Sorry But I Think My Masterlist Is Cute As Hell, I Dont Even Like Cars Like That But I Named My Blog

Sorry but i think my masterlist is cute as hell, i dont even like cars like that but i named my blog junkyard so i decided to lean into it. Worth it. Love it so much

Idk if yall know but im a texas gal and i just thought about Gojo at the rodeo with a cowboy hat and some stereotypical cowboy wear.

One more thing:

Gojo at the Texas state fair standing in front of big tex.

Okay I’m done, back to work

umm.. fem!reader x modern college au!sukuna bc i’m ridiculous <3

tw: mentions of killing/violence (as fake threats, not serious), some mild language

a/n: writers block is a BITCH and sometimes you have to write the cheesiest trope imaginable to overcome it. thank u for ur time

“You want me to what?”

You laugh nervously, scratching the back of your neck sheepishly as you smile up at him.

“I want you to… pretend to be my boyfriend? For a wedding? Just this once, I just need to get my parents off of my back. Please?”

Sukuna stares at you in disbelief. He didn’t consider himself to be the type of person you’d take as a plus one to a wedding, much less someone you’d want to fake-date.

“You’re fucking insane,” is the response he finally settles on, picking his book back up and flipping to the page he was last on.

“What?! Why?” You question, reaching over to snap the book back shut. He scowls, not yet looking at you as he takes his reading glasses off and sets them on the end-table.

“If you slam my book like that one more time, I’ll fucking kill you,” he threatens, emptily, before turning his head to finally meet your eyes.

You’re smiling at him, nervously like he’s going to attack you at any moment. Sukuna fights the urge to laugh.

“Also, uh— I don’t think you’d want me as a fake boyfriend.”

“Why not?” You ask with a concerned quirk to your brows, so sincere; You make his stomach do front flips.

He can’t help but laugh at that, sputtering at first before he’s full on cackling.

He rasps your name through dying laughter, “have you fuckin’ seen me? No parent would want their daughter to date someone like me.”

He gestures with his hands to the various tattoos on his arms and his face, to his pink hair and his piercings, and his eyebrows raise at your hardened stare.

“It’s not like I can take just some random guy, though!” You whine, folding your arms like a petulant child and turning your body away from him on the couch.

He tilts his head to stare at you blankly, before it hits him.

“Wait—“ he thinks back to your precious statement. Just some random guy?

“Does that mean you’ve told your parents about me?”

Your eyes snap open. You stiffen, embarrassed knowing you’ve revealed too much.

“Aww,” he coos at you, scooting closer to you on the couch and crowding you up against the armrest, “you’ve told your parents about me? How cute.”

“I will kill you with my bare hands,” you say calmly, glaring at him out of the corner of your eye.

“You’re so scary,” he reaches a large hand up and pinches your cheek, laughing when you nearly jump out of your seat. You swat his hand away and give him the meanest glare you can muster before letting a small smile slip.

“Yes, I have told my parents about you, to answer your question,” you admit finally, looking down to play with the loose string that hangs off of your lounge shorts, avoiding Sukuna’s overly-intense eye contact.

He softens at your confession, a faint, fond smile painting his features, “all good things, I hope?”

“No, actually,” you joke. “I told them you hate babies. Dogs, too.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he laughs, shoving at your shoulders roughly, laughing louder when you reach for him to shove back. There’s a mean grin on your face, and he finds himself returning it, gripping your arms tightly before his large hands splay themselves across your back, bringing you tightly into his chest.

You’re immobilized, laughing into his neck as he shifts the two of you up together. Sat on top of his thighs now, you try and fight back by squirming but your efforts are futile.

When you finally still, your head resting on his shoulder and your nose in his neck, his hands on your back relax, moving down and around slowly to rest feather-light on your hips.

Your arms move from where they were pinned to his chest to across his shoulders, scooting yourself further into his lap.

He laughs, the soft puff of warm air hitting your neck and making you shiver. The large, warm hands on your hips tighten a little bit, to help you adjust and to help him adjust as well, to ground himself as you—his friend, his very pretty friend—shift and move around in his lap.

His lips press a kiss to the side of your neck, lightly before he breaks the silence.

“So… matching outfits?”

I thought that Sukuna scrap was ugly but yall really fucking with it. Guess I should stop being so hard on myself

Me: i gotta focus today, no distractions

Brain: Street racer Sukuna….

Me:

No one can blame you darlin, that nigga is fine and the fanon hcs of him do not help.

Omfg. i cannot believe this.... i can't believe it i'm so upset.

i'm thirsting over hawks now.