I Stay Up Late To Be Happy For A Few More Hours

he think

Sukuna is scary…no doubt. But…but he’s just so cuddly. And warm. You’re telling me with those four arms of his— he’s still not cuddleable? Nonsense.

Allow me to demonstrate— a slightly cold night, but this warm, pink haired beast with four arms is present to hold you. Two of his arms wrapped securely around your back and the other patting your head softly. His lower set of eyes are gazing down and adoring your sleeping form. Your cheek is smushed against that tit muscular pec and you’re in pure bliss and warmth because he’s just like that.

He’s like a warm weighted blanket. And oh, he comes in pink. What more could a girl want?

So I've been reading Powerless by Lauren Roberts.. and it has made me realize that I will never find a man who is in love with me with the way Kai is in love with Paedyn.

Is asking for a love like that, too much to ask? 😭😔

give stelle a small bird to take care of

she got the bird somehow but what now

even while locked up, Toji will make Valentine's day special for you. He already has a letter sent to you every day leading up to the 14th. Some of them sweet, romantic. Others just straight up dirty. He also has Shiu get you some things, spending the money he has in an offshore bank account.

February 1st

There's a ring at your doorbell, and you sleepily open the door.

"Shiu!" You happily greet before you realize he's holding one of those giant ass bouquets of roses. One of those ramos buchones with the pretty gemstones and your initial spelled out with baby's breath. Flashy as hell. "What's all this?"

"Jus' read the damn letter," he nods to a red envelope, a cigarette dangling out his mouth but away from your precious gift. Toji would kill him even from the inside if he were to find out Shiu got even the slightest of ashes on his girl's gifts. You take the envelope, tracing your name written in Toji’s bold, messy scrawl. You barely close the door before sliding your finger under the seal.

Didn’t forget, baby. I never do. First day, first gift. You better love it. Had Shiu pick out the biggest, most ridiculous thing I could find. My princess only deserves the best, right?

February 2nd

The letter today is simple. Too simple.

Baby, I hope you didn’t think I’d only spoil you with flowers.

Your stomach twists in anticipation. Later that day, you hear a knock. This time, it’s a delivery service. You sign for a package, confusion written all over your face—until you open it. Inside is a velvet box. You slowly open it, and it catches the light, casting rays of color—a necklace, a gold figaro chain with a diamond pendant. Looking closer at the pendant makes your breath hitch.

His initials.

You press your lips together, heart thudding. The note beneath it is shorter this time.

Wear it. Every day. I’ll know if you don’t.

February 3rd

On your front porch it a tiny pink box with another letter perched on top. You open the box first, the whole collection of a lip gloss you wear, one Toji said was his favorite because he loves the scent and the taste when he kisses it off your lips.

I was gonna wait, but fuck it. You know I don’t have patience. I’ve been thinking about you too much, baby. Can’t sleep. Can’t focus. All I can think about is that pretty mouth of yours.

You don’t even finish reading before you slam the letter shut. Your face is on fire. He’s ridiculous. But your fingers linger on the page, gripping it tight. You’re not going to reread it. You’re not.

February 4th

Another gift. This time, it’s a designer perfume. You spray it on your wrist out of curiosity, inhaling the scent—rich, warm, deep. A little spicy yet still sweet. Just like you. A folded note is stuck in the packaging.

This is how I want you to smell when I have you under me.

You hate the way your breath catches. The way you tighten your grip on the bottle, as if that’ll stop the way his words sink under your skin.

February 5th

Shiu hands you the next letter without a word. You expect something dirty again, but instead—

You been eating, baby? Sleeping? You better be taking care of yourself. I’ll be real pissed if I find out you’re not.

You blink at the paper, stomach twisting. You don’t even like that he makes you feel this way. Cared for. Wanted. As soon as you look up, Shiu hands you the bags from behind his back. It's takeout from the place you always went to with Toji. Your favorites are inside, every single thing down to the drink. You knew Toji meticulously picked out each menu item. In the other bag Shiu hands you is self care items. Your creams and serums and even the face masks you force Toji to wear with you.

February 6th

You shouldn’t be looking forward to these letters as much as you do. But you do. This one is short.

You dream about me? Bet you do. Wonder if you wake up wet, missing my hands.

You rip it up, toss it in the trash.

Then, minutes later, you dig it back out, smoothing out the pieces.

You hate him.

February 7th

Another knock at the door. Another gift. This time, it's a dress—silky, short, scandalous.

The note?

Wear this when you come see me.

Your breath catches. He hasn’t mentioned seeing you yet, hasn’t even implied it. But now, it lingers in the air.

February 8th

A different kind of letter today.

If I was there right now, what would you do?

You should throw it away.

Instead, that night, you sit on your bed, staring at it in the dim glow of your bedside lamp, heart pounding in your chest.

February 9th

A small box sits outside your door in the morning. This time it's a velvet pouch. You pull the string, letting the contents slide onto your palm—an anklet, delicate gold with a tiny charm dangling off the chain. This one matches your necklace, his initials are on this one too. You don’t even hesitate this time. You clasp it around your ankle immediately.

This one's gonna be dangling over my shoulder soon.

February 10th

Shiu shows up again. Another box.

Inside? Lingerie.

Red. Lace.

The note is just one line.

Think about me when you put it on.

February 11th

You better be missing me, baby. I know you are.

This time the gift is a whole outfit. One of those flowy white maiden-style off the shoulder dresses, pretty sandals, and even an innocent enough white bra and panty set with cute little bows.

It doesn't go with the letter, which leaves you a tad bit confused.

February 12th

This letter is filthy.

Explicit enough that you don’t even know how he got it past whoever checks his mail.

You have to sit down after reading it.

And take a very cold shower.

February 13th

Another envelope. You open it, expecting a letter. But nope. Just a single ticket to Italy for February 15th. Weird.

February 14th

A single rose sits outside your door, a final letter tucked beneath it.

You should know by now to lock your windows, ma. Don't know what kind of scary men could climb through your window.

What the?? Slowly you turn around, and there he is, in the flesh. All smug and cute like he knows he did a damn good job at surprising you.

"Happy Valentine's Day princess."

Chuuu

"ikaw na ang tahanan at mundo" ; aventurine

requested by anon — “Thinking about welcoming Aven back home after a long day of work. Thinking about telling him to sit down while preparing a bath for him.. (cont.)” premise — he crumbles underneath your gentle caresses and kind touch, of your kisses that soothes him of his burdens and pain, of your words that reassure him ; alternatively, you take care of your tired and exhausted lover after seeing his disheveled state as he comes home from work. content tags and warnings — pairing: aventurine w/ gender-neutral reader | established relationship, aventurine and reader lives together, fluff, domestic, not proofread | wc: 2.0k

note from me — my aven doc file is literally 74 pages long and has nearly 30k words in it jesus

The indistinct noise of the television dances to AVENTURINE’S ears as he pushes the door open and enters. Soft foot falls soon follow after before he finds you peering your head behind the wall, eventually coming to fully reveal yourself as you realize who was at the doorstep.

“Hey,” You greet him, a small smile on your face. Your eyes scan over his washed out form, his face bearing only fatigue as he forces a smile to greet you back—he doesn’t utter a word, just purses his lips into a small line that curves on the corners, but you don’t fret over it. 

It is not a rare occurrence for him to come home after work in quite a disheveled manner: his hair tousled over (probably due to combing through it in frustration), his tie loosened, his coat held in his arms, and his hat nowhere to be seen (you figured he most likely left it behind his car). Yet, the man with golden hair—putting sunlight to shame—still looks beautiful as ever despite the weary lines that are etched into his features.

Aventurine walks to you, dragging his feat, and collapses his form over yours. You easily catch him in your embrace, stumbling back for a little bit. The faint smell of his cologne fills your senses as he buries his face on the crook of your neck, the brush of his hair tickling your skin. 

You pat the back of his head, speaking softly, “Bad day at work?”

The man grumbles, heaving out a sigh, “Mhm, I’m tired,” His tense shoulders loosen underneath the comfort of your touch and he pulls you closer to him.

“Shall we move to the bed then?” He shakes his head as an answer, strands of his hair brushing against you and the feeling makes you laugh. You sense him visibly relax at the sound, letting himself be swallowed and consumed by the warmth of you.

“Do you want to bathe first? I’ll prepare it for you.”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

Soft laughter bubbles from your throat, escapes from your lips, and wraps around the fatigue lines that trace his form like a blanket that soothes him into the kindness of your own. “There’s no need to thank me, I’ll always do anything for you.”

Aventurine doesn’t have to say anything to let you know that he adores you and the way you are able to ease him into letting go of his burdens, to let it spill all over the floor beneath him, forgetting all of his problems behind as you guide him to sit down on the couch while you go and prepare a bath for him. The loss of your warmth, the absence of you in his arms, crashes a wave of dissatisfaction into him, but he doesn’t complain because he knows you’ll be back to him anyways—and so you did, moments later, with a small smile on your face and the lingering smell of lavender on you.

“Sorry for taking long,” you say, a gentle tone as you bent down and pressed your lips on his forehead, cupping his face in your hands. There are stars in his eyes, his cheeks painted in a light shade of red, as you begin to pour soft kisses all over, and he relishes underneath the light you shower him with—eyes fluttering close as he lets himself drown in the waters of your affection.

You don’t wait for a response from him, only letting your hands fall to tangle on his own and usher him to get up from his seat.You bring him to the bathroom where you slowly peel off every layer of his clothing, tossing it to the laundry basket in the corner along the weight of his worries. Your caress is soft, your touch lingering on his skin in a way that softens his edges, and Aventurine basks in this raw and naked moment of vulnerability; you look at him only with affection, with such form of adoration that simply does not need to be described nor be doubted.

(And there was a time when he had bared himself to you, a small voice composed by the songs of his fear and the melody of his anxiety would always echo inside his head: do you find him unsightly? Do you find him bitter and thorned, cold and flawed, boring and horrible? He thinks he is unworthy of your love, that he doesn’t deserve to carry, hold, and drown in the depths of your heart. But you kiss him, tracing the jagged lines, carving out pieces of yourself to satiate the hunger that runs deep beneath his flesh, running threads across his skin and yours.)

There are scented candles lit on the counter—lavender, like the scent that persists on you. The water is dyed in pink, tainted with a few streaks of red that is the same color of his love, and it is warm, gentle, seemingly melting away all of his thoughts. For a moment, he forgets the turmoil that persisted in his mind, wondering why he had come home in such a rumpled state.

“Do you want to talk about what happened at work today?” You gently part the curtain of silence that dawned in the space between you and him, as you begin to wash his hair while he relaxes in the tub. He doesn’t stay anything for a few moments, only watching the rubber duck in front of him as it sails across the calm current.

“Nothing much happened, just a long and exhausting day,” You could sense the hesitation in his tone and you decided not to probe any more; Aventurine doesn’t want to think about it, wants to forget about it, and you figured that it’s better to leave it than force him to hold on to the thorns. You’ve always known him like the back of your hand—it wasn’t hard to understand him, despite how harsh he thinks of himself. 

You massage his scalp, golden threads weaved by sunlight tangled in a bubbly mess by your fingertips as you lather shampoo on his hair. Just as you were about to speak once more, he races you to it:

“And I just missed you.” Terribly, and horribly so. He leans against the porcelain tub, tilting his head back to meet your gaze, albeit your face seems to be upside-down in his view. Your hands pause from its movements and you stare at him for a moment, beaming a bright grin at him soon after.

“I know, and I missed you too. I was really lonely today.”

“Did you not go out and eat dinner with your friends earlier?”

“Well, yes,” your voice trails and you ask him to close his eyes, rinsing his hair with water from the showerhead. You pick up the words you have left off, “But I wasn’t with you.” You wished he was with you and that was the thing. He doesn’t exactly know how to respond without sounding like a complete fool that is utterly and stupidly in love with you, so he just sinks deeper, silently hoping to himself that you’ll see the words he desperately writes into the water.

Moments soon come to pass between you and him, just relishing in the silence. But the shrunken and creased skin on his hands, the once smooth skin shaped by the prolonged embrace of water, tells him that he must get out of the tub. Water cascades like rivulets down his body and you immediately hand him his bathrobe to dry himself and keep himself warm as you walk to the bedroom with him.

“Were you waiting for me to come home?” He asks with worry edging into his tone. It was already past 10 PM when you had greeted him by the doorstep, a time that is much later than the usual time he would arrive home. 

“I always do. Although this time, I really managed to stay awake.” There’s a look of pride drawn all across your face, a warm and bright smile on your lips, and he couldn’t help but to smile upon seeing it, like your happiness was something contagious itself and he’s a willing victim of the disease. Having you here with him right now is quite an unusual scene. After all, he has gotten used to finding you asleep on the couch or in the bed whenever he comes home late. He welcomes whatever you may call this, nonetheless, finding solace and relief in your presence.

“You could have just slept instead, you must be tired.” You don’t fail to notice his conflicted expression and the murky depths of his eyes, his mind becoming clouded by the mud of his thoughts, and you sigh—not out of disappointment or anything of the same cloth.

“I don’t mind,” you reply, picking up the silk pajamas neatly folded on top of the bed, “Besides, I get to take care of you now. Here, let me help.”

(And maybe it’s a selfish desire that claws at his chest; he wishes that you welcome him in your embrace every time, that you caress his weary bones and rid of his exhaustion, that you press kisses all over his face and make him forget of the world around him, that you take care of him always and forever.)

Aventurine watches you with a gaze that holds only the light of his affection within, adoring the way your eyebrows furrow and your hands fumble as you try to button his shirt; he nearly chuckles to himself, but he holds in the melody in between his teeth, afraid that you’ll think he’s making fun of you.

“We haven’t really spent that much time together these past few days.” You utter with a gentle tone, words delicate and soft as to not appear as if you were reprimanding him. Although you know he’s going to utter words of apologies so you immediately cover his mouth with your hand, your eyes seemingly glare at him but your gaze didn’t hold malice nor hatred in it (it never did).

“No.” Was the only thing you said.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He says, his voice muffled against your palm.

“You’re a terrible liar, Rine. I know you were going to say sorry.”

He traces his finger across your wrist before weaving his hand into yours, uncovering his mouth that you concealed. There’s a faint smirk dancing on his lips, a subtle shade of red that taints his cheeks; “Wrong, I was going to say ‘I love you.’”

“Cheeky.”

“You adore me, anyways.”

You gasp, acting as if your deepest and darkest secret had been found out by the man you revere the most. “How could you tell?”

The soft sound of his laughter fills the empty space, painting the walls with the hues of his eyes, the song of his heart a veil that envelops you like a cradle. He rubs his nose against yours, breaths mingling so close to each other, but he does not dare to kiss you—he does not have to.

(Forever doesn’t seem that bad with you. Aventurine wants to stay like this forever, he thinks he could stay like this forever. It feels like a sin to be able to hold you in his arms, to have the divinity of the sun and stars locked in his own embrace.)

Too consumed by the feeling of him, by the words of affection that hangs in the air, by the giggles and chuckles that escape from your lips and his, you don’t notice the mattress that bears your weight and the blanket that enfolds you. One moment, you were asking him to bend down so you could dry his still damp hair with a towel then the next, he’s looking for your ticklish spots, ending with your limbs and legs tangled together in a cuddled form on top of the bed.

You feel him nuzzle his face closer to your chest and you play with his hair, combing through the threads of lovely and soft ravels of daylight. 

You call to him in a tender cadence but you receive no response—the dull and relaxed rhythm of his dreams calms the currents of his consciousness as he lays with you. So you whisper, even if it’s only the silence that will hear, your words mingling with the dust in the corner of your room: 

“Welcome home, Rine.”

THIS GOT TOO LONG OH MY DAYSS

© AZULLUMI. plagiarism of any form and type, stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is NOT permitted.

⭒ 𝑺𝑼𝑵𝑫𝑨𝒀

gn reader. sfw. slow mornings with sunday. i like the idea that is quite clingy / dazed when he first wakes up. petnames used; my dear, my angel. penacony sunday. ₊ 𓂃 masterlist

it was a rare occurrence for you to wake up as SUNDAY still remained next to you in bed. normally, the head of the oak family would've long started his day before you, having to leave quite early to make a start on preparations and his ever growing schedule.

but today seems to be an exception to that as you roll over onto your side, surprised to feel his familiar body heat still sinking into the space next to you. it urges you push yourself up to rest on your forearm, squinting down at him in wonder if he's a drowsy hallucination or a dream as you press your palms into your eyes.

your sudden movement seems to rouse sunday next to you as he grumbles to himself, still finding waking up to be as much a struggle as he always has- even considering how often he has to.

you found his habits in the morning to be quite charming, in the rare moments you got to see them that is. uncharacteristically to what people may expect, the oak family head did not immediately wake up ready to take on his day; with his polite tone of voice and immaculate, tidy appearance.

in fact, sunday didn't wake well at all,

quite the opposite actually as he rests on his pillow now, gazing up at you as you stare back down at him and he offers you no more than a bleary blink before his eyes are closing again and he's trying to tug you back into him.

he sighs when you dont budge much- willing himself to speak despite the way you can tell he'd rather not, "is something the matter? but do tell me it is not time to get up yet, my dear." sunday's voice sounds gravely and low, matching his still drowsy exterior, although comforting enough for you to wind up wriggling yourself closer anyway.

its a movement that he seems to be quite pleased to welcome, holding you into him as your fingertips press beneath the fabric of his night robe, feeling him shudder as they dance along his bare skin.

he was quite the picture of sin in his morning state actually; the darker blue robe he favours as nightwear seeming to drape itself messily from one of his shoulders, revealing the smooth plains of his bare chest and collarbones beneath as the gold embroidery still makes him seem akin to royalty. his usual perfect hairstyle is more of a mused bedhead now and his face is puffy and flushed from sleep still.

he almost looks dazed as he blinks at you slowly, clouded gaze and parted lips, it takes everything in you not to giggle at sunday's adorable state.

"nothings wrong. just surprised to still see you is all." you say softly as you lean in to press a quick kiss against the tip of his nose and it makes him scrunch it ticklishly. he follows the movement with a sigh before his eyes are closing again and he nuzzles into his pillow,

"hm? yes well, rest is important after all. so we mustn’t let the opportunity go to waste." sunday's way of speaking is slow and drawn out, like drowsy-drunken sentences that sound barely strung together.

although you find the opportunity to see him like this quite amusing, you can't help but want to enjoy it a little longer. especially given how irregularly this happens, he can't really blame you.. you're sure he'd feel the same if he were to see himself right now.

but then again, maybe not.

you remain staring at sunday as he rests opposite you, his brows furrowed as he melts into his pillow and breathing softly as you squint at him through the still dimly lit room.

"you know im pretty hungry actually." you speak again, just above a mere whisper and even though he stays silent for the most part, you know he's awake when his fingers squeeze at your waist.

"has talking in your sleep always been a quality of yours, my angel? i'm afraid i don't remember having much.. experience with it, is all." sunday responds flatly, almost sarcastic in his drowsy state and it makes you snort for a moment before you compose yourself again.

you opt to wriggle yourself into his chest a little more as you push yourself to accompany him on his pillow, sinking into the plush cushion and your lover welcomes you despite being half asleep. he hugs you close to him, similar to how one might hold a plushie before he nuzzles his face into you.

your lashes flutter as you find yourself quite comfortable, fingertips keeping themselves busy as they trace the outline of sunday's pecs beneath his robe. although every featherlight touch seems to make him twitch, followed by a soft sort of sound that he's most likely unaware of in his dreamlike state.

you sigh as he hugs you and you feel his arms around you tighten, a wordless sort of welfare check. "i mean it is around time for breakfast, you know." you hum, curiously and he seems to mirror the sound unknowingly.

"ah yes.. breakfast." sunday's sentence seems to trail off at the end, you're not sure if he's even fully asleep or fully awake right now. if you ever had any bad news to break to him or a favour to ask, you're sure this would be a preferred state to do it— he'd most likely give you whatever you wanted.. although unknowingly.

you manage to free yourself just enough to pull back and look at him again, admiring the features on his face as he rests beside you; from the curl of his lashes to the way his silver hair frames his pale skin.

it makes you hum, appreciatively and you feel sunday's hands squeeze at your waist, like he knows you're staring.

"it would be nice to eat together for once." you whisper into the space where you both take a breath and you watch his brows twitch before he moves closer by an inch, putting you almost nose to nose.

"mm, yes. and I shall see to it..." sunday grumbles, "in due time that is." before ultimately rolling onto his back— making sure to pull you with him as you end up pressing into the crook of his neck, half resting on top of his chest as his arm squeezes you into him tightly.

his voice seems quieter now, like he's back on the brink of sleep, "you seem to quite comfortable, after all. a moments rest longer shan't bare too many consequences, should we allow it." his fingers seem to take an almost convincing stance, smoothing their way along your skin in sleep-inducing circles.

although you can't deny that the new position and the close sound of sunday's soft breathing seems to be making your eyelids feel suddenly heavy themselves. its almost hard not too find yourself nuzzling into him, far too comfortable in your own suddenly drowsy state again.

"okay, maybe in a moment then.." your voice sounds, half-conscious as your lashes rest closed with your next blink and despite how tired your lover seems to be, if you were to look at him now you'd see the way he seems to be smiling.

sunday leans over to press his lips against your hairline as his breathing seems to sync with yours, shushing you lightly—

"shh~ now, my angel, we mustn't let this opportunity go amiss."