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Hi Rinnie! This request contains minor spoilers for the visual novel "A Date with Death." But there aren't many, actually!

The instruction would be that Aventurine (player) is someone quite lucky since strange things happen to him all the time, ever since he was a child. Years pass, and for some strange reason, those events keep happening, like a piano falling on him and he easily misses it, used to that kind of thing. Until one day, he receives messages on an unknown app. He reads all the messages until he sees the message: "Fuck Me" (a play on words in English, because it's weird in Spanish) and makes a joke about it. In short, Aventurine is an ordinary human (with the same lore) while the player is death itself (among many others).

Going straight to the request, it's about them making a call and talking about pretty simple things (like what you use to sleep, for example). After all that and embarrassing the reader, the reader says, "I have to go." He quickly hangs up. Aventurine tries to question him about the app the reader made, until the reader suddenly calls him back and says, "Look out your window."

Aventurine looks toward his window and finds the reader floating there. The reader greets them: "Hello, Sunshine." He greets Aventurine too, but with the name Grim. The reader suddenly says, "…Hearing that sounds more embarrassing in person… Reader, that's my name." After that, they flirt for a while until the reader pulls some sunflowers out of his back: "It's for You, sunshine…"

(You can look for a video about A Date with Death, or I can comment on the lore.)

—–· ☀️🌻 ⟩ anon.

“Hello, Sunshine”

Summary: Aventurine has always been unusually lucky—or cursed, depending on who you ask. Strange, near-impossible things happen around him with eerie consistency. But when he receives a message from an unknown app containing just two words—“Fuck me.”—his world tilts in an entirely new direction. The sender? You. Death itself. As the two of you grow closer through cryptic late-night calls and unexpected visits, the line between fate and feeling begins to blur. What happens when the embodiment of death falls for the one soul who keeps slipping through their fingers?

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Supernatural Romance, Fluff with a Hint of Angst, Banter & Flirtation, Emotional Vulnerability, Symbolism & Subtext, Slow Burn Vibes, Dramatic Entrances, Bouquet Delivery (but make it ominous??), Reader is Death.

Warnings: Mild language, Implied death/supernatural themes, Subtle trauma mentions (Aventurine's background), Vague existential undertones, Flirty tension, Potential spoilers for "A Date With Death".

A/N: I actually have watched the play through by NeenaPlays (or something, idk her channel name but something like that). I don't remember much so I might've changed some things but I mostly went with what you've provided me. 🙏

The weird stuff started when he was five.

A lightning bolt had struck just next to him while he stood in a field holding a tin pail. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even flinched. Just blinked once, looked up at the sky, and said, “Missed.”

It didn’t stop. Broken elevators miraculously fixed themselves when he stepped inside. Entire buildings collapsed a second after he stepped out. Stray bullets curved. An asteroid once exploded in the sky directly above him, like a cosmic firework. Lucky, people called him.

Aventurine knew better.

Luck was just the name people gave things they couldn’t explain. And when the universe started acting like a dealer rigging the table in your favor, you learned not to ask too many questions. You played the game. You smiled. You kept your cards close to your chest.

Then one night, as he sat alone in his suite—flicking chips between his fingers and nursing a glass of whatever expensive liquor was currently in fashion—he got a message.

On an app he didn’t recognize.

He didn’t download it. Didn’t remember seeing it. But there it was, blinking on his phone like a neon sign in the desert.

Curious, he tapped it open.

You have 14 unread messages.

The interface was sleek, dark, minimal. One long thread from a user with no profile picture and a display name simply reading: [Name].

He scrolled absently through the conversation, filled with odd timestamps, cryptic phrases, fragments of poetry.

And then—

“Fuck me.”

Aventurine blinked.

Then snorted.

“Charming,” he muttered. “Real subtle.”

He sat back, swirling the ice in his glass. He didn’t reply. Not right away.

Because somewhere in the back of his mind, something buzzed. Not like danger. Not quite. But that same feeling he got before one of his absurd near-misses—like the world was holding its breath.

He responded two hours later, after another drink and a coin toss.

“Bold opener. Do you use that line on all the lucky ones?”

A second later, the phone rang.

Not buzzed. Rang.

No number. No caller ID. Just a single word: Answer.

He hesitated. Then, of course, he answered.

Your voice was… calm. Silken. A little amused.

You didn’t say anything outrageous. Didn’t mention the message. Just… talked.

“Do you sleep in your blazer, Sunshine?” you asked once, teasing.

He chuckled. “Do you sleep at all?”

You didn’t answer that.

It became a thing. You called him every few nights. Sometimes for ten minutes. Sometimes hours. Sometimes you’d speak in riddles. Other times, it was simple: what he ate for dinner, the book he was half-reading, how the light hit his window at night.

Warm.

Weird.

Almost normal.

Until, one night, as he teased you about your name (or lack of it), you said, abruptly:

“I have to go.”

The line went dead.

Aventurine stared at the phone. “What? Wait, what about the weird app—?”

It rang again.

He picked up.

“Look out your window,” you said.

He turned.

And there you were.

Floating, effortlessly, just outside.

Eyes calm. Arms crossed. Like you belonged there.

“Hello, Sunshine,” you said, smiling.

He stared.

Then smirked. “Hello, Grim.”

You paused, then groaned softly.

“…Hearing that out loud is a lot more embarrassing than I thought it’d be,” you muttered. “It’s [Name]. That’s my name.”

The tension in the air shifted.

You stood—hovered—outside the twenty-third floor of his suite like it was nothing. Not an illusion. Not a hallucination. Not even a trick of fate.

You.

The figure behind the messages. The voice behind the calls.

The one who sent the very first text in a deadpan so blunt it still echoed in his head.

And, now that he could actually see you—he couldn’t look away.

“Well,” Aventurine murmured, leaning an elbow against the glass, eyes gleaming in the city light. “You’re prettier than I expected. Should’ve guessed Death would be stylish.”

You tilted your head. “You think I’m Death?”

“I think you’re something,” he said, and his grin widened. “And I don’t believe in coincidences.”

A beat passed. Then another.

You reached behind your back and, with a smooth flourish, revealed a bouquet of sunflowers. Vivid. Bright. Perfect.

“For you, Sunshine.”

He stared at them. Then at you. Then back again.

“You brought flowers?” he asked, incredulous. “What are we—ghosting gender roles now?”

You raised a brow. “Don’t flatter yourself. I like the irony. A bouquet for the boy who keeps cheating me.”

There it was.

That buzz again. Stronger now. A cosmic tension that stretched just behind the veil of the world.

“You’ve been following me,” he said quietly. “All this time.”

“I’ve been waiting,” you corrected.

He met your eyes. “For what?”

You looked at him like the answer was obvious.

“For you to stop dodging.”

Silence fell like a flipped coin. Balanced midair. Waiting to land.

Aventurine pressed a hand against the glass. Thought of every escape. Every scam. Every gamble. Every time he rolled the dice and they came up just right.

Maybe too right.

“…So what happens now?” he asked.

You floated closer. The distance between you was a breath. A whisper.

“That depends,” you said softly. “Do you want to keep playing the game?”

He chuckled—low and sharp. “Always.”

You smiled.

And for the first time, Death looked a little bit shy.

“Then let me in, Sunshine.”

He hesitated.

Then opened the window.

There are things even a gambler can’t bet against.

And some losses?