#DOORDASH IS SENDING ME

[crimeronan]

i need 11 weighted blankets. save me 11 weighted blankets

[lapiscallout]

More crumbs coming ur way

[fetishizeyourself]

i have covid again guys ))):

[boghags]

Briefly forgot Jason Isaacs also played Captain Hook (no idea how that slipped my mind) and now I CANNOT stop thinking about Gortash with the Hook hair. That's it that's the post

[shutupdevvie]

i want. a chicken sandwich. so mf bad rn.

[duskythesomething]

pretty sure my lil hermie has passed.. I wish I knew what had happened to him to prevent it in the future, but I did everything I could.

[poisonouspastels]

anons are really out here tonight huh

[mlssworld]

OKAY OKAY ! I am more settled irl, kinda, so I'm gonna work on drafts that I owe over the next few days! Thank you for your patience everyone...

[hallaburger]

i'm so fucking hungry rn i need an adult to pick me up and take me to wawa and get me a treat

[radgeorgie]

I know I should care more about my customers at my business..... but the desire to complete drop it all and get an office job is overwhelming

[sosasturns]

doordashin - c. sturniolo

the last thing you’d ever expected was to hook up with your goddamn doordasher. it’s not like it came with the service—but somehow, here you were, throwing it back for the guy who delivered your eight-piece wing combo from wingstop. fucking ironic.

it all started when you ordered late-night food, craving something quick and satisfying. your dasher chris had texted you a few minutes earlier to confirm he was on his way.

dasher: on the elevator.

but the picture that came through was definitely not of your food. instead, your screen lit up with a low-angled selfie of him holding his much-hardened dick in his hand. your eyes widened as you registered what you were seeing—his phone angled to show off every inch of him. what the fuck?

dasher: oh shit lmao dasher: my fault.

and with that he sent another pic, this time one of him in the elevator on the way up to your condo with your food order. you blinked, half in shock and half in disbelief. what the hell just happened? the confidence to even send a picture like that by accident was…something.

dasher: omw up now. you: alr you: u can drop both off

he replied almost immediately.

dasher: ???

you smirked to yourself, fingers typing faster than your brain could second-guess.

you: my food and that dick.

the reply came after a beat.

dasher: yeah right.

but the way his words carried a smirk…you had a feeling this wasn’t over. when you opened the door moments later, your suspicion was confirmed. chris was tall, lanky but strong, with piercing blue eyes and a mischievous grin. his shaggy hair framed his face in a way that made him look both boyish and stupidly hot. he handed over your food, but the tension in the air was almost suffocating.

“about that tip,” you teased, stepping aside and letting the door hang open a little longer than necessary.

he tilted his head, an eyebrow raised. “yeah?”

you placed your food down on the counter, leaning against it. “you’re cute,” you admitted, trying to play it cool. “and that pic…well, it’s a bold move.”

“accidental bold move,” he corrected, though he wasn’t exactly looking embarrassed anymore. “still, gotta admit, it worked out pretty well for me, honey.”

“maybe,” you said, eyeing him up and down. “guess you’ll find out.”

one thing led to another. fast forward ten minutes, and your moans filled the air, muffled slightly as your face pressed into the couch’s throw pillows. hands gripping the armrests, you choked out a string of stammered praises as chris’s hips snapped against yours. his right hand was firm on the small of your back, guiding your body to meet his rhythm. his other hand gripped your hip with a force that left no question about how much he was enjoying this.

“y'feel so good,” he muttered, his voice rough and low. “so fuckin' good.”

his words sent a thrill straight to your core, and you arched your back further, pushing against him. “don’t stop,” you gasped, your breath hitching as his pace quickened. his movements were almost feral now, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the room.

his fingers slid down your spine before tangling in your hair, tugging just enough to make you whimper. “god,” he murmured, his tone thick with amusement and desire. “lovin' this dick, hm?”

“fuck yes,” you moaned, your thighs trembling as the pleasure built higher and higher. every thrust was perfectly angled, sending jolts of electricity through your body. you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your breathing erratic as his grip tightened.

he leaned down, his chest brushing against your back as his lips ghosted over your ear. “makin' me work for that tip, huh?” he teased, his voice dripping with cocky amusement.

“shut up,” you managed to stammer, though the laugh that escaped you was laced with a breathless moan. your body betrayed you as you clenched around him, dragging another groan from his lips.

“holy shit,” he groaned, his pace relentless. “i'm gonna come.”

“me too,” you managed to choke out, your voice breaking as a wave of ecstasy crashed over you. your body shook as the orgasm tore through you, leaving you breathless and quivering beneath him. the way he moaned your name as he followed you over the edge sent another shiver down your spine, the intensity of it leaving you both spent.

he pulled out with a sharp exhale, collapsing onto the couch beside you for a moment. his hand lazily brushed over your lower back before he stood, reaching for a tissue to clean himself up.

he glanced at you, sprawled out and trying to catch your breath, with a crooked grin. “so,” he said, tugging his jeans back up. “you tippin’ me extra, right?”

you rolled your eyes as you moved to sit up. “hell no.”

he laughed, “worth a shot,” he said, his smirk as cocky as ever. as he opened the door to leave, he threw you one last cocky grin over his shoulder. “don't miss me too much, baby.”

and just like that, he was gone, leaving you with your food, a sore body, and the memory of one hell of a delivery.

© sosasturns

[snoopyhughes]

to be loved is to be known: Quinn hughes

hello and welcome to the first installment of my "to be loved is to be known" series! you can find all posts related to this series in the series tag! Quinn screams acts of service, domestic moments, quiet moments, really just the little things about love that make it so special, so I thought it would be perfect to start this off with Quinn. feedback is always lovely and if you would like to see me write one of these about someone else, feel free to send it in, although I can't guarantee I will write for them.

just about 1k words, no physical features mentioned of reader.

to be loved is to be known...

Quinn, who starts every morning with his routine that he created just for the two of you. He always rises before you, laying a soft kiss on your forehead and tucking the blankets up to your shoulders. He always leaves a sweatshirt on the chair in your bedroom for you to slip into, right next to your slippers, because he knows you want to be cozy when you first wake. He has a sixth sense for when you've woken up, and no matter when you descend down the stairs into the kitchen, Quinn has a cup of coffee, prepared exactly how you like it, seemingly made just moments ago. He will always prepare a small breakfast for you as well, because it is most important to Quinn that you get three meals a day. speaking of that...

to be loved is to be known...

Your health and safety is Quinn's number one priority. If you don't eat three meals a day, Quinn knows, it's like a sixth sense. He always tries to face time you during at least one meal a day so he can have the reassurance that you're well taken care of. If you have a tough day, just know to expect a DoorDash of your favorite restaurant at yours and Quinn's apartment when he's out of town.

And safety is just as important to Quinn. The sidewalk rule is more of a law to Quinn. His card is saved in your Uber account because you will not be walking anywhere on his watch. Quinn watches like a hawk whenever you two go out together. There's no such thing as jealousy because Quinn knows you're his forever, and he also trusts you more than anything. But he understands how special you are better than anyone. Any wandering eyes or hopeful suitors approaching you are quickly turned away when Quinn lays eyes on them.

Quinn's gruff exterior lets people know that he does not mess around when it comes to you. The team knows better than to ever try to poke fun or make any semblance of a joke about you, because he does not joke about the love of his life.

to be loved is to be known...

speaking of the Uber account... you would pay for nothing if Quinn had his way. Quinn is a caretaker, it is his natural state due to being the oldest. He knows how hard you work, he admires your dedication and your resilience almost more than anything about you. But he can't help it. Quinn loves you, truly so much. He would buy you the world if he could. It's not even about material things or buying out the store, he just wants you to feel loved, he thinks you should never want for anything. Want is one thing, but Quinn would just topple over if you ever struggled for money. Quinn knows why you work so hard, he thinks you are the best but he knows his salary isn't common in the real world. Quinn would actually combust if you ever struggled financially, especially on his watch. He's not naive to think that people don't struggle financially, but he never wants that for you, especially on his watch.

to be loved is to be known...

It's no secret that Quinn isn't a man of many words. He wishes that he could tell you how much he loves you, how much you mean to him, but he struggles to convey that verbally, hence, the acts of service. This is part of why Quinn tries to get you whatever you want. However, you've had a conversation that Quinn doesn't need to buy you anything, you know how much he loves you, you see it everyday in the little things.

to be loved is to be known...

Some of the little things include... post it notes around the house, telling you he loves you, that you're beautiful, how much he appreciates you, that you work so hard, he's proud of you, whatever he can think of, you name it.

Flowers, every Monday, no matter what. If he's home, he works with the local florist to create a custom bouquet for you each week, complete with the sweetest note you could ever think of, always wrapped in brown paper because you mentioned once that you liked the way they look. When he's away, you get a delivery to work at 11 am everyday, because don't think he also doesn't have a flower delivery service on speed dial.

Songs that make him think of you. He sends you songs frequently, usually just with the message of: this made me think of you. Sometimes, he will send you a lyric that made me think of you. When you met the captain of the Vancouver Canucks, you couldn't have imagined him sending you Noah Kahan lyrics that remind him of your beauty, your smile, your laugh, but Quinn really stumps you everyday.

Chores around the house are always done. Quinn is a busy guy, but he doesn't assume he's the only one who's busy. When you come home from a long day at work, you can often find Quinn folding laundry on the couch, the smell of cleaning products in the air, with dinner simmering on the stove. He knows well that a bad day can feel even worse when you come home to a dirty apartment, an uncooked meal, or heaps of dirty laundry. If he can do anything to make your life easier, he's doing it.

All in all... if acts of service is your love language, trust that Quinn is the one for you. Quinn lives to make your day easier, to make you feel loved through actions, not words. A man of few words, he would match rather show you how much he loves you by filling your gas tank, cleaning the sheets and making the bed, cleaning up your side of the vanity when he does his own, filling the pantry when he notices your favorites are low, anything he can do to make your life easier, to make you happy, is non-negotiable for Quinn.

[essiemclaren]

mixed-up order

part viii

pairing: lando norris x reader

In which two neighbors, Lando and Y/N, find their lives entwined by a DoorDash mix-up.

your tweets

instagram

lando's text with max f.

part ix

--

a/n: reader is sooo me ALSO two post again?! 🤩 been reading the comments, and it made my day so much! very happy that you guys are also happy when reading muo!! wasnt really expecting that it would reach out to many audiences, because it is my first time ever doing this. so thank you for engaging my post, im sending everyone a big hug!!!!! thank you so so much 🫶

if i forgot to tagged some of you, please inform me, so that i could include you guys! also let me know if you want to be tagged to this series 🛂

much love,

es

tags: @ririyulife @evesfile @xlinxdax0704 @lilyevanswhore @entr4p3 @insanedeathwish @xjval @a-beaverhausen @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @harrysdimple05 @yllomhej @cherry-piee @minkyungseo @annie115 @jamieeboulos @urfavsgf @a-disturbing-self-reflection @writingworlds @ems-alexandra @chezmardybum @stinkyjax @barcelonaloverf1life @littlexscarletxwitch @goldenharrysworld @lexiecamposv @faeriepigeons @dessxoxsworld @sp1rl @telengraph @colmathgames2 @honethatty12 @snapeeballsack @lichterfee @lightdragonrayne @sinfully-yoursss @i2innie @mattymybeloved @purplephantomwolf @val-writes @namgification

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Lessons in Love.

Bucky didn't believe in love at first sight. Then he met you.

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings - None

Word Count - 3615

Author's Note - hello gorgeous people, hope you're all doing well. writing this has made my heart so full, and I hope it makes you feel the same. requests are always open and more than encouraged!! currently working on a stunning jake seresin request that's just so lovely. i'm SO open to more jake requests, but also any marvel, top gun maverick, criminal minds, narcos and any others you have in mind!! just send them over, and I'll see what I can do. as always, so much love x

Masterlist. Requests.

“No way. How is that even possible?”

You look at the bewildered man in front of you and can’t help but smile.

“It’ll play anything you want it to. Anything in the world. Just ask it!” you encourage, beaming grin still plastered on your face.

“Alexa,” he says tentatively, “play Marvin Gaye.”

The first notes of Trouble Man begin to sound through your apartment, and his eyes light up. He’s looking at you like you’ve discovered something completely revolutionary.

You laugh – a real, genuine, delighted sound that flows through Bucky like a beam of light, illuminates his bones, makes his heart beat that little bit faster.

Grabbing your notebook, you delicately place a check next to Number 26 – voice-controlled devices. Number 27 is air fryers. Number 28 is Bluetooth. Number 29 is kindles and e-readers. Number 30 is Doordash. You’ve already checked off Spotify, and ATMs, and Google, and online banking, amongst many others. A list of things to better integrate Bucky into the 21st Century. A list of things to make him feel less like a man out of time. A list of things that allow you to spend all the time with him that you can.

A warm hand on your left hip and a cold one on your right pull you back into reality.

“Dance with me.” he murmurs. “Let me teach you something, for once.”

Before you can process his words, he’s gliding across the kitchen with you in his arms. Trouble Man isn’t playing anymore, instead replaced with something slower, richer. Bucky hasn’t taken his eyes off you, not even for a second. He’s watching your every move, every expression, every twitch of your lips. Reading you like a book.

You bring your hands to rest around his neck, and he relaxes into you. He’s leading, swaying you gently, occasionally twirling you like a ballerina in a music box. Perfectly effortless. He’s good at this.

The sun is setting, casting a warm orange hue across the kitchen. The light is reflecting onto your hair, making you glow, giving you a halo. Angelic, he thinks. My guardian angel.

You close the space between your bodies, wrapping your arms around his middle. Resting your head on his chest, he prays you can’t hear how his heart is working overtime. You shut your eyes, and breathe him in. He smells faintly like the Bakery, like sugar and coffee and cinnamon. The place that started it all.

　            ⋆ 　　 .  ✵　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 

When Bucky first moved into his apartment, he’d noticed the Bakery down the street immediately. The smell of cake and coffee drifted out of the lilac colored door, enticing him in. He resisted the urge, and told himself that he’d go inside tomorrow.

The next day, he stood outside of the red brick building, and read the menu on the noticeboard carefully. Then he reread it. And then read it again. Since when was coffee so complicated? And don’t even get him started on cake. He swore there was only a few types back in the forties. Now, there was at least fifty different kinds on this menu alone. He was overwhelmed. He thought he’d be able to walk into this Bakery, get some coffee, maybe something sweet, and leave content. Instead, he's stood on the sidewalk on the verge of a panic attack. Tomorrow, he thinks to himself. I’ll go in tomorrow.

Tomorrow never comes. Every day, he takes a walk, and purposely passes the building that he longs to go into. But somehow, he can never find the courage. He knows he’ll just look like an idiot if he walks in. He’ll look lost, and out of place, and everyone will laugh and mutter. Look, they’ll jeer, The Winter Soldier can’t even order a coffee.

And so, he spares himself the pain. Lets his feet carry him past, only slowing down slightly when he passes the lilac door. Every day for three months, he takes the same route. Willing himself to go in, to find the courage. It’s just coffee, he tells himself. Get a grip.

Until, one day, you decided to change his life, unknowingly. Or maybe knowingly. He’s still not sure.

He takes his usual path, and just as he gets to the lilac door – you’re there. Stood, waiting, soft smile on your face. Bucky panics, and wills his feet to move faster, to take him away from this inevitably awkward situation. You stop him before he can make a run for it.

“Hi.”

Oh. You’re talking to him. You’re staring into his soul with no judgment, or fear, or trepidation. You’re staring into his soul with gentleness. Kindness. Friendship. He’s terrified.

“Uh – hi.” He rubs the back of his neck. Nervous habit.

“So, uh, I hope this isn’t weird, or anything. But, I’ve been watching you walk past every day for like three months, and, well…” you trail off. Now you look nervous. “Actually, I haven’t really thought this far ahead. I just see you, and I wanted to… invite you in, I guess? Not that you need an invite, of course not, we’re open to everyone, but… you always look like you’re going to come in, and then you never do. And I’ve been telling myself for months that I should properly invite you in, but now I’m realising this is, uh, really weird. And I’m sorry.”

You still have that gentle smile on your face, but it’s more tentative now. A dusting of pink is making its way onto your cheeks, and Bucky thinks it might be his new favourite color.

It’s now that he really starts to take you in. Your hair is blowing slightly in the breeze, and the sleeves of your sweater are pulled down over your wrists, to try and keep the New York chill at bay. You have bright, inquisitive eyes – eyes that contain hope, love, laughter. You make him feel almost peaceful. No one makes him feel like that. Damn.

You’ve stepped closer to him now, to get out of the way of the customers making their way through the door. You smell like sugar, and coffee, and optimism. He wants to breathe you in, let you settle in his lungs. A comfortable warmth spreads through his chest.

He decides to take a gamble and bear his truth to you. He’s not sure why, but he trusts you. He doesn’t trust anyone, these days. But he trusts you.

“Can I be honest with you?”, he asks, looking at you expectantly. You’re almost expecting him to laugh in your face at the absurdity of it all. You nod anyway, signalling for him to continue.

“I’ve been trying to work up the courage to come in. But every time I try, I just, uh-” he stutters, and you can tell that his mind is screaming at him, sounding alarm bells, begging him to stop with all this sudden vulnerability.

“It’s overwhelming, right?” you ask, cutting him off. Saving him. Guardian angel.

You see the relief in his body at your question. His fists unclench, the tension leaves his shoulders. He smiles bashfully. Half grateful, half embarrassed. You get it.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. You giggle, and he’s convinced that the melodious sound will circle around in his mind forever, like the Earth orbiting the Sun.

You fiddle with the strings of your mint green apron, and look at him. You’re gazing at him so earnestly that he’s worried he might spontaneously combust.

“Are you busy tonight?” you ask suddenly, and he feels so dizzy he’s concerned momentarily that he’s going to pass out.

“Uh, no. I’m not,” he replies, managing to force the words out of his mouth.

“We close at 6, so meet me here at 7.”

You still have that sparkle in your eye. He couldn’t say no to you if he tried.

“Why?” he queries. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t absolutely petrified at the turn the conversation has taken.

“I want to show you around. Maybe make you a coffee, introduce you to some of my favourite things. You won’t believe how good my raspberry and white chocolate cookies are. They’re best sellers for a reason,” you beam at him.

Beaming. He wonders how he’s lived his whole life without your light illuminating his universe. Anywhere he goes without you is going to feel so dark, he thinks. How did I ever live like this?

He manages to pull himself together to smile back at you. His first genuine grin in God knows how long. He’s forgotten what joy feels like, and he’s almost drunk on it now.

He agrees to your plan, and you turn on your heel, about to make your way back inside.

“Wait!” he yells, louder than intended. “What’s your name?”

Your lips turn up into a smirk, mischief seeping out of your pores.

“Come back at 7 and find out.” You wink at him, and he has to take a few deep breaths in order to stay conscious. With that, you leave him alone on the sidewalk, where he’s silently thanking the universe for dropping you in his lap. Finally, he thinks. The cosmic punishment is over.

He does come back at 7. In fact, he’s stood outside waiting at 6:45. He can see you mopping the floor, singing as you go. His supersoldier hearing allows him to listen to your voice, even from this far away. He’s never been more grateful for the thing he used to call a curse. He’d be cursed every damn day if it meant he got to listen to you like this.

At 6:58, you appear at the lilac door, beckoning him to follow you inside. He knows that stepping over that threshold is going to change him fundamentally. He can’t wait.

Upon entering, he’s hit with the smell of cinnamon, sugar, coffee, and you. A beautiful mix of all three. Without a second thought, he reaches out with his right hand, and gently brushes some flour from your cheekbone.

“Bucky,” he murmurs.

You can’t tear your eyes away from him. Lips slightly parted, chest heaving, it takes you a minute to register that he spoke.

“What?” you ask, dazed by the handsome stranger with the steel blue eyes.

“My name,” he speaks softly. “It’s Bucky.”

You smile knowingly, and take a deep breath. It’s overwhelming, meeting someone that you know is going to be in your life forever. You’re both feeling the same, neither of you sure just quite what to do.

You grab his left hand, sighing quietly in relief at the feeling the cool metal against your heated skin. Leading him gently, he lets you guide him through the front of the store, until you stop behind the counter. He’s convinced he’d let you lead him anywhere, as long as he gets to feel your skin, soft and warm, on his. Grounding. Comforting. Easy.

“What kind of milk do you like?” you ask, fingers still intertwined with his.

“There’s more than one kind of milk?”

Bucky looks so disorientated, that you want to kiss the confused expression off his face. You chuckle softly, and the sound bounces off the metal in the room, twinkling around him.

“We have cows’ milk, oat milk, almond milk and soy milk.” You take one look at him, and decide to change course. “Let’s start with something less complex, actually. Any allergies I should know about?”

He shakes his head, mischievous grin beginning to form on his handsome face. There he is, you think. He’s with me.

“I’m going to make you a latte. It’s milky, and not too strong or too sweet. I think you’ll like it.”

She thinks I’ll like it, he muses. And he trusts you - whether it be with his life, or just a cup of coffee.

You reluctantly let go of his hand, and begin to flit around, gathering everything you need. Bucky leans back against the counter and watches carefully. He watches the way you bite your lip when you measure out the milk. He watches the way the steam from the coffee machine blows your hair back from your face gently. He watches the way you’re trying to make everything perfect. He can’t remember the last time someone paid attention to him like this. His mind is telling him to sprint in the opposite direction, to excuse himself and never come back. He’s terrified. But he stays. I deserve this, he thinks. I deserve something good.

You pull him from his thoughts by handing him the mug of warm coffee. He takes it from you carefully, and, without breaking eye contact, takes a sip. He smiles, really smiles. That’s all the validation you needed.

“Let me show you where we bake everything,” you say quietly, as if you’re afraid to burst this bubble of warmth and trust you’ve created. You’re scared he’s going to bolt if you give him the chance. So, you don’t. You take his hand once more, and guide him through to the kitchen.

“Have you done much baking in your life, Bucky?”

No, he thinks. But I will. I’ll bake everyday for the rest of my life if it means you’ll love me. If you’ll make me coffee and smile at me like that.

Instead, he answers cautiously.

“Not really. I’d like to, though.” He adds that last part bashfully. You smile back at him earnestly.

“Well then you’re in the right place,” you wink. He has the overwhelming urge to drop to his knees. To pray at your altar. To worship you like an angel sent down just for him. He’s surprised he’s still stood on two feet.

Before he can even register what’s happening, you’re beginning to create a mixture for your infamous cookies. You direct him to stir, while you add meticulously measured ingredients into the bowl.

“Put those arms to good use,” you’d smirked, and a blush had risen up to his cheeks almost instantly.

You click the radio on, and a soft, jazzy melody begins to drift through the room. You’re humming quietly, gliding around the kitchen, and he decides that this is it for him. You’re it for him. He could watch you do this every day and die a happy man.

Cookies baking in the oven, you jump up to sit on one of the counters. Bucky moves to stand in between your legs, still being careful to keep his distance ever so slightly. He knows if he touches you, he won’t ever want to let go.

“This wasn’t as scary as I thought it was going to be,” he confesses.

“What, me?” you tease.

“No. Coffee. And cookies,” he chuckles.

“Are there lots of things that you haven’t done because you find them scary?” you ask genuinely. You want to know him. All of him. Fears, wants, quirks. All of it.

“Yeah, actually. The world is so different now. I don’t really know where to start. It’s all terrifying, honestly,” he laughs. You laugh with him, but you know there’s truth to his words. You want to wrap your arms around him. He may be 6 foot tall and made of solid muscle and vibranium, but you want to protect him.

“Why don’t we do it together?”

A pause. He’s confused again.

“Do what together?”

“All of it. The learning. I’ll help you. Everything is less scary if you do it with someone else.”

It’s now that he’s convinced he’s dreaming. You can’t be real. Why would you be here, offering him everything, after all that he’s done? He has to remind himself. I deserve this. I deserve something good.

You can sense his trepidation, so you keep talking.

“Why don’t we make a list? You write down the things you want to learn about. I’ll write down other things I think you should know. You’ll be an expert on the 21st Century before long, Buck.”

Buck. The nickname sounds like a gift coming from your lips.

“Okay. Yeah. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

The anxiety is coming off him in waves. He’s panicking. You grab a hold of both of his hands, and place one on each of your legs, just above your knees. He steps in closer, and takes a breath. You’re warm, and you’re soft, and you’re love personified. He’s okay.

“Of course I don’t mind. I’m excited!” you assure him. Then, quieter, “It means I get to spend more time with you.”

He aims a beaming, megawatt smile in your direction. He feels as if his nerve endings are alight. You’ve awoken something in him. He’d forgotten what it was like to feel like this. To feel alive.

You reach over and grab your notebook. In it, you simply write his name, followed by a love heart. Then, underneath, you begin to list everything you can think of that you want to teach him. You hand the list to him, and he adds his own requests. Between you, you manage to write 50 different lessons.

“Perfect. We’ll start with number one, and work our way down. Are you busy tomorrow evening?”

He chuckles at your eagerness, but secretly, he can’t wait. He knows he’ll be counting down the hours until he can see you again.

“Nope, I’m not. You are my only priority, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment seeps into your skin, settles in your ribcage. You’re convinced it’ll warm you up from the inside out. If he keeps calling you sweetheart in that Brooklyn drawl of his, you’ll never be cold again.

　            ⋆ 　　 .  ✵　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 　 ⋆ 　　 .  ✵ 

You’re not sure if you’ve been swaying in your kitchen with Bucky to Marvin Gaye for 2 minutes or 2 hours. You’re comfortably settled into him, as if the space in his arms was made especially for you. Maybe it was.

Bucky’s voice breaks through the solitude.

“You know, I’ve created my own list,” he murmurs against the top of your hair, where he’s resting his head.

You pull back, still in his arms, to look at him carefully.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Read it, and tell me what you think.”

He untangles himself from you and crosses the room, to retrieve his leather-bound notebook. He returns, and places it carefully in your awaiting hands.

You flick open the cover to reveal the first page. You recognise his handwriting instantly. It’s spiralling, and imperfect, but so Bucky. At the top of the page, you spot the title – your name, with a love heart next to it. Exactly the same as you’d done for him when you’d originally created your list together.

Underneath your name, only one thing is written.

I love you.

You look up at him, to see him watching you, holding his breath. Neither of you know what to say. You know what you want to say. You want to tell him that you hope the list never ends, so you always have an excuse to spend time with him. You want to tell him that you watched him walk past the door of the Bakery every day for 3 months because you thought he was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. You want to tell him that every time he looks at you, you feel as if you’re going to pass out. You want to tell him that you can recognise him anywhere, by touch or smell alone. Instead, you say,

“You do?”

That genuine, million dollar smile is back, etched on his face. He’s glowing, light radiating from his bones.

“Yes. I do. I think I’ve loved you ever since I saw you waiting for me on the doorstep of the Bakery that day.”

You think you might be floating. Levitating above ground, fuelled by love. You laugh.

“That’s the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

He laughs with you, then. You could get drunk off the sound.

“I didn’t think love at first sight was a real thing. I thought I was going crazy,” he confesses.

He’s convinced that the two of you have discovered something, invented it even. Because he doesn’t understand. If love feels like this, so all encompassing, so consuming – how does anyone live? Every moment of every day, Bucky thinks of you. How does anyone go to work? How does anyone ever feel sad, or angry, when love like this exists?

You drop the notebook and cross the room to him. He closes the gap, and throws his arms around you, spinning you in circles, laughing with joy. He sets you back on your feet, and tilts your chin up, so you’re looking into his steel blue eyes. You could drown in the ocean of his irises if he let you.

He leans down, and presses his lips to yours. He’s giving you all of the love, the joy, the laughter – everything good that he has ever felt, because of you – through his kiss. Your knees go weak, and he holds you up by your waist, his strong arms encircling your frame. He tastes like coffee, and sugar, and promises. You’ll never want to taste anything else.

Eventually, you break away for air. You gaze up at him, and he sees sunshine in your eyes. He’s not sure what he did to earn a love like this. You seem to sense his doubts creeping in, because you say, in the most assured voice he’s ever heard –

“No one has ever loved anyone as much as I love you.”

I deserve this, he thinks. I deserve something good.

[fairytsuk1]

Alex missing you sm when you’re not with him

alex who always texts you even if you just spent the entire night before catching up. who texts you goodnight and good morning messages every single day because he can’t stand the fact he’s not able to do it in person.

[alexis]: good morning beautiful 🙇

[alexis]: Are you sleeping still

[alexis]: i miss you more than anything

alex who has to call you before bed almost every night because he claims he can’t fall asleep without hearing your voice. he’s buried in the sheets with eyelids that lower more and more by the second, yet his hand has a firm grip on the phone as he calls you.

“you’re laughing. I’m so tired and can’t fall asleep, and you’re laughing!”

“alex, just close your eyes and sleep. i’ll be here tomorrow.”

“all i see is you when i close my eyes. how am i supposed to sleep like that??”

alex who sends you doordashes and gifts because, “if you won’t treat yourself, who will?” who sends you flowers with a card attached proclaiming his love for you. he knows your orders, how you like your morning coffee and WILL deliver it every time

[alexis]: you get the food?

[you]: yep!!! thank you again i love you

[alexis]: i love you more

[alexis]: now send me that chinese food pic plz 😍

[seeingivy]

core memories

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friends (older brother) fic

previous part linked here

--

sukuna feels like he’s peeled off a layer of skin after that night. it all culminated into this thing for him - that raw tenderness associated with a deeply painful childhood memory, the warmth of a date in your hometown, and the fact that you crawled into the bath with him, just to hold him close. 

that you let down your own wall just because you were so eager to crawl into his. 

it’s why he feels like he’s irrevocably given some part of himself to you. at least that’s what he thinks anyways. 

and it only works – it only feels like something he desperately won’t be able to ever get back – and more importantly, wants you to keep, because the same thing happens to you (or at least he hopes it does) two weeks down the line. 

it starts out simple. 

you accidentally bleed onto his sheets during the night. 

sukuna wakes up to your side of the bed empty, and more alarmingly, the red splotch on his pristine white sheets, when he’s reminded of the memory. he can barely register it because your presence demands his attention immediately after and his throat feels like chalk.  

“hey, sukuna. can i ask for a weird favor?” you ask, peeking your head out of the doorway. 

sukuna pinches his lips together. 

“sure, angel. what’s up?” 

“can you run to the store and grab me some pads please? i didn’t realize it was already friday and that my period was going to start.” 

sukuna stands up, closing the distance before you, before he leans down to press a warm kiss to your forehead. 

“sure. what size is your pussy?” sukuna asks. 

you roll your eyes. 

“you’re hilarious. you should quit your job and start stand-up comedy.” 

“can’t exactly keep up with your expensive needs if i do that, now can i?” sukuna states, giving you a cheeky smile as you shut the door straight onto his face. 

“pads are ten dollars, sukuna.”

“i’m talking about how you linked my credit card to your doordash account and thought i wouldn’t notice.” sukuna deadpans. 

you give him a peachy smile, as you reach forward to poke his cheek. 

“have i ever told you that you’re the best boyfriend ever?” 

“nope.” 

“keep dreaming about it! i don’t plan to.” you state, giving him a wink as he all but glares at you. 

when you shut the door, sukuna’s quick to collect the sheets and throw them in the wash before his brisk walk out to the store. and he tries to figure it out – to find how exactly to make you feel the way he did that night. 

the memory’s replaying in his mind, with overwhelming detail, when he walks over there, and it sinks deeper into his chest the more detail he remembers.

of the day your dad left, when you came running over to him with blood running down your legs. 

--

you’re only reminded of the memory when sukuna comes back, with the box of pads with a heart-shaped chocolate placed on top. eerily enough, he’s nowhere to be found when you leave the shower, your skin still warm from the water as you look around. 

you unwrap the little pink foil as you pace around the flat for him, feet cold on the concrete, until you find him in the bedroom, pulling the sheets over the mattress. 

or at least attempting to. 

“want some help?” you ask. 

“i don’t need your chocolate covered hands on the clean sheets.” sukuna states, eyeing you.

“come lick it off my fingers if it’s bothering you so much.” you complain, setting the little foil on the nightstand. 

"don't tempt me."

you reach for the closest corner, pinning it down and tucking it under the mattress, as sukuna sends you a grateful smile, before throwing the other half of the blanket over to you. 

“i washed these yesterday, sukuna.” you mention. 

“yeah. um-” 

you look up at him, hands nearly trembling and the loud smacking of his phone falling out of his pocket as you walk over to his side, securing it from the floor.

it’s almost frightening – watching someone so collected fumble with their words. you figure this is how sukuna would feel if you were ever able to keep it together. 

“you okay, butter fingers?” you ask. 

“yeah. yeah, i’m fine. thanks, pretty girl.” he states. 

you hand him the phone, eyeing his shoddy work. 

“you barely even tucked the sheets in properly.” you complain, pushing him to the side, before reaching back for the blanket and smoothing it perfectly against the sheets. 

and before he can get away, you quickly reach for his wrists and pull him back. and you’re quick to nestle into his arms, digging your cheek into his shoulder as the smell of his cologne nearly obliterates your nostrils. 

“what’s wrong, baby?” you ask. 

there it is again. sukuna wants to strangle you. 

“stop fucking doing that.” he murmurs. 

“doing what?”

“y/n.” he warns. 

you pull back, bring your palms to his cheeks before squishing his face together. you can tell that he’s annoyed – and you’re entirely amused by it – as he tries to muster a sentence together through his squished lips. 

“am i supposed to read your mind, you big baby?” you coo. 

“i don’t like it when you say that.” sukuna states. 

you pause. 

“oh. i’m sorry. i just figured you were a big…pet names guy. you barely even call me by my name. but don’t worry, i-” 

“no.” 

“oh?” you ask, giving him your best smirk. 

you’re not sure how well it works when you do it. the teasing, bantering type thing when you’re trying to get him to loosen up. it had worked well enough in your favor the past few times – and you figured you’re almost…goofy charm was part of why sukuna liked you in the first place – so you’d try to use it when you could. 

“i don’t like it when you call me a big fucking baby. i'm not a fan of patronizing nicknames.” sukuna states. 

you smile. 

“but? it feels like there’s more to that statement.” 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“but. i like it when you call me that otherwise.” 

you tilt your head to the side. 

“okay, baby. but seriously, what’s wrong with you? you really only act like this when somethings up.” you state. 

it gets harder to hide things from you as time goes on. but that’s part of the risk anyways – of becoming so close you’re nearly intertwined. sukuna sighs, before giving you a firm squeeze at your sides. 

“i changed the sheets again because you leaked on them.” sukuna states. 

you nearly cringe, clenching your jaw. 

“ew, sukuna. oh my god. i’m so sorry, you should have told me so i could have-” 

“that’s nothing to apologize for.” he clarifies. 

“no, really. now you’re all grossed out by me so much that you’re being weird.” 

sukuna finds it irritating. you nearly find the good in everything, except for yourself. 

“i’m not grossed out by it.” he states. 

“i mean…�� 

“it just reminded me. of the last time we…had something like this happen.” sukuna states. 

“the last time? we haven’t even-” 

but that’s when you remember. and the embarrassment that never really registered the first time establishes in full effect. so much so, that you have to change the topic just as fast, duck out the first chance you can get. 

--

sukuna can barely focus the entire workday. all he can think about is that memory in petrifying detail, now coupled with the fact that for the first time, he’s upset you so bad that you basically ran away from him. 

like fully went to class without even taking your backpack. because that’s how badly you didn’t want to talk to him. 

“what’s wrong with you?” 

sukuna looks up from his monitor to find shoko peering over at him from his desk, shifting a lollipop around in her mouth. 

“nothing.” 

“you look like you have a stick up your ass.” she states. 

“it takes one to know one. how’s your little situationship going?” 

shoko rolls her eyes. 

“perfectly fine. how’s your girlfriend?” 

“would it kill you to mind your own fucking business sometimes?” 

shoko smiles, before gesturing for suguru and satoru from the desks over. nanami’s too civilized for these type of things – which is why he’s the only person that’s not on sukuna’s hit list. 

sukuna can nearly feel his nostrils flaring the second satoru starts talking, the overwhelming urge to gouge his eyes out extremely powerful for nine in the morning. 

“trouble in paradise?” satoru asks, a sing-song voice in his tone. 

“something that’s familiar to you, i’m sure.” sukuna murmurs. 

“hey! you don’t have to be a dick.” satoru whines. 

sukuna rolls his eyes, nearly breaking the keys on his keyboard. 

“what happened? she realized she’s too good for you or something?” shoko states. 

“did she get weirded out because she basically used to be like your little sister?” satoru asks. 

“she was never like my little sister. and she’s only two years younger than me.” sukuna clarifies. 

“oh, we know all about that. you’ve always been our little happy camper when it comes to her.” satoru chides, earning him a fit of laughter from the group. 

the closet thing in sukuna’s vicinity is a stapler. luckily for him, satoru doesn’t see it coming at all and it hits him square in the face. that earns him laughter from the group, though it’s cheapened by the whining noises that come out of satoru's mouth afterwards. 

but it’s not fault, because in sukuna’s expert opinion, he was asking for it. 

sukuna’s lucky enough that he’s been able to keep the group of them away from you for a considerable amount of time. because they’ve been holding onto one of his deepest secrets – and if they were given the opportunity – they would take every chance to mortify him and spell it out for you in detail.

when sukuna came back from europe, he figured that any rebellious streak that he had was basically out of his system. though he always had a tendency to be a little bit bold and overconfident, he’d mellowed out. at least by his europe standards anyways. 

and when he met the group of them, they took him out to a bar and asked him a simple question. though it seems rather inappropriate in hindsight, it’s literally due to the copious amounts of alcohol that they all seem to drink – and nurse him into drinking too. 

it’s not his fault he misunderstood the question. 

who is the first person you ever slept with? 

sukuna realized later that the question was who was the first person that he ever had sex with. not the first person that he ever slept next to, that he cuddled with during the night. unfortunately for him, he answered the latter instead of the former – and in his tipsiness – told the group of them all about you before he had even dated you. 

that he was counting his lucky stars when yuuji was so sick to go on the trip and that sammy hates bugs, which meant that he got to be there alone with you and the other campers. the other families – their kids were far too old, meaning that the two of you were nearly stuck together. 

you taught him how to make smores, he taught you how to catch fish – though you were never really able to do it, so he opted to do it for you. and that your camping bag seemed to be misplaced on the last night, so you shyly climbed into his tent and asked if you could stay. 

“sukuna. hey, are you awake?” 

“jesus fucking christ.” 

sukuna watches as your eyes widen and you cower away with an apologetic look on your face, as you put your hands up. 

“sorry! i didn’t realize you were sleeping.” 

“my eyes were closed.” 

“okay, well. i kind of knew you were sleeping. but i need to ask for a favor.” 

“what’s wrong?” 

“i can’t find my camping bag. and my tent is so dinky that it doesn’t have the padding on the bottom, so it’s just the cold, muddy floor.” you murmur.

sukuna fights the urge to smile fully. whatever was responsible for ruining your sleeping bag was getting his full praise the next morning. 

“okay. scoot in.” 

“huh?” 

“well, i’m not going to let you sleep on the fucking floor without a blanket. and i’m not giving up my own either, because i don't like you that much, so just come here.” 

you wince. 

“really? is that not weird?” 

“i’ve known you since you were a fucking toddler, basically. i’ve watched you cry more times than i can count, seen you burp more than yuuji, and i’m convinced you farted in front of me one time.” 

the agitation in your face is almost funny.

“are you stupid, sukuna? i don’t fart.” 

“that’s biologically impossible.” 

“no, it’s not. you probably heard yuuji and thought it was me.” you state. 

“for the record, you most definitely did. just don’t fart on me in the night and we’ll be fine.” sukuna states. 

you roll your eyes as you discard your little camping pants, unaware of the way sukuna’s heart has just constricted in his chest.

maybe he would have taken the floor if he knew you were planning on sleeping in butterfly printed shorts. 

“well, now i’m going to wait and aim my fart right at you when it happens.” you respond, as you tuck yourself into the bag, pressed right up against him in the cold. 

"I thought you didn't fart."

"i'll adapt just to attack you with it."

his arm finds it’s way around you, the space so constricted that you almost had to intertwine to be any semblance of comfort. and it’s in the dim light of the little lantern that you find yourself face to face with sukuna, for what feels like the first time ever. 

his nose is nearly brushing against yours, the minty smell from his toothpaste nearly overwhelming. 

“sukuna?” 

“yeah?” he whispers. 

“thank you.” 

sukuna hopes that your head resting against his pounding chest doesn’t keep you up all night. 

“earth to fucking sukuna.” satoru states, shaking his hand in front of his eyes. 

he has a death wish. suguru must know that all too well, because he’s shooing shoko and satoru’s nosiness away, before he pulls up into the chair next to him. 

“alright. what happened?” suguru asks. 

“i just…brought up something from when we were kids by accident. about the day her dad left. and-and she was so shocked that she basically fucking ran out the door, to class, without taking her backpack because i upset her that badly.” sukuna grates. 

suguru’s mouth pinches into a line, before he leans his chin against the backs of his hands. 

“didn’t you say that she was really hard to read?” he asks. 

“sometimes.” 

“think you just caught her off guard. especially if she wasn’t thinking about it before. i think you should just send her a text to tell her to spend the night and that you can either talk about it or never bring it up again. you should let her make the call.” suguru states. 

“you don’t think i should….fucking leave her alone or something? she probably hates me for all i know.” 

“i don’t think you’re giving her enough credit. you’re her boyfriend. maybe she wants to talk about it now. especially if you were there – and now she’s reminded of it.” 

sukuna ponders the thought as suguru gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up, before he starts yanking on shoko and satoru’s ears in the periphery. 

he decides to jump. 

dear diamond of the season,  i’m sorry about this morning. i just brought it up on a whim and we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. but also if you feel the need to let it out, my time is always yours anyways.  (please come home tonight or i will never recover emotionally)  (i am kidding. you’re free to take time to yourself if you need it. but also i’ve become too used to sleeping with you next to me and i will shave my head if you don’t come back.)  (am also curious how you are faring in class without a pencil, a notebook, or a laptop. you push the limits everyday, baby.) groveling on my hands and knees,  sukuna 

the response is fast. 

dear gentle reader, so much to unpack in one email. WHEN DID YOU WATCH BRIDGERTON?  (if you watched it for the period piece porn and not the romance, immediate breakup)  caught me a little bit off guard, but not in the bad way. kinda got stuck in my head about it all so…would be kind of nice to talk about it i guess? idk. i’ll see how i feel.  (and yes, i’m coming home, silly. i can’t stay away from my alpha wolf (insert barking sounds) for so long :D)  (shave your head and i will never fucking recover. i won’t talk to you till it grows back.) (i took notes on a napkin. not one of my finest moments, but i think it’s a testament to the versatility of women.)  just pooped in library bathroom,  y/n 

--

you come home to find sukuna at the stove and immediately press yourself flush to his skin. looping your arms around his torso, pressing your cheek to his bare skin – one of the few moments you can appreciate that he never really wears a shirt – as you sigh. 

“hi stinky.” you coo.

“absolutely not.” 

“boo. it’s romantic!” you whine. 

sukuna turns around, before cupping his fingers around your chin and tilting your face up. there’s a tired smile on your face – barely any makeup and your glasses instead of your contacts – that has him reeling. 

“how was your day, stinky?” he asks.

“the first day’s always the worst. feel like i have no energy.” you respond, leaning your head against his chest. 

“luckily for you, we’re having breakfast for dinner. and i have pain killers if it gets bad.” 

you smile.

“i’m starting to think you only know one fact about me and it’s that i like french toast.” 

“har har har. you’re hilarious, y/n!” he deadpans, flicking your forehead. 

he shoos you away, gesturing for you to go change, as he starts plating the food. and when you come back, the two of you cuddle under the blanket on the couch, with your plates warm in your hands. 

you look at the screen and promptly skip the scene. 

“hey.”

“why can’t we watch season two of bridgerton?” you ask. 

“because we’re watching it from the start together.” 

“there’s just so much…porn. and enemies to lovers is better than fake dating.”

“sweetheart. you’re like missing half of the plot when you skip those scenes.” 

“we’ve watched it before! i’m going to kill you.” 

sukuna rolls his eyes, before reaching for the remote and switching to the second season. and well into the third episode – dirty plates stacked on top of each other on the ottoman – sukuna’s fingers running through your hair beckon you to talk. 

“sukuna.” 

“hm, baby?” 

“do you ever think about how knowing each other before has like….impacted our relationship?” you ask. 

he looks down at you, concentration from the screen broken. 

“sometimes. what are you thinking about?” 

sukuna reaches forward, pushing your glasses back to the bridge of your nose. 

“when you date other people, you kind of have to explain everything to them. shitty dads, complicated sisters…i feel like we skipped that part. but it’s also more complicated, because you have your own opinions on everything that happened because you were there too.” you murmur. 

“works in our favor too. i could never be as close to someone as i am to you. they’d never understand the depth of anything i told them, not like you would because you were actually there.” 

you nod. 

“that’s true. there’s nothing like understanding that my dad has hurt me than being the one who had to pick me up after that…” 

sukuna leans his head against the top of yours, your eyes lazily fixed on the screen, but not focusing. 

“can you tell me what you remember from that day?” you ask. 

sukuna hums in response. he’s not sure where that block in his throat came from and the wavering in his voice almost embarrasses him. 

“we could always hear them fighting. from the kitchen especially, since our windows were always open. and it was particularly loud that day.” sukuna starts. 

you can feel his hold on you tighten, the hand skirting underneath your shirt hard on your skin. 

“my mom and i knew something was wrong when we heard sammy. and then you. you…your voice was so small compared to his that…that it fucking scared me. it reminded me of yuuji…when he fights with our dad. my first thought was to go over there and fight him myself for you.” sukuna states. 

“you just wanted an excuse to fight with adults. especially at that age.” 

sukuna knows the joke is a deflection. your heart is barely in the statement. 

“and then i heard sammy crying and my heart dropped. i’ve…i’ve seen you cry plenty. but sammy’s so put together, tries so hard to be, that when she let it go, i was shocked. my mom kept telling me not to listen, that it was rude, but i was basically sticking my head out the window at that point.” 

you pinch your eyes for what comes next. 

“the doorbell rang and you were there. you…you were crying so hard and there was blood running down your legs. i almost called the police because i thought you were hurt.” 

“to be honest, i thought i was too. i’d never really gotten my period before, and i knew what they were, but i…i was so shocked when he was gone that i barely processed it.” you murmur. 

sukuna squeezes your arm. 

“i didn’t know that was your first period.” 

you tilt your head up, looking at his brown eyes. 

“yeah. your mom was the one who taught me….all the pads and tampons stuff. chocolate for cramps and all that. she actually did pretty well – considering the fact that she had to check on sammy and my mom after that too but still make me comfortable.” 

“i’m glad. it seemed so confusing to me at the time – when she sent yuuji and i to the store to grab the pads for you. i feel like she just didn’t want us there to...to not have two more people to worry about. and we really didn’t want to leave you. we basically ran to the store, through the aisles, before we got there and realized there’s like a hundred fucking brands of pads with different like…options and shit.” 

“feels like a good time to mention that you have a very good y/n-radar. you got the right ones this morning.” 

he smiles, his eyes focused on the table as he mindlessly runs his fingers through your hair. 

“you’re forgetting the good parts.” you state. 

“and what’s that?” 

you smile. 

“i know for a fact that your mom used to give you pocket money. and that you and yuuji saved it all to buy candy and chocolate. and you always used to keep it saved, for when you really wanted it, whereas yuuji ate it right away.” 

sukuna scoffs. 

“and then he had the fucking audacity to complain. like maybe if you didn’t eat it all at once, it would have lasted longer, dipshit.” 

you lightly shove him. 

“you’re such a meanie. we were like babies.” 

“shut up. keep going.” 

“you shared your chocolate with me. it was a hershey’s with almonds in it. and when i curled my nose at that, you gave me a whole spiel about the very refined world of chocolate with nuts in it. about how the smooth silkiness of the chocolate was the perfect juxtaposition to the crunchiness of the nut.” 

sukuna smiles. 

“that sounds inappropriate, baby.” 

“get your head out of the gutter. it was sweet. that you shared with me. made me smile. i’ve always felt like i’ve always got some lingering feelings for you but if i had to pinpoint it, that was probably when i started falling in love with you. and granted, that was so….juvenile at that point. i was like a teenager but…it does feel the same as it did then compared to now. falling in love with you.” 

sukuna’s quiet. you look over to find him staring at you, his breaths so slow that it catches you off guard. and before you can even asks what’s wrong, he’s looped his hands under your thighs, pulling you straight onto him to straddle his lap. 

you place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, cheeks burning at the way he’s looking up at you. 

“what did you just say to me?” he asks, voice quiet. 

“what?” 

“repeat. what you said.” 

that’s when you realize it. 

“oh, fuck. sukuna. i don’t want to rus-” 

“repeat it.” 

you swallow hard. 

“i…i’m falling in love with you?” 

“that sounds like a question.” 

“sukuna.” you whine. 

“say it right.” he demands. 

you bite into the softness of your cheek, taking a deep breath, before you dig your fingers into the indents of his shoulders. 

“sukuna. i’m falling in love with you.” you murmur. 

sukuna’s eyes soften, his gaze so honey sweet and warm, that you can’t help but bring your hands to his cheeks. you lean closer, your faces only a few feet away from each other, as you smile back. 

“what is it?” you whisper.

“you’re falling in love with me.” he responds. like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“that’s right.” you confirm. 

sukuna smiles, before closing the space between you, the kiss so longing that it makes the core in the pit of your stomach burn, your chest flutter. he breaks the kiss, smiling and murmuring against your mouth as you lean against his forehead. 

“thanks for finally catching up, slow-poke.” 

--

next part linked here

an: this fic is purely vibes but we die like men. sukuna when he gets arrested on the day his grandfather but y/n when she accidentally has her first period in front of sukuna when her dad left. yup.

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