— Jenny Slate, Little Weirds

Eremite 🌱

忘了发画完的。。。

can i be real with you all. ties are perhaps the most sexual article of clothing a person can wear. like that is just a leash and collar.

Live reaction of me reading this:

Just For You

Modern AU, Pâtissier Sunday notices his favorite customer looking a little worse for wear. He has a special delicacy just for you. And you’re a little too smooth in return.

Sunday/Gender-neutral reader.

(This might be an ongoing AU of one-shots; in which Sunday left his position to pursue other ways of providing joy through his creativity. This is fluffy and silly. In no way really connected to canon.)

On AO3 here. Kudos, reblogs, and comments appreciated!

Divider by cafekitsune

You came into his shop one day with stiff shoulders and a clenched jaw, the tension barely perceptible to the customers in line before you. How unfortunate.

Most of your visits were full of wide eyes searching for his latest creations, a smile forming when you found your target for the week, always determined to try something new. Little did you know that it was because of your adventurous nature that he tried to keep rotations of exciting flavor combinations.

What could possibly have such stress radiating off of you in palpable waves?

He would have to remedy that somehow, Sunday mused as he weighed a box of tiny chocolate mousse cups. Thankfully, today was a bit slow. He would have time to dedicate to you.

By the time you reached the counter, your jaw seemed a little looser when you greeted him, at least. A small victory.

“What would you like this week? I tried my hand at a few fun little creatures.”

The Trailblazer recently recounted their excitement on the Herta Space Station and the cat debacle that occurred. He’d felt compelled to attempt tiny cake pops in the shape of the cat cakes described. They were a little unorthodox texture-wise but seemed to do quite well with some children.

Up close, he could see the dark circles peeking through despite your attempts to cover them. You couldn’t seem to keep eye contact, either; in fact, when you attempted a smile, your eyes looked a little glassy, as if…

He remembered those days. Where the cup you held kept overflowing despite trying your best to empty it. One more ask and your cup might just shatter.

No, he wouldn’t have that. He didn’t leave the Family and set out making desserts that made people smile only for tears to spill in his shop. He might not have been able to solve every problem or take away the unjust suffering of existence, Sunday knew well by now. But he could provide a moment of solace, unique and magical…

Sunday gave you a soft smile in return. He tried to keep his wings from fluttering as he thought about the box he set aside in the fridge that morning, just for you. Perfect.

“I know just the thing. Wait here.”

“No, Sunday, I’ll just—“

He turned on his heel before he reached the swinging door. “I must insist. In fact, it would make my day to share this secret with my favorite customer.”

The words spilled out before he could stop them and he turned, stepping into the kitchen just as heat began to creep up your neck. Suddenly, the chilled kitchen felt a little too warm for his liking; a glance at the thermostat as he passed told him it was functional.

Goodness. Acting like a schoolboy.

The chastisement did little to stop his heart from hammering when he opened the fridge and checked the box, finding it perfectly undisturbed. Your favorite type of chocolate, mixed with rose water and a type of berry he’s never worked with before. Entirely new, a prototype to be refined.

Before he left the kitchen, Sunday stopped at the small station set up for boxing and wrapping. He grabbed a ribbon that reminded him of your eyes and made quick work of a bow, perfectly centered.

He returned to the front of the shop and presented the small box from the tips of his fingers. An inhale snagged in his lungs as your fingers brushed his when you took the box. You cradled it close, lips parted in a question.

“How much do I owe you?” you asked.

Nothing, he wanted to say. Your smile and your enthusiasm was always payment enough.

But whatever feelings he held wouldn’t cover overhead.

“My only ask is that you share your thoughts and tell me what would make the next batch better,” he replied.

He swallowed when he saw your eyes glint, the corners of your mouth twitching as the shadow of whatever held you down seemed to peel away. That was better. You looked a little more like yourself.

That creeping flush over your skin came back as you said, “It’s a date, then.”

Sunday’s composure remained intact until the door to the shop closed, the bell jingling happily. Reflectively, his wings folded inwards to cover his cheeks, his face growing warmer still.

He was going to have to come up with something extra special for your next visit.

Sukuna is scary…no doubt. But…but he’s just so cuddly. And warm. You’re telling me with those four arms of his— he’s still not cuddleable? Nonsense.

Allow me to demonstrate— a slightly cold night, but this warm, pink haired beast with four arms is present to hold you. Two of his arms wrapped securely around your back and the other patting your head softly. His lower set of eyes are gazing down and adoring your sleeping form. Your cheek is smushed against that tit muscular pec and you’re in pure bliss and warmth because he’s just like that.

He’s like a warm weighted blanket. And oh, he comes in pink. What more could a girl want?

I am in love with your writing 🥺

i do (the practice round) — ft. gojo satoru

satoru doesn’t drink often—but when he does, it’s always because there’s something heavy on his mind. you figure out just what it is as you shove a wasted satoru into your car in the middle of the night

before you read: fem reader ; non curse au, suguru never defects ; established relationship ; drunk gojo, mentions of alcohol ; mentions of marriage and proposals ; banter

notes: i am binging jjk season 2 and i think satoru’s bum ass would definitely ruin his own proposal and never even be aware of it

Sometimes, you appreciate Suguru’s company. He makes it tolerable to deal with the handful that is Satoru. With a boyfriend as…eccentric as Satoru is, having someone as a voice of reason keeps you feeling sane sometimes. But sometimes, you also hate Suguru.

Right now, it’s the latter. You wouldn’t consider yourself on the list of his top fans now that he’s left you with a drunk, stumbling, and absolutely difficult Satoru to wrangle into your car and take home.

“Stupid Suguru,” you grumble, “I told him not to let you drink too much.”

Curse Suguru for leaving you for some random woman at the bar, and curse him for letting your lightweight boyfriend drink as much as he has. Satoru doesn’t even drink often—and certainly not this much.

You can’t help but wonder what got him here in the first place.

“Hey,” Satoru snaps, swatting your hand away as you shove his six-plus-foot-figure into the passenger seat, “don’t touch me. My wife will be mad.”

You pause, blinking before looking at him amused.

“You don’t have a wife, Satoru,” you snort. A small part of you thinks he’s an idiot, of course, but another part of you feels a thumping making itself abundantly clear in your ribcage, somewhere deep in your heart.

Wife. You like the sound of that, you think. You walk around the car, entering the driver’s side as Satoru sits and simmers in his despair.

“Don’t rub it in,” he whines, slumping against the dashboard of your car as he groans. “I don’t have a wife yet. Been trying for ages.”

“Trying what—”

“Every time I think v’got the perfect chance, s’ruined by somethin’ or another.”

“What are you talking about—”

He pulls something shiny out, dangerously at risk of dropping it with how wobbly his hands are from the alcohol in his system. You pause. Blink. Stiffen. Sit there in absolute silence as he stares at the ring in his hands woefully.

“Had it for weeks,” he says pitifully. And then, because he’s just as wasted as you suspected, he holds it out to you. You can’t find it in you to move, just staring blankly at it. “Think she’ll like it?”

“Who?” You croak, playing along.

“My girlfriend,” he grumbles. “You’re not very bright.”

“And you’re not very polite,” you snap back half heartedly, ears still ringing from his words just moments ago. Think she’ll like it?

He means you, of course. He doesn’t realize he’s speaking to the very person he’s supposed to present the ring with, but you suppose now you understand just why he’s taken to drinking so much this evening. He must be quite on edge as of late.

“Polite my ass,” he huffs under his breath, pulling you from out of your thoughts.

“You kiss your girlfriend with that mouth?” You challenge.

He does. He kisses his girlfriend (you) senseless quite often, in fact. Maybe more than he should…perhaps even at places he should not.

“I do,” he says haughtily. “My girlfriend loves me. She’s obsessed with me, actually. She couldn’t live without me. She kisses me on the mouth all the time. Among other places too.”

You want to slap his shoulder at that last comment—it just about takes you everything not to. “Your girlfriend is crazy for kissing that mouth of yours,” you tease.

Satoru doesn’t appreciate you talking poorly of his girlfriend (you) like that. It’s offensive. You can tell as much from the purely insulted look on his face as he gasps, “don’t speak about my baby like that! This is why you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I do, actually,” you grin. He doesn’t believe you—the disbelieving snort he lets out instantly would offend you if it was anyone else, maybe. But Satoru pulls a fond, easy smile across your lips.

It feels like muscle memory.

“You have a boyfriend?” He asks incredulously.

“I do,” you grin.

“You love him?”

“I do,” you confirm. He looks unconvinced, but shrugs anyway.

“Is he a loser or something? Dating you?”

“He is,” you grin wider, “a total loser.”

“Makes sense,” he snickers. And then his attention is back to the ring in his hand, his long, nimble fingers fiddling with it before he murmurs, “I hope she likes it.”

“I’m sure she will,” you say softly, biting your lip as your eyes feel just a bit misty.

You mean it, too. He’ll never know that, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“You really think so?” He asks quietly. Shy. Satoru has never been shy—he’s so many things. Loud. Outspoken. Stubborn. Maybe a little shameless. But shy doesn’t usually describe him.

He seems to unlock a few hidden sides of himself around you. You think you want to unlock a few more.

“I do,” you say for the third time that night.

It’s practice, you think, for the real thing.

Imagine revealing on your tenth anniversary “btw i actually knew you were promising weeks before you did it. You showed me the ring and everything.” He’d claw his eyes out lolll

he think

BUTTERFLY EFFECT ୨ৎ track one : damage control.

racing grounds — series m.list. ᡣ𐭩 ferrari-racer!gojo x redbull-racer!sukuna x redbull-manager!reader. warnings — sukuna being remotely nasty, gojo being a narcissistic freak - they're practically the same, except one has anger issues, and the other takes it up the ass. cursing, allusions to sex. threats. reader gets called "babe." let me know if i missed anything! (呪術廻戦) : note — chapter one, and i'm locked in. 1.4k+ words.

"alright," you say, smoothing out the silken fabric of your dress. you watch the limousine, a sleek black beast, disappear around the corner, then turn your attention back to sukuna.

you're standing outside the grand, brightly lit party hall, the faint classical music already vibrating through the pavement beneath your feet, alongside him.

adjusting his tie, which seemed to have an inherent desire to strangle him, you look up to meet his eyes. "remember anything i said?"

his answer is curt, a single syllable of defiance; "no."

well, at least he's consistently honest, even if that honesty was infuriating.

"alright," you sigh, the weariness settling deep in your bones. "ferrari's going to be in there, okay? and a few other people who… well, let’s just say they have a history with you."

a grunt, a non-committal sound that did little to reassure you.

"that means no picking fights, no throwing hands. if they play mean, don't indulge. be the bigger person. i don't want a repeat of last time," you warn, your voice laced with a stern edge.

oh, god, just the mere mention of last time was enough to shave off another five years off your already stressed-out life. the chaos, the broken furniture, the… you’d rather not relive it.

"oh, c'mon," sukuna groans, his voice a low rumble of annoyance. "last time wasn't even my fault. they started it."

"no one mistakes 'dapper' for 'diaper'," you mutter, pointedly ignoring the faint pink that crept up his neck and warmed his cheeks.

"whatever." he rolls his eyes, a dramatic flourish that seemed to say he was the victim of some great injustice, and immediately went to loosen the tie you had just painstakingly tightened.

"behave," you scold, swatting his hand away with a sharp, decisive motion. "you're not a baby."

he's got that infuriating shit-eating grin on his face, the one that always made you suspect he was plotting something. "or, what? you'll punish me?"

you click your tongue, a sound of exasperation. "i'm serious, sukuna."

"so am i," he replies, his grin widening, making you doubt his sincerity.

"sukuna."

"alright, alright," he concedes, though his eyes held a mischievous glint that suggested he was far from reformed.

you glance at his hair, previously styled with gel into a sleek, sophisticated look, now unkempt and tousled.

"stop touching it," you add, glaring at the way he tugs his hand through it, effectively dismantling your efforts. "you look like you wrestled a badger, and somehow lost."

"ready?" you asked, turning away from him, the question more a weary exhale than a genuine inquiry.

"you sound like you're asking yourself, more than me," sukuna retorted, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

"be quiet. let's go." you pushed open the heavy, ornate doors leading into the grand hall, a wave of noise and flashing lights hitting you. reporters swarmed, their eyes immediately snapping to sukuna’s vibrant pink hair. you held your breath, scanning for any signs of imminent chaos.

his record, if you remembered correctly, was five minutes. five minutes before he'd launched into a tirade that involved at least three expletives and a threat to "rearrange someone's face." today, you were aiming for a new record: peace.

"mr. sukuna, how are you feeling about the upcoming race?" a woman, her face framed by a meticulously styled bob, asked, her microphone thrust forward.

"gonna fucking beat their asses," sukuna growled, his voice a low rumble.

you forced a strained laugh, leaning into the nearest camera. "yes, uh, he's feeling rather confident. they've all been training hard, so…"

a man with a receding hairline, his tie askew, pushed past the woman. "with gojo constantly stirring the pot, keeping up to date on the beef—"

"not beef," you interjected, your smile strained but polite. "it's all in good companionship."

he ignored you, his eyes fixed on sukuna. you wondered if your intervention had been a waste of breath. you’d seen enough of their practice runs to know the intense rivalry was more than just “companionship.”

"keeping up to date on the beef," he repeated, "do you have any words for him?"

"i'm not a pussy. he's here, ain't he? i'll tell him to his face."

your eyes widened. the reporter, sensing blood in the water, pressed on. "well, tell the viewers, too. don't want to leave them in the dark, right?"

sukuna paused, his lips parting. you quickly grabbed his arm, pulling him aside. "thank you, but that's all he'll be answering for now."

you dragged him to a relatively quiet alcove, your eyes narrowed. "hey, by any chance, do you remember the conversation we had, what? ten minutes ago? about behaving?"

"sure, and i said i would, if you made me. so, why don't you save us the time, and we get—" he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"sukuna," you said, your voice eerily calm, "this is a thirty-story building with a roof. do not test me, because i will throw you off the top."

"ooh, don't tease. you know i like them feisty."

"sukuna."

he huffed, a petulant whine escaping him. "fine."

"i need a drink," you muttered, rubbing your temples. "if i leave you alone for five seconds, will you get into a bar fight?"

he shrugged. "depends."

you were exasperated. "on what?"

again, he shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips.

"stay. or. else." you pointed a finger at him, the threat clear.

"keep talkin' dirty."

you made a face. "ew." crossing your fingers, you left him behind, heading towards the nearest bar setup. anything, really, to calm your frayed nerves.

gojo and sukuna in the same room together was a recipe for disaster. all you had to do was make it through one night, and then you'd be good.

well, until the next public relations event. but, you'd jump off that bridge when you got there.

maybe, you needed a hobby. no, that was wishful thinking. as if you had time for one. your entire world revolved around the red bull team, and keeping them in check.

you pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to will the migraine away. you didn't need kids, not really.

not when you had sukuna, that toddler in a finely tailored suit.

you practically flagged down a waiter, eagerly grabbing a sparkling water off their tray. your phone buzzed in your purse, and you assumed it was your boss, checking in on the chaos.

drink in one hand, you reached for your device, but—

thud.

your phone went flying, and your drink hit the polished floor, splashing the person in front of you.

your face heated up, and you were quick to respond. so much for sukuna being the only problem. "oh, my god, i'm so sorry! i really wasn't watching where—"

getting up from picking up your phone, they said, "aw, don't fret, babe."

your embarrassment morphed into annoyance. it was a voice you didn't have to look up to recognize.

you took a half-step back, grabbing tissues from a passing waitress. "gojo," you greeted, dryly. "my apologies."

he pouted, flashing his oh-so-charming signature grin. charming to everyone but you. "hey, now, where'd all the groveling go?"

you pressed the napkin to the damp spot on his custom tuxedo. the cold liquid seeped through his expensive fabric, a dark stain spreading across the pristine white.

you rolled your eyes at him, too agitated to be sincere. "sorry about the mess."

"you don't seem too sorry. ah, well, maybe you'd rather show than tell?" he asked, teasing.

you inhaled sharply. "not here!"

"not here? how about a nice hotel?"

one thing about both gojo and sukuna? they loved testing your patience.

"quit that! somebody might hear us."

"you never worry about that when—"

you cleared your throat, loudly, as a couple passed by. "stop acting like we're a thing. it was once. and, i don't even remember it."

you'd yet to decide whether that was a good thing or not, actually. that was the black-out part of black-out drunk. maybe not having those memories ingrained into your brain did you some good.

"well, if you ever want to relive it…" he trailed off, smiling.

"why would i ever want to?"

he laughed, boisterous. "alright, babe. your call. literally." gojo handed you your phone, and you squinted at the screen, which had his number added as a new contact.

"how—?"

"you dropped it unlocked. lucky me," he sing-songed, and you snatched it back, turning on your heel.

you only got a couple of steps forward, lowering your voice as you called back, "if i had any sanity, you know i'd delete it."

sukuna caught up with you after a few minutes, and you sighed, looking over at him. "you good?" he asked.

"never better," you exhaled, clicking your tongue.

your phone buzzed with a new notification, and you made sure you weren't obstructing anyone's path as you checked it.

well, i'm pretty good at driving you crazy.

series taglist (11/50): @jeonwiixard, @paradisestarfishh, @seizecherry, @shinycrybaby, @n1vi, @gojosoups, @poopooindamouf, @susususukanana, @sukubusss, @beereadzzz, @mia-can-yap-too. ask/comment to be added!