#Make your art the WAY YOU WANT TO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!MAKE IT YOURS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!SIGNATURES CAN BE ART IF YOU DECIDE IT!!!!!!!!!

[dsybouquet]

cant stop thinking about art atelier owner! ellie who recently moved the atelier to a bigger and prettier place.

the former flower shop has stood empty for years since the old lady running it has turned too old. when ellie bought the place from her, she saw the sadness behind the woman’s eyes who spent decades of her life in the building and now had to leave it behind. therefore ellie made the promise to keep the place im a good shape.

that being said, ellie stood by her word. couple of months have passed and the atelier is almost finished. she was missing some things here and there, but the time will bring them in - or rather, her local delivery girl will.

it was a cold november day and you regretted showing up at work. since christmas was approaching, the amount of packages was nearly unbearable. you stopped the mail-vehicle and put your head on the steering wheel. “think about the money, ______.”, you reminded yourself before grabbing the letters from the box next to you.

“williams?”, you whispered to yourself, clearly remembering that the shop belonged to a elderly woman named sophie thomson.

looking at your handscanner, you saw that you also had three packages to deliver at the adress.

thinking nothing of it, you got out of the vehicle. the cold air was immediately piercing your fingers and you wrapped your scarf closer around your neck. the side door slid open and you took the four packages all adress to ‘ellie williams - williams’ atelier’

odd, you thought, but you scanned them in and made your way inside. it was completely renovated. the walls, that used to have a flowery wallpaper, are now painted in a dark green tone, that made the atmosphere super mysterious. brown armchairs and a retro looking glass table, that was littered with art magazines, stood next to the entrance. it felt like a lobby.

“hello? im here to deliver a package.”, you called out, placing the packages on the nearby counter.

“coming!”, you heard a woman reply.

rushing from the backdoor was a woman, approximately around the age of 25. her hair was half up in a messy bun, possibly to keep it out of her face. she wore a beat down overall that was covered in paint stains.

“sorry, didn’t hear ya coming in.”, she then said, looking at you with her piercing eyes. for a second you were just staring at her tattoos, her face and her eyes.

“y-yeah don’t worry! i just need a signature for one of these.”, you fumbled on the handscanner. “can i ask your name, so i can type it in?”

“ellie williams.”, she responded, leaning against the counter, eyeing you.

“alright, miss williams, i need you to sign right on the display and then we’re done.”, you smiled, holding the scanner out to her.

she signed with a smile on her face, and placed the packages on the backdoor.

“hey! i have a few more orders coming in in the next weeks. also some furniture. if anything is too heavy just come in and yell. i will make sure to help you.”, she said, walking back to you.

this wasn’t the last time you had to go to the atelier. actually, mrs. williams was ordering a lot. you always wanted to roll your eyes when you’re collages commented how many packages the adress had, but you couldn’t.

after some time passed, she would eventually start to offer you a cup of coffee or some sweets. eventually you would drop calling her mrs. williams and call her ellie or els.

“what are your opening hours between christmas and new year?”, you asked as you placed her packages on the counter and clicked the ‘recipient’ button to confirm the package delivery.

“we’re closed, but just ring the door bell as i will be here sometimes. maybe you can catch me.”, she smiled and grabbed your to go coffee cup to refill it for you - something that she started to do last week.

“______, wait here for a second.”, she then said, turning her back to you and jogging towards the backdoor. “i got you a little something.”

she handed you a dark green, christmas themed giftbag filled with some chocolate and a little canvas. “thank you for your hard work and for carrying my heavy furniture in here”

“thank you, els.”, you smiled.

back in your car, you looked at the little envelope in the bag. there was a card inside, littered with christmas wishes and..

ellies number at the bottom of it. ‘text me if you see this xx’

[unriding]

EVIE !!!!!

I SAW U USE MY ART AS UR THEME SO I WANNA DO A REMAKE !!! mostly cause the other one was full of mistaks hurrrrr orz

keeping the color palette the same so itd still fit + use softer shading so convey how soft u are + moze is now IN UR HAND !!!! >:3

oh nick :’)

[ghostofsnails]

Sometimes when I'm signing my artwork I remember my professor telling us that artists shouldn't incorporate their signatures into their artwork because signatures aren't art. And then I scale up my signature and incorporate it into my art even more obnoxiously

[chosok-amo]

HIS TIP?! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY TIP : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

you just got your nails done, and geto is the one who paid for it. so as your way to appreciate his gesture you decided to get your nails color with the same color of his tip, which results in gojo's relentless jealousy.

warning. established relationship! satosugu, jealous gojo, lots of make-out sessions ( not really, i guess ), dick mentioned, gojo asks you if you like his dick more than geto's.

wc. | masterlist ( art © artist )

you step into the kitchen, feeling light and relaxed after your nail appointment. the faint scent of fresh polish lingers as you admire your nails, now perfectly done. as you walk further in, you spot geto and gojo sitting at the dining table, papers spread out in front of them, completely absorbed in their work.

with a smile tugging at your lips, you approach them. “hey, boys,” you greet warmly, your voice soft but enough to pull their attention away from the pile of documents in front of them.

geto looks up first, his tired eyes softening the moment they meet yours. “hey,” he says, a small smile forming on his lips. gojo follows shortly, pushing his glasses up as his signature grin appears. “look who's back, looking all fresh,” he teases, eyeing your nails.

geto moves his chair to the side, creating space for you to sit on his lap. with a light chuckle, you take the bait and settle on his thighs, his arms encircling your waist almost instantly, pulling you closer. gojo, not one to be outdone, takes a moment to admire your nails before leaning in to press a light kiss to your hand, his lips lingering just a little longer than necessary.

“so, what were you two up to?” you ask, your voice a soft murmur as you lean back against geto's chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. gojo leans his forearms on the table, drumming his fingers against the wood. “just some reports and paperwork. nothing too exciting.”

geto hums in agreement, his fingertips gently tracing patterns on your hip. “it's just the usual stuff. but it's more interesting now that you're here.”

you let out a soft, exaggerated sigh, rolling your eyes. “boring,” you mutter, dragging out the word playfully. you lean your head back against geto's shoulder, a mischievous smile forming on your lips.

gojo chuckles at your response, his smirk widening in amusement. “oh, am i not entertaining enough for you?” geto smirks at your back talk, his grip on your hips tightening slightly as he speaks up, his tone amused but laced with a hint of possessiveness. “watch it, sweetheart. we can make things interesting real quick.”

you chuckle softly, shaking your head as you glance between them. “sorry, sorry,” you say with a playful smile, resting your cheek on your palm as you lean your elbow against the table. “didn't mean to bruise your egos.���

gojo leans in, resting his chin on his hand, curiosity dancing in his eyes. “so, how was your day?” he asks, his voice light but genuinely interested. geto’s hand on your hip continues to trace slow circles, his voice soft as he adds, “yeah, anything interesting happen?”

you smile softly, leaning back against geto as you answer, “it was good. i had lunch with shoko and yuu, then went to get my nails done.” your voice is relaxed as you recall the day, feeling both of them listening intently.

gojo raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening slightly. “did yuu take you home after that?” he asks, the question laced with a hint of something more, like he already knows the answer. you glance at him knowingly, chuckling lightly. “yeah, he did,” you admit, seeing the small exchange of glances between gojo and geto. “figured that was your request to him, huh?” you add, giving them a teasing look.

gojo gives you a nonchalant shrug in response, his smile widening into a cheeky grin. “might’ve mentioned it, yeah.”

geto’s grip on your hips tightens just slightly, his voice a low murmur against your ear. “we just wanted to make sure you made it home safe.” his breath tickles your skin, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “can’t have our sweetheart stranded, can we?”

you scoff softly, turning your head to glance at geto with a raised eyebrow. “stranded?” you repeat, your tone playful yet teasing before you break into a warm smile, knowing well that they just want to take care of you and make sure you are safe.

geto’s smirks, his hand on your hip squeezing you lovingly. “you know what i mean,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of possessiveness. gojo watches the two of you with a knowing smile, his gaze flickering between you and geto before he speaks up with a hint of humor. “can’t have our girl wandering off without supervision, someone might snag you from us.”

you hum softly, an amused smile tugging at your lips as you settle comfortably against geto’s chest, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. “alright, boys, thank you,” you murmur, glancing at gojo with a playful glint in your eyes.

you let out a contented sigh, a warm smile on your face as the cozy, comforting atmosphere wraps around the three of you. moments like this—where everything is light, easy, and filled with unspoken love—are the ones you treasure most.

geto’s hand rubs soothing circles on your hip, his chin resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “anytime, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice as warm as a summer breeze.

gojo’s eyes soften, his smile gentle as he watches you lean back against geto. “we’ll always be there for you,” he murmurs, his words filled with a protective determination. you sit in a comforting silence, the three of you basking in each other’s presence, safe in the knowledge that you’re taken care of and loved.

geto shifts slightly, his hand still rubbing soothing circles on your hip as he chuckles softly near your ear. “so,” he begins, his tone teasing but curious, “did you really use your own money for those nails?”

his voice holds a playful edge, but there's that subtle hint of possessiveness again, as if he wants to make sure you're being well taken care of.

you can feel the smirk on his lips against your shoulder as he waits for your answer, clearly enjoying the gentle interrogation. gojo raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued as he watches, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “or did you let someone else treat you?” he adds, his voice light but teasing, like he’s in on the joke.

you smirk, feeling their anticipation as they wait for your answer. “actually, yes,” you say with a playful glint in your eyes. “someone did treat me.”

both geto and gojo's expressions shift slightly—geto’s grip tightening ever so slightly on your hip, while gojo leans forward with mild curiosity. “his name?” you pause for effect, your smile widening. “geto suguru.” you lean closer to give the man kiss on the cheek.

you chuckle softly, tilting your head to look up at geto. “thanks for forcing me to use your card, by the way,” you tease, a playful edge to your voice.

geto’s lips curl into a smirk, his arms tightening around you just a bit more. “well, i had to make sure you got what you wanted,” he says, his tone light but with a hint of satisfaction. “someone's got to take care of you.” gojo lets out an amused snort, his grin widening as he watches the exchange. “how generous of you,” he teases, clearly enjoying the banter between you and geto.

geto chuckles, his hand on your hip squeezing gently. “anything for our princess,” he says, his voice warm but with a hint of possessiveness. he nuzzles his face against your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, “can't have you paying for anything when we're around.”

you smile softly at geto’s affectionate gesture, feeling his breath warm against your skin. With a playful glint in your eye, you turn slightly to face him, leaning in close. “that's actually why i have something special to tell you,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing.

geto’s eyes sparkle with curiosity as he pulls back slightly to look at you, his expression a mix of anticipation and warmth. "oh? do tell,” he replies, his tone inviting and attentive. gojo perks up, his eyebrows lifting slightly at your announcement. he leans forward on the table, resting his chin on his hand, clearly intrigued and eager to hear what you have to say.

geto’s gaze is fixed on you, his eyes softening as he focuses his full attention on you. he gently pushes his chair back, turning you to sit sideways on his lap so he can look you straight in the face, his hand never leaving your hip.

“well? don’t keep us in suspense,” he says, a light smirk playing around the corners of his lips. you look between geto and gojo, enjoying their anticipation. with a teasing grin, you ask geto, “do you remember when i asked you to send me a dick pic before my appointment?”

geto looks slightly surprised at the direction the conversation is taking, but his initial shock morphs into an amused smirk. “i do,” he replies, his thumb gently rubbing circles on your hip, his grip firm.

you smile playfully, leaning in slightly and teasing, “i actually chose this nail polish color because it matches the shade of your tip.”geto’s smirk widens, his eyes darkened slightly at your words. “is that so?” he says, his voice a low murmur. he slides his hand up your hip, fingers tracing up along the curve of your waist.

gojo’s expression shift, a scowl crossing his face as he watches the interaction. his usual grin fades slightly, replaced by a hint of jealousy. “you’re really getting into this, aren’t you?” he says, his tone is light but edged with a touch of possessiveness.

you ignore gojo's comment, focusing instead on geto's deepening gaze and the way his fingers trace up your waist. With a warm smile, you wrap your arm around geto, pulling him closer. you lean in and press a gentle peck to his lips, savoring the closeness. “just making sure you know how much i appreciate you,” you murmur softly, your tone affectionate.

gojo watches the interaction with a mix of frustration and fascination, but you maintain your attention on geto, enjoying the intimacy and warmth of the moment. geto smiles against your lips, his hand on your hip shifting to rest on the small of your back, his grip firm but gentle. his other hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

he leans in to deepen the kiss, his lips claiming yours in a soft but possessive manner, his tongue gently slipping into your mouth. he lets out a pleased sigh into the kiss, clearly enjoying the moment.

gojo scowls at the affectionate display, his eyes narrowing as he watches the two of you. he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. after a few moments of indulging in the kiss, geto reluctantly pulls back, his hand still on the small of your back. he gazes at you with an affectionate smile, his eyes shining with warmth.

“so, you really picked this nail polish to match me?’ he asks, his voice a soft murmur as he glances down at your nails. you nod with a playful smile, your eyes sparkling as you look up at geto. “uh-huh,” you reply, your voice soft and teasing. “i chose this color to match you because you paid for my nails. thought it would be a fun little touch. i like the color too, more like i like your dick,” you playfully said, voice drowning with sultry.

gojo lets out a scoff at your comment, rolling his eyes in mild annoyance. geto’s grin widens as he hears your words, a mix of amusement and heat flashing in his eyes. he pulls you closer, his hand on your back sliding down to rest on the curve of your hip.

“is that so?” he says, his voice low and filled with a subtle hint of possessiveness. his gaze drops to your nails, his eyes studying the color for a moment before returning to your face.

you meet geto’s gaze with a playful glint in your eyes and a teasing smile. “it is so,” you reply, your tone light but filled with affection. you let your fingers brush gently against his cheek, enjoying the closeness.

geto leaving a peck on your lips once again, his lips linger near yours, his breath warm and his gaze fixed on you. he murmurs affectionately, his voice slightly huskier than before, “you’re such a sweet thing, you know that?” gojo watches the affectionate display with a scowl, but there's a hint of envy in his expression. he scoffs softly again, shifting in his chair as if to draw your attention.

geto, however, is completely absorbed in you, his gaze locked on yours as he whispers against your lips. his hand on your hip gently squeezes you, his fingers tracing along the line where your shirt meets your jeans.

“the sweetest,” he repeats, his voice low and filled with tenderness. he leans in closer, his nose brushing against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “and you’re such a bad influence,” he says, his voice a low murmur, thick with affection and a hint of playful annoyance. he presses another gentle kiss to your mouth, lingering there for a moment.

you chuckle softly, your breath mingling with geto's as you kiss him back with an open-mouthed kiss, your hand gently cupping his cheek. you press your forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his skin.

“yeah?” you murmur between kisses, your voice teasing but affectionate. geto's eyes flutter open briefly, a smile playing on his lips as he gazes at you. “yeah,” he whispers back, his voice filled with warmth and tenderness. he deepens the kiss, his fingers continuing to trace the line where your shirt meets your jeans, enjoying the closeness and the playful exchange.

gojo can't help but watch the intimate moment between you and geto, his eyes narrowing slightly as a mix of envy and affection flashes across his face. he leans back in his chair, silently observing the way geto's fingers trace along your waist, the way you cup his face.

geto's hand slides around to the small of your back, pulling you closer still, his kiss becoming deeper, more possessive, his tongue slipping into your mouth. he moans against your lips, his breath coming a little faster.

gojo lets out a frustrated scoff as he watches geto's possessive display, but he can't deny the pang of jealousy that he feels. he shifts in his chair, his fingers drumming against the table, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance.

geto's mouth moves down to your neck, his lips tracing along the line of your throat, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. his breath is hot, his fingers gripping you tighter, his body pressing closer. gojo leans forward, his eyes fixated on the two of you, his frustration building. his jaw tightens slightly, his expression hardening as he watches geto's lips caressing your skin.

geto's lips pause near your ear, his voice a whisper filled with desire and possessiveness. “you're mine,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. he gently bites down on the sensitive spot where your shoulder meets your neck, his tongue soothing the spot immediately after.

gojo's eyes darkened, watching geto's mouth on your neck, the way he seemed so possessive, claiming you as his own. he shifted in his chair again, his fingers continuing to drum on the table, his jaw clenching faintly.

he scoffs softly, his jealousy and frustration palpable. “can it out already, can you?” he grunt in annoyance. geto pauses at gojo's annoyed remark, his lips reluctantly pulling away from your neck. he turns his head to glance at gojo, his gaze a mixture of annoyance and possessiveness.

“jealous much?” he responds, his voice cool and calm, but with an edge of challenge.

he looks back at you, his eyes traveling down to your neck and the spot he had just been kissing. a flicker of pride crosses his face as he notes the slight mark his teeth left on your skin. you clear your throat and let out a sheepish laugh, feeling a bit embarrassed by the situation (which is a lie). you glance over at gojo, offering a smirk, clearly you enjoy the moment with geto which make the man more upset than he already is, especially that crush cherry color on your cheeks.

“sorry, baby,” you say, your tone is light with no sincerity. “i got a bit carried away.”

gojo scowls at your words, his annoyance flaring as he hears the lack of remorse in your tone. his eyes flick between you and geto, his expression growing more and more frustrated. geto, on the other hand, smirks at your response, his hand on the small of your back rubbing circles in a self-satisfied manner. he pulls you even closer, his body pressing against yours.

“don't worry, princess,” he says, his voice is smooth and confident. “there's no need to apologize for enjoying yourself.” gojo's scowl deepens as geto's hand rubs circles on your back, the pet name adding fuel to his jealousy. he leans forward on the table, his gaze flickering between you and geto.

“yeah, don't apologize for enjoying yourself,” he mutters, his tone snarky, “not like you're neglecting anyone here.”

you chuckle softly at gojo’s snarky comment, finding his jealousy both amusing and endearing. you give geto a warm smile as you slide into the chair next to him, your body still close but giving gojo a bit of space. “don’t worry, baby,” you say with a playful glint in your eyes. “i’m just spreading the love around. no one’s being neglected here.”

uou turn your attention back to geto, giving him a teasing look. “and as for you,” you add, leaning in slightly, “thanks for the fun. i always appreciate your confidence.”

geto’s smirk widens, his hand still resting on your back, and he leans in closer to kiss your cheek, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. gojo grumbles at your words, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression one of mild annoyance and jealousy. he watches as you shift your attention back to geto, his eyes narrowing slightly.

geto, on the other hand, grins at your playful comment, his hand gripping your back a little tighter. he leans in to give your cheek a soft kiss, his lips lingering on your skin for a moment, his gaze fixed on gojo the entire time.

“always a pleasure, princess,” he says, his voice warm and filled with affection. gojo's scowl deepens as he watches you and geto, his jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. he crosses his arms over his chest, clearly displeased, even if he’s trying to hide it. you and geto both know how he can get—he’s always been the jealous type, even over the smallest things.

you can feel gojo’s gaze on you, practically burning with envy. deciding to tease him a little, you pretend to be oblivious to his jealousy, glancing at geto with a playful smile. “well, suguru did pay for my nails this time, so it only made sense to match his color.”

gojo lets out an exaggerated huff, his fingers tapping against the table impatiently. “it should’ve been me,” he mutters under his breath. “i should’ve paid for your nails. and you should’ve picked my color.”

geto chuckles, clearly amused by gojo's jealousy and possessiveness. he gives you a knowing look, his hand on your back rubbing soothing circles.

“again, jealous, satoru?” he asks, his voice smooth and playful. gojo's scowl deepens as he hears geto's question, his eyes narrowing at the other man.

“damn right i am,” he mutters under his breath. “i should be the one you're matching. not him.“ you stifle a laugh at his possessive grumbling, looking at him with mock confusion. “baby, i didn't know you wanted to pay. you never said anything.”

his eyes narrow slightly, but there's a hint of vulnerability beneath his frustration. “what do you mean i never said anything? i shouldn’t have to say anything. you know I like doing things for you first and you know i always pay for you.”

geto can't help but chuckle again at gojo's response, enjoying the exchange between you and him. he rests his chin on his hand, his eyes flickering between you and gojo.

you feign innocence, tilting your head slightly as you look at gojo. “well, honey, you should have said something. maybe i would have matched your color if you had offered,” you say, your tone soft and amused.

gojo's irritation is evident in his expression, but there's a hint of hurt in his eyes. “i shouldn't have to offer. you should have picked my color without me asking," he grumbles, his fingers tapping against the table in an impatient rhythm. “i do so much for you, princess. you should just know that i want to do this sort of thing for you.”

geto watches the exchange between you and gojo, his expression neutral but his eyes flickering with a hint of interest. his hand on your back continues to rub gentle circles, a subtle gesture of possession.

you continue to feign innocence, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. “well, sweetheart,” you say, your voice soft and sweet, “maybe you should have made it more obvious that you wanted me to match you.”

gojo's scowl deepens at your response, his irritation growing. he leans forward in his chair, his eyes locking on you.

“more obvious?” he repeats, his voice filled with frustration. “how much more obvious can i get? i do so much for you. i take you on dates, i buy you gifts, i spend time with you. i feel like i’m practically screaming at you that i want to pay for you.”

geto's eyes flicker between you and gojo, silently watching the exchange, his eyes sharp and observant. he continues to rub circles on your back, his hand staying possessively in place.

you maintain your innocent facade, your small smile growing slightly wider. “maybe you should try actually screaming it then,” you suggest, your tone light and playful. gojo's jaw tightens, his patience wearing thin. he lets out an exasperated sigh, his fingers drumming against the table.

“maybe i should,” he mutters under his breath. “it’s not like i haven’t been pretty damn upfront about how i feel, princess. i’ve said i want to take care of you. i’ve told you how much you mean to me. how much more obvious can i get?”

you can’t help but chuckle at gojo’s frustrated outburst. his jealousy, while endearing, always comes with a touch of drama. standing up from your seat. “sorry, baby,” you say with playful sincerity, your voice light as you step away from the table. “i didn’t mean to make you feel that way. you know you’re important to me.”

you stretch your arms and look at both gojo and geto with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “but for now, i’m going to take a shower.” you give them a little wink before turning toward your bedroom, leaving both of them to stew in their own thoughts for a moment.

both gojo and geto watch you get up from your seat, their eyes following you as you stride towards your bedroom. gojo's irritation melts slightly as he watches you go, his gaze fixated on the sway of your hips. he lets out a deep sigh, his fingers tapping against the table again.

geto's eyes linger on your figure, his hand still rubbing circles on the empty space where you had been sitting only moments ago. his expression is calm, but his gaze is filled with a mixture of desire and possessiveness.

as you disappear into the bedroom and close the door, gojo and geto are left alone at the table. for a few moments, they sit in silence, the only sound in the room being the soft hum of the air conditioning.

gojo breaks the silence, his voice low and frustrated. “she’s driving me crazy.”

inside your bedroom, as you stand in front of the mirror, brushing your hair and removing your jewelry, you hear the soft creak of the wooden door closing. you glance at the reflection, catching sight of gojo sitting on the edge of the bed, arms crossed and his gaze deliberately avoiding yours. he’s still sulking, his body language making it painfully clear that he wants you to know just how upset he is.

a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you turn to face him fully. his childish pouting is endearing, and you can’t help but let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head at how serious he’s trying to be.

“you're still upset, huh?” you tease softly, stepping closer to him. gojo’s stubborn silence is answer enough, his jaw set in a tight line, though you can see the faintest hint of a pout forming.

gojo can feel his irritation bubbling beneath the surface as you approach him, his arms still crossed over his chest. he refuses to look at you, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor, his jaw clenched tight. he knows he's being childish, but he can't help it.

he remains silent, his shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath. he can feel your eyes on him, your soft chuckle breaking the heavy silence in the room. he grumbles under his breath, his resolve slipping.

you stand in front of gojo, watching the way his irritation bubbles beneath the surface. he's stubborn, jaw clenched and eyes glued to the floor. a small sigh escapes you as you reach out, gently stroking his arms up and down, feeling the tension in his muscles. his resistance is almost adorable, but you know exactly how to handle him when he's like this.

wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer, your touch soft and coaxing. you tilt your head, trying to meet his eyes, but he only looks further away, his determination to stay upset clear in every movement.

“come on, baby,” you murmur, your voice soft and teasing. “are you really going to keep ignoring me, or what?“ you lean in a little closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you speak, hoping to break down the last bit of his sulking.

gojo tries to resist your attempts at breaking down his sulking, but the feeling of your arms around his neck and the sound of your voice against his ear start to chip away at his resolve. he lets out a frustrated huff, his shoulders sagging slightly.

he hesitates for a few more moments, fighting the urge to give in to your coaxing. but eventually, he gives up, his arms slowly uncrossing and settling on your waist. his gaze remains fixed on the floor, still stubbornly avoiding your eyes.

you smile softly as you feel gojo's arms finally settle on your waist, his stubborn facade starting to crack. without saying a word, you lean in and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment before pulling back. your fingers trail up to brush lightly against his undercut, feeling the slight roughness beneath your fingertips.

he’s still looking away, but you can sense his resolve weakening, the frustration slowly fading. “there you are,” you whisper, your thumb gently caressing the side of his face. “i missed you already.” you tilt your head, trying to catch his gaze, your smile warm and affectionate as you wait for him to finally meet your eyes.

gojo can feel his resolve crumbling with each gentle touch and caress from you. your soft whisper and the warmth in your voice only make it harder for him to keep up his sulky act.

he lets out a quiet breath, his gaze flickering towards yours for a brief moment before quickly looking away again. his jaw is still clenched, the last remnants of his annoyance still lingering. but the longer you hold him, the more it fades away, replaced by a mix of vulnerability and affection.

“ugh, stop it,” he mutters under his breath, his voice gruff but lacking any real heat.

you chuckle softly at his gruff response, leaning in a little closer as you stroke his undercut. “i'm sorry, baby,” you say gently, your voice soft and sincere. “i didn’t realize it was such a big deal to you.” you give him a small, apologetic smile, your thumb brushing along his cheek. “i just wanted to do something nice for suguru since he paid for my nails, that’s all.“

you pause for a moment, letting your words sink in, hoping he understands. “it doesn’t mean i don’t appreciate you. you know i do, right?” you tilt your head slightly, trying to meet his eyes again, your arms still wrapped around his neck, holding him close.

his shoulders sag slightly as you apologize, his face softening as he absorbs your words. he knows he's being ridiculous, being jealous over something so small. he lets out a deep breath, his resistance crumbling further. he finally meets your gaze, his expression a mixture of annoyance and affection.

“i know,” he sighs, his fingers gripping your hips a little tighter. “i just...” he hesitates for a moment, his jaw clenching again. “i hate the idea of you matching anything with anyone other than me, princess.”

you smile softly, your hand moving from his cheek to gently run through his hair. “baby, i always match almost everything with you,” you reassure him, your tone warm and affectionate. “more than i do with suguru, trust me.”

you lean in a little closer, your forehead resting against his. “but sometimes, it's nice to do things for him too, you know? he takes care of me just like you do. you both mean so much to me.” your fingers trail gently along his undercut again, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. “you’ll always come first, though.”

gojo lets out another sigh, the last remnants of his stubborn resistance melting away at your words. he leans into your touch, his body relaxing under your gentle caresses. he knows he’s being unreasonable, but he can’t help the possessive feeling that surges within him whenever he sees you with anyone else.

“i know,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing soft circles on your hips. “i know you care about us both. and i get that you want to do nice things for him. i just... i don’t like sharing you, princess.”

you chuckle softly, shaking your head as you brush a strand of hair away from gojo’s face. “isn’t it a little too late to be worrying about sharing, baby?” you tease gently, your lips curling into a playful smile.

you lean back slightly, keeping your arms around his neck. “besides, it’s not fair if i’m always doing things with you, and the moment i do something with suguru, you throw a fit.” your tone is light and teasing, but there’s an undertone of honesty in your words.

“baby, you’re not the only one who wants to take care of me. suguru does too, and i want to show him the same love and attention i show you.” you tilt your head, your eyes soft. “don’t you think that’s fair?”

gojo let out another huff, his face scrunching into a slight pout. he knows you have a point, but he’s still not entirely pleased with the situation. sharing you with geto is already a challenge for him, and now you’re giving him even more reasons to be jealous.

“i guess,” he grumbles, his fingers gripping your hips a little tighter. “i just can’t help it, princess. when i see you with him, doing things we usually do together, it makes me want to... well...” he trails off, his eyes flickering to the side.

gojo’s pout deepens as he grumbles, noticing the small gap between the two of you. with a frustrated sigh, he tugs you closer by your waist, his grip firm but affectionate.

“why are you standing so far away?” he mutters, pulling you flush against him as if that would somehow chase away the jealousy lingering in his chest. he buries his face against your chest, letting out another low grumble. “i don’t like it when you’re not close to me,” he admits, his voice muffled but laced with affection.

you chuckle as gojo pulls you closer, his arms encircling you possessively. his possessive and needy behavior is both endearing and frustrating at times, but you know it’s just his way of showing how much he cares.

as he buries his face against your chest, you instinctively reach up to run your fingers through his soft, white hair, your touch gentle and soothing. “i’m not that far away, sweetheart,” you tease lightly, your other hand rubbing circles on his back.

you gently cup his face in your hands, guiding him to look at you. “baby, suguru deserves the same attention and treatment as you do,” you say softly but firmly. “he’s important to me too, and just like you, he wants to show me how much he cares.”

you lean in a bit closer, your gaze steady and sincere. “i love both of you and want to make sure you both feel appreciated and cared for. it's not about sharing; it's about balancing and showing the same love to everyone who means so much to me.”

gojo’s eyes meet yours as you cup his face in your hands, your words sinking in. he knows deep down that you’re right, that geto deserves just as much attention and affection as he does. but it’s still hard for him to shake off that possessive and jealous feeling. he huffs again, his grip on your hips tightening slightly.

“i know,” he mutters, his voice low. “i just don’t like sharing you, princess. it feels like i’m losing something when you give bits of yourself to someone else.” you chuckle softly, shaking your head with a playful smile. “you're such a drama queen, satoru,“ you tease gently before leaning down to kiss him.

your lips meet his in an open-mouthed kiss, your hands sliding up to his neck to pull him closer. the kiss is deep and warm, your affection clear in every gentle brush of your lips and touch. you let yourself get lost in the moment, aiming to reassure him of your love and commitment, no matter how dramatic he might be feeling.

gojo grumbles as you tease him, but his grumbles quickly melt away as your lips meet his. his arms instinctively envelope your waist, pulling you in as close to him as physically possible.

the kiss is hungry and possessive, the touch of your lips and tongue igniting a fire within the both of you. he responds with equal fervor, his mouth moving against yours with a mixture of need and passion.

he forgets about the jealousy and pettiness for a moment, losing himself entirely in your touch. as the kiss deepens, gojo's hands begin to wander, his touch becoming more possessive and needy. they trail up your sides, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your top, his touch hot against your skin.

he pulls back for a moment, but only to move his attention to your jaw and neck, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of kisses and gentle nips along your sensitive flesh. with each kiss and nibble, gojo's need for you becomes more evident, his touch both tender and urgent as he holds you close against him. his lips and tongue continue their journey down your neck, his hands now roaming across your shoulders and back.

he's slowly losing himself in the moment, his jealousy and possessiveness taking a backseat to his overwhelming desire for you.

you let out a soft murmur, “satoru,” almost breathlessly. your eyes fluttering closed as you pull his silver locks gently. your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer, deepening the kiss. every touch, every nibble on your neck only intensities the connection between you, allowing you both to lose yourselves in the shared moment of intimacy and affection.

at the sound of his name, gojo groans against your skin, his lips and teeth still working their way along your neck and collarbone. his hands move lower, slipping beneath your top and caressing your bare skin.

he can feel your need, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. he responds to your silent request, his body molding against yours, his lips moving back up to claim yours in a deep, heated kiss.

as the intensity of the kiss builds, gojo starts to steer you backwards, guiding you towards the bed. his hands roam your body, exploring every inch of you as he continues to kiss you with a burning desire.

with a swift movement, he lifts you up into his arms and lays you down on the bed, his body covering you as he pins you beneath him, drawing a gasp from the back of your throat with sudden movement. his knee wedges between your legs, spreading them slightly as he presses closer against you.

gojo's actions are fluid and confident, his hands and mouth working in unison to send waves of heat cascading through your body. he pins you beneath him, his body pressing against yours, his knee nudging your legs apart.

he can feel your gasp against his lips, his fingers gripping your hips and pulling you even closer against him. he breaks away from the kiss, his lips moving to your ear, peppering it with kisses and soft nibbles. his voice is low, almost a growl.

“you drive me crazy, princess,“ he whispers, his voice deep and filled with desire.

you gently pull him away, your eyes searching his face with a hint of concern. you run your fingers through his hair, your voice soft and soothing. “are you still mad?” you ask, your tone filled with warmth and understanding. you want to make sure that his feelings are addressed before things continue, showing him that you care about his emotions as much as the passion between you.

gojo's frustration and jealousy melt away under your gentle touch and concerned gaze. he leans into your hand as you run your fingers through his hair, the simple, soothing gesture calming his restless thoughts.

he sighs, his expression softening as he looks down at you beneath him. he's still annoyed, but the intensity of his feelings seems to have simmered down. “no,” he admits, his voice a little gruff. "i'm not mad anymore. just... jealous."

you poke his cheek playfully, a teasing smile on your lips. “don't,” you say, your voice light and comforting. “we just had a hot make-out session. it doesn’t change how much i care about you.” you lean in to press a gentle kiss on his cheek, reassuring him with your warmth and affection.

gojo can't help but chuckle at your playful poke and light tone. your words and the gentle kiss on his cheek only serve to soothe his jealous feelings further. he knows deep down that his jealousy is a little irrational, but he can't help the possessive part of him that wants you all to himself.

he leans his forehead against yours, his voice softer now. “i know,” he mumbles, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your hips. “i just... i can't help it, princess. i just want you all to myself, all the time.”

you gently push him onto the bed, a playful glint in your eyes as you crawl down from the bed. you stand next to him, looking down with a teasing smile. “too bad,” you say with a light chuckle, “you're going to have to bear it for the rest of your life. neither suguru nor i are going anywhere.” you lean down to give him a reassuring kiss, emphasizing your words with affection.

as you push him onto the bed and stand over him, gojo can't help but let out a small grumble, even though he knows you're just teasing him. he props himself up on his elbows, his gaze on you, a mixture of jealousy and adoration in his eyes.

he lets out a huff as you tease him with your words, but his expression softens when you lean down to give him a kiss, the reassurance clear in your gesture. “you're lucky i love you,” he mutters under his breath, his tone jokingly annoyed.

you give his thigh a gentle pat, your smile warm and reassuring. “you should go back to work,” you say, your voice playful but with a hint of sincerity. “i’m going to take a shower, and then i’ll make you and suguru tea and dinner. your favorite, of course.”

you lean down for one last quick kiss, “sounds good, my love?”

gojo's expression softens at the combination of your warm smile and gentle touch. he sighs, sitting up on the bed and nodding slightly as you suggest he return to work. he knows you're right, that he needs to get back to his responsibilities, even though he'd rather stay in the moment with you.

he accepts your last quick kiss, his hand slipping to the back of your head, his touch possessive but affectionate.

“sounds good, princess,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of resignation and fondness. as you’re about to walk to the bathroom, gojo's hand wraps around your wrist, gently pulling you back to stand between his legs. he gazes up at you, his blue eyes holding a mix of playful jealousy and curiosity.

“you like suguru's dick, huh?“ he asks, his voice teasing yet laced with a hint of insecurity. “what about mine? do you like my dick too?” his fingers trail up your wrist, his grip light but enough to keep you close. he's seeking reassurance, the possessive part of him craving your validation.

gojo's grip on your wrist prevents you from moving too far away. his eyes lock on yours, the mixture of jealousy and curiosity evident in their depths. when he speaks, his voice is playful, yet there's an undertone of insecurity and seeking validation.

at his question, a small flush creeps onto your cheeks, your body moving slightly closer to him. you reach down, gently running your fingers through his silvery hair. “yes,” you reply softly, looking at him. “i do like your dick too, baby.”

gojo smirks in response, his grip on your wrist relaxing as he leans back slightly, his eyes still fixed on yours. he can see the flush on your cheeks, the way your body moves closer to his, and he knows he's gotten what he wanted— reassurance.

he lifts his hand, his fingers gently tracing along your hip, his touch light, almost teasing. his voice is playful, but there's also a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “enough to prefer it over suguru's?” he asks, his eyes flickering up to meet yours, seeking further confirmation.

as your finger trails from his thigh to his zipper, gojo’s smirk deepens, his breath hitching slightly at your touch. your whisper, soft and teasing, sends a shiver down his spine. you nod, leaning in slightly, your lips barely brushing his ear. “i like yours the most,” you whisper, letting your finger linger teasingly on his zipper.

“its sooo big, thick, and clean, and red, you take care of your dick so well,” you continue to whisper to his ear.

gojo's smirk turns into a small gasp as your finger lightly brushes his zipper and your whisper in his ear. his body responds instantly to your touch and words, his breath hitching and his heart rate slightly picking up.

he grunts lightly as you continue to tease him with your whispers about how well he takes care of his dick, his own voice a little huskier as he responds.

“are you really trying to flatter me right now, princess?” he mutters, his eyes closing momentarily as his own hand grips your hip a little tighter. “yeah? my dick's better, right?” he asks after, his tone bordering on cocky as he looks up at you smugly. he tightens his grip on your wrist, while his other hand moving to rest possessively on your waist.

gojo's smug expression falters for a split second when you whisper, “sooo much better,” your voice low and teasing. his grip tightens just slightly on your waist, but before he can respond, you tap his thigh and begin to walk away, leaving him sitting on the bed.

he watches you, a mix of frustration and amusement playing on his face as you head to the bathroom, his possessive nature still burning beneath the surface. “you’re really gonna leave me like that, huh?” he mutters under his breath, eyes glued to your retreating figure.

his fingers twitch in response to the sudden loss of your touch, and he lets out a quiet huff, shaking his head with a small, exasperated grin, knowing full well you’ve won this round.

gojo stares after you as you walk towards the bathroom, his expression a mixture of frustration, amusement, and possessiveness. his fingers twitch with the need to pull you back, to keep you close and satisfy his possessive nature.

he lets out a low huff, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fact that he's slightly disgruntled by your departure. “you can't just tease me like that and then leave,” he calls out, his voice low and slightly rough.

he leans back on one elbow, his eyes glued to the bathroom door, already plotting his revenge for your cheeky retreat.

[iceunhie]

art of the fan!

premise: wherein jiaoqiu’s fan does half the work and reaps twice the effect.

warnings: gn!reader, 1.4k words, potential jiaoqiu ooc, written before his release. use of petnames and suffixes. please read the terminology guide below to understand their use in the plot, very ‘walk him like a dog’ core, though in this case fox would be more appropriate, haha.

a/n: guess who’s back with a oneshot (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠) here is my humble offering to the jiaoqiu nation, i did my best

jiaoqiu—for some reason—has made it his life’s mission to perpetually get under your skin.

recently, he has employed shady methods, most particularly instilling almost unfair use of his fan in order to get away with things he normally can't, poking at the strings in your heart like how a stick hits a hornet’s nest.

“yi sheng, is there a purpose for this?” you exclaim, with the foxian man sighing in faux disappointment. the sarcastic way of addressing his title does make his face spasm—but unfortunately for you, today, it seems it does little to dampen his mischief.

you are in the humiliating position of being in the sly man’s lap; aggrieved that your current predicament warrants unfair treatment that borders on harassment (an exaggeration, jiaoqiu has never been improper to that extent).

not to mention, his fan is aimed at your chin, making you look up at him while he applies ointment to a rather nasty bruise around your lip, with the gall to hum as he does so.

“ah, ah. don't move.” he holds the feathered fan under your chin, eyes ever closed while a placid smile graces his face, retaining his signature cunning. jiaoqiu has lost his mind. you keep to yourself, ignoring the heat in your cheeks that had made an appearance since earlier—because why else would he do this? (and why in the name of aeons would you let him? something must be wrong with your brain today.) “if you do not let me do this, that unsightly bruise might fester, you know.”

“you’re too close.”

“well, you were too far.”

“i am sitting on your lap, yi sheng. how close do you want us to be?” you roll your eyes, earning jiaoqiu a poke at your face, followed by his hand squishing at the fat on your cheeks. “hey, lwet goh of me…”

“still with the formalities... surely now you can address me by my name, can you?” jiaoqiu coaxes, like saying it might wash away all the fatigue in the world, because every inch of his being, from the tips of his ears to the veins in his heart and the wisps of his soul, his yearning and pining echoes and resounds in the cavity of his chest that holds only you, you, you.

what, jiaoqiu wonders, would it take for him to be the sole beholder of your brilliance? his hands holding yours, gripping faithfully and unfalteringly, your fates bound by knots; crimson in nature, entwined forevermore? his eyes soften because of course they do—for you mold him into a being devoted to commemorating your existence into his flesh, your voice settling in the marrow of his bones.

you falter, your heartbeat loud. jiaoqiu notices. of course he does. “yi sheng—”

“jiaoqiu.”

“yi—”

“qiu-er.”

“....” he can hear your heart thundering in your chest—thump, thump—and it has never occurred to him to praise his foxian senses until now. his smile widens, a fang poking out with the white of his teeth. “i'm waiting, baobei.” your face glows with warmth, and jiaoqiu fights the urge to swallow you up whole right then and there.

(he resists it often when it comes to you.)

“you’re so stubborn!” you say after much deliberation, rejection flat and heavy. jiaoqiu deflates, just a bit, and petulantly rubs ointment on the other bruises littering your face. (his ears show his displeasure, drooping down, comically flat against his head.)

“hmph. and you’re too stingy.”

“all the more reason not to, then!”

still not enough, huh? jiaoqiu wonders if he'll ever get you to crack; if you'll ever mirror the expression of his adoration—swishing tail and perked up ears aside. still, his touch is gentle, like the embers of a fire hugging you for warmth, a blazing sensation in which all the greed in the world falls short compared to his need to touch you, to perceive you. “will i ever hear my name on your lips? you seem to have no issue addressing others so casually.”

“and who exactly are these others?” you raise a brow at him. jiaoqiu shrugs, nonchalant. as though it didn't bother him (he's seething).

you note that he speaks with contempt, bitterness filtering his soft-spoken words. his tail wags rapidly. pfft, so… so childish! (and a little cute, but you don't say it for obvious reasons.)

“well, for starters, the madam general, the dozing general, yunli, the herbalists near the red fox theater, the stair sweepers....”

“wait, wait, that's too many! and the stair sweepers, really?!”

“i’ll avoid answering further questions.”

“you look like you've swallowed vinegar, laoshi.” you croon, biting where you can at the weakened fox you've made, defiantly lowering your chin still held captive by jiaoqiu’s fan. “besides, i merely do it to cut all at one stroke. after all, it is you, yi sheng—” you relish in jiaoqiu’s expression when you get eerily close, noses almost touching, “that insisted i ought to call you by that title, did you not? who knew you were so easy to displease.”

his face constricts, and his hands lower, one hand gripping firm at your waist, and jiaoqiu reels away from you, hiding his face behind his fan as his cheeks tint themselves scarlet. his pride would not allow him to refute, and you knew that very well. “that...”

because you know him. know his ticks, his tells—jiaoqiu does not know if that is love. but his willingness to drop his guard, to let you slip by his foxy exterior—to allow you to burrow and fuse yourself into the tapestry of his being, that of which the fibers of his soul accept and wholeheartedly make room for you; constricting his breath, perceiving you. (he doesn't know if you're in love with him yet, but he is. maybe he always will be.)

your lips quirk up instead, the apples of your cheeks forming while smile lines grace your features, that of which he cannot look away from, cannot close his eyes from; for what use is closing one’s eyes when his sight was granted to him to behold you?

jiaoqiu’s saving grace is that you were kinder for your own good. if he could keep that kindness to himself, then….

“as expected, it's so weird when you're silent,” you laugh, and jiaoqiu’s stare rushes to behold you, the echo of your joy forming his heart anew. “jiaoqiu. there, you petulant fox. happy now?”

and the way he looks at you—his pupils expanding, eyes wide, jiaoqiu loves. the entire universe could crumble and turn to ashes this instant, and he would not look away.

“...i’m not.” you look at him with playful scorn. really, after all this trouble, your eyes seem to say. he chuckles dryly, forcing himself to laugh, because jiaoqiu wants to keep this euphoria and let it sink into his ears, his lungs and his brain. he wants to bottle the sound of your voice forming his name and setting his body ablaze like golden starlight in a place no one can hear but him.

“not what?” facing you, holding you, he can't even begin to breathe. jiaoqiu thinks this might be love, sprouting from his eyes and filling the corners of his veins, circulating fully, wholly, and utterly.

“i’m not happy at all.” he speaks your name like the growing embers of a wildfire, burning his throat and letting jiaoqiu dare to perceive you. “it’s lacking. it will always be lacking.”

and because you were you, you know exactly where to fan the flames. “ever the cunning one, aren't you, qiu-er?”

jiaoqiu thinks it's time you had enough of your fun. again, he's never had reason to praise his senses—but when he hears the deafening beats that increase as he looks at you even more—he thinks that maybe being a foxian is a decision fate was wise in undertaking.

he dips his head low, and before you can question why his fan covered your faces, a soft sensation floods your senses, warming you to the core when you feel the plush of his lips on yours. you feel his smile against your mouth, and the teasing bite down your lower lip makes your eyes turn to saucers.

this sly fox…!

pulling away, jiaoqiu hides his face behind his fan again, almost gloating when he takes in your aghast expression. “well, it's not so lacking anymore, i suppose.”

you glare. “that ointment of yours is useless now that you've kissed it away, you know.”

jiaoqiu brings the hand by your side to his lips, kissing your knuckles, devoting himself to every atom that comprises you, every cell that unravels and ties itself to create you; and he’ll adore you, chasing and basking in the warm daylight you bestow him.

“i can always kiss it better, anyway.” he ruffles your hair, the smile in his eyes mischievous and utterly unfair, because it's sincere, and blinding ....and jiaoqiu is already uncaring of the rapid wag of his tail. “didn’t you say it yourself? i am cunning, after all.”

BONUS: how to tame a foxian in one go!

“baobei, you certainly know how to leave someone breathless.”

“don’t follow me.”

“you’re not denying it though.”

“qiu’er, you’ll be demoted back to yi sheng.”

“huh?! thats cruel! wait, i said i’m sorry—!”

— terminology guide.

· [ 事半功倍 / half the work, twice the effect ] — (an idiom) the right approach leads to the desired/better results; jiaoqiu wanted reader to call him by his name affectionately, and the right ‘approach’ refers to making use of both the fan and the opportunity to kiss reader (which he got and more with minimal effort)

· [ 一刀切 / to cut all at one stroke ] — (idiom) one solution or ‘one size fits all’, reference to how reader doesn't want to refer to jiaoqiu as his name nor do they want to be mistaken to be in a relationship with him (playfully), so they refer to him as yi sheng ( 医生 ) so people don't get confused and see how jiaoqiu absolutely hates it (menace)

other: bao bei ‹ 宝贝 | baby/babe › , -er ‹ friendly and affectionate suffix often used in a teasing way › , yi sheng ‹ 医生 | doctor › laoshi ‹ 老师/老師 | teacher, used often in a certain part of china. used formally for instructors and teachers* ›

*as for why reader refers to jiaoqiu as laoshi aka teacher, jiaoqiu is a counselor (based on given canon information) and they use it to rile him up (since they use it sarcastically—because jiaoqiu was basically ordering them/instructing them to stay still while treating them ^^; hope this makes sense !

tidbit note: when reader says ‘consumed vinegar’ it is a funny way to show that he's jealous, because vinegar is sour (just like jiaoqiu's mood!)

note: hello! i apologize for being so late and so inconsistent with my posts, life has been busy lately with my job. as recompense, have a oneshot… lol. also, this fic wouldn't have happened without the lovely consultation of my friend and mootie @lowkeyren who helped me with making sure i was using the appropriate terms of affectionate address for reader and jiaoqiu, haha. can you tell i loved playing around with his character? even though he isn't out yet TT personally, i think i quite like the dynamic between reader and jiaoqiu; although this may be ooc in some point in time. he just gives off the vibe of a teasing smug bastard… who is a pathetic mess for his lover. or is it just me?? well, who knows…

@ ICEUNHIE: do not plagiarize, repost or steal my work.

[valentine-cafe]

Can I please get a macchiato? [amab reader]

thinking about buying alessio a cute pair of lace lingere and him getting all shy while getting fucked in it...mmm...

˖⁺. “ dolled-up, filled-up ! ” : 

﹙ top male reader x bttm mercenary antihero bf ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . alessio 781 x male reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ mercenary ˖ antihero ˖ bad boy esque ˖ enigma  character ﹚

he's always been so cocky and yet now that you have him all dolled up and pretty - he's getting shy. 

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ lingerie ˖ edging ˖ penetrative sex ˖ nipple play ˖ rough sex ˖ hand job ˖ creampie ˖ multiple orgasms ˖ mirror sex | wc : 2k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: whoever requested this I am giving you my first born child !! top that top! DOM THAT DOM!

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

Leather is his signature, and yet lace makes him a masterpiece.

Your hands trail over the canvas. Eager to touch. Grip. Feel him. Dig you nails in and create beautiful red lines over his fair, olive skin.

“Such a pretty boy. . .” your croon to his ear is met with a low grunt. Nothing of contempt. The pink on his helix told you all that you needed to know. The shivers that vibrated against your palms too. And those emerald eyes staring back at you from the mirror he faces? Oh, they spoke thousands.

The black lace feels perfect against his skin. Looks even better on him. Both in reality and reflection. You run your fingers over his hips and trace them to his thighs. Trailing them into the slip of the garter you simply had to buy with. You stretch it away from his skin - before allowing it to smack back into his muscular thigh.

You nurse the noise that he makes. Your hand quickly slips between his legs and palms at his leaking cock. Slow. Purposeful. Easing that perfect sound into a long-winded whimper.

“Querido. . .”

“I know baby. I know.”

Your free hand finds his jaw. Tightens and yanks so that he stares at the beautiful piece of art your eyes hungrily rove over. “Look at yourself. Watch as I do this to you, Alessio.”

His name on your lips always has him elated, but this made him dizzy. Makes him weakly buck up into your hand that devilishly strokes along his pulsing nerves. You make sure to shove the soft fabric off so that you an see the way his tip throbs. Pink and begging for your thumb to swirl around mercilessly.

You wet your lips at the curve that his back takes. Your hips keenly following by grinding your wet dick up against his ass. Wanting another go at fucking him raw.

“Need this baby?” Your hiss elicits a whine. With a rough shake of your hand on his jaw - you shove your thumb past his lips and roughly pad down on his tongue.

“Said fucking watch yourself.”

His eyes flutter at the rough treatment. If only to cross when you slip back in. Your groan mixes with his series of moans and you buck your hips up to sink further into his tight rim. It mattered not how much he took your cock. He always clamps like a needy little slut.

Instead of the harsh skin-slapping that filled the room prior, you bite on your tongue and force your thrusts to slow. Ease your dick into his gummy walls. Retreat. Fill again. Till your balls tap at his ass gently and he’s whining about you being deep.

Or going slow. You’re not sure yet.

“That feel good baby? Yeah?” Huffs meet his ear. You stutter your hips against the plush of his ass and grin at the moans that fall from him. His large hands grip at the edges of the mirror and he bends slightly. Steering his hips back into your cock and giving you the perfect angle to bury your hand into his messy black hair.

You so desperately want to fuck him until he’s drooling again. Have him bounce on your cock so you paint his insides and thighs white. But this time you want to adore the lace on him. Trail your fingers over the black fabric and feel the way it frames his body so perfectly. Enhancing some of the beauty spots along his sides. Riding up his waist with each thrust back into you. An invite to grip and yank him back against you, if you do say so yourself.

“So gorgeous. God. Do you have any idea?”

He whines at you. You just so manage to hear the low mutter. The soft shut up. So you curl your fingers into his tousled strands and jerk his face to the mirror properly again. Resuming your harsh treatment with hard. Yet slow thrusts. So that at the very least his plush flesh claps with each smack of your hips. Tempered. Punishing.

“Oh no. You’re not getting away from this.” You grunt through clenched teeth. Just like he’s clenching around your dick. Begging to be filled again most probably. As though your slick isn’t still staining his thighs from earlier. “You’re gonna watch. Gonna see what a pretty lil’ toy you are for me.”

The restraint bubbles away. You start fucking him a bit faster. The wet squelching fills the room quicker. So do his moans that catch in his throat or whine out when his mouth falls open and his face scrunches up.

“A-Am - Am - hhh - or fuck -!”

“Say it. Fucking say it.”

The growl comes from deep with you. Rough like the way you start humping his ass. The way you start slamming at an angle - against that one bundle. So that Alessio can’t even buck back into you properly. All he can do is take it. Like he’s good for; in that pretty lingerie of his.

Your mouth finds his ear. Clamping teeth as you speed your thrusts. Cramming your hips into his and using another hand to shove his legs together. So that he’s squished, pressured — all the more to add to the intensity. “Want you to say you’re a pretty little toy. Pretty little whore.”

“I-I - I-hhh - m- ah! Fuck - po-por f-ffff-fuck please-”

The whining caught in his throat is so endearing. You bark a breathless laugh into his ear and yank him back. Stumbling through your bedroom floor and shoving the mercenary onto the bed. Hands gripping at his forearms as you squish him onto his stomach. Rail him from behind until tears squeeze out of his emerald eyes and his moans turn into drooling words.

You know how stubborn he is. Know that you have to force compliments down his throat. The same way your forcing your dick into his thigh ass. Mercilessly slapping. Addicted to the lewd sounds of his ever-taking hole. The slop of your cum all over his thighs. His own on his abdomen. The sheets.

It’s such a mess. And still - he’s the most beautiful thing that you’ve seen. Something you are ready to drill into his head. Even if it takes all night of you pulling and twisting him. Fucking him full so that he’s crying. He’ll repeat your words. Even if he has to sob it while you are pounding him ball-deep.

“A-Am- Amoor-ciiitttooo -! No - N-No puedo -” ( “I can’t-” )

Liar. He always could. He proves it with the way that his little hole spasms around you when you shove him onto his back and bully your way back into him. Fucking every inch in until he’s stuffed full and arching because of it.

“Yes you - hah - yes you can baby. You can. Look at me.”

Your hand reaches down to caress his tear-stained face. You abruptly slam into him. Cram your hips against his and jostle him further up the sheets. Wrecking the bed like you’re wrecking his trembling body. This position allows you to see just how much he’s creamed himself all over. The sticky substance clings onto the material pooling around his waist.

The sight has you groaning. Your hips stutter to shallow. Fuck him full repeatedly while also grinding into that spot hat has his eyes threatening to roll back again.

Your hand takes a quick detour to roughly tug at the trap of the lingerie. Gentleness be damned. You’ll buy him a new one. Buy him five. Ten - as many as he wants. Anything if it meant getting him to squirm beneath you like this.

Skilled fingers brush the fabric away and you give one of your favourite parts of him some love. Tugging at his nipple piercings before hurling a small wad of spit. So that you can swirl your thumb around the sensitive bud and watch as he crumbles even more.

Your name on his lips is so broken. So pitiful. You simple have to dip your head down and suck on his nipples. All while your hips make bruises on his. Pounding his poor little ass into the sheets until he’s crying out all sorts of phrases in his mother-tongues you can’t eve decipher.

“N-No p-pueeedddoo! D-Dios - ah- Por dios - e-es t-aaan profundo -hngh!” ( “I can’t - oh god - it’s too deep.” )

As if you knew what he was saying, you try to bury yourself deeper. Grip at his thighs and fuck into him with your own desperation. A desperation to claim. To pleasure. To remind. You force yourself away from his nipples slathered in your saliva to instead crane your head over his. Shut your eyes, crease your brows and focus all your strength into fucking his poor hole raw.

“Goood baby I - hngh - fuuckk you’re too fuckin’ pretty -”

His moans sound odd suddenly. You let your gaze fall to investigate. If only to be met with the sight of his head flicked to the side. The back of his knuckles covering the lower half of his face. The mere gesture warms your hearts — to think. The cocky bastard. Your flirty charmer of a boyfriend. Shy over being called pretty and fucked in a lingerie.

It’s such a pitiful sight. Such an endearing one. Your hand returns to brush some of his messy strands back. Before clicking your tongue and drawing out your thrusts again. Slowing them so that you might piston him in that way that shakes his body and slams the headboard into the wall.

“Did I say you could do that?” You snatch his wrist and pin it firmly. Giving a harsh squeeze to remind it to stay there. Before you reach up to cup at Alessio’s reddened face. So that you might tilt it up and pour your loving gaze down into his teary ones.

“You still haven’t said it. Please. Baby please.”

Your pleading combined with your thrusts shallowing once more. Rolling and fucking him just right. There was no denying you this time. Not when you looked down at him as though he was every star in the fucking universe.

“I-I’m - I hah -”

“You can do it. Come on. Say you’re my pretty boy.”

To motivate, your slip a grip under his thigh so that you can toss his leg over your shoulder. Invade his space further. Bring your warm bodies together so that you can make him cum again. You’re not sure how long you might last either. But one thing’s for sure. You’re using his body through the night.

His teary eyes meet yours. His hand weakly reaches to cling onto your bicep - and at last, he rasps out in a trembling voice: “I’m . . . I-I’mmm - fuck -” he gasps at your little spank to his ass.

“I’m your pretty - your p-pretty boy youur prettyy boy - ah!”

You have to reward him by cramming your hips into his. Snatch at his cock and pump him until he’s creaming all over again. The sobs that leave his lips as he tosses his head back into the sheets makes all the strain in your muscles worth it.

No - the sight of him laying there. In that black lingerie that has nothing on his beauty - taking it like your good, pretty boy. That is what makes everything worth it.

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[lnfours]

focal point ☆ chapter 2 | l.n

summary: you’re running out of time to start your project and lando’s really trying to get you to agree to his ultimatum, despite your constant disagreeing.

warnings: art student!reader, best friend/college student!oscar, college student!lando, slight enemies to lovers!au, slight grumpy!lando x sunshine!reader, banter per usual, kind of shitty writing, and some more setting the scene.

series masterlist

the sunlight shone in through the tall windows of the library as you scribbled in your notebook. highlighters and pens scattered across the table, laptop sitting in front of you with a list of assignments you needed to get done this week.

the headphones on your head helped block out any noise from the outside world, free of any distractions from the other students in the upstairs portion of the large building. however, they also drowned out the noise of footsteps approaching behind you.

a tap on your shoulder almost sent you flying out of your seat, turning around and tugging an ear cuff off to be met with green eyes and brown, floppy, messy curls that clearly had endured the wind outside. you immediately sighed, “what do you want, norris?”

“well beings you left me on read,” he wore that stupid, signature smirk that you really just wanted to wipe off his face, “i figured i’d come to you with the proposal in person.”

“has anyone told you how insufferable you are?”

he pulled the chair out from across the table, dropping his backpack to the floor before leaning back in the wooden chair, “no, they’re usually telling me i’m irresistible,”

“their standards must be pretty low.”

he shrugged, watching as you closed the lid of your laptop, placing the pen that once had been in your hand down on the lined paper. if there was one thing you knew about lando norris, other than the fact that he was undoubtedly annoying, he was also stubborn as fuck.

“let me get this right,” you started, “you want to be my model for my project so that in return i help you in econ, right?”

“yeah,” he said, “you scratch-“

“‘i scratch your back, you scratch mine’, yeah, whatever,” you said, “here’s my question, why don’t you just go to the tutoring center for help? like everyone else?”

“because i know you,” he said, “and because there’s a long ass waitlist for a tutor.”

“maybe you should’ve went earlier in the semester,” you shrugged.

“wasn’t failing the course til now,” he had an answer for everything, didn’t he?

“look, you’re running out of time to find someone for your little painting, and i’m one test score away from having to take the class again and miss graduation in the spring. why don’t we just be civil for the next month or so, help each other out, and then we can go back to hating each other as much as you’d like.”

maybe he had a point. you were running out of time to get started and despite your best efforts in not trying to feel bad for him, you kind of did. econ was a hard course, even you had struggled with it last semester. and you really didn’t want to be the reason why he misses graduation if you didn’t help him.

it wasn’t really that bad of an ultimatum, surely it could’ve been worse. it’s not like you were going to fall in love with him or anything.

“alright, fine,” you said, making him smile and cheer silently, “but, we‘re doing things my way.”

he put his hands up in fake surrender, “whatever you say,”

you began packing your things into your bag, “can we start tonight?”

“yeah, my last class ends at six. ‘m free after,”

“sounds good,” you said, “i’ll text you which building and floor is mine.”

he nodded, that stupid smirk popping up on his face again, “it’s a date then.”

you scoffed, throwing your bag over your shoulder before calling over your shoulder, “definitely not!”

you got back to your apartment, throwing your keys onto the kitchen counter before spotting your roommate, lily, on the couch. an episode of the show she had been trying to convince you to watch on the tv, but her head leaned back to smile at you softly.

“how was the library?”

you hummed, rummaging in the fridge before grabbing a water bottle from it, “it was fine until the devil showed up.”

she laughed softly, “‘the devil?’”

“yeah,” you plopped down next to her, “remember the guy i was telling you about the other day? oscar’s roommate who asked me to tutor him in exchange for being my model for the project?”

she hummed, “yeah, what did he just show up?”

“unfortunately. i think oscar must’ve mentioned to him that i go to the library on fridays to work on assignments. the guy literally tracked me down to convince me to agree to his plan in person because i left him on read the other night.”

she laughed softly, “gotta give it to him, at least he’s committed,”

“to getting on my nerves? oh, one hundred percent.”

“i mean, at least he’s offering to help you too,” she said, “plus, is he really all that bad?”

“just wait til you meet him,” you mumbled, “what’re your plans for tonight?”

she looked at the time on her phone, “after this episode i’m gonna start getting ready to head to the cafe. promised someone i’d meet them tonight,”

you wiggled your eyebrows, bumping her shoulder, “ooh, is it that cute guy from your chemistry class who you won’t shut up about?”

“one, i do shut up about him,” she sent you a pointed look but her face broke out into a small smile shortly after, “and two, maybe, who knows?”

“lils this is great!” you smiled, “i told you, he’s definitely into you!”

“i hope so. part of me wants to believe you, but the other part is telling me he just said ‘yes’ out of pity.”

“well then he clearly doesn’t know what he’s missing out on if he did,” you stood from the couch, “wear that black long sleeve you have, you look hot in it.”

“i hate you,” she laughed as you ventured to your room, heading to start setting up the things you needed for tonight.

“no you don’t!” you giggled back.

you made your way into your room and gathered all the supplies you were going to need in order to start your project tonight. humming along to a tune that was stuck in your head, you glanced at the clock and realized that time had passed a little quicker than you had thought.

lando should be here any minute.

and as if right on queue, you heard lily’s voice through the apartment, “y/n, lando’s here!”

you made your way to the living room where he was standing talking to lily, backpack still on his shoulders. he sported a backwards cap over his curls with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants to match. little curls peeked out from underneath the hat and-

why were you subtly checking him out?

“okay well you guys have fun,” lily smiled softly, “i’m heading out. it was nice meeting you, lando! i’ll see you guys later!”

her voice brought you back to the present tense, lando bidding her a soft smile and a wave, “nice meeting you, too!”

“bye! good luck!” you called back, causing her to let out a chuckle and a playful eye-roll as she headed out the door.

“so,” he said after a beat of silence, following as you led him to your room, “what is it that you need me to do?”

you grabbed your sketchbook from your desk as he sat at the edge of the bed, “you can do whatever you want as long as you’re still enough for me to be able to come up with a draft.”

“sounds good,”

“good, let’s get this whole thing over with, yeah?”

[quitesins]

Deku’s Type!

Masterlist

Tags: 18+, Sfw-ish, short drabble, fem!reader, aged up! characters, teacher! Deku, kinda vulgar and fucky, im gonna tag misogyny, reader is said to be “fucked in the head” whatever you want that to mean ^0^!

The boys gather round for drinks and discuss the type of women Deku seems to be fond of, much to his dismay…

“Sounds like Deku’s type,” Katsuki says, smirk in his voice.

Izuku frowns. “I do not have a type.”

Now that makes the table still for a second, not long enough for Izuku to predict the thoughts of his friends, but enough for the rest of the guys to come to the same conclusion.

Katsuki, Denki and Sero are the first to burst out in laughter. Katsuki’s cackle the loudest of them all.

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” Katsuki laughs so hard he doesn’t even care that Denki is half laid over him, “You don’t see that shit?”

“Come on…” Denki says, still slapping Katsuki’s thigh as he laughs, “you have such a type!”

Izuku frowns, sterner, deciding to ignore the immature three and turning to his other friends for support. Both Iida and Shouto look away, their expressions telling.

“I do not have a type,” Izuku reiterates, firmly.

Katsuki shakes his head, finally shoving Denki off him. “All those girls you’ve dated? Exact fuckin’ same.”

Even Tokoyami turns his head, eyes never leaving his drink but twinkling with an unfamiliar mirth.

“What does that even mean?!” Izuku exasperates, looking around for a single ally.

“It means,” Mineta chimes in, and although Izuku enjoys his company, he already knows he’s about to hear something deplorable, “you like them sick in the head!”

Shouto can’t hold in his sputter, finally contributing to the conversation— with a laugh. The rest of the table is hooting, a few groans at the wording but nothing at the sentiment. All while Izuku looks absolutely scandalised, clutching his chest, eyes wide open.

“That’s horrible!” Izuku cries, so stunned he can’t even trail off into one of his signature rambles in defence, “that’s- that’s. What?!”

“All the girls you’ve liked man…” Sero starts, “they’re not exactly little miss sunshines are they.” He stops, which Izuku almost takes reprieve in until he continues, “you seem to like them a little off putting.”

“Yeah so he can fucking fix them,” Katsuki snorts.

“It’s your saviour complex,” Denki adds, chin tilted up, trying to look profound.

Izuku is quick to interject, waving his hands around. “You’re the pro heroes.” The poor boy tries his best to convince. “We all have saviour complexes!”

“Not like you do, mon chéri,” Aoyama tuts, then winks before saying, “Hero of Japan.”

“Izuku, They do still call you an honorary pro.” Shouto is trying to be nice, Izuku thinks. “And I’m sure your students think the same.”

Izuku grimaces, he knows he’s always had a complex that encompassed so much more than just his dreams to be a hero, but he doesn’t need it sullied by… that.

“Don’t ruminate.” Katsuki presses a drink into Izuku’s hands. “You like women a little fucked up, so what.”

Katsuki’s words do nothing to comfort Izuku, instead it has Denki and Mineta laughing all over again while Kirishima attempts to calm them down. Iida scolds Katsuki a little, doing a half bow in apology to the passing waiter clearly peeved by all the noise. Deku pays no attention, beginning to spiral in his head.

It feels wrong to view the women of his past that way. To view you that way. But he’s not an idiot, maybe a little blind at times but now that the proof is there— oh god—

“Listen, Midoriya, I am sure there are many reasons you have loved the women you have.” Iida notices the growing dread upon Izuku��s face. “You also like to save people. There is nothing wrong with that.”

Tokoyami and Shouji nod in agreement, Ojiro giving his own sympathetic smile.

“Yeah bro.” Kirishima raises a fist in camaraderie, though it’s definitely out of pity. “It’s manly to take care of others!”

“Think he more than takes cares of ‘em,” Katsuki slickly adds, in an artful voice that Izuku is more than familiar with, “the fucker get off on that shit.”

This time, it’s Shouto who scolds him, Katsuki’s implications clear enough for even him to catch on. They rest of the guys begin to bicker in the background, one half in defence of Izuku’s less than innocent tastes in women, the other intent on making fun of the golden boy for once.

Though the attention is finally off him, it does not help Izuku feel any better.

Because there’s a thought that lingers… it’s a sick thought, a terrible, horrible, awfully honest thought.

Shit, he does like them a bit fucked up.

My truth is i still don’t know how to punctuate dialogue… pleek don’t look and none of dat…

Anyways I kind of wanna elaborate on Deku’s hero complex coming out in other ways in the 8 years of studying and becoming a teacher, like someone has to deal with it…

[thehauntedetheral]

Can i request a yandere fashion designer please

Yandere Fashion Designer

Requests are open!

• Yan is globally famous and one of the most expensive fashion designer.

• He has his own brand company. Whose worth is in millions.

• He is the trend setter in fashion. Period.

• Every girl's dream is to own something of his brand.

• And every model's dream is to walk for his brand.

• Yan's whole life is all about creating fashion masterpieces. Nothing else matters to him.

• His workaholic life made Yan's mother worry about him. So she forcefully set him on a blind date with her friend's daughter which happens to be you. To get some sense and enjoy his life instead of designing clothes every hour.

• Upon spending some time with you he likes you. Your attitude, your personality, the elegance with which you carry yourself and dress.

• First time in his life he didn't thought about working while meeting new people. You have changed this man's chemical equations and feelings.

• He has seen and worked with many beautiful models, supermodels but there is some spark in you that he can't just pin point.

• You becomes his inspiration, his muse for designing clothes and jewellery.

• Yan designs many beautiful and exclusive clothes, jewellery, handbags, heels just for you. And the things he makes for you exclusively are so beautiful that many people tries to convince him to make a dress for them like that too by giving sums of millions but he won't. Because this only belongs to you.

• People have their signature perfumes you have your own exclusive signature wardrobe thanks to this man.

• Yan launches a special collection of dresses, purses, jewellery, heels in your name.

• You have become his muse. Most of his fashion is inspired by you.

• Makes sure that you always attend his shows.

• Always makes sure you wear the most important dress in every show of his when attending. No model gets to wear it but you. That after the show the buzz about the dress you are wearing is more than the models representing on runway.

• Whenever asks about his inspirations in interviews he would always take your name.

• This man has badly fallen for you. Thinks you are the most perfect muse he could ever have.

• Makes exclusive dresses and jewelleries only for you. No one will have that in their wardrobe other than you.

• You are the most perfect person according to him.

• You are the most adored duo in the fashion world.

• Yan fashion designer who makes sure to always keep you busy with his brand work to keep you close to him. He doesn't want any other to have you, have his muse.

• Yan who is very jealous when it comes to you. You once wore and complimented another designer's work. The next week he makes sure to present the most beautiful fashion work of his so no one talks about that fashion designer especially you.

• He would do anything for you. This man would worship the ground you walk. All his creations, art, fashion now is nothing but a figment of you.

• He spoils you so much that all the media and magzines has given you a nickname "(Yan's brand name) Princess". Which Yan loves a lot by the way.

• If someone tries to flirt with you or tries to take you out for date he makes sure to beat them till blood spilling. Because you are his, his only no other can have you. This man is crazy possesive when it comes to you.

• Designs a personalized wedding gown and diamond ring all by himself for you in preparation of asking you to marry him.

• After all you are his muse and he is your Artist.

Requests are open!

For more yandere reading :

[parkerluvsu]

Hi, this is my first question. Could you do college Art with a ballet dancer girlfriend?

college! art donaldson x ballet dancer! reader (headcanons, sfw & nsfw)

sfw:

- you first bump into him on your way to an early class, your big duffle bag partly obscuring your view, causing you to run into another person with a huge bag as well. art, the gentleman, helps you pick up your stuff, noticing the ballet shoes and tights in your bag, but before he can say anything about it, you stride to your class, obviously in a hurry.

- art quickly figures out that the route back to his dorm takes him right in front of your classroom, the large windows letting him watch you gracefully twirl and arabesque in front of the tall mirrors, your face focused on keeping your moves clean and precise. art tries his best not to linger long, not wanting to look like a creep spying on the class, but he definitely slows down in front of your class every day to catch more glimpses of you.

- as the year goes on, you see art more and more, seeing him enough to feel comfortable shooting him a smile or a little wave when you see him on your walk to class. you don't know he's keeping an eye on you during your classes, but knowing he plays tennis, you have pushed yourself to go to some games, taking time to learn when arts playing, usually it's doubles with a dark haired boy, but you prefer when he's playing alone.

- maybe you're just trying to find more in common with him, but you do truly think he would make a good ballet dancer, even though he's aggressive on the court, there's a certain gracefullness that he has when he plays, even his serve with his arms up in the air looks like he's in 5th position, his face focused before he hits the ball and flits around the court.

- one day, while waving to the crowd after a game winning hit, art sees you, catching your eye, hes obviously shocked, you didn't seem like the type to like tennis.. and he hopes you just came to watch him play, and he tries to catch your eye again every time he has a chance, while he's packing his rackets, while he's doing an interview and any other second he can find to admire you.

- at the next game, art is on a mission to talk to you, leaving his student interview early to rush after you, weaving through the crowd of people to look for you. he taps on multiple people's shoulders, mistaking them for you until he finally recognizes the signature large duffel bag you aways carry.

- youre surprised when you turn around and see him, his taller figure looming over you. "hi.. um i saw you in the crowd" he says. you smile, happy that he finally reached out. "youre art right? you played really well today.. i don't know much about tennis but you're a great player" you compliment him and his ears flush a pretty pink. art looks down "thank you.. that means a lot.. i mean you're a great dancer, ive seen you in class before" he says, not mentioning that he was purposely watching you every time he could.

- yet again, you have to rush off to your class, but this time you give art your number, immediately texting him after class. art is sweet, he texts you whenever he can, asking questions about ballet and your classes and everything in between, little do you know, arts remembering every little thing, trying to show you that he cares. he manages to learn that you're having a recital soon, cancelling practice that night to make sure he's free.

- when that night comes around, art sits with a pretty bouquet of flowers in his lap, watching you, absolutely enamored by your sense of balance and rhythm, the tap of your pointe shoes on the stage almost hypnotizing him. art waits for you backstage, holding out the flowers for you and showering you in compliments. you kiss him that night, smiling when he immediately asks you to be his girlfriend. you nod, and the rest is history.

- one word to describe art is "sweetheart". he truly is the sweetest, and you bet he'd pretty much do anything you ask him to. he always brings you snacks and water after class, now that he can actually sit and watch you practice without seeming weird. one of his favorite activities to do with you is stretch out with you, the exercise helping both of you prepare for your sports, art definitely isn't as flexible as you, but you like to tease him by touching your toes and watching him topple and fall over trying, but honestly, art doesn't care, the laugh you let out is worth the small embarrassment.

nsfw:

- it's never a surprise when your little stretching sessions turn into something else with art.. but he can't help himself, the way your body bends is just so alluring to him, and he offers to help you relax, his thumbs rubbing circles into your muscles, feeling you relax under him.

- art treats you like glass, like you could break at any second, he never squeezes you too hard, or manhandles you too roughly, despite how much he may want to. he never likes to fuck you in positions where he can't see your face, he relies on your expressions to see if you're in pain, and he loves the faces you make when you feel good, much different to your serious face when dancing. (the only exception is when he fucks you in prone bone, he likes the position cuz he loves to feel so close to you).

- art definitely has a hard time understanding guys who say they would never eat a woman out.. it's his favorite thing to do for you! sometimes you have to push his head out of your thighs, he's just so eager to help you relive your stress, and it helps him too, sometimes he's so calm when he does it that he lays his head on your inner thigh and falls asleep.

- art is absolutely the type of guy who feels bad asking for things from you, so you don't give him oral very often, even though you argue that it's just as pleasurable for you as it is for him, he usually says no. however, when art is nervous for a game, there's no better way to get him to relax than sucking on his pretty cock, letting your fingers dance around the sensitive skin around his hips, while your lips close around his pink tip (almost the same color as your new ballet shoes).

- art is... loud. louder than any guy you've ever been with, and you'd never tell it to his face, but if you weren't in the room with him, youd think that it was a girl that was moaning and whining, instead of art. he tends to babble when he's inside of you, not filtering his words like he always does, mostly just whines of, "oh god... youre so warm..", "you look so pretty.. youre so pretty.." and "gonna take care of you.. im here im right here.."

- as for aftercare, art takes the lead most of the time, grabbing a warm cloth immediately and wiping you off, his touch gentle and soft. plus, sleeping skin to skin is his favorite way of sleeping with you, so usually you both just fall asleep right away. (sometimes it leads to a second round cuz art just can't stop his hips from rutting into your soft thighs <3).

[trapastrology]

Astro Observations W/ Aris

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

7H Uranus in a solar return chart doesn't always mean that a romantic relationship will end. It can be a close friendship/best friend, business partner,etc.

1H Venus in solar return-putting more effort into your looks. This is considered to be a "glow up" year. This is the year where you find your signature style, makeup, scent, etc. I'd consider this to be the best dressed year. Could also change hair color or style. Cosmetic procedures happen here as well.

North Node in Pisces tend to benefit more from having an assistant or help in general. Pisces South Nodes tend to want/get too much help when they need to be more self-sufficient.

11H Liliths are HEAVLY prone to having ppl around them who hate them (esp friends) and don't realize. These are the ppl we see who usually get set up by their "friends" or someone close to them. Look to your lilith sign as well. If your Lilith is in an air sign, watch out for envy in air signs.

For my ppl with majority of their placements in the 2H & 3H tend to be "blind" to themselves. Whether it's their faults or great things about themselves, they can't seem to see it until someone else points it out and then they finally realize it.

2H Pluto/Scorpio 2H- shouldn't verbalize to anyone who much they make. Don't say whether you're doing bad or good financially either. A lot of jealousy and envy will arise from telling the wrong person which will affect your money and stability terribly.

3H Nessus- Usually experience intense trauma or bullying in elementary, with siblings and thru words. They usually write or speak about their pain that usually ends up helping other ppl tremendously. These are the type of ppl who make music or write poetry that helps other ppl get thru hard times. However, due to a lot of bullying and being spoken down to, communication ends up being one of their biggest issues and this can manifest in many different ways

When you get criticism or pushback from doing North Node things, that's how you know you're going into the right direction sometimes. For instance, a 4H NN may get told that they need to focus on their career path instead of creating a family. (Full post on this coming very soon!)

Use your moon on a bad day to help regulate your emotions. Look towards positive aspects

5H Aries Moon- make a creative art project alone.

Sextile 3H Chiron-write about what's bothering me.

Make a playlist with artists who have your NN sign as their dom personal placements & those whose plmts fall into the same house as ur NN. This will evoke that North Node energy out of you. (Something I've been doing for me and my clients for years)

The end! Look at my pinned post for info on my upcoming Patreon. Message me to book a reading! Most readings are only $25 until July 31st.

[peachyforthis]

Genshin men when YOU try to make their signature dish (pt 1)

+ when they make yours

Featuring: Kaveh, Neuvillette, Alhaitham

Kaveh

Would accidentally snort in laughter when seeing you struggle to put those biscuit crusts in place.

But would refrain from laughing more in seeing your dedication to make this dish for him, a sincere smile on his lips and heart swelling with love.

Might actually start telling you the mathematically calculated way to position the crusts while you get tired eventually and remind him that these biscuits have to be broken down to eat anyways, for which he would dramatically gasp and pout while saying, “It’s all about the art and presentation!”

Would definitely add a touch of his architect designs on your favourite food that you’ll be in awe of his skills, while simultaneously thinking if you really wanna break and eat this masterpiece.

“You are truely a genius. Now i feel guilty for eating your art.”

“Nonsense!, I can make these new structures a thousand times for you. Only if you’d want that.”

How could you say no to seeing what new designs he comes up with every time.

Would feed the food to you himself, since you felt bad breaking his structure.

He wouldn’t mind. Honestly, he would be secretly so proud since you loved his passion so much too.

Neuvillette

Would have to request his Melusine assistant for his favourite, chilliest water stash to make this.

Honestly, when you sample some to check, it’s not that different from the normal consomme you make except it’s more… refreshing with his imported water (why are you even surprised anyways).

But you’d make it anyday for your beloved Dragon as you see him devour it (in his proper manners of course), while telling you how delicious it was after you finally settle down on his lap, with him lovingly kissing your cheek.

“Exquisite flavours, my beloved.”

You lean up and kiss him.

“I did use your water stash though. Never knew it would be this hard to convince Sedene that i won’t waste it. She definitely guards it like mora,” to which he chuckles.

On a rare free day, you would catch him suffering trying to learn to make your favourite food, even if the said food is fried or dried like those Mondstat hash browns or Charcoal baked Ajilenakh cakes.

“I often have wished to make some of these hash browns for you, ahem… although these oil fumes do make me feel like I’m losing my Hydro constitution.”

And honestly, to you this is more than enough proof of his eternal love.

Alhaitham

You wanna make his signature food as a surprise for him since he’s a bit stressed these days. So you make up your mind to cook it on your free day while Alhaitham is away at the Academiya.

At first, spends too much time thinking if you really wanna write the word “contemplation” on the finished dish.

Eventually, you’d add it since you wanna make this just like Alhaitham likes, even if you don’t understand the aesthetic. But if that’s how Alhaitham likes? You’ll do it willingly. Like how love is a feeling which sometimes cannot be understood fully, yet you both have it for each other.

Fishes out his special patterned frying pan and measures the spices he likes to add to the dish.

When Alhaitham comes home in the evening he immediately recognizes the smell and goes to the kitchen first to see you fully focused on making his dish, marking out the symbols albeit a bit clumsily, not noticing Alhaitham watching you with a warm, tender gaze.

Later, tries to be nonchalant when you serve him lovingly, but you know better when he kisses your head and blushes a bit after while you have that grin on your face. Smiles seeing your clumsy handwriting of “contemplation” word on his dish.

He is a methodical person. Would search up your favourite dish and measure out the exact ingredients, time and procedure. Wouldn’t mind redoing it since he wants your favourite to taste precisely how you like.

“You know I wouldn’t mind if it doesn’t taste the exact same. Whatever you make, I’ll eat it heartily,” you giggle.

“Only the best for you. Plus, don’t worry about the wastage of the previous failed attempts. I have enough mora and I know Kaveh wouldn’t mind gobbling anything since he’s always starved.”

reblogs would be very appreciated ^^

[stanart4clearskin]

stalker! art x reader

art had NO intention in stalking you because that would just so creepy and so wrong

his intentions started completely innocent when he found out the local cafe you go to every morning and sat in a back booth so he could catch a glimpse of you

all he wanted to do was stare at you because you were just so pretty and it wasn’t with malicious intent so he didn’t see anything wrong in his actions

eventually he ended up getting a job at the cafe you frequent because he needed something to do during offseason (or atleast that’s what he told himself)

the first day you came up to the register to order your drink he almost died. god you were gorgeous and you were right there. he wasn’t even listening when you ordered your drink—too busy staring at your lips—but it’s okay. he already knew your order anyways

he almost stopped breathing until you asked him if he was okay because he had gone a little pale

at night he’ll follow you as you walk back to your dorm after your shift at the library because he just wants to make sure you’re safe!

he goes to watch all your matches because he just likes to watch tennis (it totally has nothing to do with your cute tennis outfit that you prance around the court in. and has nothing to do with your backhand that nearly gives him a boner for some odd reason)

sometimes he’ll stand outside your dorm watching you from your window as he study because he likes the face you make when you’re concentrating. it’s all so innocent really

besides you coming into the cafe, art never really had a chance to talk to you in a regular conversation so he finds out what halloween party you’re going to and even finds out what costume you’re wearing so he can wear a similar one

he stands there with his teammates as they play beer pong but his eyes scan the party for you. he finds you standing in the living room talking with a few of your friends when you excuse yourself to go grab another drink in the kitchen

art leaves his friends and head to the kitchen as-well, ditching his full bottle of beer along the way

the kitchen is empty so it’s just you two and art manages to strike up conversation

“hey aren’t you that girl that orders the lavender matcha every day at the cafe?” he’ll ask, walking over to you as you rummage the fridge

“oh yeah, you’re the hot barista!” you say, a little drunk and lips loose. “shit sorry i didn’t mean to say that” you apologize profusely, the apples of your cheeks flushing pink and your hands fidgeting awkwardly with the beer bottle in your hand

“hot barista?” he teases, feeling his confidence strengthen and he allows himself to be bolder

“um yeah my friends and i go there so we kinda just dubbed you hot barista because we didn’t know your name” you say lamely, hoping he won’t think you’re a massive weirdo

instead he grins his signature smirk and you feel your knees give out a little so you subtly grab the counter behind you to steady yourself

“you could’ve just asked me my name y’know” he points out, his tone teasing

after introducing yourselves and 10 minutes of small talk, you find yourself sloppily making out with art in a random bedroom in the frat house

eventually you two leave the party and head back to his dorm

as art goes down on you you can’t help but think how amazing it is that he knows everything that you like. little do you know, art has been watching you every time you’re making out with some dude at a party to see what makes you moan or if you would’ve looked out your window when you invited a guy over to your dorm, you would’ve seen art standing outside watching

[girliism]

priest in training au

art waited for you outside the campus church. peeking around the corner every now and then until you finally walked out giggling with your friends. “psk.” art called out. when you looked to where the sounds were coming from you saw art, your boyfriend motioning for you to come to him.

you said goodbye to your friends before walking over to where art stood, looking back behind you to see if anyone was watching. the second you’re in arms length art’s hands reached out to grab your forearms, pulling you to him and pushing you against the brick wall. the sound of surprise you make is swallowed by art’s lips on yours. the kiss is quite eager on his part. “art, wait.” you say in between the kiss. you drop the books in your hands to push at art’s shoulders when his tongue slipped into your mouth.

“art!” you whisper shouted, hand covering your mouth. “stop, someone could see us.” you looked around to make sure no eyes were prying. art pressed a chaste kiss on your burning cheek letting both his hands rest on your waist. “sorry, i’ve just been wanting to do that all day.” he laughed softly and you bit back a smile. “but i um actually wanted to ask you if wanted to the drive-in tonight. like as a date.” a date? yours and art’s first date.

you look at art, eyes widening a little and you stand up straighter fiddling with your cross necklace. “i’d love to.” art let out the breath he was holding in. “you’d have to sneak out.” oh.

you’ve never snuck out of anywhere before and you’re so nervous. your two roommates were fast asleep as you slipped out your bed pulling off your nightgown and replacing it with a modest skirt and white top. you debated on whether you should quickly pull your hair into its signature bun but decided against it. you held your breath all the way down the hallway of your dormitory building till you were out the back door, following the directions art gave you to the parking lot. art was leaning against a car when he saw you running towards him.

“you have a car?” you asked out of breath from running. art shook his head taking in your appreciation. “no, it’s patrick’s. you’re not wearing your bun?” you looked down at feet shrugging. “yeah, is that ok?” art immediately nodded his head. “of course, you look nice.” art opened the door for you and the ride to the drive-in was nice, the windows were down so the cold air blow in your face cooling you off.

art parked the car looking over at you. “did you want some snacks?” you shook your head. the drive-in was playing grease and half way through you felt art place his hand on your thigh. you let your fingers slowly pull your skirt up to your knees so his hand could slip under it easier. art didn’t even need to make it all the way your thigh to feel you weren’t wearing anything under your skirt. “when did you get so easy?” art whispered in your ear, his fingers teaseing you. soft moans fell from your lips and your legs widened. art’s middle and ring finger drag through your folds and up to your clit.

your eyes fell close and as loud moan ripped through you. suddenly remembering where you are your eyes fly open and your legs squeeze shut. art’s fingers dig into your thigh a little trying to get you to open them. “it’s fine, no one can ever see us it too dark.” art whispers against your lips before kissing you softly. the sweet kiss quickly turns messy. yours and art’s lips moving against each other’s breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. your hands move to unbuckle art’s jeans pulling out his cock. art groans into your mouth feeling your soft hands around him. you bring your hand up to your mouth to spit in it before stroking art with a tight grip.

some song from the movie if playing in the background as you and art pant and moan into each other’s mouths. his fingers working figure eights over your clit while your hand moving up and down his dick, thumb pressing into his slit now and then. art’s finger tips keeps dipping into your opening but not fully pushing in. “oh my goodness.” you moan. “you-you can put it in.” art waste no time pushing in pointer finger into your pussy. you’ve never fingered yourself before and your toes were curling from the stretch of of his single finger. “you’re so tight.” art pumped his finger in and out of you slowly trying to remember back to the many videos he’d watched and how they did it.

“is that good?” art asked, watching for your reactions. “really good.” you nodded. “go faster.” at your command art fucked his finger into you faster his thumb moving back and forth on your clit and you matched his pace. loud moans and wet squelching filled the car and when art’s finger pressed into that soft spot you you didn’t even know was there you saw stars. “oh!” your orgasm hit you without warning and you came all over art’s fingers. art pulled his finger out of you sucking it into his mouth. you finished art off with your mouth. his head thrown back and his hand pushing your head down.

you guys managed to catch the rest of the movie before it ended, driving back to the campus where you made out in the parking lot. you broke the kiss. “i had a lot of fun tonight, thank you.” art smiled at you. “me too.” you said your goodnight, leaving to sneak back into your dorm not knowing what waited in your room.

with a dopey grin on your face you opened your room door where three sisters and your roommates sat waiting for you. “and where were you tonight young lady?”

(was gonna let the night end on a cheerful note but who doesn’t like drama. literally no idea what’s gonna happen next tho…..)

[ayyy-pee]

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟣 - 𝒲𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒽 𝒾𝓉?

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Series Masterlist - Next Chapter

Pairing: Hotel Heir Satoru Gojo x Club Heiress Female Reader

Genre: Fake Dating/Arranged Marriage AU/Rivals to Lovers

WC: 4.4k

Summary: One unforgettable night out leads to a lifetime tethered to the one man you absolutely can't fucking stand. The feeling's mutual, but now you both have to find a way to make it work in your favor.

or

You and Satoru's parents give you an ultimate that you both quite literally cannot afford to refuse.

Story Warning: Fake Dating, Arranged Marriage, Profantity DUH, Gojo and Reader being fucking bratty and annoying, Slow Burn, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior. Smut Maybe? (probably), No Y/N usage here

Art by: nameissiyo on X

A/N: I don't even know how this happened because yall know I don't write Gojo LMAO. But here it is! Not sure how long this will be so bear with me because it's just gonna be a fun lil ride!

“It’s easy,” the man across from you hums from his end of the table, lips curled in a mischievous grin that has your skin crawling. “Then, after a year, we’ll announce that it just…didn’t work out between us.” He motions between the two of you with his finger. “You and I both get off without a scratch on us.” He shrugs, leaning back in his seat, confident as ever as he picks at his fingernails.

Disgusting. 

He adds, “Everything works out for us both in the end. My parents are off my back. Your dad is off yours, and they both get what they want. It’s a win-win to me! What do you think?”

You can’t trust this guy as far as you can throw him, and you know that’s not far. The man’s like ten feet taller than you even with your highest heels on! But what choice do you have in the matter? You have to do this. 

”No funny business,” you demand, eyes narrowed at the man. You mean it to come out more as a question, but the rise of your partner’s brows lets you know he’s aware that you’re not fucking around with this. 

And then his head falls back, a loud laugh bursting from his chest and you are tempted to sink into your seat when other patrons in the restaurant turn to glare at you both. He’s enjoying this far too much for someone who has everything on the line here, just like you.

“None at all, princess.” You ignore the pet name, rolling your eyes. It’s a promise that you’re not sure he’ll be able to keep. But again, you just have to trust him.

“You have a deal,” you finally agree.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, and you can’t help but to sneer in disgust at his clear lack of manners. How could someone raised in high society, the same as you, act in such a way? You wish you could wipe that cheshire cat-like smirk off of his face, but you keep it cordial. You can’t enter into this with bad blood already on your hands. This arrangement will benefit you both at the end of the day. You just have to remember that.

‘One year,’ you tell yourself. ‘One year, and you never have to see this man again. This will be easy.’

He reaches into his shirt pocket, pulling out an obnoxiously expensive pen, the signature Gojo Hospitality name written in a fancy gold font along the body. He sets it down in front of you, on top of the stack of papers you’ve spent the last two hours tearing apart meticulously, marking out anything you don’t agree with. He’d nagged endlessly about how long this was taking, like he had anywhere more important to get to. 

You’re sure he took you for some bimbo ready to jump at the chance to marry the only son and heir to the Gojo fortune. But you’re not an idiot. You’re an heiress yourself, so he doesn’t impress you. And your father raised you to know that when entering a contract, it’s important to read the fine print. It’s important to find any loopholes, anything that can screw you in the end, anything that can make your life hell on the off chance things don’t work out. Make sure you’ve crossed all your t’s and dotted all your i’s.

But you don’t see any here, you don’t think. So you reach forward, taking his pen in hand.

“On the dotted line, then,” he instructs. “Sign away…future Mrs. Gojo.”

𝓣𝔀𝓸 𝓦𝓮𝓮𝓴𝓼 𝓔𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓻…

Daylight peeks through the curtains of your room, the midmorning sun beckoning you awake. The birds chirp loudly outside your window. And you are hiding the best you can beneath your blankets to try and drown it all out. It’s far too bright. So damn bright that the sun is somehow managing to penetrate the fabric of your linens, and your head pounds each time a sliver of light touches your skin. To top it all off, your mouth feels dry, yet sticky somehow at the same time, like it’s packed with cotton balls. 

Water. You need water, badly. 

You attempt to shift beneath your blankets, only to find that your body feels like it weighs a ton. Even wiggling your toes feels like it takes more effort than you’d like to exert. Your brain frantically sends panicked signals to the rest of your body that if you don’t hydrate soon, you may die, so you manage to find the strength to crawl out of your bed.

Your eyes are barely open enough to navigate around your enormous room, enough to see that you’re in a hotel suite. You don’t actually remember coming here, but you’re not all that surprised. You had quite a night of partying and drinking with your friends. The occasion? Well, you don’t really need one do you? For you and your friends, it’s a regular Wednesday night. Either way, you must have gathered your wits enough to book a suite instead of trying to get back home to your apartment in Tokyo.

And honestly? You’re proud of yourself! Better than stumbling your way home, or trying to figure out how to call your driver to pick you up.

Clumsily – and through squinted eyes – your hands feel along the walls until they reach the refrigerator, where you hurriedly yank the doors open and practically rip the lid off of a bottle of water. The cool beverage breathes life back into your dehydrated body. You feel like what you’d imagine a raisin would feel if it could be turned back into a grape. The drink is so refreshing, your eyes are practically rolling into the back of your head as you guzzle down the icy cold liquid.

When the bottle is empty, you carelessly toss it aside, crossing the threshold to the sofa in the common area. But just as you’re about to flop down, the muffled sound of your phone ringing pierces through the air. It’s usually set to silent or vibrate, because you don’t particularly care to be surprised by the loud noise. However, there’s only one person in this world who is allowed to bypass those settings, their tone always set to blare loudly should they ever call. You follow the sound back to the bedroom as quickly as you can manage. Tossing your clothes from last night around and shaking out your garments, digging through your clutch until you finally hear the tone get louder as you approach your bed. You lift your blankets, shaking them around until the device falls to the floor, still screaming that damn ringtone. You press the answer button, putting the phone to your ear.

”Hi, Daddy,” you sing into the receiver, hoping technology hasn’t advanced enough that he can smell the vodka on your breath, hear the way you’re struggling to catch your breath.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Your dad’s deep voice hums from the other side, and you breathe a sigh of relief when his voice sounds at ease. “Where are you?”

You frown, pursing your lips together. “What do you mean?”

You can hear that your dad is out from the commotion on the other side. If you had to bet, you’d say he was at a restaurant given the way he’s quietly muttering something to someone. 

“You were supposed to—“

It clicks for you then.

”Meet you for breakfast,” You finish his sentence. “Oh my god, Daddy. I’m so sorry. I’m late! I can be there in like…” you check your phone for the time. “about an hour if you give me time to get home and change!”

Your dad sighs, long and hard, exhausted. That safety you felt only a moment ago has now dissipated. And you know you are in deep shit, for whatever reason. You close your eyes, trying to calm the pounding against your skull.

“Perhaps transportation has advanced overnight,” he hums. “Can you make it from Seoul to Tokyo in an hour?” He questions bitterly.

”Seoul?!”

You scurry over to your hotel window, wincing when you pull the curtains wide open and the sun smacks you painfully in the face. When your vision clears and the urge to vomit isn’t as strong, you’re finally able to make out the foreign symbols along the skyscrapers and businesses of Seoul, South Korea.

The events of last night flood back to your memory.

You and your friends at your usual booth at one of your family’s many Tokyo nightclubs, Club Echo - Roppongi. Bottles on bottles of alcohol being brought to your table. Flashing lights. Sweaty bodies on the dance floor. Free food and drinks for everyone, the perk of being the daughter of the man who owns this very club.

“We should go somewhere!” Your best friend Shoko slurs into your ear as she leans across your booth. You hook a finger into the loose strap of her dress and pull the neckline up. Her breasts are one wrong move away from being on the front page of the Jujutsu Social tomorrow morning.

Beside her, your other friend Utahime nods excitedly, downing her drink. “Yeah! We should go somewhere else!”

You nod too, your brain sloshing around in your head, right along with the liquor. “Okay! But where, though?” 

Shoko and Utahime huddle together, whispering and giggling drunkenly and you wait, eyes roaming the club. It’s packed to capacity and for some reason the sight fills you with a sense of pride. Not that you had literally anything to do with it. No, that was all dad. You show up with your friends, get some pictures snapped of you, eat and drink to your heart’s content and then check to make sure any photos of you that ended up on whatever gossip blog look good.

And any that don’t, well, they’d be speaking to your attorney very soon.

The life of an heiress is so hard sometimes.

Shoko and Utahime spin around in tandem, large smiles beaming on their faces. “Seoul!” They cry in unison.

“Like…Korea, Seoul?”

“Yes! We can finally check out the new Club Echo there! We haven’t been yet,” Utahime whines. Her pink cheeks practically glow in the dark as she sticks her bottom lip out in a pleading face. It makes you want to laugh because it’s just so cute. But still! You’re not going to give in that easily.

“It’s like one in the morning!” You argue, your mind trying to fight the liquor that’s trying its damndest to make you give in. “By the time we get there, it’ll be closed.”

Shoko sighs your name, the disappointment clear in her voice. “You own the place, ___. All it takes is one call from you and you’re good! You know management is new and will be practically begging to score points with your dad! The staff will wait for you!”

“Also!” Utahime practically screams. Then she lowers her voice, leaning closer to you and Shoko as she whispers. “What if you run into Jungkook there?”

Shoko gasps, like it’s a scandal waiting to happen. “I heard he has the biggest crush on youuuuu,” she sings.

Your lips purse together, doing your best to let what Shoko says sink in. The sober part of you in the very deepest and darkest depths of your mind is fighting for its fucking life to get to the surface, screaming “Don’t do it! Dad is going to kill you!”

But the drunk part of you is fighting back just as hard, and it came ready to beat your ass. “But Jungkook! Also…chartering a private plane would be so fun!” Your brain argues. “That’s the point of having all this money, right? To do what you want! And to see Jungkook!”

The bumping of the music is making you feel dizzy, and the giggles and chants to “do it, do it, do it” coming from your two friends aren’t helping. If anything, it’s just making the alcohol set in even worse.

It’s just one night. Your pilot wouldn’t mind getting up and flying you and your friends out. You already know he’d be happy to get a call from you this late at night. In fact, you’re pretty sure he’d be thrilled because despite him being married with two kids and one on the way, you’re positive he’s got the hots for you.

“Call me any time, Ms. ___. I’d happily pick up the phone for you,” he’d told you with a wink after you’d made him fly you last minute to Coachella. You’d apologized profusely because you had no idea his daughter’s dance recital was happening at that time. To be fair, he didn’t tell you until you’d landed in California either!

So you pull out your phone, grinning wide as you tell your girls, “Looks like we’re going to Seoul!” They cheer happily, chanting “Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook!” before ordering another round of shots as you make a call to your pilot and driver.

It’s just one night. You’ll be back tomorrow. How much trouble could you possibly get into anyway?

- - - - - -

Turns out you could get into a whole lot of fucking trouble. 

You stand in your father’s office, squirming in your designer heels that cost a fortune, squeezing onto the handle of your designer bag that cost even more of a fortune as your father stares you down. You don’t dare meet his hard gaze, eyes glued to the chevron patterned hardwood floors in shame.

This tension couldn’t even be cut with a chainsaw, you think. The silence is absolutely deafening, and you think that if someone focused hard enough, they would hear your heart hammering in your chest, and the vein in your father’s neck throbbing.

The flight from Seoul back to Tokyo was long and terrifying. The closer you came to approaching the city, the more sick you felt. And by no fault of the liquor. Shoko and Utahime’s drivers picked them up from the hangar space, both of them about ready to keel over and having to be practically carried to their cars.

You on the other hand, your chauffeur was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Nanami?” You ask the flight attendant waiting at the end of the plane’s steps. Your brows pull together in confusion as you scan the area. Your driver is never late. It’s one of your pet peeves about each other, really. He’s meticulous, always on time, while you’re always running behind because why not? Sometimes you get caught up in things! It’s literally his job to wait for you, anyway.

But still, this is strange. The young blonde man is usually standing beside your car, with the door held open for you while he mumbles about how you need to work on being more punctual and considerate of others, that he doesn’t get paid enough to be waiting on you.

It’s a lie. You and Nanami are around the same age, and you know damn well he keeps this job because it’s easy and you pay him more than well enough. You even grab drinks together some nights. He’s more than your driver, he’s your friend (sometimes).

And your friend is nowhere to be seen. It’s just you, the flight attendant and the pilot who is on his way to park the plane. You could really use the support of Nanami at the moment, because you have a terrible feeling settling into the pit of your stomach. Which is justified when a car pulls into the hangar space, a car that you know is not yours, and the flight attendant gives you a smile that offers a silent “I’m so sorry,”  before she speaks and tells you, “Mr. Yaga has come to retrieve you Ms. ___. Your father would like to see you.”

Your father’s chauffeur and a longtime family friend. He’s loyal to your father and your father only. 

That’s when you knew you were screwed.

The sharp intake of breath from behind your father’s desk makes you flinch, and your teeth dig into your bottom lip to keep yourself from trembling when he finally breaks the silence.

“Do you enjoy your trip?” He questions, voice flat.

You’re too afraid to answer, because you know he doesn’t actually give a single shit if you had fun or not. He’s irate. There’s no other reason he’d call you here. You do not come to the office to see your father unless you’ve severely angered him. Which is almost never, because your father just sort of lets you…do you.

“Well?” He asks again after a few seconds go by with no response from you.

“Yes, Daddy,” you answer quietly, fingers tightening around your bag strap.

“Did you enjoy the food at the club?”

“Yes, Daddy. It was very good.”

Your father hums, leaning back in his chair, and the creaking sound makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“Good, good. And the staff? Did they treat you and your friends well?”

Every answer you give feels like you’re inching closer to your demise. You wish he’d get to the point. What is the meaning of dragging you here?

You nod anyway. “They were wonderful, Daddy. Your management did an excellent job selecting employees.”

You try to tug at his heartstrings, the ones that aren’t attached to you, but to the other love of his life – his business. Your father is a hard man who loves very few things. You, your mother, and his company. But not in that order. You’re fairly certain that at this particular moment in time, he definitely loves his company more than both you and your mother.

“I know they did,” he affirms. “The Seoul team is so great, they remained open for you and your friends to stay until the early hours of the morning –” Your father’s voice rises, echoing off the walls of his office, and you squeeze your eyes shut. “Until you finally stumbled your drunk asses to bed! Imagine my surprise when I woke up alerted to the fact that your plane was taking off in the middle of the night, jet setting to wherever the hell you deem appropriate or fun at the time. But no…no, ___,” your father spits your name like it’s bitter. “That’s not the best part here.”

You hear his menacing tone, can practically see the anger raging behind his eyes in your head.

“Imagine my surprise when I get a call from management of the Seoul location letting me know how much they enjoyed having you and your friends. You all were splendid guests, and they were grateful for the opportunity to serve you, the heiress to the Club Echo business…”

You finally gather the courage to look up at your father, a bit of hope in your eyes that quickly gets crushed when you see the tick in his jaw.

“Until seven in the fucking morning!” Your father is full on yelling now, and you see the vein in his neck protruding, hard and pulsing. He’s about to blow a gasket, do something irrational. Now’s your chance to speak up for yourself!

“Daddy, I can explain–”

“Quiet!” He barks, and you zip your fucking lip.

Your father stands, taking his time coming around to stand in front of his desk where he leans against the edge. He folds his arms across his chest, not a hint of forgiveness in his eyes.

You’re so fucked and you know it.

What’s your punishment going to be? Is he taking away your black card? It would be a struggle, but you could survive. Banning you from the club for a month? Sure, that would suck, but you’d survive! Firing your pilot? Honestly, that would be a plus. Make you return that really expensive painting you just had delivered last weekend? Okay, no big deal! All of these punishments are reasonable, you think. As long as you got them back – minus the pilot, you’d be fine!

Your father stares you down with more anger and frustration than you’ve ever seen him aim towards you. Your knees threaten to buckle beneath the weight of his glare and you wish you had worn more sensible shoes. Not that it would make much difference. WIth the way your father doesn’t seem to be giving into your pout and watery eyes, you think you’d be shaking even if you were barefoot.

Your father pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing harshly as he closes his eyes. “You know you’re on the Jujutsu Social?”

Jujutsu Social?

That shitty blog that posts about nothing but gossip, drama and socialite’s lives? You’ve never paid it much mind. You’ve been on there plenty of times.

‘Club Echo Heiress’ Walk of Shame! Cast Your Votes on Who the Lucky Man Was!’

‘Spotted! Club Echo Heiress seen getting very cozy with up and coming rock star, Suguru Geto. Could they be the new it couple?’

‘Does She Ever Get Tired? Heiress of Club Echo Seen Partying in Bangkok!’

Blog posts about you are nothing new. You read them like the morning newspaper, then go on about your day. But it must have been something particularly awful for your father to be so upset about it.

“That blog is a piece of shit,” you tell him, trying to calm his temper even a little. “I’ll send those posts over to the lawyer and I’ll own the blog by this afternoon, if you want.”

Your father scoffs, his anger rising again. “Why? So you can drag its name through the mud like you’re doing mine?”

Okay, so maybe that was the wrong move. “That’s not what I meant, Daddy. I just meant–”

“You know what they’re saying about you now?” Your father chuckles dryly. “I don’t typically pay any mind to these blogs, you know? But I think they hit the mark on this one. Want to hear what they said?” 

Tears form along your waterline, the fake amusement in your father’s tone, making you want to crawl into a hole. 

“You are a spoiled brat,” he tells you anyway when you don’t reply, emphasizing the insult. “Keeping your pilot on standby so you can fly from one country to another overnight just because you feel like it,” he lists. “Going to the new restaurant your daddy opened, because of course you can. And this one’s my favorite,” he whispers angrily. “Taking advantage of the employees that have their own lives and families to go home to, overworking them so that you and your friends can drink and dance to your heart's content. Just the three of you.”

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” you whimper, biting down on your trembling lip as you step closer.

Your father tilts his head, seemingly confused at where these tears are coming from and it stops you in your tracks. “Oh no…No, sweetheart. Don’t cry...” His soothing tone…you almost want to fall for it, but you know your father. He’s not done. “Don’t cry now, just because you’re in trouble.”

He stands from his desk, closing the distance between you two. He takes your hand in his, hard and calloused, his hard work over decades evident as he holds your soft and smooth one that has never seen a hard day's work in its life. “I’ve been waiting, hoping that my only daughter finally gets her shit together. Hoping that maybe you’ll want to learn the ropes of the business. But that doesn’t seem so. Doesn’t seem like you want to do anything but spend the money that I’ve worked so hard for.” He sighs, just so tired of you and your antics. 

He gazes into your eyes, almost in pity and you see your dad there. Not your father, who is the strict businessman that was just standing before you. But your dad, who held you and kissed your cuts and scrapes, who helped you learn to read and tie your shoes, who gave you all that you could ever ask for. Then he’s gone, replaced by your father who drops your hand and leaves you standing in the middle of his office as he wanders over to the floor to ceiling windows of his office. He holds his hands behind his back as he takes in the Tokyo skyline. “The blogs are right. I’ve been far too easy on you. Given you everything so that you’d want for nothing, and you consistently take advantage of me and your privilege. It’s time for you to grow up.”

You can’t bring yourself to speak up this time, afraid that just like all the other times, you’ll be putting your designer heels in your mouth. 

“I didn’t want it to come to this, sweetheart,” and it’s your dad once more, peering over his shoulder like it’s paining him to get these next words out. “I’ve been in talks with Gojo Hospitality…”

You narrow your eyes, moving closer to your father, because you’re praying this isn’t what you think it is.

“I’ve proposed a merger of Club Echo to CEO Gojo.”

“...Okay? What does that have to do with me growing up?”

Your dad looks you over once more, and you can see the love he holds for you in his eyes once more before the switch happens again, and he’s back in business mode. “He’s interested,” he states simply, but you know that’s not all.

“Again…What does that have to do with me growing up?”

Your father stares out the window again, not daring to glance in your direction. “You and his son are to be married in order for this merger to go through. Club Echo will be built into Gojo Hotels across the world.”

You think you may jump straight through that window and let your father watch you freefall all the way into the Tokyo streets if you truly heard him correctly.

“Married?”

He nods.

“To…Gojo?”

If it’s who you think it is – and you’re pretty sure it is – it’s that asshole that you despise from the very bottom of your heart. Insufferable, flaky, annoying, the list could go on and on for how you feel about Gojo, but there’s just not enough time for that.

“Satoru,” your father corrects you, confirming your fears. “Get used to calling him by his name. It would be strange to refer to your husband by your shared last name, don’t you think?”

Yeah, you’re gonna jump.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

if this is a sin, a punishment (a.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x popstar!reader

Summary: three years, three encounters. Moving on is a fickle thing, and why is it always worse the second time around? (part 1)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: smoking, drinking, language, greek mythology references, some german slander lol, almost cheating?, art doesn't give a fuck lol, so much pining, hella angst (i swear the next part will be happy i swear!)

Notes: im back! work has taken up my brain capacity, and while im very grateful to write for a living now, i was unable to write for fun lol. but we're back, and i hope we'll have a good time reading. Big up to @ysuftmikey and @tommysparker for being awesome and hearing out my incoherent rambles about this story. But anyway, please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**

Paris, June 2012.

As the new face of Dior, your appearance on the front row of their runway show is paramount. You’re not just there because you have to, you’re there because you love it. It’s equally important that you are well-versed in the thoughts behind next season’s trends of the fashion house. The fashion show is as much a celebration of craftsmanship as it is a coveted social event, and you’re oh so happy to be a part of it.

Or so you said in your Vogue cover story. 

In reality, you’re getting decked out and posing for pictures and scrutinizing the details of every look that comes out because it’s a job. Sitting next to some buff dude in a manbun that barely gives you enough space for yourself.

His broad shoulder bumps against yours, effectively snapping you out of your reverie. “Oh, sorry.”

You’re about to murmur a politely dismissive remark, but it all fades away when you see his face, profile-first. It’s been almost a full year since you last saw that silhouette. There’s no way of forgetting it, even underneath the dramatic lights of the runway, not even if you tried. 

“It’s you,” you breathe out, all wide-eyed and slack-jawed like an idiot in front of him.

He hears you before he sees you, really sees you, and his heart nearly stops. Of course! You’re right under his nose, and he didn’t see you. And how he yearned to see you since that night in London. How he wanted to lay it all out on the line, pour his heart out, but instead what comes out is…

“It’s me.”

The whole world starts again, pretty people milling back around as you blink. Warmth returns to your face, as you finally regain some sense. “Art!”

He murmurs your name as he hugs you, and he never wants to let go. He wants you to fucking come home with him because home doesn’t make sense until you’re here.

“Wow…” he flashes that signature crooked smile as he marvels at you—not stare, marvel. “What are the odds, huh?”

“I know!” You fight the flight of the butterflies in your stomach, but it’s impossible. “You grew your hair out, huh?”

“Yeah, just… trying something new.” His hand reaches up to the back of his neck sheepishly. 

The blond mop no longer frames his face like Apollo incarnate. You can actually see his face better now with his hair pulled back. The depth of his eyes, and the soft parenthesis of his smile. But at the same time, his facial features look… a little heavier now. A little older. More mysterious.

But of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with, “Well, you look great.”

Art lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He’s rocked this look for a while now, but he wants—no, needs— you to like it.

“I heard you won the French Open, by the way. Congratulations.” Your hand lands on his shoulder, much like the last time you saw him, but neither of you address it. Not outwardly, anyway.

(If his heart flutters, he hopes you won’t notice.)

“Ah well, it’s… yeah. Thanks!” He can’t help but light up. He wonders if Wimbledon has hooked you into tennis, or maybe, just maybe, you were keeping up with him…? “What have you been up to?”

“I’ve just been in the studio a lot. Recording, mixing, mastering the new album…  boring shit.”

Art shakes his head. He doesn’t believe anything you do is boring. “When’s that coming out?”

“November. And if all goes well, we’re gonna tour it next summer.”

“Holy shit.”

“You know what they say. The devil works hard…”

But this unstoppable force of nature in front of him works harder. It has been almost a year since you last saw him. Eleven months and some 20-odd days since you shared that cigarette on that balcony. Since you broke his heart. And he still looks at you like a goddamn miracle. It disarms the fuck out of you.

“Hey, listen—”

“There you are!” a tall, leggy blonde cuts him off mid-sentence with a kiss to Art’s cheek, rambling in German as she takes the empty seat on his other side.

Fuck. 

Art replies back to her in German, a little more hushed, but your head is already reeling. You don’t know what to make of this feeling in your gut—it squeezes you from the side, and twists you all the way to your throat. Like wringing the air out of you. 

Art smiles almost apologetically at you, his hand falling on the woman’s knee. “Yeah, this is… Tatiana, my girlfriend.”

You exchange pleasantries and shake hands. Maybe. It’s all a blur and you’re fighting tooth and nail to stay present in this conversation. 

You manage a smile, pushing through the ache of trying to sound courteous. Friendly. Normal. “I was just telling Art that I’m going on tour this summer. You guys should definitely come to a show.” Emphasis on ‘you guys’.

Art opens his mouth, but Tatiana goes ahead and answers for him. Her glossy lips pull up into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t even bother hiding it. “Hm, we’ll see. Art is very busy with his own tour, you see.”

“Of course. For sure.” You nod at Tatiana, getting the message. Your gaze barely grazes Art, even though you want nothing more than to reacquaint yourself with his features.

Art watches you turn away, fixing your gaze towards the runway, and his heart aches. The way his hand rests on Tatiana feels cold—he might as well be resting his hand on a railing. 

He keeps his gaze straight ahead at the models coming and going the entire show. And if he accidentally catches a glimpse of your profile, or your manicured hand when he looks down on his lap, he’ll take what he can get. God knows he doesn’t get to ask for anything for more. 

*****

The Dior afterparty is held in some French chalet, and after making the rounds with Tatiana, Art feels himself disengaging from the group conversation altogether. He mutters out an excuse to get a breather and wanders up the winding staircase. There are still people along the hallway, chatting and drinking by old-ass paintings and bust statues and tall vases. 

Art takes a gamble and opens a door, simply eager for some peace and quiet. The knob gives and the room is dark, save for a large bay window on the other side, the moon shining bright… and the girl sitting there.

“Hey, room’s taken!” You flick the ash off of your cigarette out the window, ready to fend for your occupation. But then you catch a glimpse of his face in the light, and you relax. “Oh. It’s you.”

Art feels his face flush. He really should back the fuck off and leave, but his feet only bring him closer and closer to you into the room. “Sorry, I was just trying to find someplace quiet. I didn’t realize…” he cuts himself off when he sees the cigarette between your fingers, and he chuckles.

“What? You know I smoke.”

“A woman of taste, huh?” His eyes flicker to the pack propped on the windowsill in amusement and he wonders if you smoked Marlboro Green because of him (You do.)

You grab the pack and slide a cigarette out for his easy access, but he doesn’t take it. Not right away. Shit, was this a bad idea? Does he not smoke anymore? “Come on, your secret’s safe with me.”

Art takes another look at the cigarette, then at the door. He raises his forefinger in wait, going over to shut the door closed and then rushing over to you with a mischievous smirk at the cigarette. He looks like a kid, giddily settling in for a forbidden vice. 

This time, you’re the one leaning over to light his cigarette. His hair falls over the other side of his face, and you watch him tuck the loose strand behind his ear. His eyelashes resting on his skin as he takes that delightful first drag. He can feel the nicotine hitting him straight to his head, and that’s how he wants to consume you.

You settle back in your seat against the wall, the smoking hand hanging out the window, and Art does the same. He sees your legs folded over to the side, almost touching him, and he has half the mind to pull them over his lap.

“It’s been a minute, huh, Art?” You take another drag, trying to calm your nerves down a little.

“Yeah, it really has.” He throws away his smile up at the moon, amused at how familiar this is. “Why are you hiding out here?”

”My shoes are killing me.” You absently massage your ankle with your free hand, throwing a sideways glance at your pair of So Kate’s on the floor. “And my social battery’s shot down.”

”That’s not very Dionysian of you.”

It makes you smile. He still remembers (though, in his defense, the whole encounter last year was pretty hard to forget). “I beg to differ.” You lift up a bottle of Moët that you stole downstairs. 

Art’s smile widens as he makes a grabby hand at the champagne. You happily hand it to him, fingers barely grazing against him. He takes a swig and thinks, let me just steal your kiss from the lip of the bottle. It tastes better than the five other glasses he had back at the party.

“So how have you been?”

An easy question for a loaded answer. Art shrugs. “Ah well, you know. Still training, still competing…”

“You still pushing that rock uphill, huh?” You can’t fight the knowing grin on your face.

Art groans with a haze of smoke in his wake, leaning back against the wall. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m all about that Sisyphean grind.”

“Shut the fuck up!” The words fly out of your mouth, and it makes him laugh. And you can’t help but laugh with him. “You just won the French Open. Isn’t that like a—what do you call it, a… Grand Slam right there?”

He raises his eyebrows at you, impressed at your improved tennis knowledge. Maybe Wimbledon did hook you in. “Yeah, well… I still need to win the US Open. It’s the only one that counts, right?” 

It’s absolutely ridiculous, Art knows that, but until then… There's no rest for the wicked like him. And you see right through him. It’s almost like looking in the mirror sometimes.

You roll your eyes, and he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. “What are you, pressed for time? Relax. You’ll get there.”

“Fair point.” Art nods, hiding his flush in another swig of champagne. “In that case, things are pretty good. Training is good, I’m winning matches, hoping to win more…” he pauses, tucking a loose strand of gold waves behind his ear, “Tatiana and I are doing… well.”

He sounds almost regretful when he says it. But then again, you’ve gotten pretty good at gaslighting yourself into thinking it’s all in your head.

“That’s good,” you settle with a neutrally encouraging response. “She seems nice.”

This time, Art gives you the look. And he always looks so smug when he does it too—the little head tilt, the crooked smirk he’s sporting like he’s excited to get the rare leg up from you. It’s adorable.

So you relent, taking the champagne and chasing it with a huff of smoke.

“I’m sorry about Tatiana this afternoon, by the way. Didn’t realize she would be so…” he grimaces as he struggles to find the right word. Domineering? Territorial? Just outright bitchy?

“Nah, it’s fine. I just chalked it up to her… German predisposition, that’s all,” you deadpan, tapping the ash of your cigarette out the window.

“You’re horrible.” Art grins. He loves it.

There’s that smile you’ve been missing. “Besides, I didn’t know you speak the language.”

“I can get by. My coach is German, my best friend speaks German… I’ve been picking up more from Tatiana, but it’s mostly just… angry.”

His words make you frown. That doesn’t sound like a very happy relationship, if your girlfriend keeps shouting angry shit at you in her native language. Art is perfectly aware that you’re catching on.

And again, it feels like the two of you are operating on two levels of communications. The first one is whatever is spouted out of your mouths, and the second through these wordless looks that say so much more. With every exchange, there’s always a choice; to stay on the surface, or dive in.

Maybe it’s the sparkling liquid courage, or the white haze you share in this little nook, but your next response is neither a safe bet nor a daring risk.

“Do you guys fuck in German? Because that can’t be sexy.”

He cracks up, caught completely off-guard by your question. Leave it to you to always keep him on his toes. “No! God no. Absolutely not. That would be terrible.”

“I can imagine! Like, what would you even say?” You sit up to put on your worst voice possible, but making it breathy and porny, “Ja… ja… ooh, scheisse… oh, ich komme!”

Art bursts out laughing. A true laugh that comes from the belly. The kind that makes his face open up. “What in the Hitler was that?!” He keels over in absolute stitches.

“I mean, I don’t know!” 

The two of you laugh longer than it’s funny, like you’re both relieved from this charade of civil acquaintanceship and finally free to be who you truly are.

Which, in this case, means immature goddamn giggly children. 

Art relishes in this warmth. He has missed this so much, that he nearly forgot he never had this with you in the first place. His face softens. “What about you?”

“Oh, I don’t talk dirty in German. It’s unpatriotic.”

“Fuck off.” He can’t fight the giggles that’s taking over him, not when you’re already laughing at your own joke. His mind nearly gets sidetracked with the thought of you in bed. Would you keep making these witty one-liners while talking dirty? Or would you be completely pliant if he kisses you all over ehile balls deep into you— focus up, Art! “I meant… How’s the boyfriend?”

You smile wryly. It was your fault to joke about Tatiana, and now you got what’s coming back at you. You take a swig at the champagne, trying to play it off casually. “Didn’t work out.”

Oh. It’s sad news, really. But why is his heart perking up, knowing there’s no more guy on the phone on her end this time? “That’s a shame. Are you alright?”

“Well, I’m real fresh out the slammer, so… not really. But…” you shrug easily. “I’ll live.”

Art’s face softens. Sometimes the moments of vulnerability seeps through the cracks of your dry humor, and he gets to see the real you. The storm that’s brewing between your ribs. Head against the windowpane, most of your lipstick either on your cigarette filter or champagne bottle. A picture perfect of secret melancholia. 

“You wanna know the weird thing is?” You inhale the cigarette, and exhale the fumes through your nose, eyes still fixed on the darkness outside, the bitterness is just pouring out. “I can always see how it ends.”

“What do you mean?”

The sensations run through your veins faster than your brain can muster up words. The butterflies of initial attraction back then—the elation, anticipation… and that funny feeling, that ache in the gut that paints the picture. The fight or the cold war that ends it all. And how are you supposed to come back from that, knowing what you know?

“I can always predict the end… right at the beginning.” You put out your cigarette and tosses it out, the faux nonchalance rising again. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am Cassandra.”

Art’s heart aches at that. It doesn’t feel right to be good this time. He almost wants to take it back, renounce Cassandra and he’ll give up Sisyphus so the two of you can be something else. Something different.

Something together.

Art puts out his cigarette as he studies your face. The pensive frown, the look of surprise… he loves that about you and everything in between. “I missed you,” he quietly admits. 

And there it is. The air is knocked out of you, and it’s just churning in your chest cavity. “I know,” you whisper back.

He leans in and touches your arm tentatively, and you don’t pull away. You can’t even if you tried. He traces the outline of your hair, his long fingers finding home on the side of your neck. His thumb traces your cheek, so carefully that he fears you would disappear into thin air. He needs you. Needs to know that he’s not hallucinating this.

This moment. This feeling. 

You.

You take his wrist, but you’re not sure whether it’s to pull him away or keep him there. “But we shouldn’t.”

“I know,” he echoes, although the way he fully leans into you is a whole other story. “I wanna kiss you so bad.”

“We shouldn’t.” You want to say it’s just him, you want to say that you’re stronger. Better than that. But the truth is, you gravitate towards him as much as he does to you, and now you’re just sitting there, both inching closer to each other until your foreheads are pressed together. “We can’t.”

He can’t find it in himself to lie anymore. He can no longer bring himself to care about the girlfriend he had, or whatever reason you’re thinking of right now. Valid, he’s sure, but he doesn’t give a shit anymore. “I know we can’t. But we want to, don’t we?”

“I’m not a homewrecker, Art.”

Art lets out a quiet huff. His thumb is still tracing along your jawline as if trying to commit your features to memory. He shakes his head softly. “If anyone’s a homewrecker, it’s me. It’s definitely me.”

“Art…”

“Yes?” You can wreck his whole existence, and he would thank you wholeheartedly. What bliss to be ruined in the hands of you. 

To his surprise, you pull him into a hug—and to be honest, you’re kind of beside yourself too. It makes him pause, but as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he surrenders.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, with one hand caressing his long hair. You won’t give in, not to your desire. Not tonight. But for a moment, you let yourself imagine what it’s like to be in his arms. What it’s like to be his. 

Each breath he takes hurts because you steal every single one of it, but he swallows it down. His arms encircle your waist, and he braves through the pain because this is his only chance to pretend. Art burrows himself into your neck and makes a home there. You gladly let him in.

For the longest time, you just… stay there. 

“I never want to leave…” there’s such pain in his tone. Such sorrow. Defeat.

“Me neither…” It chokes you from the inside out. But he won’t be the one to end it, so you’ll have to take one for the team. “But we have to.” 

He knows that, but his heart shatters anyway. You kiss him on the forehead, lingering as if it would tell him what you wanted to say. All the what-ifs and could-have-beens. It’s all a tangled mess in your throat, impossible to get out.

You feel a droplet where your hand cups his face the same time Art feels a single tear slide from his forehead down his nose. It’s comforting and disconcerting at times. .

For a fleeting moment, Art nearly hopes this is the moment you change your mind. Say ‘fuck it’ and stay.

But you pull away, and all hope is lost. It leaves with your laughter that echoed in this room just moments ago. 

You take a deep breath, and with a gentle swipe of his tears and tenderly fixing his tousled hair, you do the right thing. “I’ll see you around, Art.”

Art barely manages a nod, staring at the intersection between the wall and the windowpane, as you gather your shoes and your purse and pads out towards the door.

Thunk. 

He turns and sees you leaning your head against the doorknob. Your shoulders are shaking in silent sobs, and he wants to chase after you so bad. But before he can move, you turn the doorknob and disappear out of sight. Leaving him worse off than he ever thought after holding you.