Local outlaw highkey pissed that the law is hiring him to hunt down his former business partner. Carnage, shenanigans, and romance ensued in the badlands of Marley.
His breath comes out in a shaky exhale against the apple of your cheek, head swirling with the overwhelming sensation of being buried deep inside of your tight heat, the feeling of your walls fluttering and clenching around him. One strong, soldier's hand holds the curve of your hip while he waits for you to adjust, cradling and careful, while the other tenderly brushes your hair behind your ear.
"I've got you, sweetheart, just relax for me," he murmurs, softly, breathlessly, peppering kisses along the expanse of your collarbone, between your breasts, worshipfully. You feel your brain's gone all hazy, filled to the brim by Reiner's size, his sweet whispers stoking the fervid flame building in your gut, pulling a soft whimper from your lips, despite the lack of urgency on his end. You run your hands up the wide breadth of his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath your fingertips, and the heat in your gut swelters a little.
"Reiner..." you breathe, as he slowly draws his hips back, a filthy squelch sound accompanying the action, drawing a low groan from deep within his chest, that you feel against the backs of your thighs.
"I know, angel," he coos, gently grasping one of your hands and bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as he pushes back in, relishing in the sweet, pleased sigh it elicits from you. His eyes watch you with a certain intensity, observing the way your gorgeous body arches into him, the bubblegum flush of your cheeks. He brushes a hand down the curve of your waist, then up again, the calluses in his palms from years of warfare brushing along your smooth skin, "So beautiful. God, I'm lucky."
He says it with that lovesick, silly smile, the one that makes your heart feel fuzzy, your legs feel weak. He's so gentle with you, like he's handling an angel, even while he's splitting you apart with his dick. You lose yourself in the carnal entanglement of your bodies so easily, tangling your fingers in his short, slightly shaggy blonde hair, feeling his stubble brush against your neck as he kisses your jaw, and then your cheek, as he slowly begins to build pace.
"Oh, fuck, Reiner," you gasp out. His lips meet yours, in a slow, deep, and romantic kiss, and the present fades between your bodies like some insignificant thing, the only thing that exists is this sweet, heated moment, and the intense, white-hot pleasure blistering in your gut, with each thrust of his hips. An erotic, nearly pornographic, wet sound accompanies each languid thrust, and you might have the mind to be embarrassed if you had much of a mind at all right now.
Breathy little whines slip from your lips, the sensual roll of his hips, not too fast, not too slow, like he's reveling in this moment, drives you crazy. His mouth returns to your breasts, swirling his tongue around one pebbled nipple while his hand slips down to your ass, guiding your hips against his, burying himself nearly to your cervix. He pins your palm to the mattress, and you clutch tightly like he's your anchor.
"Feel so good, honey," he rasps, hot, against your breast, using the leverage where he's pinned your hand to thrust harder, right up into that sweet, spongey spot, and your eyes roll back, "You like that?"
You nod, dumbly. His pelvis grinds against your clit, and you buck your hips helplessly, waves of pleasure gliding through your body, hysterical light creeping in on you. His thrusts grow more targeted, faster, as his own climax starts to build, moaning lowly, watching hypnotically as his length disappears into your warm, greedy cunt, again and again.
"Fuck," he pants, sweat beading on his forehead, "Take it so well, honey. Love you so much."
His fingers finds the swollen bud of your clit, toying with it gently, watching the way your hips twitch involuntarily, bucking up into him again, that pleasure building tight in your gut. Every thrust feels like a hit of euphoria, tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a deep satiated warmth filling up your chest.
"So good to me, angel," he coos, as his hips piston in and out of your pussy rapidly, feeling your walls start to flutter and tighten, your hips start to seize, your calf lock, from where it's laden against his back, "Don't deserve you. No one deserves you," he babbles, turning his head and kissing your knee, hitting that spot over and over again, the bed squeaking and creaking, protesting the intensity he's fucking you with.
You let out a strangled whine of his name, your cunt gushing all over his dick. He curses his under his breath, diving down for a heated, hungry kiss that your addled mind can hardly keep up with, a mantric loop of his name playing through your head, your eyes blurry with tears, "Reiner," you whimper, looking up at his handsome, adoring face, reaching to cup your cheek and tenderly wipe a tear.
"I've got you honey, I've got you, just a little more," he grunts, his thrusts sloppy and quick, as he spills thick spurts of cum deep inside of you, filling you up, "Shit, so perfect."
-------------------
a/n: 67 pages of this currently hahaha (Im such a chud)
Part 2
Full Playlist
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Audition day, from 8 am to 10 pm, people would be filtering in and out of your rehearsal space, some proud, others crushed every half hour. You woke up at 8:30 am two hours before your timeslot, getting ready early. You rifled through your closet, throwing around outfits until you settled on a pale mint green pantsuit, leaving your hair down, with minimal makeup. You grabbed your things with still an hour to spare, stopping to get breakfast on your way to the music hall. You sat at a table, your headphones on, listening through your audition piece choices once more, trying to make a clear decision; the chair beside you scratched against the floor as you sat, picking at the scrambled eggs on your plate, the movement barely catching your attention, until your headphones were pulled off of your ears.
āHey,ā you snapped, looking up to see who had pulled off your headphones.Ā
āGood morning, L/N,ā Jean. He had the same idea as you: getting ready early, put together nicely; he wore a baby blue button-down, the top button undone, with navy slacks, a brown belt, and dress shoes pulling the outfit together.Ā
āMay I?ā He grinned; you rolled your eyes, gesturing to the open chair.
āWhat do you want, Kirstein?ā You sighed; the sound of your fork scraping your plate shot through your ears.
āI donāt want anything,ā he grinned.
āReally?ā you said with sarcasm, your lips flat.Ā
āBesides tenor one, nope, not really,ā Jean smirked, his head propped up with his hand, his fingers playing with his sorry excuse for a beard.Ā
āThere it is,ā you pointed your fork at him.
āWas that not obvious?ā He waved the waitress over, seeing his awaiting meal, the same as yours: scrambled eggs with a side of sausage.Ā
āI see songs arenāt the only ideas you take from other people,ā you sneered at his matching plate of food.Ā
āAlways so hostile,ā he said, taking a bite. The two of you ate in silence; nothing but the sounds of chewing and silverware clinking filled the room. You finished eating, paying your check as he did the same. You held your tongue the entire walk to the music hall. As the two of you had to go there, it only made sense to walk together. He verbally poked and prodded at you, but you remained strong, letting him talk just to get his ego out of his system. You were finally relieved of him when you got inside, heading down the hall and sitting in one of the chairs waiting your turn, as he leaned on the wall around the corner talking to Marco and Connie. You put your headphones back on, studying each of the charts as familiar faces filed out of the room. There was a smaller practice room within the entrance where the next person would wait; you saw Jean go in as Marcel came out, dressed in a white polo and khakis. He sat down in the chair beside you, tapping at your shoulder, talking until you finally pulled your headphones off to unmuffle his voice.Ā
āStop fiddling,ā Marcel grinned, taking the papers from your hands.
āIām not fiddling,ā you said.
āThen what are you doing?ā
āLooking things over,ā your voice trailed off.
āYou still havenāt-ā You slapped your hand over his mouth, cutting him off.
āMarcel,ā you shushed him, slowly pulling your hand away, peeking around him at the door.
āChosen a piece?ā he said quieter.Ā
āIām waiting to hear what he plays,ā you shrugged. He smiled at you, taking his advice.Ā
āGood for you, Y/N,ā he patted your shoulder.
āNow could you give me my music back?ā he complied with your ask, leaving you be, watching the door waiting for his brother to come out. You stood up when you saw Porco, swallowing deep.
āRelax, heās in a good mood after hearing me,ā he winked.
āPorco,ā you sighed.
āCanāt guarantee he will be after Kirstein, though. You look nice; use that,ā he smirked, nudging your elbow, his comment yesterday replayed in your head.Ā
āGross, Pock,ā you stuck your tongue out at him, noticing the way he was put together: cream t-shirt, beige plaid blazer with matching pants, tied together with dress shoes that matched his belt.Ā
āStop stalling and go,ā he slowly pushed you through the door. You put your things down in the small room you had to warm up in, listening to Jean charm his way through some small talk before beginning to play. To your relief, he hadnāt chosen your audition song; he chose St. Thomas, one of your three you had narrowed your choices down to, damn it, heās good. You listened to him play while you warmed up with some scales. Jean sounded good, really good. Your fingers began to shake anxiously as you pressed the keys along your silver horn. You sat silently fingering through your piece, thinking about Porcoās advice, āI say you still do it even if he does play itā. Jean wasnāt playing it, but he was playing one of your options. You sat silent, listening to the rest of his audition before he knocked on your door.
āGood luck,ā he smirked. You pushed open the door, hitting him gently with it as you went into the main rehearsal space.
āL/N, good to see you,ā your professor looked at you with his usual cold stare. He sat at the piano bench, an open stand before you, a seat beside it where you shakily placed your folder.
āProfessor Ackerman, you look like you had a nice summer,ā you flashed a smile, batting your eyelashes.Ā
āSit down,ā his pale gray eyes narrowed at your attempted flattery, damn you, Porco.
āSorry,ā you said quietly, adjusting the neck of your instrument. You went through the normal part of the audition, playing the scales he asked for to utter perfection, his eyebrows raised slightly when you finished, a small gesture that he was impressed.Ā
āAnd what will you be playing for me today?ā his foot tapped lightly against the floor. You opened your folder, looking at the pieces, sighing as you stared at the page in front of you.
āSt. Thomas,ā you breathed. His eyes widened.
āSame as Kirstein.ā You nodded at his comment. āWhenever youāre ready,ā he had the backing track already pulled up, pressing play. You began to play the familiar melody, your eyes shutting as you rocked back and forth in the chair, tapping your foot against the carpet floor. Your heartbeat slowed as you began to play, a smile across your face. You sounded incredible; you watched your professor's face turn as you began to improvise, his head slightly nodding as you played. You played two choruses of improvisation before returning to the main melody. You pulled your mouth from the mouthpiece when you were finished, taking a deep breath.
āKeep going,ā he commanded.
āBut-,ā you began.
āKeep going, another solo section chorus,ā he said again. You tilted your head, wrapping your lips around the mouthpiece again. You kept playing, your eyes locked on the page the entire time as you played, making sure not to miss a single chord change. He was out of his chair now, arms crossed, standing over you sitting. You stopped playing after another chorus and a half, catching your breath when you heard the backing track stop.
āPlay this,ā he put a page on your stand, ājust whatās in brackets,ā the long-awaited sight-reading portion that you dreaded every term. You glanced over the piece, one you knew fairly well from listening to it on vinyl.Ā
āJust this section?ā you pointed, making sure you were correct before starting to play. He nodded, still standing with his arms crossed as you played, stopping you.
āThatās enough,ā he raised his hand as you were almost at the end. Fuck did you mess up? You didnāt think you did. You stood up slowly; you smiled politely, nodding goodbye before heading back into the room where your belongings were.Ā
āHey, Y/N,ā you recognized the blonde from sitting on the other side of Jean the past two years, Niccolo, bari sax in hand, put together with a brown turtleneck and black pants, ready to audition again, even though he was essentially guaranteed in.Ā
āGood luck,ā you sighed, quickly packing your instrument and heading into the hallway. You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your blazer, looking down the hall where the Galliards were waiting for you. They immediately stood up when they saw your sulking stance.Ā
āShit, Y/N.ā Marcel ran over, immediately taking your case from your back.
āWhat the fuck happened in there?ā Porco soon joined.Ā
āHome,ā you demanded, taking a deep breath, putting on a fake smile as you walked past Jean and the others before sulking again in the elevator. Your walk to your studio was silent, despite being joined by great company. When you got to the front door, you slid your shoes off, draping your blazer over the chair at your kitchen table, sighing as you flopped on your bed.Ā
āOkay, seriously, what happened?ā Porco sat on the edge beside you; Marcel put your case down, taking your desk chair, spinning to face you, his elbows resting on his knees supporting his chin as his leg bounced with concern.Ā
āHe stopped me, mid-sight readā¦ā You trailed off, covering your face with your hands.
āYou were in there the full half hour; maybe it was a time thing,ā Marcel always being your voice of reason.Ā
āYeah, why were you in there so long?ā Porco grinned. āYou do what I said and flirt?ā
āPorco!ā Marcel scolded him. You sat up, slapping the back of his neck hard.
āHey!ā Porco rubbed the burning sensation you just gave his skin.
āYes, you shit, after hearing Jean practically suck his dick in there,ā you scoffed, ābut I donāt know; he had me do an extra improvisation chorus.āĀ
āThatās great news,ā Marcel exclaimed.
āIs it? Or did he not like it the first time, so he made me try again?ā You sighed.
āWhat piece did you end up choosing?ā Porco asked. You looked down at your hands, thinking about how stupidly cocky you were in your decision.
āThe same one as Jean, stupid, I know.ā You bit your bottom lip, chewing at it lightly. The brothers exchanged a look; Marcel went to speak but stopped. You did partially take his advice, but you also took Porcoās.
āItās not stupid.ā Porco sighed, looking at your upset expression. He reached his arm out, draping it around your shoulders, rubbing your arm as you leaned into him.
āNo, itās not stupid,ā Marcel now moved to the other side of you.
āWe donāt know; it wasnāt stupid until he posts the roster,ā you said.
āAnd Iām sure tenor one will be next to your name when he does,ā Marcel said, resting his hand on your thigh. You smiled at him before looking up at Porco.
āAny thoughts?ā You asked, picking your head up from his shoulder.
āI agree with Marcel,ā he nodded.
āYou sounded really good, Y/N,ā Marcel said.
āYouāre just saying that cause you have to,ā you shook your head, pulling Porcoās arm from your shoulders.Ā
āNo, Iām not,ā he laughed. āI mean it. Jean looked nervous when he came out.ā
āWhy didnāt you lead with that?ā you shoved him gently.
āBecause-ā Porco began, catching a glare from Marcel, telling him to cover up his lie for your sake. āBecause it didnāt seem relevant until now,ā Porco glared back at his brother, hating him for making him lie to spare your feelings.Ā
You checked your email daily, waiting for the announcement to come out that the roster was posted. It took four days; on Friday it was finally up. You rushed to the music hall, calling your friends on the way, telling them the news. When you walked down the hallway, it was very crowded; you squeezed through, eventually getting to the sheet, dragging your finger along the page until you found your name.
Y/N L/N : Tenor One
Solely out of curiosity, you looked for Jeanās name through the list; it was right below yours. You moved your finger across the chart, freezing at the title he had been given.
āExcuse me, excuse me,ā you heard Jeanās voice call out through the crowd of people until he was standing behind you; he smelled of strong cologne as he leaned over you, dragging his finger along the page to his name.
Jean Kirstein: Tenor One
āTough break, L/N,ā he grinned.
āLook again,ā you scoffed. His finger traced along to your name, finding the same title alongside it.
āThis has to be a joke- two tenor ones,ā Jean scowled.
feat. Levi Ackerman, Eren Yaeger, Armin Arlert, Jean Kirstein, Connie Springer, Reiner Braun, Erwin Smith
Hello my friendos š«¶š» itās been some time for some Smau. But here we are with a new AoT one. This time itās ovulation time šš¤£š¤š»āØ
Warnings: smūt, ovulation is hitting, cr*ampie, getting full
nearly maxed out tags cus iām crazy and just have so much love in my heart i wanted to tag everyone but i had to condense so iām sorry if i missed anyone also but just know i love you all so bad
also a lot of you i havenāt interacted with in a long time and i feel bad abt thatš and some ppl that i tagged havenāt even been active since last year or longer like omg pls come back soon i miss you guys š£š£
OMG THANK YOU SM BABY I MISS INTERACTING WITH YOU TOO<\3
my most favourite people herešāāļø: @cherryvvave @moviecritc @bloomcissa @cryptic-doe @rh1nestcned @lechelovestoyap @luviery @vianawaits @scissorhvnds @dreamersentity @kamislop @batwngs @sakunai @mystiquevoid @1nsignia @patientofarkhamasylum @arfemiz @froggibus @tinafication @bitemysin @torupng @brinawing @biovomit @evilmanhater @gr0und-zer00 (i'm sorry if i didn't tag someone, but know that you're very dear to me too<3)
i feel like i don't say it enough, but i love you all, and y'all are very very dear to me. here on tumblr i found the community i feel sort of belonging to and with who i have experienced peak girlhoodā„ļø
GAH STOP THIS IS SO SWEET siri how do i tag all of my 150+ mutuals-
i'm going to tag some of my babygirls and if i miss some PLEASE DON'T TAKE IT PERSONALLY i love and cherish all my lovely mooties :( even if we don't interact much
Tagging some of my beloved mooties who I love to see on my dash!! I have a few more but some Iāve never/barely interacted with n Iām kinda shy to tagā¦ ahemā¦ but I still think you lot are cool š„¹
asking Sukuna about the date he planned for tonight, exceptā¦ he never planned one
a/n: got such an amazing idea in an ask that i just had to write it
Itās a quiet Friday afternoon, and youāre both sitting in his gaming room. Sukunaās at his desk, sprawled out in nothing but loose sweatpants, lazily scrolling through something on his PC while a stream hums low from his second monitor. Off to the side, youāre sunk deep into your oversized armchair, legs tucked up, twirling a strand of hair around your finger like youāre not plotting the most dangerous trap heās ever walked into.
A soft, thoughtful hum slips from your lips as your gaze drifts over to his profile, lingering on the broad expanse of his bare torso, and for a moment, itās genuinely difficult to remember youāre supposed to be scheming.
āHey, when should I start getting ready?ā you ask softly, sounding like itās no big deal.
āFor what?ā he asks, barely glancing away from his screen.
āWhat do you mean, for what?ā you shoot back, giving him your most innocent grin. āFor the date you said you planned.ā
Sukuna freezes, his hand pausing mid-click over the mouse. For a split second, his brain short-circuits so violently you can almost see the static. He swivels his chair to face you fully, crimson eyes locking onto yours, searching your face for any hint, any clue. His mind races through every conversation, every text, every random comment from the last few weeks, desperately trying to figure out what the fuck he supposedly promised.
Did she say something last week? Did I promise something while half asleep? Fuck, did I actually invite her for a date and forget?
āThe... date,ā he echoes, his voice dropping an octave as he does his best to sound completely unbothered and in control. āYeah, yeahāget ready soon.ā
"Mm... what are you wearing then?" you ask, resting your chin in your hand. "I don't know if we're matching the vibe or not."
A beat of silence drops over the room, thick and deafening. Sukunaās jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath his ear, and his eyes drift back to the monitor, but itās obvious he isnāt seeing a thing. Inside his head, gears grind together at a breakneck pace, panic threatening to short-circuit every rational thought.
Matching the vibe? What fucking vibe?
Heās fifty percent convinced he blacked out an entire conversation, fifty percent convinced heās losing his mind, and one hundred percent determined to never, ever let you see him sweat.
"Well," Sukuna starts, slowly turning his head to look at you once again. He tries for a calm, confident smirk, though tension flickers around his eyes as he searches your face for a single crumb of a clue. "I mean, that depends on what you wanna wear, doesn't it?"
"Kuna, come on, don't do that," you giggle softly, shaking your head. "You picked the place, so you set the dress code. Are we doing fancy, or should I just throw on something cute and simple?"
The trap snaps shut. Sukuna's mind spirals into absolute chaos, running at a million miles an hour. Say itās fancy, and heās doomed if he picked somewhere casual. Say itās casual, and you show up underdressed for some high-end place he apparently reserved weeks ago, and heās a dead man. Honestly, heās a dead man either way if he really did promise you something special, because he canāt remember making a single reservation at all.
If thereās not a bead of sweat rolling down his neck, there should be. For a split second, his composure cracks, his brow furrowing in silent distress, before he clears his throat and reaches across the gap with his large hand, grabbing your ankles and tugging your legs off the cushion, draping them over his thick thighs.
"You look good in anything, angel," he purrs, leaning forward to rest his hand on your knee, thumb rubbing lazy circlesāanything to distract you and buy himself five more seconds. He flashes a crooked grin. "Just pick something you like, and I'll match."
"Mmm, okay," you hum, sinking back into the plush cushions and tapping your chin in mock-deep thought. "I just hope we don't end up waiting as long as last time. The food was worth it, but that line almost killed me."
Sukuna freezes entirely, his breath slipping out in a slow, silent exhale that feels almost painful to watch.
We've been there before, great food, long line... What fucking place had a line we actually waited in?
His mind frantically scrolls through every date night from the last two years: sushi bars, steak houses, taco trucks, upscale Italian, late-night ramen, trying to pin down which one he supposedly promised you just days ago. His massive shoulders tense as he sits up straighter, the effort so intense you can almost feel the heat radiating off him.
I mustāve promised only a few days ago. How the fuck did I forget?
"Line won't be a problem tonight," he lies through his teeth, his voice dropping into a low rumble as his hand slides up to squeeze your thigh. "Took care of it."
"Oh, you made a reservation this time?" you ask, looking up at him from your seat with wide, bright eyes. "Didn't think they did those on weekends! How'd you pull that off?"
Sukuna freezes mid-motion, the smallest flicker of surprise widening his eyes before he clamps down on it, jaw going rigid.
No reservations on weekends? Great. Backed myself into a fucking corner now. What the fuck am I supposed to say after that?
This is itāthe absolute limit of human endurance. Balanced on a conversational tightrope stretched over a pit of fire, heās surrounded by conflicting clues, unable to commit to a single outfit or restaurant. There he sits, a giant, terrifying man held hostage by an imaginary date night, looking for all the world like heās trying to solve advanced physics in his head.
He fixes you with a stare, maintaining that arrogant smirk through an absolutely heroic amount of concentration, determined to bluff his way straight into the grave if he has to.
"Iāve got my ways, brat," he rumbles, sliding his hand around your wrist and pulling you gently closer, leaning in at the same time and pressing a lingering kiss to your foreheadāone last desperate distraction.
"I'm just excited, you know? You're so sweet to plan this out of nowhere, Kuna," you chirp sweetly, holding back a laugh. You beam at him, swinging your feet like you can barely contain your glee, letting your voice turn all sing-song and syrupy just to watch him squirm.
Looking down at your smiling, innocent face, Sukuna's massive ego crumbles for a split second under the weight of the mystery.
"Waitāwhat time did you book it for?" you ask before he thinks of an answer to your praise, looking up at him expectantly as you pull back to lean against the cushions again. "I know itās tonight, but you never said whenāare you trying to make me late on purpose? How much time do I actually have to look cute?ā
His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. For a horrifying half-second, he freezesālips parted, eyes darting from the clock on his monitor to the floor, then back to your face. His mind is utterly, completely blankānot a single coherent thought.
Think. Dinner. Six? Seven? Eight? What time sounds normal?
"You don't remember?" you ask softly, tilting your head just a little as you look up at him with wide, innocent eyes, the tiniest smile threatening to betray you.
"I remember!" Sukuna snaps a little too fast, his voice cracking with a rare, desperate edge before he quickly clears his throat to cover it. He shifts in his gaming chair, his jaw working as his eyes widen in full-blown panic.
Pick a number. Any fucking number.
"Of course I remember, woman. It's... It's in my phoneāset a reminder and everything. Who do you take me for? 7."
"Right," you say, trying not to laugh at the thought of Sukuna actually fussing with a calendar app.
"Now quit grilling me and go get ready before you start worrying we're gonna be late."
Looking up at his face, you catch the tiny, panicked tension around his eyes despite that confident smirk. Unable to resist, you decide to drag it out just a little longer, savoring every second of his internal panic.
You tilt your head, looking at him from your chair. "You're driving us, right? Or are we taking an uber?"
"I'm driving," Sukuna says instantly, the answer automatic as he clutches at the first scrap of control he can find before his own brain has a chance to second-guess it.
"You remember how to get there, right?"
"Yeah," he grumbles, rolling his shoulders as he shoots you a sharp, warning look. "Of course I do."
"Good," you chirp with an easy smile. "I completely forgot the street name. What was it again?"
Nothing. I have nothing... This is it. I'm dead.
Silence instantly smothers the room. Sukunaās entire body goes rigid, every muscle locked, and the arrogant smirk vanishes. His eyes go wide, locked onto yours in pure, unfiltered, deer-in-the-headlights terror. Not a word escapes himāthereās no way in hell he could even guess a street. He just sits there, trapped in a corner of his own making, paralyzed by the sudden realization that heās completely, thoroughly backed into a wall.
Letting it stretch for ten long, glorious seconds, you watch his brain fry in real time. Then, a sharp, hysterical giggle bursts out of you, shoulders shaking violently as you bury your face in both hands, wheezing for air.
"I know there's no reservation, Kuna," you manage through laughter, shaking your head. "I know there's no date."
Sukuna blinks once, then again. For a moment, itās like his brain canāt quite process the words, and then relief crashes over him so hard it nearly knocks him flat. The tension drains from his massive frame all at once, leaving him slumped boneless against the back of his chair.
A long, heavy exhale escapes him as he drags a hand down his face, wiping away the real sweat of the last ten minutes. He sits there, utterly defeated, looking like he just barely survived a war zone. There's not even enough strength left in him to pretend to be angry; every bit of mental energy got burned up trying to solve an imaginary puzzle.
"Jesus christ," he mutters into his palm, his voice a rough, exhausted rumble.
His hand drops, and he glances over at you, taking in the way youāre sitting there, absolutely delighted with yourself. Shaking his head, he lets a slow, helpless grin tug at the corner of his mouth, exhaustion still written all over his face.
"Yeah, well," Sukuna rasps, his eyes softening as he gently shoves your ankles from his legs, then reaches out and wraps his fingers around your wrist, pulling you up and into his lap. "We can still go on one."
You tilt your head, settling sideways across his thick thighs with a curious smile. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he sighs, arms locking around your waist as he buries his face in your hair, slumping back into his chair. "I'll take you for that pasta you love so much, you menace."
"Oh, you're down bad, Kuna," you tease, grinning as you tug him down for a kiss, your fingers threading into his hair at the back of his head.
"I was sitting here trying to remember if I'd booked a fucking table in my sleep, you know?" he rasps, his breath fanning across your cheek as his lips brush yours, the low rumble of a laugh vibrating through his chest.
"You really were trying so hard to play it cool," you murmur, nudging his cheek with your nose.
"I was cool the whole time," Sukuna protests, but the lopsided grin stretching across his face gives him away as he squeezes your waist.
You smile up at him, fingers tracing a slow, absentminded line along his jaw. "So what exactly was your plan, then?"
He blinks, looking genuinely lost for a second. "Huh?"
"If I'd actually gone to get dressed... then what?" you ask, tilting your head.
Sukuna just stares at you for a long moment, his brows drawing together in mock concentration before another helpless laugh escapes him as he shakes his head in defeat.
"No idea." He snorts, raking a hand through his hair as he shakes his head. "I figured I'd think of something in the car."
You burst out laughing again, swatting his shoulder as you double over, nearly collapsing into his chest. "You seriously think that would've worked?"
"I was very committed to making it work," he answers, trying to look serious, but his eyes are bright with laughter.
Before you can get another word in, he leans forward and peppers your cheeks and neck with a relentless barrage of rough kisses until you're laughing too hard to fight him off, your hands doing little more than getting in the way.
Finally, he sets you back on your feet, steadying you with a firm grip on your waist before pushing himself up out of the chair. "Now go get dressed, brat."
