"do be careful, my dove," he murmurs as you straighten out the light feathers behind his ear.

"you haven't preened yourself in a while, have you?" your voice is soft, a hint of chiding to it that makes his heart flutter — there's a groggy rasp to your tone as well, having just stirred from your own dreams. sunday dares not look back at you, for there is a sweet domesticity to be found in the impression of rumpled bedsheets against your cheek and the heavy-lidded eyelids that make it known that you would love nothing more than to go back to sleep — proper sleep.

a hum resonates in sunday's chest as he allows himself to be fully immersed in the moment; early morning, messy hair and feathers, the sleepy press of lip against lip. his head tilts to the side, allowing greater access for you to tidy the feathers in question.

"you are correct. there's no need for me to do such preening in the dreamscape, though i prefer it when you offer your generous help," he replies, a mix of contentment and fondness pervading his voice.

"i'll help you only if you stay still," you grumble. your hands, which were straightening out his feathers, are now hovering just above them as sunday tries very hard not to shift in place again.

he cannot help it, truly. it is not just the factor that sunday is unused to, well, anyone touching something as intimate as his halovian wings, but also the fact that the slightest brush of your skin against his is a sensation like no other.

not that he would ever tell you, of course.

innocence lost ノ sunday

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 0.8k ノ gn reader — reader works for the family and is cleaning his office when he comes to you with a pierced wing . i like to think he did it himself ノ blood descriptions . treating injury ノ hurt and gentle comfort if you squint ノ reader is intimidated by his presence but willing to help anyway ノ not romantic . not in any relationship — i just wanted an excuse to write about sunday’s pierced wing :3

he comes to you on wobbly legs, trying his best to appear dignified when there’s blood trickling down his neck and dripping slowly on his shoulder — stains on his boyish innocence splattered with crimson, along with the prim suit now only fitting to be thrown into the laundry basket. the pierced wing behind his ear shudders, flopping down unlike the other, healthy one. he must’ve torn its sensitive nerves, the golden spikes constantly violating the delicate structure of the feathers.

sitting in tense silence in the middle of his office, you’re incapable of forming any questions to throw at him, too flabbergasted at the sight, because what will the family think of his sudden rebellious outburst? but then again, how else could he have proven himself? he wanted to stand up against the other leaders, and so he did, so they stopped considering him a baby, a little finch, still unable to live on his own away from the nest.

the birds weep for you.

summary: what does it mean for a bird to live in a cage?

notes: 1.9k words, author's notes, power play, unhealthy/complicated relationships, character + relationship study

i.

The bird flits against the rafters uselessly, wings beating in an eternal circle against the roof. Its small beak lets out distressed chirps, a language lost to human ears. The passing guests glance at it and then pass on, even as it spins uselessly, desperate for an escape.

⭒ 𝑺𝑼𝑵𝑫𝑨𝒀, minors do not interact

the way SUNDAY is snapping his hips into yours is dizzying, fucking you hard against the desk in the family’s council chamber as his body curls over yours. it was risky and the head of the oak family wasn’t a man who usually liked to take risks - he found the encounter to be quite inappropriate in public but still; he had wasted no time in undressing you completely despite the way he was still mostly clothed.

it was quite embarrassing in a way, to be laid completely bare despite the way your lover was still dressed almost entirely behind the intricacies of his usual attire. he’d simply pushed down his slacks to pull out his cock but you can’t help but feel even hotter at the contrast, as stark as it is in comparison - there was a dynamic to it that was so him, you’re sure he got a kick out of it.

sunday’s pace is precise, controlled and it feels like it knocks the air from your lungs and steals every thought from your head that isn’t him or his cock. but that’s what he wants, to consume you completely - to have you wrapped in him until he’s truly all you think about. so he’ll bask in it, in you - kissing you with an intensity that makes the room feel like it spins when he licks into your mouth to mewl.

“somebody could come by soon, what if they s-see you?” you gasp and the man above you hums at your sweet concern for his reputation, it is true that this would be quite a blow to his public image. to be interrupted in such a lewd setting would be quite the mess to clean up, but you’re giving him a pretty look and all of his concerns seem to melt away with his next stroke.

Firm believer that Aventurine takes off his glasses each time you're within the vicinity, even if you have no clue of his existence, he always reaches out to take them off. It's his own way of letting everyone know who has his attention.

what's worse?

the vivid realization of fucking your best friend aventurine or that it actually feels fucking nice when you ride him as it all happened so quickly, with want, need and arousal— without your mind working.

it started somewhat innocent, the both of you curious on what's behind those clothes of yours when you begin to masturbate in front of each other— your fingers rubbing over your puffy clit as aventurine watches with big doe eyes, stroking his cock.

high off desperation, he urges you to put a finger into your hole, which you hoped he'd be the one to tell you— to make you do it so it's him who looks even more desperate than you did.

he makes a great show of showing you his thickened cock, right and solid and good wiping his pre over his shaft before bucking into his hand, again again and again fucking into his tight grip imagining it's your tight pussy instead.

the one he's watching getting stuffed by a mere finger. he could've made you cum already, he's certain of it.

aventurine begins to grunt each time you whine when you pump a finger in— and you can see it, how much in pain he was, keeping his teeth dug into his bottom lip to concentrate on making himself cum with his hand.

but it's fast, almost a little bold when he asks you, when both of you think about it;

"you wanna— sit on it, just a bit?" he gasps when you whine back to him, confused and lidded eyes, thrusting your finger in and out of your hole, "only a bit, okay?" you utter back nervously, "five s-seconds, five, not more," lips wet with saliva bestowing pure lust as aventurine was trying to hold it in, his climax and breath, caught in a big gulp.

you hop on top of him, your folds smacking against his shaft as he desperately lines himself up— drawing you still, uttering out another twine of five seconds, only five, fucking five seconds, it's gonna be worth it, you'll see.

“withering desires of a cruel man with broken confessions” ; aventurine

to you : 🧀 nonnie !! i hope you had a wonderful birthday and i’m sorry for taking a long time to finish this but hey, it’s done now (finally). belated happy birthday and i wish you all the best <33

premise — his belief that he doesn’t deserve the good things is rooted deeply underneath the dirt where he buries his corpse, and he doesn’t deserve you; this is an ode to clementia and he wishes that his song reaches you.

tags — w/ gender-neutral reader, fluff to angst, friends to friends that knows they like each other, orange as a metaphor for love, angry and forced love confessions, aven my self-sabotage and mixed signals king, 1.5k ; one-shot

note — made while listening to phoebe bridgers, faye webster, adrianne lenker, and ichiko aoba. this was supposed to be a short drabble about peeling oranges and sharing with them what happened

They say clementines are a symbol for mercy—gentle, soft, and sweet, like an echo of the sun. 

There’s the fresh smell of citrus in the air as he delicately pulls its skin to reveal its form, a warm burst of sunset trapped within its fragile walls, and his nails will be tainted by the color of its penance and he’ll forget what it feels like to only have hatred in his heart. Maybe that’s how forgiveness tastes; salvation will fill his blood as he sheds tears that carry his sins (they were never his).

“I don’t know how you can do that flawlessly.” You say, your voice drenched in wonder and amazement as you watch the movement of his fingers, adeptly peeling the fruit. The sections come apart neatly and perfectly in his hands.

He smiles, “It’s easy.”

“It’s not.” You insist, reminding him of the horror of the state the orange has become when you tried to share it with him. “Did you see the holes I tore through it? I was left with nothing but the mere coat because the juice sprayed in all directions.”

"i see my reflection in your eyes" - aventurine

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

“‘rine, come here! how do i look?”

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 you’re sitting in front of, the mirror reflecting your face, mirroring your beautiful self. 

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. 

“so?” 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.

“beautiful. beautiful as always.” 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.)

“yeah? sure that this isn't too much?” one of your fingers starts to fiddle with the strands of your hairs, as if you were trying to fix something. 

(aventurine is under the belief that there’s nothing about you that should be fixed, you’re already perfect - you’ll always be perfect in his eyes.) 

translation

5k words. gender neutral reader, established relationship, angst, non-graphic sex (reader bottoms, anatomy neutral), themes of cultural loss, references to slavery, aventurine’s canonically implied desire to die. MDNI.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

Deception does not come easily to him in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak—and too kind. The universe was a different place in the days when his life was coloured by the warble of Avgin dialect. It felt simpler, partly because he was a child and partly because Sigonia was yet untouched by outsiders. There were no corporations, no casinos, no commodity codes. His entire world was sand, desert, mother, sister, father (or more often—ghost), goddess, tent, wagon, luck, sin, rain, blessing, Avgin.

Katican.

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— ୨ৎ “you know, i’ve heard that lying on your boyfriend’s chest can help you fall asleep faster.”

▯ synopsis. he's helped you fall alsleep when you couldn't ... but now he's the one wide awake. ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

you lay in bed, tossing and turning uncomfortably as the mattress groaned noiselessly beneath you. your restless eyes wander around the room ceaselessly until they settle on aventurine, whose sleeping figure was illuminated only by the gentle glow of moonlight peeking through the curtain. he was sleeping with his body turned away from you, his side rising and falling with every soft breath he took.

you sighed, hugging your plushy pillow tightly as you fixed your gaze at the ceiling above. “are you asleep?”

your soft spoken voice lingered in the air. after a few moments of silence, you closed your heavy eyelids firmly— you hadn’t expected him to be awake anyway. 

but suddenly, you feel a small shuffle beside you, followed by a low, raspy grunt. the gambler’s voice was barely audible under the sound of the rustling fabric. “...no,” he murmured.

“yeah, i know, i know— wait what?!” your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your head to meet your boyfriend’s gaze. he was now facing you, barely awake and blinking sleepily. “b-baby, you’re awake?!” you exclaimed, inching closer to him. “how long have you been awake?!”

“for quite a while now,” he yawns quietly, “i heard you moving around and felt you kicking your feet.” aventurine rubs his eyes and blinks a few times, trying to focus on you in the dim light.

you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt in your heart for disturbing his sleep, especially considering how busy he’s been these days. “i’m sorry, rine…”

a playful smile forms on his lips, and he beckons you to come even closer as his hand reaches out to gently stroke your cheek. “you know, i’ve heard that lying on your boyfriend’s chest can help you fall asleep faster.”

your eyes widen and you look at him with a surprised expression before giggling softly, “oh, is that so?” you teased, “in that case, i think i should give it a try.”

“mmh,” he grumbles softly, lifting you effortlessly onto his chest. you quickly nuzzled your face into his neck, your arms resting on either side of his body. aventurine pressed a chaste kiss on your head before combing his fingers through your hair with one arm draped around you.

“so warm…” your voice muffled against his chest. you close your eyes slowly at the soothing gesture of his fingers, which was gradually lulling you to sleep.

“it feels great doesn’t it, y/n?” he asks quietly, his other arm running up and down your back. “are you comfortable?”

he waits for a response but pauses once he notices the steady rise and fall of your breath. “...y/n?”

his eyebrows knit together, groaning when he takes sight of your peaceful sleeping state. “seriously… now i’m awake?”

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !

LIPSTICK STAINS — AVENTURINE

there’s a lot you don’t know about the man you love. but the one thing you do know is that he’s really, really pretty when he’s under you, covered in your smeared lipstick

you think the only victory aventurine wouldn’t have to take a gamble on is being the prettiest.

sure, it’s a bit biased to think that, of all people, your lover is amongst the most beautiful—but anyone would have to admit he cleans up rather well, regardless of their opinion on the less than surface level things about him. expensive clothes, fragrant cologne, neatly trimmed hair…the list goes on, truly never ending.

but the real charmer? the part that really draws you in is that lazy, smug little grin he spreads so effortlessly along his lips. but then again, he happens to spread other things too that also draw you in, things like those slender thighs of his as he sits on a plush red couch and eyes you up and down, watching as you walk over.

“you wanted to see me?” you bat your lashes at him even though you know exactly why you’re here. it’s the principle of things, you tell yourself.

⌗ baby boys。

❛ OR :: what a mommy kink does to your boys.

❛ CONTAINS :: afab! reader; no fem pronouns used but feminine pet names and genitalia are used. cock-warming. handjobs. edging. gentle femdom. MINORS DNI but if you're a minor and choose to read anyway, that's on you.