walking around with a dolce&gabanna

[sigonya]

✧˖°˖☆ linh : she / her . 18 - suguru geto's gf. aventurine's no.1 supporter. sfw blog. spoilers will be tagged. please no untitled blogs !!

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bro - c. kamo !! thirteen - t. oikawa !!

[sigonya]

bro - c. kamo

cw. sexual implications, choso being dense

notes. wrote this while tipsy hope it's okay x, apologies to anyone who has experienced this from a situationship i understand you on a spiritual level

dating choso kamo is certainly more difficult than it would seem. not that you dislike the challenge, but there are long days and nights where you have to explain things that are simply so engrained in your culture and humanity that it’s difficult to put into words.

how do you explain why people kiss? you don’t know, it just happens and most people enjoy it. how do you explain why shopping for leisure is so fun? you don’t know, but the dopamine rush hits and that’s good enough for you. why do people spend hours scrolling on social media? what’s the point of going to the cinema when you can just buy a movie and watch it at home for the same price? why do you indulge and seemingly care about celebrity drama?

you’re thankful that yuji is there to give you a hand in teaching choso things that are just human.

but yuji itadori is also a fifteen year old boy and teaches fifteen year old boy things.

sex is, by now, not a new concept to choso. you’ve been dating for a while, it’s something you, like many other people, enjoy, and choso more than others in an attempt to make up for all the time spent in a jar. you never had to really explain it to him, and you assume that someone else in his life, probably yuki, had that conversation with him.

it’s routine. the foreplay, the act itself, the aftercare. you shower or bathe together, and when you hold your hand out to him after spending time recovering in other’s arms, he takes it with a careful touch and carries you to the bathroom. it benefits you in every way possible, and he loves the familiarity of it.

it is not routine for him to slap his hand into yours, your palms connect, he slides his hand down your own and locks his fingers into yours, and his face stays the exact same. no hint of a laugh, a joke, just the look of sincerity you’re so used to. it takes a second to even be able to form thoughts, let alone words.

“choso, did you just dap me up?”

“yes. yuji taught me.”

you’re in a state of too much shock to even laugh or crack a smile. your boyfriend just dapped you up. you’re standing naked in front of him after a particularly rough session and your boyfriend just dapped you up. “why?”

“because it’s a sign of teamwork and camaraderie, and a way to celebrate or congratulate someone. yuji did it after todo said that he got tickets to takada’s latest fan meet.” well. it’s a new experience for you, that’s for sure. there’s been times when hookups have shaken your hand when you left, your exes have had their weird habits, like ruffling your hair or giving you a high five but that was always jokingly. choso did it fully thinking that it was normal. “did i do something wrong? did yuji explain it to me wrong?”

“not technically, i suppose. but it’s more of a bro thing than a babe thing.” you can see the horror enter his eyes at the realisation that he’d completely misundestood it, and that finally makes you laugh, the surprise wearing off so you can finally see the absurdity of the situation.

he spends extra time massaging your ridiculously expensive shampoo and conditioner into your hair, and doesn’t even face you when you sleep that night, still mortified at the whole situation

but the next time you stand up to take his hand, his eyes crinkle at the sides, his lips curl upwards and he slaps his hand into yours again. your palms connect, he slides his hand down your own and locks his fingers into yours.

you both decide that you can add another step to the routine, mistakes are human after all, and so are inside jokes.

yuji doesn’t look at you the same after that, and you can sense that you might have to explain to your half-curse boyfriend that details of his sex life, no matter how funny, are not ever to be explained to his brother (especially not one so young).

[sigonya]

thirteen - t. oikawa

cw. mentions of alcohol (quite a few to be fair), mentions of cheating (not by either of them), mentions of violence but jokingly

notes. gn!reader, likely not edited very well, first time writing for haikyuu kinda nervous, 2.5k ish words, no use of y/n

tooru oikawa has been a scarily regular part of your life for thirteen years.

the first time you meet is when you’re both fourteen, you’d moved to miyagi not even a week earlier and managed to break your ankle, sitting in a&e next to a very annoying teenage boy who keeps whining about sprained his knee. it takes fifty two minutes for you to finally say something, simply turning to him with a scowl. “please be quiet, it’s making my ankle hurt even more.”

“well you haven’t just ended your volleyball career!”

“i might’ve just ended my track career!”

he sticks his tongue out at that, and both your and his parents sigh from beside you, tired from dealing with their kids in pain and now anticipating an argument that they don’t have the energy to handle. “track isn’t as good as volleyball.”

you have half a mind to break his knee instead, but you’re interrupted by one of the staff calling his number, watching as his father helps him up. you just can’t help but shout a retaliation after him as he disappears into the hospital. “i hope it does end your career!”

your mother spends five minutes scolding you about manners, but you’re too pleased with yourself by that point to care.

the second time you meet tooru oikawa is when you’re fifteen, having just moved to aoba johsai. you’re in the same class as hajime iwaizumi and honestly thrilled to be sitting next to a guy who's nice and eyecandy. he invites you to lunch with him on the first day, but the excitement at making your first friend in a new school is soon crushed by seeing the same boy that you met at the hospital a year earlier. he’s taller, prettier, has better hair, but is just as annoying and is somehow still whining about his knee. you recognise him by the voice and topic of conversation, he recognises you by the support on your ankle and immediately laughs in your face.

“ha! take that! my volleyball career isn’t over.”

you honestly don’t even remember saying that until he mentions it again, it's more the irritation of the memory not actual words. “i’m so sad to hear that.”

his eye twitches a little, fingers drumming on the table as iwaizumi introduces the both of you. he doesn’t speak to you again for the lunch period, instead ranting about volleyball, some alien show, and some guy called wakatoshi ushijima. you politely decline the offer to sit with them at lunch the next day and you make new friends anyway, ones who don’t make you want to bash your head in with a rock.

when you’re sixteen, you get your first boyfriend, and on the same day he gets his first girlfriend. you know this from the gossip spread around school: pretty boy tooru oikawa is now taken and half the girls at aoba johsai are heartbroken. you don’t feel the same at all, and almost pity his girlfriend. you’ve heard iwaizumi complain enough about his obsession with volleyball, obsession with beating some kid two years below you, and his general strange behaviour when in class together, plus you’re more than happy with your new boyfriend.

you only see him at parties, still avoid talking to him over a petty rivalry inspired by very few sentences ever uttered, and stick around the people you know. or come up with excuses when your groups intersect. but he’s there, he’s always there in your line of sight, at these events, or in the hallways outside your class, or you spot him inside the gym while you’re out on the field, or he sits across from you at lunch. you just wish he was less noticeable.

when you’re eighteen, you break up with your respective partners on the same day only seconds apart. you know this because your good-for-nothing boyfriend cheats on you with his equally good-for-nothing girlfriend at one of those stupid parties you’re both at. and you’re standing at opposite ends of the hallway watching the scene unfold.

he drops the second drink in his hand, the one he’d gotten for her, and you throw the drink in your hand at the two of them in the very same moment. you’re pretty sure the entire exchange is recorded, you yelling at the both of them and throwing the other drinks that he’d passed you (ones which you took with much gratitude) at both of them to try and prove your anger. you’re also pretty sure the punch he threw at your now ex-boyfriend is caught on camera.

the rest of the party is spent drinking away your sorrows in a corner of the garden, both lamenting over the almost-two years you had wasted on them.

“i mean, he used to buy me flowers every time we went on a date, my favourites as well, and choose colours that meant love. what a joke.”

“she used to come to every volleyball match and she’d have milkbread for me every single time from my favourite bakery.”

“seriously? you like milkbread? weird, but he used to come every track meet as well, waiting with a vanilla matcha latte from my favourite cafe.”

“she met my parents, she baked with my mother every weekend and was at every family gathering.”

“he used to buy mine presents for their birthdays, their anniversary, mother and father’s day as well.”

“i got her this gorgeous necklace for our upcoming anniversary.”

“i spent months saving up for this new game console for ours because his birthday is the day after, booked a fancy dinner for it as well.” you pause at that, head falling into your hands at the absurdity of the situation. “maybe i’ll keep it for myself just to spite him.”

“i’m returning it and buying myself some new trainers.”

“or maybe i’ll just give my parents the table and buy myself a… i don’t even know, maybe i’ll save the money, or i could go on a shopping spree.” you take the beer bottle he hands you from the pack he brought out, seeing yours now empty. “cheers to our shitty exes, right? they deserve each other.”

“cheers to that.”

“what’re you doing about the punch? i think maybe ten people have that on video.”

“rely on my good looks and popularity for people not to share it?”

for the first time, you laugh with him a little. and when monday comes around he’s absolutely right. you’re called in about ‘the incident’ and lie to the principle’s face, just like everyone else who had witnessed it did. you and oikawa don’t talk properly again, you don’t sit with each other at lunch, but when you see each other in the hallways, you smile, when you see each other at parties, you share a drink, and when you see each other in the gym at practice, you wave.

he leaves for god knows where after graduation.

when you’re twenty three, you move to san juan for your career, there’s a new branch of the company opening up and you’re offered a very generous promotion, so you promptly agree. the fifth night of living in your new apartment, you get a knock on the door and open it to see the man who'd disappeared from the face of the earth. “oikawa?”

“no way!” your name falls from his lips in a shout, and you see him pinch himself before gasping again. “are you stalking me?”

“i didn’t even know you lived here! why are you at my door?”

“i guess i'm your neighbour, then. i was asking if you had any white wine, trying to cook dinner and i’m out.”

you obviously do have wine, alcohol has been a staple in your kitchen ever since you were eighteen and could buy it for yourself legally. sadly, you knew you were getting old when you went to the local supermarket and chose a mid-range chardonnay over the cheapest bottle of whatever you could find or even own-brand vodka. “i’m not giving you wine to use in food when i could just drink it.”

“mean! i’m trying to cook myself a nice dinner here.”

“not offering me any isn’t helping your cause.” 

“is that you asking to have dinner with me?”

“that’s me not wanting my hard earned money to go to waste.”

he sighs dramatically at that, shaking his head. you’re tempted to slam the door in his face when he sighs again to try to gain some pity, and then places his hands on his hips like an indignant toddler. “fine! i’ll cook you dinner and we can drink the leftover wine, even if it’s not much.”

“fine.” you do shut the door on him for good measure, right before emerging with two bottles, ignoring the raise of his eyebrow. “what? obviously i don’t just have the one.”

on that very same night, you realise that tooru oikawa cannot cook to save his life. the risotto tastes awful and he knows it from the way he grimaces at the first bite, washing it down with his glass and a cough. you don’t even attempt to make him feel better. “this is terrible.”

“i tried my best.”

“maybe you should take some cooking lessons.”

“what, you’re any better?”

“i’m a michelin star chef compared to you.” he doesn’t bother to argue with that, instead grumbles something incomprehensible into the drink he uses once more to mask the taste of his own culinary failure. “so, what do you do now?”

“professional volleyball player. guess that sprain didn’t end my career after all.”

“huh?”

“remember? when we were fourteen and we met for the—“

“don’t remind me. you were whining for ages about a sprain, i had a break, y’know? far more serious and painful and you didn’t hear me complaining.”

“sorry about your ankle, by the way. never told you that.”

“i never would’ve gone professional anyway, never wanted to. it got me a sports scholarship into uni and that was good enough for me.” it’s nice to hear it from him anyway, you’ve always known what you wanted to do and managed to get yourself a good job with surprisingly good benefits. it’s safe and it pays well, especially now. you’re somehow happy with where you are, no relationship had ended as badly as your first one, and as of a week ago, you’re living in a gorgeous city with a neighbour who, even if he can’t cook, is a familiar face. “guessing you’re in ca san juan?”

“how’d you guess?”

“you… live in san juan.”

he looks a little sheepish at that, its the only club in the city, after all. “so, why are you here?”

“new branch where i work, transferred with a promotion.”

“you learnt a whole new language just for that?”

“i know some anyway from an old part time job, there’s a massive south american community near roppongi.”

the conversation flows easily from there, you have a strange amount in common still, from trivial things like your favourite tv show, down to the shop nearby where you’re both apparently friends with the same cashier (even if one friendship is brand new and the other has been going on for five years). when you suggest cooking him dinner next time, he smiles so wide it looks like it hurts.

when you’re twenty four, oikawa becomes tooru and asks you out properly after three months of dates that you disguise as friendly hangouts, drunken hookups that you don’t speak of, and apparently both of you pining to mutual friends nearby during hangouts and hajime iwaizumi. the latter of which once hung up on you after exclaiming that he’d heard the story before and that he’s sick of hearing about every insignificant event twice.

the question is asked, to no surprise, over a fancy dinner at your favourite restaurant. and he, also to no surprise, does it in the most dramatic way possible. there's a heartfelt speech about how much he likes you, how he wants to grow to love you, how he’s so happy you met and recalling memories that you both share. and he does it all on one knee, a box with a ring and a note saying not a proposal this time.

he does it all in japanese, the other guests clapping loudly and the restaurant giving even giving a dessert and a glass of champagne on the house to congratulate you both on your engagement.

neither of you correct them.

when you’re twenty five, you move in with him. dating and living with tooru oikawa is the same as you thought it would be when you were sixteen.

he insists on watching an awful channel that only plays alien conspiracies on sundays after 9pm, but you watch it every week with him happily. the shared apartment is full of old jerseys he's hung on the walls and there's too much various gym equipment scattered on the floor – a ridiculous amount when your only contribution to it is a single yoga mat. (you argue that there’s no point having what is basically a gym at home when you pay for one anyway, and he just says that technically he doesn’t pay because it comes with the benefits of his team). the main topic of conversation is usually volleyball: new strategies, when the matches are, and as always, he complains about his opponents. somehow, even years later, he still has a rivalry with tobio kageyema and wakatoshi ushijima - which only intensifies when he’s chosen for the argentinian national team.

what you don’t expect from dating tooru oikawa is the flowers he buys you when he’s late home because practice overran, or the way he spends hours - even days - learning how to cook your favourite dishes despite his abysmal lack of talent. he spends his days off cleaning the apartment and doing the laundry because he knows your boss makes you work overtime and he doesn’t want to cause you extra stress. he keeps a photo of you in his wallet like he’s a soldier going off to war. and you find out from his teammates that when they go out drinking, there’s always a point in the night where he takes the photo out and some poor, unsuspecting victim has to listen to thirty minutes of him declaring his love for you.

(when you’re told about this after being invited to one of those nights, it doesn’t go the way in which they had hoped. he instead pulls you into his side and declares it to the table, and with how loud his voice is, the entirety of the bar.)

when you’re twenty seven, you sit in the olympic stadium with the number thirteen plastered on your back and the argentinian flag painted on your cheeks (you've been actively ignoring the text of traitor from hajime). you're the loudest voice by far when your boyfriend sets the winning ball to his teammate, and your side of the stadium erupts in cheers and shouts of joy. somewhere in him still is the twenty three year old who made you your first meal in an unfamiliar country, the eighteen year old who made you laugh after a disaster of a breakup, the fourteen year old who was crying over a sprained knee and you’re glad that his volleyball career didn’t end.

you’d never have met him otherwise. he wouldn’t be shouting your name into the audience, or running into your arms with tears of joy in his eyes, or telling you that he wants to marry you over a celebratory homemade dinner and a glass of wine on your balcony.

tooru oikawa has been a regular part of your life for thirteen years, and you’re already planning on saying that in your vows when you say i will, soon to be i do.

[sigonya]

4me 4me - s. geto

cw. descriptions of making out shirtless, drunk makeouts, mention of sex, vague implication of the reader smoking, mentions of smoking, drinking

notes. absolutely not beta read. small drabble for suguru to try and get me back into writing. written with a female reader in mind (idk if that translates into it) but no mentions of actual anatomy or pronouns. gojo is annoying.

it had gotten to a point where no one was surprised. after a couple of drinks at geto suguru’s gatherings at his house, you and him were nowhere to be seen after maybe two hours. if they were lucky. you’d go upstairs, and he’d follow ten minutes later, some bad excuse about how he couldn’t find his phone charger would do. everyone knew anyway. and then he’d walk into his room, shut the door behind him and give you that gorgeous smile, just like routine. 

that’s how you often end up on his bed, pinned underneath the most gorgeous man you’ve ever met, and tonight was no different. you could taste the wine on him, each kiss making you drunk on the leftover drops of alcohol and his lips. one hand tangled in his hair, pulling him as close as possible, skin on skin underneath the covers (there was a line drawn with everyone else downstairs. staying over, however, was always another matter). the giggling and sound of footsteps running up and downstairs fell on deaf ears, nothing else was important to the two of you. they’d see you both later anyway, only more dishevelled than you’d left them.

you can feel his hands roaming up and down, one resting on your waist as he presses feather-light kisses down your jaw and neck, a whine escaping as he pulls and nips on the skin. “stop being such a tease.”

“oh? but i seem to remember you–”

you grab his hair, pulling his lips back up to meet yours. he doesn’t need to bring up your past escapades with him. the past should stay in the past, it’s your little arrangement (even though it never does. he laughs a little, sitting up again to grab the bottle of wine he’d snuck upstairs and taking a swig, necking it before passing it back to you. the wine is awful, the cheapest and highest percentage you could find, but it doesn’t matter because right now. it tastes of him.

you sit up a little, leaning back on your elbows. there’s a sliver of moonlight coming through the mostly-shut curtains, you can see his figure, lean, muscular, your hands reach up to trace the scars he has. jujustu society hasn’t been kind to him, he’s satoru’s partner, one of the oldest there, sent out to the more dangerous missions, only to be met with you and shoko for the cleanup afterwards. you’re never there for the action, not that you’re complaining, your dream was something nicer, more peaceful, hell, you’d settle on an office job if you had to. it was purely familial obligation that had forced you into this line of work.

“what’s that look for?”

“what look?”

“you know the one.” you do. now isn’t the time to be reminiscing about the future and past and the situation you’ve both been drawn into. you reach out to grab the bottle again, gulping the liquid down before slamming a mostly-empty bottle back on the nightstand, the sound perfectly lining up with the click of the door opening. you can just about see shoko and satoru’s faces illuminated by the landing light, pulling as much duvet you can find to cover yourself a little and ignoring the sound of something hitting the ground with a loud thud. must’ve been a phone. suguru turns at this, sighing loudly. “what now?”

“just checking on you two.” satoru is grinning from ear to ear, shoko has a cigarette behind one of hers. “we’re going outside for five minutes. didn’t want you to worry about your dear friends sitting downstairs playing uno.” he barely manages to finish his sentence and slam the door shut before suguru throws a spare pillow at the door, hitting the space where his best friend’s face had previously been spot on.

he mutters an insult under his breath before turning back to you. “why are we friends with them?”

you pout a little, arms sliding around his neck and pulling him back down. “hey, i like shoko. and i guess satoru and her are a package deal.”

“why couldn’t she have chosen utahime instead?”

“satoru buys her packs as bribes.” he laughs into you, teeth pulling at the skin of your neck again as you talk. “why don’t you ever do that for me? i’d appreciate it, y’know.”

“i don’t condone such unhealthy behaviour.”

“liar. you’re just a cheapskate. that’s why your door doesn’t have a lock.” you mutter, cut off as his lips - oh so sweet - meet yours again, tongue sliding into your mouth as his fingers dig into the flesh of your waist and hips, over arm supporting himself next to your head. when your eyes flutter open every now and then you can see his biceps flexing and bulging. suguru always kisses you like he’s a starved man, each kiss making him hungrier for you and more desperate. your teeth clash a little when he surges forward again, moaning into your mouth when you tug at his hair. when you next pull away for some much needed but very unwanted air, his cheeks are flushed and pupils dilated. hands roaming free again as he takes in the sight before him, fingers dangerously close to the waistband of your pants as he eyes you up like you’re his last meal.

“you’re so pretty, ba–” the nickname, your favourite nickname was rudely interrupted, both of you frowning in sync when you hear soft music playing.

there has not been music before.

just the crude sounds of your lips on each other, whines from you and from him, music to your ears anyway. the volume slowly increases as he gets off you, skin cold from where his hands were as they were now feeling around the bed instead of your body. “you hear that, right?”

“yeah. is that…” your eyes lock again, his mood killed instantly, and the slowly rising sound coming from god knows where. suguru apparently decides it’s not coming from the bed. “they could just be playing music downstairs?” its a hopeless pursuit, his mind is clearly somewhere else.

“no. they’re outside. shoko won’t be done by now.”

you sit up, arms crossed as he gets up. admiring his back is nice and all, but, quite frankly, you’d rather have your nails running up and down it. the music is probably at full volume now, hurting your ears at how loud it is, and the song is so bad it ruins your mood as well. you cannot have a makeout session with anyone, not even suguru, to rommulas. and not mira of all songs.

only satoru would do that. you fully sit up, back completely straight as you remember satoru. the unexplained thud, the straight face that shoko was pulling when she’d usually be mirroring his expression exactly. “sugu.” you have to say his name a couple of times to be heard above the music, almost shouting. 

he shouts back pretty quickly. “what?”

“i think satoru chucked a speaker in here earlier.”

he seemed to stop working for a second, gorgeous eyes narrowing as he tried to recall, then closing in defeat when he remembered the unexplained sound as well. before you can say anything else, he’s off, slamming doors and stomping downstairs. you find your phone on the duvet, texting shoko a quick get your camera up and ready NOW before standing, searching for a top in the dark to quite possibly the least romantic song ever.

at least you were staying over.

[sigonya]

01:13AM - s. geto

cw. implied cheating (it isn’t)

notes. loser suguru who jumps to the wrong conclusions. super late birthday post, so here’s a silly very short unedited drabble (if there’s a bad typo please tell me so i can correct it)

geto suguru couldn’t sleep. he’d found messages on your phone – from another man. it was awful, he thought, hoping to god that he was wrong. there was no way you’d cheat on him, right? but who was this man? he knew all your friends, you were in the same group after all, and that certainly was not anyone he knew.

he really hadn’t meant to look through your phone, but the notification had popped up. hey, when are we meeting tomorrow? followed by an even worse you don’t want your boyfriend to know, right? that had really caught his attention. he just couldn’t help it, he picked up your phone and entered the passcode you had once told him.

it was incorrect. he tried again. and once more, his hands trembling before he dropped it on the couch when you walked in. the honey sweet smile that you often gave him felt sickening as you sat next to him again, carefully moving that phone away from him, face down and out of sight.

he rolled over onto his other side, the memory stopping him from getting any sleep at all. fingers tracing circles on the sheets. there was no other way about it, you were cheating. but then again, it was you. he thought you wouldn’t cheat. never, not even in his nightmares.

he perked up as his phone buzzed, the screen lighting up. it was you: come over. i have something to tell you.

suguru felt his heart drop, rereading that text again and again. that was it. you two were over. on the bright side, it wasn’t a breakup text. it would be in person, right?

he didn’t notice the date on his phone, nor the time as he got up, slinging on a jumper. your apartment wasn’t far from his, you’d bought places purposefully close to one another so you’d cross paths in the mornings and when you came back, so you’d only have to walk up a few flights of stairs.

it took what felt like forever for him to reach your apartment, hands shaking as he knocked on your door.

he heard a man’s voice, then your giggle and he wanted to run. maybe he could call gojo, ask him to stay a couple of days, or shoko, nanami or haibara. one of them would agree, he was sure. the door opened before he could turn on his feel, your smiling face greeting him then—

“happy birthday!” he jumped as he heard a number of party poppers and horns blown, a grin on your face as you dragged him inside, him coming to a halt in front of a balloon arch. “suguru? oh my god, you look like you’re about to cry!” he stared at you, hair dishevelled, the previous day’s clothes on and his eyes teary. “was it that surprising? it’s your birthday.”

he stared, hands coming up to rest on your shoulders. “you’re not cheating on me?”

“what?” you screeched, eyes wide and a look of what could only be described as pure horror on your face.

“who— i saw someone on your phone, saying how you don’t want me to know they were coming over…” he trailed off as you stifled a laugh, a hand coming up to cover your mouth.

“suguru. that was my brother.”

[sigonya]

BEJEWELLED - s. geto

cw. gn!reader but reader uses makeup? that’s about it i think

notes. not beta read, pre-hidden inventory ig?? super short geto drabble that i wrote at midnight, i can’t write endings, first post

geto suguru has never been able to say no to you - it’s just something he can’t ever bring himself to do. like when you’d gotten up in the middle of watching in the middle of an adbreak, and returned with a makeup palette and a hopeful expression.

“stop moving your head.” you hiss, grabbing his chin to make him face you. an eyeliner pencil in one hand, and the other struggling to force him to keep his head still. “you’ll mess up the eyeliner.”

“i’ll stop moving when you stop trying to stab my eye out.” you roll your eyes, muttering something about how he’s overreacting and ordering him to close his eyes again. he obliges, just like he always does, and tries his best to not mess up your hard work. he had seen how hard you were concentrating to get it perfect (he’d accidentally opened his eyes a number of times) and he’d heard you muttering about how you’d could’ve done a full face of makeup in the time it took you to do just the eyeshadow.

“there. done.” he relaxes again, thankful that it was over. the adbreak had finished long ago, and the show almost had at this point too - but when he’d pointed this out, he was told it was because he was being difficult. again.

“can i see?”

“no. i’m not finished.”

“you just said done.” he heard you click your tongue, and heard a rustling, probably you grabbing something else from the pile you’d created in the space next to you.

“with your eyeliner. now we can do mascara, and then your eyes will be done.” he opens his eyes and watches as you remove the spoolie from the tube. an action that makes your tough six-foot-three curse-fighting boyfriend recoil at an amazing speed.

“what the fuck are you going to do with that?”

“put it on your eyelashes.”

“you’ll rip them out.” you sigh at his dramatics, leaning forwards just as suguru reaches out to keep you an arms length away. “if you try now, you’ll probably just ruin all the other makeup.”

you put the spoolie back, watching as he sheepishly removes his hand. there was definitely a way to convince him to let you ‘rip out’ his eyelashes, but you hadn’t quite figured it out yet. “i use this almost daily, it really isn’t that bad.”

“what if it isn’t used to my eyelashes?”

“eyelashes are eyelashes, sugu.” he shakes his head, absolutely adamant that you’re actually trying to murder him with the maybelline sky-high in your hand. “i bet satoru would let me do his eyelashes.”

“satoru almost cried when one eyelash fell out. he wouldn’t let you near them.”

“what if i tell shoko you’re afraid of mascara?”

he narrows his eyes at you before shaking his head. “you’re not that mean,” both of you knew shoko would never let him live it down if she ever found out.

just like that time she found out nine-year-old satoru was afraid of bees because he thought they were robots (he claimed his six eyes told him), or that time she found out twelve-year-old satoru refused to go to the circus because he was scared of the magicians pulling birds out of their hats. the latest addition to the list was that time about two weeks ago when satoru screamed at grandma who jumpscared him by sitting next to him at a bus stop.

“really? well, let me get my phone—”

“about that mascara, i think it will really complete the look.”

you grinned as you opened the mascara again, leaning forward. “keep your eyes open.”

“if you stab me in the eye i’ll tell satoru that you were the one who told shoko about the robot bees.” you hum gently, ignoring his threat as you complete the eye look, leaning back and admiring your hard work. “done yet?”

“soon. i just think you need some lipstick too.” you grab one of the three from the pile, just to have him take it away and put it back.

“i don’t think that shade will match my complexion.”

“since when were you an expert on what’s good and what isn’t?”

“since i sat for twenty minutes watching you do my makeup.” he picks up a different shade (your usual one) and holds it up. “use this one.” you snatch it from him in fake annoyance and apply the shade to his lips. watching with satisfaction as he takes a mirror and admires his reflection. “better than i expected.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“last time i let someone do my makeup i looked like the lovechild of a drag queen and a clown.”

you tilt your head, trying to guess who would manage that. “satoru?”

“satoru.”

“hey, suguru! where are you?” speak of the devil and he shall appear. uninvited and unexpected. the latter being clear by the absolute horror that adorns suguru’s now very very pretty face.

“why is he here?”

you shrug. “gave him the keys once, he never actually returned them.”

“yo, there you are…” satoru trails off as he stares at his best friend for a while, absolute silence on both ends. for a second, you wonder if it looks bad, but then the sound of a camera shutter and the rapidly receding footsteps assure you that you did absolutely perfect.

[sigonya]

JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST

✧˖°˖☆ GETO SUGURU

bejewelled - you do suguru’s makeup

01:13AM - birthday drabble, suguru jumps to conclusions

4me 4me - you're interrupted

✧˖°˖☆ GOJO SATORU

tba…

✧˖°˖☆ NANAMI KENTO

tba…

✧˖°˖☆ KAMO CHOSO

bro - choso doesn't quite get human interactions

✧˖°˖☆ INO TAKUMA

tba…

[sigonya]

HAIKYUU MASTERLIST

✧˖°˖☆ TOORU OIKAWA

thirteen - thirteen years of knowing tooru oikawa

✧˖°˖☆ IWAIZUMI HAJIME

tba...

✧˖°˖☆ SUNA RINTAROU

tba...

[sigonya]

MASTERLISTS !!

jujutsu kaisen . haikyuu . honkai star rail . others

SIGONYA work, please do not plagiarise, translate or repost on other sites

[sigonya]

RULES !!

✧˖°˖☆

INTERACTION :

i block blank blogs - at least put a name or a pfp

no translating my work, no reposting on other sites, please no plagarising

do not comment criticism, if you have any constructive words please privately message/send an ask. you will be blocked if it's just insults

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yes i selfship, yes i talk about it

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i appreciate asks and interactions - but sometimes it can take longer to answer because i have college, personal circumstances etc. but i will try to answer them - please don't send the same ask more than twice.

WRITING :

i don't write for eating disorders, severe mental health or dark content (if you're unsure, just ask)

i take requests, but some might take longer than others depending on how happy i am with what i come up with. happy to write for headcanons/prompts too

do not ask me about specifics of the reader, including appearance - if something is specific i'll put it in the content. i usually write for a gender-neutral reader

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thank you for reading! here is my masterlist

(tags for thoughts, writing, spoilers)

[sigonya]

ABOUT ME !!

✧˖°˖☆ hi i'm linh !! she / her . 18 . wasian (eng-viet)

any name that's vaguely correct is fine: linh, linnie, lili

☆ english student (i study other subjects too but they are unimportant), waitress (i fear), a broke gacha game fan (c2 arlecchino is my greatest achievement). girl-kisser but men are fine too i guess

☆ on games: hsr the herta and phainon main (depends on the enemy), c2 arlecchino main, rdr2 fan. very willing to listen to anything about any games (specifically the men)

selfships:

aventurlinnie ☆ aventurine & linh - enemies to lovers . ipc representative aventurine x penacony journalist linh ;

kavelinnie ☆ kaveh & linh - friends to lovers . kshahrewar kaveh x rtawahist linh ;

sugulinh ☆ suguru geto & linh - friends (situationship) to lovers . sorcerer geto x reluctant sorcerer linh ;

vilinh ☆ vil schoenheit & linh - coworkers to lovers . actor and model vil x makeup artist linh ;