjust enough to not feel like itâs going to burn off your scalpâand combined with the gentleness of his hand, it all feels comforting, soothing.
âNo, itâs not. I just feel bad and perhaps,â He turns off the dryer and places it down beside him, âI also feel guilty.â
You immediately turn to him, eyebrows knitted as your expression warps into a mix of surprise and concern: âBut why?â
He hesitates, averting away from your gaze, âI donât have much to tell you, I donât have exciting or interesting stories to say.â Heâs afraid youâll find him boring, that youâll get tired of him but what he doesnât realize is that you wonât, and you never will.
âThat's completely okay. You don't need to have something to say all the time.â Youâre fine with itâeven if you have to sit in silence with him, even if the days are becoming repetitive and tiring, as long as youâre with him, as long as you feel his hand in yours, it will all be fine. You touch the side of his cheek, âIâm just happy to spend time with you and talk about anything, or nothing at all. How has your day been?â
He turns his head to look at youâan alluring pair of vibrant and pristine hues, a pool of clear and vivid richness hidden in the depths of his eyes meets your gaze once more; âNothing much happened. I met some clients and helped them, had a short meeting, and just did my work.â
âYou didnât go to the casino?â
âI was planning to but I wanted to see you more.â
A soft laugh escapes from your lips: âIs that so?â And he only hums as an answer, leaning forward to snake his arms around your waist and pull you closer to him before he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder. And you swear you hear him whisper the words, âI love you.â
Most likely has a nighttime skincare routine which he does with you (thereâs no way his skin is that flawless and fair for no reason like youâre telling me thatâs genetics???). Heâll be coming out of the bathroom with a clay mask or sheet mask on his face and he canât speak because he doesnât want to mess up the placement of the product and heâll help you in putting yours on. The both of you on the bed with your robes on, hair either pushed back or tied, and thereâs a pair of cucumber slices on your eyes along with a mask on your face.
He has trouble sleeping and it takes a lot for him to fall asleepâheâll tire himself out, going on late night runs, exercise, drinking anything that could help him feel sleepy, anything. Heâll often spend his time tossing and turning while in bed and perhaps even counting sheep in his mind but somehow, just listening to your voice or the sound of your breathing makes it all easy for him. Heâll listen to you talk and tell stories and heâll feel his eyes getting heavier in each second, as a warm and soft feeling envelops him like a blanket, and your voice will turn into a distant lullaby that guides him into slumber.
He wouldnât even notice that heâs falling asleep in each second but maybe you do, maybe youâll see the way he relaxes as his eyes threaten to close and his breathing comes steady, and maybe thatâs why your voice keeps on getting softer until it turns into humming as you stroke his hair gently. Heâll apologize in the morning, telling you that perhaps he was so tired and he didnât mean to fall asleep but youâll assure him that itâs all okay.
Through the mundane things, in the boring days and the exciting ones, in days that you and him argue, in days that it all feels unbearable and suffocating, in every single moment with you, heâll love you (tear him apart from skin to bones, see him for his heart, and youâll notice your name carved into it).
© azullumi â do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.
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a scripture on having a certain pretty gambler as your boyfriend ; aventurine
summary â radiant and gleaming, dating him feels like basking under the golden glow of the sun, with the promise of the serene and starlit night ahead.
pairing â aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)
tags â established relationship, fluff, him as your boyfriend basically, there are no spoilers dwww, i never proofread, 1.2k words ; headcanons
note â congratulations to honkai star rail for being the only game to have aventurine!! this is day 2 of writing for this man until i have him.
Aventurine couldnât abandon the person that he used to be so he carried him in his hands. Always hesitant, afraid, and seemingly detached from everyone he meetsâthis is why he seems so distant and disconnected from you at first despite being in a relationship with him. Although he lives his whole life gambling, believing that everything happens and the outcomes gained are due to luck, heâs meticulously careful and cautious just to not get too attached to you lest he gets hurt in the end (he has dealt with the sight of peopleâs backs as they walk away from him multiple times).
It will take time for him to completely warm up and be vulnerable to you. Although there are moments that he lets the facade slip and he lays himself bare, moments where itâs just you and him in the silence, moments where you comfort him after a nightmare that disturbs his sleep; he doesnât ask for comfort nor assurance often but you always seem to know when he needs it.
Aventurine loves it whenever you gently comb your hand through his hair. Even if he wasnât vocal about the matter, youâll know from the way he immediately relaxes under your touch as you rake your fingers through his locks. It just gives him a sense of comfort, finding serenity and affection in such a small act of intimacy; it reminds him of how simple everything could be (oh, how he wishes it was) with just the loving touch of your hands.
Heâs not exactly a morning person but would always wake up early, occasionally before you do. Itâs either because he has to leave for work early or it just so happens that he woke up just as the sun was rising. If he has to get ready soon, heâll take a few minutes of his time to admire you as you sleep, to trace the bridge of your nose slowly and carefully so as to not wake you, to draw and follow the outlines of your features with his eyes. But if he has no plans for today, heâll stay in bed with you and eventually, fall asleep once more. He holds you so close and so tight (but not tight enough to suffocate you) that itâs hard to slip away from his grasp.
You feel a pair of soft lips on your forehead, the kiss lingering for a moment until you flutter your eyes open. âAre you awake now, sleepy?âÂ
âMmhâŠâ You grumble, your vision adjusts to your surroundings as you blink multiple times. You could see Aventurine getting dressed, putting on his expensive tailored-coat.
âYouâre leaving already? Why did you not wake me up?â
âYou looked like you were having a nice dream.â
MATCHING PAJAMAS (heck yeah!!). The time when he saw you wearing one of his pajamas, it felt like something had been flipped inside of him and the thought of getting you one for your own that matches his fills each and every corner of his mind. Although all of the matching things you have with him are not just limited to pajamasâit can range from matching jewelry, matching charms, matching clothing, matching glasses, matching everything. God, he goes into a store, sees something that he likes and asks the staff if they have another one but in a different color that you like.
Perhaps you have never noticed (or maybe you have) but he never wears his glasses whenever heâs around youâwhen thereâs only you and him. There was no need to hide anything from you, not when you adore all parts of his being. He melts whenever you compliment him (heâs a sucker for such words of affection) especially when itâs his eyes, loves the way you look at him as if he was everything you wish for.
Heâll often play games with you or initiate a bet but somehow, he has more losses than wins. âYouâre cheating!â Youâll say, pointing at him as if you were an attorney from a game that objects to a statement. Aventurine, however, would stare at you in disbelief (though heâs just feigning innocence) and would answer with a raised eyebrow: âHow am I the one cheating when youâre winning?â To which youâll respond with: âThatâs because youâre letting me win. Youâre not playing fair, Aven.â
SPOILS YOU A LOT and when I say a lot, I mean A LOT. Everything you'll ask for or even just mention in passing, he'll provide. He randomly sends you pockets of money, a notification on your phone lighting up your screen and the text says: You have received 100, 000 credits. You have to get used to itâitâs one of the ways that he shows his affection to you. He wouldnât take ânoâ for an answer whenever he gives you something either, so, you have to take it or else youâll have to deal with a sulky man the whole day.Â
Donât worry though as he ensures that everything that he buys and gets for you is something you would likeâexpensive meaningless gifts will always be meaningless, he would rather give you a cheap yet beautiful charm that is of your favorite color or flower than an expensive shiny necklace made out of gold and adorned with diamonds which youâll never wear because itâs too heavy on your neck or itâs not your preference.
On that note, he also likes seeing you wear the things he bought for you. Maybe itâs obvious, maybe itâs not, but he likes to dress you up, likes to see you put on the clothes he picks for you. Dates where he brings you to a boutique to pick clothes together (for both you and him), dress up, and ask each other if they look good is not so rare between you two. Itâs silly but the two of you would end up giggling like children when the other would strike a ridiculous pose to show off what they're wearing (and also, with the intention to make one another laugh); he lives for and craves these moments with you.
Brings you together with him to casinos and lets you watch him while he plays as he regards you as his lucky charm (when heâs actually the one who is lucky here). Whenever he wins a game or a bet, he asks for a kiss from youâhe taps on his cheek as an indication of his request but he will not force you if you donât wish to express such affections in public, rather heâll ask for something else instead like maybe a smile or ask that you hold his hand. Sometimes, if youâre curious enough, heâll teach you the fundamentals of the game and what you can do to win. The look of pride on his face says it all as he watches you win and your opponent falls to the floor (you just put someone in debt).
The amount of endearing names that he calls you. If ever you get flustered whenever he calls you with those affectionate endearments, heâll take the chance to tease you, to repeatedly call you with such names until you throw a pillow or any object at himâhe catches it though but will apologize while laughing, saying that he wonât do it again.
You have to be understanding and gentle with him, careful as you tread the light, lest you fall into the dark and see that the tall and strong walls he built around himself is nothing compared to the broken and fragile pieces that are sewn on his skin, and he will leave (out of fear, out of anxiety, out of grief, out of self-hatred). But itâs alright, everything will be, youâll embrace him even in the abyss and youâll guide him back to your warmth.
© azullumi â do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works
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"orion" ; aventurine
summary : he has lived through many lives, has met many people, has gone through many places, but the shadow of your soul follows him wherever he goes and his eyes would search for a glimpse of your smile everywhere. he continues to look for the light that touches him, not the sun, not the moon, but you.
tags : star-crossed 2024, reincarnation concept, established relationship but also not established in some parts, usage of metaphors, fluff with angst and comfort, crumbs of insecure aventurine, snippets of his lifetimes and how he finds you in each one of them, not proofread sorry, 2.9k words ; one-shot
tagging : @toorurs (hi boo)
notes : i had two ideas in mind but the other was too complicated and would be lengthy so i decided to have this one instead. anwss, i hope you'll like this one!!
Aventurine has recurring dreams of you.
(It was a blessing.)
Ones that feel like fleeting moments in the wind destined to be taken away from him as soon as he tries to hold it. It crumbles into dust and falls to the ground he stands on, and heâll try to pick up your pieces but it doesnât stay in his hands for long. Perhaps it was meant to leave, not to last, and perhaps, heâll hold on to what little is left of the particles in his palms.
In his dreams, youâll kiss the scars on his skin and heâll adore you, clear vivid eyes painted with vibrant hues that capture all his affection for you in his soft gaze (they say the eyes are the windows to the soul and youâll see your reflection in his). Youâll tell him of all the worries that plague your mind, of all the thoughts that bothers you, of everything that youâll think of.
âIf you have 3 lifetimes, what would you do in each one of them?â You speak softly, a soft murmur to the night as you look at him with your eyes wide with curiosity. Aventurine will find himself baffled over your question, eyebrows knitted as he falls into his thoughtsâhe wouldnât know what to say.
âItâs not that hard to answer, is it?â
âHow about you answer first? Iâm a little curious about what youâll say.â
You hum, lips pursed into a smile as if you already know what to say, as if youâve been waiting for the moment that someone will ask you that question; You recount your desires to him on how you want to be a bookstore owner but also a florist, on how you wish to soar the skies but also travel across the seas, on how you want to be everything and nothing all at once. 3 lifetimes would simply not be enough for your wishes.
He likes listening to your voice as you speak, adores the way the corners of your eyes wrinkle when you think of something you like. But somewhere in the back of his head, turmoil creeps into the cracks of his mind and settles on the sharp edges.
âYour turn.â You say, beaming a warm smile at him yet he falls into silence once more. He feels ashamed, humiliation seeping into the gaps of his fingers and traces the lines of his palmsâyou were so full of light, embodying solace in your being, you are what is adored and seeked yet he stands beside you, seemingly like a shadow that haunts your steps, hesitation lingers and tugs at his hand even when heâll try to touch you. Heâs unsure of what he wants in this life even more for the ones that will supposedly come. He finds it unfairâperhaps for youâfor him.Â
âStill no answer?â Your voice sounds reassuring, soft as you lightly graze your finger on his skin, your ghosting touch making his lips shudder. It was comforting, the way that youâll speak to him, the way that youâll touch him, the way that youâll love himâit was all warm and comforting. You brush your hand on his cheek, tucking away stray strands of hair behind his ear; âItâs alright, it was a sudden question anyways. Also, something stupid to ask.â
âNo, itâs notâitâs not stupid.â He stumbles over his words; he rarely stutters, rarely finds himself tripping on the bumps of the letters that fall out of his mouth but he finds himself staggering on the line of vulnerability and uncertainty. You hum, nodding, seemingly encouraging him to spill out whatever he wishes to say because youâll listen, no matter how ridiculous it can be.
âI just havenât thought about it.â Aventurine, though he may not say it, doesnât like thinking of the future. It just reminds him how everything ahead of him is just empty and narrow, itâs as if he has to walk alone.
âBut IâŠâ His voice trails off and yet a thought lingers inside his head, making its way down his throat and clawing the walls of his mouth; the more heâll keep it in, the more heâll taste the blood of his perished words on his tongue.
âIâll look for you in each one of them.â
The wind blows against his and your form and he feels your lips all over his face, pressing delicate kisses all over the lines and wrinkles of his features as if a brush to a canvas. The light would become too bright for him so he closes his eyes, relishing in this moment where you hold his face in your hands as if he was made out of broken pieces carved out of peopleâs miseries, as if he was something fragile, and the dirt that stains the waters of his mind seemingly dissipates like it never existed.
âAnother stupid question, did you know how much I love you?â Youâll whisper against his lips, a smile tugging on the corners of your mouth. Your breath tickles his skin and he canât hide the smile that draws on his face.
âHow much?â
âIâll give the world to you.â
And heâll wake up.
(Or perhaps, a curse.)
Aventurine stands before the colorful blossoms displayed in pots and buckets of different sizes and colors. The essence of spring dances in the air, filling the place with the scent of blooming flowers and the sight of receding snow that unveils the land below; the sight of it is not unfamiliar to him. He has seen thousands of itâthe different seasons that weave its life in his surroundings and has lived through many of them.
He has had many lives and he has been everyone but also no one. He has been a puppet, a poet, a prince, a musician, a gambler. Little pieces of himself merge into the likeness that he sees in front of the mirror everyday. His form is battered, bruised, broken all over, patched and affixed together with nonviscid tape, sewed with delicate threads of fateâthere are days that he doesnât recognize the person standing in front of the reflective glass. Even if has retained most of his features, most especially his eyes, and nothing drastic has changed from what he once was; yet he struggles in seeing himself in the mirror.
âAre you looking to buy a bouquet?â A voice breaks him out of his trance, pulling him back to reality. It must have been weird seeing a man just standing for minutes in front of the displays and staring into space.
âNo, not reââ His sentence breaks off abruptly when he turns his head to the sound of the voice and his eyes meet a pair that causes memories to surge like a harsh tide that pulls everything into the depths; it sweeps him under like a fierce undertow as it drags him back to the profundity of what haunts him. His thoughts that seem like old, faded photographs flicker in his mind, and the sound of buzzing fills his ears as the world comes to a still.
It feels as though the ground beneath him has crumbled away. There you are.
âSir?â Itâs you, itâs you that calls out to him and not a random person that he meets somewhere he canât remember, not a stranger that would approach him and ask for his name, not someone that he thought was you.
âNothing,â Aventurine shakes his head and composes himself, âI would like to get a bouquet.â
âOf course, which flowers would you like to have?â
âIâm not entirely sure. What do you recommend?â If this was his attempt of making a conversation, he lies between the line of failing and succeeding. Heâs not even here with the plans of bringing home a bouquet to give nor decorate his house and heâs not even sure if he has his wallet with him.
You hum as you fall into deep thought and you begin to count tales of different flowers and paint the meanings behind them with your voice, and you come to mention one that made his heart skip like stone in a pond, and his breath hitch. You speak of a certain flower with such tender affection and all he can think of is how you used to adore this very one even back then, and how your home used to be adorned with it.
âIs that your favorite?â The golden-haired man asks, curiosity wrapping around his tone as he speaks despite the fact that he already knows your answer and you smile at him, warmlyâand oh, how much he missed seeing it. Itâs like he has fallen in love all over again and the colors paint all over his once bleak and mellow life. Even after all this time, all these years, all these lifetimes, he still has you carved in his soul, every part of you etched on the bumps of his skin. As if youâre engraved like a scar on his body, persisting, lingering.
âItâs a lovely flower, how could I not?â The sound of laughter forms in your throat and spills out of your lips. Itâs a lovely sound that he has inscribed in the very depths of his mind, one that would muddle his sleep or disturb him in the moments of silence he would revel in, trying to find the wind to ground himself.
Youâre still the same as he remembers.
Memories lie dormant like fragile butterflies trapped within glass jars, fluttering and flickering, casting shadows upon the vulnerable walls of his conscience. Remembering, a troublesome thing that weighs heavy in his mind, tugging on his thoughts, and having a tight embrace on his heart. Sometimes he thinks itâs just a dream, one meaningless and lengthy dream that is meant to harrow him every time that he wakes up. But it was real, all of it is realâthe laughter, the kisses, the touches, the smiles, you. How could he ever deny your existence?
Aventurine is in his nth life, not knowing how many times he has experienced death and the feeling of waking up to a strange and unfamiliar place, while his memories would flow to him like water in a stream. It comes in slow, steady, heâll pick up broken shards of it and keep his fingers closeâit will stab and make his hand bleed.
His hand, it was yours once. Clasped, held, weaved into the small gaps of your own. You held him as if he was yours to haveâand he really is. Heâll walk through the busy streets with a gaze that roams everywhere, holding the anticipation, hope, that heâll catch you amidst the crowds of people whose face appears to be nonexistent to him.Â
(Heâll look for you everywhere he goes, in museums, flower shops, bookstores, in the rivers, in fields, on the ground, everywhere.)
âOh no, Iâm sorry!â
Books came falling, papers scattered all over the pavement, and he saw someone in front of him, seemingly panicking as they gather all of their things; Aventurine wasnât a heartless man nor was he cruel so he knelt to the ground and picked up all the remaining papers before handing it to themâlifting his gaze, to be met by a pair of eyes that he looks for everywhere.
(And heâll find you.)
There was once a moment where you remember him.
It wasnât just a, âI passed by you on the streets and you caught my attention since and I think of you everyday,â but it was, âI know you because you existed in my life before this.â It was something he had never expected, a moment where he had to pinch himself on the thigh to see if this was one of his messy dreams but it hurt and his heart ached.
(In this life, you were lost, alone, not knowing what to do nor what you wished to doâyou simply stood still as you watched the strangers passing by, as everything before you crumbled. In this life, you were nothing but his friend and he was nothing but yours.)
âIâm sorry?â He says, still in disbelief on what he is hearing. Maybe it was just his ears playing tricks on him, his mind playing illusions for him due to how much he misses you. Oh, if only you knew how tight your grasp is on him; it troubles him with the way heâll catch you in the corner of his eye but thereâs nothing there but dust, heâll feel your presence everywhere even when youâre nowhere to be found.
âYouâre him. The one that is always in my dreams.â Aventurine will open his mouth to speak but nothing would come out; he remains silent, unable to find the words to say.
âRine.â His breath hitched. Everything faded into white noise and there was only you in his eyesâthere was only you and him. He has long abandoned that name, taking on different ones in each passing life but even if he has left it behind, he always remembers how you used to call him so sweetly and gently as if he was the only one that matters to you. âI missed you.â
Your voice breaks and he swears, it felt like something inside him had shattered. How long has he waited for this moment? How much has he dreamt of the day that youâll remember him? He didnât think it was possible but he holds on to the thin thread of hope that you will.
âDo you⊠Do you not remember me?â You look hurt at that thought, your gaze wavering as you look at him with tear-stained eyes.
âI do.â He whispers, broken. âI do remember you.â He always remembers you. Itâs a burden that he carries for so long but he will never let goâhe wishes he could, he wishes he wanted to. Your voice, your touch, your laugh, your embrace, your eyes, everything about you will always come to haunt him; you are too entertwined with his soul, threads bound and tangled together in knots that can never be undone.
The two of you talk about everything on this night as the stars above you listen, as the moon will become a witness to the words and caresses. Youâll tell him of all the dreams that you had, memories that will haunt you the same way it haunted him.
âIâll remember you tomorrow and even the days after. Iâll remember you, always, even in the next lifetimes.â You say, certainty and assurance seeps into the tone of his voice and a part of Aventurine feels relieved and broken at the same time.
He smiles, âYou will.â (You donât know it but this too will be buried in the grave of the past and he will come to mourn it in every moment he wakes.)
âKiss me, please?â You didnât have to beg for anything, you will never have to beg for anything. He has looked for the shadow of your form, for the sound of your footsteps and laughter, for the feeling of your hand in his. You will never have to beg him for anythingâheâll give you the world if you ask.
âIâll see you tomorrow?â He whispers against your lips, his warm breath fanning your skinâa contrast to the cold night breeze that brushes against you.
âYouâll hear me tomorrow. Iâll call you, I promise. So please donât keep your phone on silent.â
âI donât. Youâre the only person on my phone.â
You laugh at that, short and sweet. âReally?â
He kisses you once more, a fleeting one but the taste of his lips lingered on yours. âI only have you.â
The night draws to a close and Aventurine waits for the sun with bated breath but you werenât able to fulfill your promise, for on the morning when the sunâs embrace caressed your skin, you remained in slumberâs hold.
Itâs his second life, the life where he first remembers everything and when he is still not tormented by the burden (a curse) that he will hold all of the memories and you will remain in each one of them.
âI have a question.â
You lay your head on his shoulder, all the while your hand plays with his own. Your fingers softly dance across his palm and mindlessly sketches invisible patterns and traces the lines etched on it, while he watches, captivated by the ballet of your touch. Thereâs the fresh smell of shampoo and soap in the air around him, and the warmth of his hands provides a refreshing contrast to the coolness of your skin, still tingling from your recent bath.
In this life, you own a bookstore just like you wish and heâs simply just your lover.
âWhat is it?â He answers, watching you as you draw what seems to be a flower on his palm. He finds it endearing, every moment that he spends with you is all too sweet and dear for him, no matter how small and mundane it can be. He adores seeing you under this light, cherishes the way you melt into his embrace and how you hold him in your arms (he wishes everything would be this simple).
âHow would you know if it was me?â The movement of your fingers comes to a halt as you look up to him to meet his gaze; eyes wide with curiosity and affection, he meets your gaze. Aventurine thinks for a moment before he answers:
âIâll know if itâs you, always.â
You let out a short laugh, your expression breaking out into a soft one. âWhat if I was a worm then?â
âYouâll be the first worm to make my heart flutter.â There was no need for such questionsâAventurine will recognize you everywhere, in different forms, in different light.
âWhat if I was a stone?â
He chuckles, âIâll know.â
© azullumi â do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.
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