reader or probably art being jealous and the other person just being completely oblivious about it (im a sucker for jealous trope)
don't blame me, love made me crazy
jealous! art x gf! reader
tw for lowkey toxic art, smut, jealousy. boy is named miles bc of the love island mobile game fun fact! he is my least fav character, switch art and switch reader kinda!
it starts with a group project, which is already hell, but then you’re partnered with miles whitaker. economics major, legacy student, smug grin, and the kind of charm that makes TAs give bonus points just for showing up. and art hates him. viscerally. you, of course, don’t notice. you’re too busy managing the three-slide presentation, the budget breakdown, and the group’s completely useless communication thread. miles, at least, shows up. and flirts. you laugh when he calls you “the brains of the operation.” you text him back when he asks about the meeting time. you even thank him when he buys you a matcha after a late night study session. and art? he notices all of it. he doesn’t say anything at first. he’s not the type to pick fights or throw tantrum, but he simmers. he plays more aggressively at practice, chews the inside of his cheek when he sees you texting. he stops asking “how’s the project going?” because he already knows you'll bring him up.
it all comes to a head one thursday afternoon. you're sitting cross legged on the quad, laptop balanced precariously on your knees, when miles appears with his usual confidence, bordering on cockiness. art spots you both as he’s walking back from the courts, racket bag slung over his shoulder, hair still damp with sweat. he sees Miles lean down, say something that makes you smile. god, you smile, wide and easy, the one art usually earns with book recs and dumb puns and early morning coffee drops. then miles tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and art's heart stops for a moment.
he walks faster, jaw clenched. by the time he reaches you, his irritation is clear, and he doesn’t even try to hide the stare he levels at miles. “hey,” you say brightly, looking up, “you done with practice?” art’s eyes flick to you, soft for a second, before returning to the boy at your side. miles smirks, “donaldson. didn’t recognize you off the court,” “guess you don’t see me often enough, then,” the tension spikes, the air tight. you blink, confused, “art, this is miles-” “we’ve met,” he says flatly. “oh, right. from econ,” miles stretches out, lounging a little too comfortably next to you. “we’ve been spending so much time together with this group work. you know how it is,” art says nothing. you look between them, finally sensing something weird, “are you okay?” art’s mouth tightens, “yeah, peachy,”
miles stands, brushing nonexistent dirt off his jeans, “well, i should let you two lovebirds catch up,” he winks, fucking winks, at you, “don’t work too hard tonight,” you wave, confused, and turn to art, “what was that?” he doesn’t answer, just stares after miles like he’s mentally ripping him in half. “wait,” you say slowly, eyes narrowing, “are you jealous?” he doesn’t answer. his eyes are steely, his posture rigid, shoulders squared like he's back on the court, facing a serve he’s already sure he’ll lose to. the silence stretches, and something unsettles in your chest. “art?” his jaw ticks, “you really don’t see it, do you?” you frown, “see what?” “miles,” his voice is clipped, tense, “he’s not just trying to study. he flirts with you every chance he gets,” you scoff, “that’s ridiculous,”
he crosses his arms, “is it?” “yes! he’s just friendly-” "friendly doesn’t look like that,” “he bought me a matcha and said i was smart, art. that’s not a proposal,” his eyes flash, but he doesn’t raise his voice. instead, it goes low, restrained. “he tucked your hair behind your ear,” “so?” “so-” he breaks off, exhaling sharp through his nose, “so you let him. you smiled at him like that meant something,” you go still. “i smiled because i was trying to be nice,” you say slowly, “god forbid i be polite to someone i’m working with,” “it’s not about being polite. it’s about you not seeing it, and me having to see it every time i look over and he’s next to you like he belongs there,”
“oh, come on,” you snap, “what exactly do you want from me? should i stop answering his texts? refuse to work with him in public so you don’t get uncomfortable?” “i want you to notice,” he says, louder now, “i want you to see how he looks at you, because the longer you don’t, the more it feels like you like it,” your breath catches, your face hot. there’s a silence, cold and wide, jarring. you blink once, twice, but your voice is steady, “you really think i want that kind of attention? that i’d pick someone like miles over you?” your stomach twists, “jesus, art. that’s what this is, isn’t it? you don’t trust me,”
“that’s not-” he runs a hand through his hair, looking away, “that’s not what i meant,” “but it’s what you said,” you bite, “that i smile too much, that i’m not paying attention, that maybe i want it,” “i didn’t mean it like that,” he says quietly, “but yeah, fine, i’m jealous. and yeah, i hate it. i hate watching him get parts of you i don’t. i hate feeling like i’m asking for scraps of your attention while you text him back before i’ve even left practice,” you shake your head, sighing, “you’re not asking for scraps. you never have to. i give you everything, art. i’ve shown up for you in every way i know how,” “then why does it feel like i’m always one step behind?” that lands like a hit. you pause, taken aback.
“i didn’t know you felt like that,” you say, voice thinner than you want it to be. he exhales, finally letting his arms fall to his sides, “i didn’t either until now,” "i have class," you run a hand through your hair, "i'll just talk to you later," "baby, wait-" "it's fine, art," you mumble, "i'll see you tomorrow or something," "yeah, okay," he nods, forcing himself to let you go, "i love you," it comes out like a question, tentative and scared. you look up at him, eyes softening, "i love you too. i'll call you after class," he watches you go, biting at the inside of his cheek, regret teeming in his stomach, met with lingering frustration. when you finally got finished with your classes, you walked back to your dorm, your phone balanced on your shoulder as the line rang. he picked up on the third ring, "hey, baby," "hi," you smiled to yourself, relieved that he didn't seem angry anymore, "i'm all done for the day. do y'wanna come over?" "yeah, of course. i went for a run, so i should probably shower first. give me 30?" "mkay, see you then," you hung up, tucking your phone into your pocket.
he was at your door exactly 30 minutes later, hair still dripping water from his shower, a hoodie thrown on over his shorts. “hi, pretty,” he smiled, but you could still see the foundations of hesitation in his eyes. “mm, hey baby,” you smiled softly up at him, pulling him inside, “you feel better?” “yeah, little bit,” he nodded, immediately collapsing onto your bed, reaching for you. you crawled into his lap, brushing the damp hair from his forehead gently. “do you wanna talk about it?” “no,” he mumbled, “just feel like an asshole and an idiot, but i still fucking hate that guy,” “i won’t work with him anymore after this,” you brushed your lips against his jaw, “does that make you feel better?” “don’t have to do that,” his hands settled on your hips, “just fucking hate the thought of him touching you, of you smiling at him like that,” “art,” you frowned slightly, pausing your kisses against his skin, “come on, baby. you know he barely touched me, it was just my hair,” “yeah, brushed it away just like i do to you,” his voice grew slightly more tense, and he shifted underneath you, “you’re not- he can’t just go around touching you whenever he wants,” “hey,” you pulled back, looked into his eyes, “he won’t touch me again, alright? you’re okay,” “i know i’m okay,” he grumbled, “you don’t get it,”
“make me get it, then,” you settled back down into him, pressing a kiss to his throat, “show me,” he sighed like he was holding something back, his hands tightening on your hips, “you’re being a tease,” “i’m not doin anything,” you played innocent, sucking lightly at the skin beneath his jaw. he hummed, quiet and low, “you just can’t help yourself, that it?” “maybe,” you giggled softly, “maybe i liked seeing you all worked up over me. think it’s hot,” “yeah? you think it’s hot to piss me off?” he rolled his eyes, but you could see his cheeks warm, “maybe you should put that mouth to use, stop antagonizing me,” you grinned to yourself, content, and shifted off of his lap, “go on, then. take what you want,” you two walked this line often, shifting between art taking control and passing it back to you. it was rare to see him in this element, frustrated and bossy. he traced your jaw with his fingers gently as you sat on the carpeted floor at the edge of the bed, his shorts tented, “you want that, baby? want me to use you?” a surprised, soft hum left you, “yeah, want you to use me, wanna make it up to you,” “oh, fuck,” he groaned quietly, already taking off his basketball shorts, watching the way your eyes darkened when they fell on his exposed skin.
“you’re already so hard,” your voice was low, sultry, awed. “pretty girl in my lap telling me she likes pissing me off, and you thought i wouldn’t be?” he replied sarcastically, curling one hand at the back of your head just enough to gather a bit of hair, “open up, since you want it so bad,” you obeyed, humming around him as he slid into your open mouth, heavy and warm. “fuck,” he groaned, head thrown back, “god, you’re so warm,” you laved at his flushed skin, one of your hands coming to rest on his balls, his moans growing more frequent at the added stimulation. “such a good girl,” he panted, “god, look at you,” you slipped your free hand between your thighs, rubbing your clit as he hit the back of your throat, your eyes welling with tears from the pleasure. “bet you’re so wet,” he managed to bite out, “you’re so sweet, soaking from sucking my cock. god, you’re perfect,” your eyes fell closed as you worked your fingers quicker, your tongue tracing the vein of his cock. “close,” he warned, the muscles of his thighs twitching slightly, his moans more whines now, “baby, fuck, please,” you could feel his control slipping, the dominant nature disappearing the closer he got, “can i cum in your mouth?” you didn’t answer, just hummed and hollowed out your cheeks in the way you knew he liked, his hand tightening in your hair. “oh, god, baby-“ he whined, hips bucking, “cumming- fuck, fuck you’re so good-“ you swallowed it all, licking him clean slowly, watching the way his chest rose and fell rapidly as you pulled away.
“thank you,” he managed between breaths, “you’re perfect, i swear to god. please come here,” you smiled to yourself, climbing back onto the bed, your knees red from the carpet, “what d’you want, baby?” “want you to sit on my face,” he said it with a certainty you didn’t see often, “please,” “oh,” you warmed, “yeah, okay. whatever you want,” he laid on his back, waiting patiently, cock still half hard. you held onto the headboard as you settled just above his mouth, gazing down at him, “you ready?” he didn’t bother answering. his big hands just grabbed at your hips, pulling you down as a surprised gasp left your throat, his tongue meeting your clit immediately. “oh!” you moaned, gripping the headboard, “oh, fuck,” he lapped at you desperately, hungry for you like always, moaning into your pussy. you ground against him, unable to help yourself, whining and moaning above him. he dipped his tongue inside of you, moaning, the sound vibrating against your walls as you clenched around him. “god, fuck- just like that,” you pulled ay his hair with one hand, holding yourself up with the other, “you want me to cum, baby? i’m so close,” he nodded underneath you, sucking your clit into his mouth, lapping needily. “oh, god,” your thighs shook as you approached your high, “oh- art, fuck, i’m-“ you cried out as you came, practically riding his face, your eyes rolled back and legs shaking. he worked you through it, his mouth slowing but not yet disappearing, giving you the decision when to stop. you slowly, shakily, got off of him, laying down beside him as you both caught your breath.
“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured a few moments later, mouth still slick. you smiled sleepily, running your nails over his abs lightly, “i love you. even when you’re being jealous,” “can you blame me?” he rolled his eyes playfully, “you’re the most perfect woman alive. obviously i don’t want to lose you,” “you won’t ever lose me,” you rolled over, resting your chin on his chest, “you’re stuck with me,” “mm, what a way to live,” he hummed, “you promise?” “promise,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “not going anywhere, honey,” he squeezed your side, holding you closer, “never gonna get tired of hearing that,”