omg, who is she?
sil has an ongoing existential crisis in her 20s, trying to write when her brain lets her, has obsessions very quickly, and is obsesses with hands and arms but you'll figure that out on your own if you read her stuff.
☆ please read
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ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ about.
word around was that you were friends. odd ones, maybe, since you had nothing in common, but still friends. and you had been for the past three years. some people were definitely doubtful about it, though. no sorcerers!au (wc: 3.930)
“You sure 'bout that?” Gojo asked his friend, eyes lingering on what very much looked like a couple sprawled on the couch.
It was Shoko’s birthday party, and all her friends—pretty much everyone from their college years—had reunited at the Gojo family house for the night. Exams were finally over, and it felt like the perfect way to decompress after the school year.
Still, there were people Gojo didn’t even recognize. Of course, he’d told Shoko she could invite whoever she wanted, his house was huge, and anyone who was a friend of one of his best friends was a friend of his too. Kind of.
Among the people he only knew by name, exchanged quick hallway waves with, or heard about through Shoko’s half-finished anecdotes, was you. And the man sitting right next to you on the couch, casually nursing a beer.
His other hand? Firmly planted on your ass and you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.
“Yeah, they’re just friends,” Toji said, apparently backing up his earlier claim.
“His hand is on her ass,” Gojo deadpanned, shooting Toji a sideways glance.
“They do that sometimes,” Toji replied, brushing it off as he brought his cigarette back to his lips.
Gojo was highly sceptical of whatever the dark-haired man was trying to sell him. The two of you looked far more like a couple than a pair of best friends. Shoko was one of his closest friends, and he certainly wasn’t cuddling her on a couch at a party with his hand on her ass. The thought wouldn’t even cross his mind. Satoru wasn’t attracted to her like that. She was beautiful—probably one of the prettiest girls he knew—but not in that way.
“So it’d be fine if I went to flirt with her?” Gojo asked, eyes narrowing as they flicked back to the so-called friends.
“Yep,” Toji answered simply.
He smirked at the doubtful look still etched across Gojo’s face. Truth be told, Toji had no idea what was actually going on between the two of you. He wasn’t that close to Sukuna—they just shared a few classes. And the guy liked to keep to himself. If it hadn’t been for a group project, Toji was pretty sure they would’ve never spoken at all.
Gojo might’ve gotten a more reliable answer if he’d asked Uraume, but they were nowhere to be found. And even if they were, they probably wouldn’t have talked to Gojo anyway.
On the other side of the room, you sat blissfully unaware of the conversation happening between the two men. You were deep in discussion with Utahime, speaking animatedly with your hands as you leaned slightly over Ryomen, who sat between the two of you.
He didn’t really participate. Barely listened, either, only taking slow sips of his beer now and then.
His eyes were fixed on the hockey game playing on the TV, which had been muted earlier after you complained you couldn’t hear Utahime properly. Which was dumb with how loud the music was, but he had indulged you. Every so often, he’d huff or grunt in response when you asked him something or mention him in a story. He was listening with one ear, but most of his attention stayed glued to the match.
You always knew when something happened on the screen. His hand, the one resting shamelessly on your ass, would twitch, fingers kneading softly into the fat. Every time it happened, you’d lose your train of thought, words slipping away before you managed to pull yourself back together. Utahime was far too drunk to notice anyway.
It made you bite your lip, forcing yourself not to laugh. You weren’t even sure he realized he was doing it.
Mid-conversation, you felt his phone buzz against the bare skin of your plush thigh. Once. He ignored it, and so did you, laughing at whatever ridiculous thing Utahime had just said. You were a little tipsy, and right then, she was easily the funniest person you knew.
Then it buzzed again. And again. And again.
With a sigh, Ryomen handed you his beer—which you accepted gladly, taking a quick gulp—before pulling his phone from his pocket. The screen was flooded with messages from Choso, one of his brothers, practically begging him to call.
Frowning, he stood without a word, knowing you’d seen the messages, and stepped outside to return the call. Knowing Choso, you were about eighty percent sure it wasn’t anything serious. The middle child had a habit of panicking over nothing. Still, he was watching over the youngest, Yuji, and you knew that always put Ryomen slightly on edge.
You watched him go, worry briefly creasing your brow, before Utahime started talking again, completely unfazed by his absence. She grabbed your hands and tugged you closer, pulling you into a clumsy, drunken hug as she slurred about how happy she was to have you in her life—how you were one of her closest friends.
It was sweet, and for a moment, it pulled your thoughts away from Sukuna. The conversation picked up again, flowing easily, and before long you finished Sukuna’s beer and set the empty bottle on the coffee table.
When you felt a presence behind you, enough to make the couch dip slightly, you turned around with a bright smile already on your face.
But you weren’t met with pink hair, slit eyebrows, or tattooed arms.
Instead, there was a shock of white hair, even more striking blue eyes, and a smile that was oddly awkward yet brimming with confidence. It was a strange combination, but somehow, he made it work.
Behind you, Utahime let out a dramatic groan before standing up abruptly. “God, no,” she muttered as she stormed away.
Of course.
You didn’t think Utahime hated anyone more than she hated Satoru Gojo. Why he’d chosen now to sit next to you, though, you had no idea. You’d never really talked to him before, only crossed paths in hallways or at parties when you were with Shoko.
“Hey,” he said, his gaze dipping briefly to your chest before flicking back up to your eyes.
You didn’t mind. You knew exactly what effect this shirt had—that was the whole reason you’d bought it in the first place. Even if it had originally been meant for a certain pink-haired man’s attention. Still, it was nice to know it worked on others too.
“Hi,” you replied softly, turning your body fully toward him.
“I’m Satoru,” he said, and it was oddly amusing how he almost looked… nervous.
That wasn’t something you saw every day. You weren’t the kind of girl men typically stressed over. It wasn’t that you weren’t attractive—you just kept to yourself. Reserved. If you could fade into the background, you would. A quiet life was easier, and you’d learned how to carve one out for yourself.
“I know,” you said. “You’re friends with Shoko.”
“Just like you!” he shot back, flashing finger guns in your direction, what you assumed was an attempt at humour.
You raised an eyebrow as you watched him visibly cringe at his own gesture. You’d heard stories about him, how he was usually overconfident, impossible to approach. Though, admittedly, that mostly came from Utahime, and she despised him.
For the next few minutes, he talked nonstop—about himself, his classes—asking questions he barely gave you time to answer. You couldn’t tell if the “obnoxious bastard” everyone warned you about was resurfacing, or if you were genuinely making him nervous.
Either way, you were starting to understand Utahime's feelings.
“That’s a cute necklace,” he finally complimented, noticing something about you at last.
“Oh, thanks, my boy—”
“What does the R stand for?” Gojo continued, completely ignoring what you’d started to say. “Your mom? Sister?”
You were about to answer when you heard something familiar—a low, quiet whistle coming from near the front door. You glanced over and met Sukuna’s eyes as he stepped back inside. Relief washed over you when you saw he wasn’t panicked. If anything, he looked annoyed at best.
He jerked his chin toward the stairs before turning and heading up.
A small smile settled on your lips. Your gaze returned to Gojo or at least, that had been the plan. His eyes were still fixed on the small R resting against your chest.
“I’ll be right back,” you said gently, smiling the same way you had before.
Without waiting for a response, you stood and made your way upstairs, trying to figure out where Sukuna had gone. The house was massive, at least five bedrooms up here, probably just as many bathrooms. Only one room had its light on, and you figured that had to be him.
You knocked softly, waiting to hear his voice in case you were wrong.
Instead, the door opened immediately, and warm hands grabbed your waist, pulling you inside. It startled you but you’d recognize those fingers anywhere, even in the dark. His lips crashed against yours, stealing the small gasp that threatened to escape before he lifted you onto the sink. Once you were settled, he turned to close and lock the door.
The bathroom was huge, yet it somehow felt smaller with Ryomen filling the space.
He’d bulked up this year, you weren’t sure why, but you loved it. Broad shoulders that harboured scars from your nails, thick arms you loved to nibble on whenever you could, strong thighs you couldn’t think about for too long without feeling yourself getting wet. And yet, your favourite part of him?
His soft stomach.
He was the strongest man you knew, and still, he didn’t have a sharp six-pack, not really. The definition was there, just hidden beneath a thin, tempting layer of fat you adored.
Every day, you wondered how someone like him could love someone like you. But you’d never complain.
He approached you like a predator sizing up prey, his white wife-beater clinging just enough to make you scoff internally, making it look like he had breast—it was mouthwatering. Hanging from a silver chain around his neck was a pendant with your initial on it.
The worst part? Matching necklaces had been his idea. “Private, but not ashamed,” he’d said when he clasped it around his neck.
When his hands braced against the marble on either side of your hips, you smiled up at him. He was beautiful. To most people, his expression was hard, irritated, unreadable but when he looked at you, it was like he was seeing the stars for the first time. It never failed to warm your chest.
“What did Choso want?” you asked, one hand resting against his chest while the other toyed with the chain.
He scoffed, dropping his head against your chest. “That idiot was panicking because Yuji wanted pizza, and he forgot what Yuji was allergic to. Couldn’t find it anywhere in his medical records.”
You frowned, thinking hard. “Yuji isn’t allergic to anything…” you said slowly, unsure.
“He isn’t. I am,” Ryomen deadpanned. “I’m the one allergic to the crap Choso thought Yuji was.”
You laughed. “Couldn’t Yuji tell him?”
“He did. Choso thought he was lying just to mess with him.” Ryomen sighed. “How they survive without me, I’ll never know.”
His lips brushed over the exposed skin at the top of your chest, lingering there as you smiled to yourself.
You smiled, thinking about how much you loved that he was always talking shit about his brothers, yet cared for them so deeply. If anything ever happened to any of them, you knew Ryomen would go feral with worry and anger, and he would take it out on the entire world. Their father was a deadbeat, and their grandpa—the man who had raised the three of them—had passed away three years ago, right before college started and right before you met Ryomen.
It was one of his greatest regrets. He often told you how much Wasuke would have loved you. Watching him love his family so fiercely, everyone except his father, had made you fall for him even faster. His hard demeanour was only a shell, and somehow, you had slipped right inside.
And you intended to stay.
"He's a bit dumb," you said with a laugh.
"Yeah, he is." He straightened his face, eyes locking with yours. "What did Gojo want with you?" he asked, shifting the conversation.
You loved that there was no anger, no jealousy, no possessiveness in his gaze—only genuine curiosity.
"Don't know. He was… weird," you said, brushing your fingers through his hair.
Ryomen hummed softly and leaned in. What you expected to be a quick peck quickly turned into a full-on kiss, a battle of tongues, his hands resting firmly on your cheeks.
The way his hips pressed between your thighs, exposed as your skirt had ridden up when you opened yourself to him, made it clear where this bathroom escapade was heading.
"Ryo…" you muttered against his lips in the brief moments they parted.
He hummed in response, letting you know he was listening.
"We can't… people downstairs," you tried to reason, but even your own words felt weak.
"We can," he said, parting your lips with a string of saliva connecting you. "No one will hear, music’s too loud."
His mouth was back on yours before you could respond. The kiss was relentless, claiming every inch of your attention. You didn’t want it to stop. Besides, it wasn’t like you were blocking the only bathroom, this place was huge. No one would find you anytime soon.
His hands slid down, tugging your shirt straps off your shoulders, letting the fabric fall and exposing your breasts. Immediately, his large, warm hands cupped and kneaded them, heavy in his palms like they always did.
Your hands found their way under his shirt, resting on his stomach, tracing shapes beneath.
When he tired of your breasts, his hands slid down your thighs, brushing over bare skin before moving toward his belt. All the while, your lips stayed locked together, unwilling to break contact even for a second.
The moment his bare skin pressed against yours, thighs against thighs, a rush of wetness pooled between your legs. It was hot, intimate, and thrilling—an unexpected fire in a random public place. Normally, you only had sex in private, in the comfort of each other's home, but feeling how much he wanted you, how hungry he was, sent a new wave of desire through you.
His fingers teased your covered pussy, and you felt him smirk against your lips as he sensed the wetness pooling there. Even when you knew he wanted to speak, he held back, kissing you harder instead.
Then his hands slid your panties aside, replaced by the warmth of his head. He didn’t enter you yet—he toyed with you, sliding up and down, from your quivering entrance to your clit.
"Ready, baby?" he grunted against your lips. When you nodded, he simply smiled.
Gently, he began to enter you, careful even in the hurried moment. You felt him fill you, stretching you with that familiar burn,something you’d learned to crave. He was a bit above average, but it was never painful nor impossible to take.
Once he was fully inside, his balls brushing against you, he let out a long, satisfied sigh, as if he’d been waiting for this all night. Perhaps he had—you couldn’t know with him.
His hips moved with precise thrusts, hitting every perfect spot inside you. When it started to overwhelm you, you pulled back from kissing him, glancing at his lips—red, swollen, and shiny from the kiss—and assumed yours were just as marked. The sight made you clench hard around him. Dropping your forehead onto his shoulder, you let out small, quiet breaths, trying to control the noises escaping your throat.
You were still painfully aware of the public setting and didn’t want to be caught or interrupted.
Ryomen’s own breathing was ragged above you, his head resting casually on the side of yours, unbothered by the sounds he was making. He grunted intermittently, the noises shifting closer to whimpers as he neared release—you could always tell. Your own pleasure surged, and a loud moan threatened to escape, so you did the only thing you could think of to quiet yourself.
You bit his shoulder, hard.
Of course, you should have known what that would trigger. You felt him stiffen, hot and pulsing inside you, his cock twitching as he hit his climax. Lifting your jaw from his skin, you kissed the bite mark as an apology, then dropped your head, looking up at him. In the middle of his release, Ryomen had thrown his head back, exposing the neck you always wanted to sink your teeth into.
But you knew he was sensitive after he came, too sensitive to push further for now.
"Fuck, baby," he groaned in a raspy voice, dropping his head back on your shoulder, pressing his body flush against yours.
His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer—and himself deeper—as if trying to draw in every ounce of your warmth. His lips brushed softly against your shoulder, nipping and kissing the skin as he tried to steady his breathing.
"You didn't…" he murmured against you, not even finishing the question.
Running your fingers through his hair, you giggled. "It's okay."
Because it really was. It didn’t matter whether you came or not—the moment had been fun, hot, and pleasurable. That was all that mattered. But looking into your eyes, you saw he wasn’t accepting your words. Not at all.
"The hell it is," he muttered, rolling his eyes.
And then, just like that, he pulled out and dropped to his knees. His height placed him perfectly aligned with your glistening cunt, his eyes dark and hungry as they landed on you. Expert fingers stripped your panties completely, tucking them into his back pocket before he leaned in.
"Ryo," you whispered, pressing your hands against his head.
Sure, he had gone down on you before—many times—and you loved it. Slightly less than he did, maybe, which was strange—but he had never done it after sex. Usually, it was a way to prepare you, or a random act to please you when neither of you was going all the way.
"It’s…" you tried to speak, feeling heat creep across your cheeks in embarrassment. "It’s… dripping," you whispered, like it was a secret.
That only made him laugh low in your heat, pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs without breaking eye contact.
"That’s why you’re gonna let me clean you up… like my good girl," he murmured, and then he dove in, like he hadn't eaten in days.
He had no shame. His tongue lapped from your entrance to your clit, strong, wet, and deliberate, moving with a knowledge that made you shiver.
The sounds he made were messy and intoxicating—wet, needy, low as he kissed, licked, and sucked between your legs for minutes. You had thrown your head back against the mirror when his hands joined the party, sliding up to cup and play with your nipples, sending shivers down your spine.
It didn’t take long, you had already been close when he had been thrusting in and out of you. The double stimulation drove you wild, and you moved your hips toward his face, pushing him even deeper into your pussy.
Opening your eyes, you looked down at him, and when your gaze met his hooded eyes, watching you the entire time, you came.
Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, while your thighs clenched hard around his face, ankles crossing reflexively on his back. Once the climax passed, you released him immediately, but he stayed on the floor, cheek resting against your thighs.
It was a filthy sight. His nose, mouth, and jaw were slick with your cum, his tongue darting over his lips in a futile attempt to clean himself. You shook your head, laughing softly at the thought that Ryomen had done this. It wasn’t out of character, yet the image made you blush.
Grabbing some tissues from the side, you leaned down and cleaned his face as best you could before pressing a quick kiss to his nose. Only then did he stand, adjusting himself in his pants and redoing his belt before retrieving your panties from his back pocket.
Hopping down, you thanked him as he handed them back, then watched him turn on the water and drink big gulps. The droplets sliding down his chin made your cunt clench around nothing as you slipped your panties back on.
When he turned toward you, he fixed your shirt and brushed a strand of hair from your face before his lips found yours again. The kiss was all tongue, but slower this time, more lingering, less urgent.
"Wanna go home?" he asked, twirling a piece of your hair between his fingers.
"'M tired," you yawned in response.
It wasn’t even that late, but you were always tired after sex—something Ryomen teased you about endlessly. If you had sex during the day, a nap was inevitable. He was the one making sure you peed, drank, and went to class. Without him, you’d sleep the day away.
"Pee, I’ll wait downstairs," he said, planting a quick kiss on your lips before exiting the bathroom.
When he walked downstairs, Sukuna was scrolling through texts from Choso. Yuji was fine, no allergic reactions, and apparently they had watched a movie about a group of friends in a cabin in the woods, that turn out to be horror movie, and then a whole bunch of messages about how he had “messed up.” Sukuna shook his head, chuckling a little at the ridiculousness.
He knew Yuji would tell him all about his great night tomorrow when he went home. Tonight, though, Sukuna just wanted to sleep with you in his arms. Choso might freak out for nothing, but Sukuna knew Yuji was safe with their brother.
"I'm telling you, man, I really don’t think they’re just friends," Gojo’s voice cut through the room as he walked in front of them.
Sukuna didn’t bother looking at him or Toji, heading straight for your stuff. It was only when he heard Toji say your name that he paused, frowning. Why the fuck were they both talking about you?
His expression must have been enough to convey his suspicion because Toji repeated it. “You’re just friends, right?”
“The fuck are you on, man? She’s my girl,” Sukuna deadpanned, baffled by what he considered his friend’s stupidity.
Sure, you weren’t making out in broad daylight, but you were always together outside of class—eating, studying, walking around campus. Toji had even been to your place to work on a group project with Sukuna. How Fushiguro could think you were just friends was a complete mystery.
If anything, to Ryomen Sukuna, you were being painfully obvious. You had never been just friends, and he intended to make sure you never would be. You were his best friend, yes but he never wanted you to be only that.
You were so much more. Let people think what they wanted.
Shaking his head, Sukuna walked away from the two men, ready to call it a night.
"I fucking told you, man!" Gojo’s voice shot up an octave. "His hand was on her ass!"
learnt smtg about sukuna today that kinda shattered my headcannons for him
Apparently he canonically speaks very respectful and traditional japanese, as in like he nvr curses and hes actually very sophisticated in his usage of terms (albeit his tone makes people think hes cursing tjem out lol)
And this kinda broke me bc ive read so many sukuna fics that depicts him as someone who curses a lot and i used to think its so fitting but now i cant help but think its ooc😭😭😭 how do you unlearn a fact
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ pairing. tattoo artist!ryomen sukuna x reader
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ about.
you couldn't wait for the heatwave to be done, and finally the world had answered your prayers... so why you were punishing your boyfriend? no sorcerers!au. (wc: 1.510)
ㅤㅤ ㅤ.ᐟ warnings.
none. chubby reader.
ㅤㅤ ㅤᯓ masterlist.
⭑ anthology masterlist.
Finally, this felt nice. Being in a cold bed after the heat wave that had been going on for more than a week felt like being graced entrance in heaven.
The silence felt nice as well, as the fan had been working overtime for the past few days—its constant hum had been driving you mad to the point of tears some nights. Every night, you would climb into bed feeling nice and cool, but within ten minutes, you were already sweating your arse off. It was already a nightmare, but on top of that, you had to deal with the furnace that was your boyfriend.
Ryomen didn't really feel the heat. He was always just chilling half-naked around the flat you shared, completely unbothered by it—something that made you the most jealous person, you wished you could handled the heat. The worst thing? The second his head touched the pillow, he was already half asleep.
On instinct, his body would slide closer to yours, his heavy arms wrapping around your waist. That would genuinely make you want to tear up, as you could already feel the sweat trickling down your back and sleep just vanishing.
Once he was deeply asleep, you'd quietly sneak into the living room and spend hours on the balcony before exhaustion eventually caught up with you, leaving you passed out on the giant beanbag with the faint summer breeze keeping you company, that wasn't really enough to cool you down.
Every time, you'd wake up back in bed hours later, Ryomen nowhere to be seen—already at the gym or work.
Yesterday,however, a storm had broken out. Heavy, loud, scary—and fucking refreshing. The temperature had dropped from 37°C to 22°C, with the night cooling down to 13°C. It was as if heaven had finally settled on earth after days spent in hell.
The biggest smile stretched across your face right now. Even more than the cold and the silence, tonight was brainstorming night—meaning Ryo wasn't home. He'd only be back hours later, armed with dozens of new ideas he'd eagerly show you while asking for your opinion tomorrow.
Alone and cold, this was what you had been dreaming off for the past week.
With the window wide open, the cold wind made you shiver, but for now, you refused to cover yourself. You wanted to be as cold as possible before falling asleep. It felt as though you were being reborn, and you wanted to savour every second of it—as long as it would last, you'd stay cold.
This was going to be the best night of your life or at least, that's what it felt like.
You didn't know when you had fallen asleep. You couldn't tell what time it was, but you were jolted awake by the sound of the window slamming shut. Outside, the sky was darker than usual, heavy rain pelting the glass. Water had pooled on the floor from minutes—if not hours—of rain.
"Fuck," you mumbled into the pillow before forcing yourself up.
Before you could grab a random t-shirt from the laundry basket, the bedroom door opened, scaring the absolute shit out of you. The loudest scream ripped from your throat as you threw your hands over your face on instinct, preparing for a hit.
Seconds later, a warm hand clamped over your mouth, muffling the sound. Before you even opened your eyes, your palm cracked hard against the person's cheek. You immediately felt awful when you finally looked up, only to find your boyfriend staring back at you with the most deadpan expression imaginable.
Pushing him away, you slipped out of his arms before pressing a hand against your chest, your heart hammering violently.
"What the actual fuck?" you whispered, trying to steady your breathing.
"I'm just coming home," he whispered back. "You what the fuck?"
"I was sleeping!" Your whisper grew louder.
"With the shutters open?" His eyes flicked between you and the rain-soaked room.
Rolling your eyes, you lightly smacked his chest before noticing the t-shirt he was wearing. Seeing an opportunity to get back to bed sooner, you stared at it.
"Give me your shirt." It wasn't a request, it was an order.
"What?" he asked, one brow lifting.
"Give me your shirt," you repeated. "It's a simple thing."
Sighing, he didn't bother asking why, he simply pulled the shirt over his head. The lightning—being just as dramatic as your boyfriend—flashed at that exact moment, illuminating his body and the tattoos stretching across his chest.
If you weren't exhausted down to your very last bones, you probably would've jumped him right there—heatwave also meant no sex, so you were admittedly a little on edge. But no. You stayed focused, snatching the shirt before kneeling by the window and using it to soak up the water.
A loud catcall whistle echoed through the room, making you glare back at your boyfriend, who hadn't moved an inch. His eyes shamelessly fixed on your arse. Shaking your head, you couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips before returning to the puddle.
Once you were done, you stood and tossed the soaking shirt back at his chest.
"Go shower," was all you said.
His laugh followed you as you reopened the window for a moment before quickly pulling the shutters closed and climbing back into bed. The sheets were deliciously cold, your body finally cool against the freezing pillow.
It was perfect.
Perfection didn't last long, though.
Minutes later, a warm, still-damp body collapsed onto your back while you lay on your stomach.
"No," you groaned, trying to wriggle free.
"What?" You could hear the pout in his voice.
"Get away," you groaned again, your cheek squashed into the pillow.
"But it's cold tonight."
His voice was full of whining, and all you could picture was his little nephew, Yuji, pouting whenever he didn't get his way. Despite the hard demeanour he always put on, Ryomen was a complete cuddle bug. It had been one of the biggest surprises after you started dating, not that you minded.
Tonight, however, you wanted to enjoy the cold all by yourself.
When you didn't answer and kept trying to escape him, you felt his weight lift off your back. A small smile spread across your face, convinced you'd won. You should've known better.
Seconds later, the bedside lamp clicked on.
When you glanced over your shoulder, he was sitting against the headboard, arms crossed over his chest, wearing the deepest pout you'd ever seen.
"You're being ridiculous," you mumbled, dropping your head back onto the pillow.
You weren't about to fall for his trap. You closed your eyes immediately, determined to go back to sleep. When the light still didn't go off, you nearly spoke again but thought better of it.
"You're being ridiculous," he repeated, breaking the silence. And somehow you could still hear the pout in his voice. It made you giggle. "I left you alone for a week..."
He sounded genuinely offended.
"You didn't. I slept on the balcony most of the nights," you shot back, feeling yourself wake up a little more.
"Oh my God, sorry I love cuddling my girlfriend. God strike me down."
There he went. Being dramatic all over again.
"Jesus," you sighed. "Am I babysitting Yuji or something?"
"Sure, go ahead. Make fun of me." That only made you laugh harder. "I'm miserable over here and you're having a laugh."
"Turn the light off," was all he got in return.
Huffing dramatically, he finally lay back down, and a second later, the light clicked off.
His body settled on the opposite side of the bed, his warmth lingering even from a distance. With the window still slightly ajar, the room grew colder and colder, while the steady rain hitting against the shutters slowly lulled you back to sleep.
Another little sigh was the final straw.
Reaching behind you, you patted the mattress until you found your boyfriend. The moment your fingers brushed against his hand, you grabbed it and pulled him closer. His body followed immediately.
Seconds later, his arm was wrapped around your waist, his chest resting against your back.
"You're a baby," you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep.
"I know," he replied softly, pressing little kisses against the skin of your neck.
You'd be lying if you said it didn't feel nice.
As usual, his body melted against yours like it was always meant to be there. It was cute how attached he could get, how clingy he became—especially when he was tired, which you knew he was.
"God," he whispered against your neck sounding like a sigh of relief. "I love you."
That made you giggle. How a six-foot-something man could become this adorable was beyond you. How could you not fall for a man like that?
"Love you too," you whispered back.
Honestly, you'd take a hundred heatwaves for moments like these. Well... maybe not, but you could always move to a colder country. Problem solved.
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ pairing. tattoo artist!ryomen sukuna x reader
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ about.
you couldn't wait for the heatwave to be done, and finally the world had answered your prayers... so why you were punishing your boyfriend? no sorcerers!au. (wc: 1.510)
ㅤㅤ ㅤ.ᐟ warnings.
none. chubby reader.
ㅤㅤ ㅤᯓ masterlist.
⭑ anthology masterlist.
Finally, this felt nice. Being in a cold bed after the heat wave that had been going on for more than a week felt like being graced entrance in heaven.
The silence felt nice as well, as the fan had been working overtime for the past few days—its constant hum had been driving you mad to the point of tears some nights. Every night, you would climb into bed feeling nice and cool, but within ten minutes, you were already sweating your arse off. It was already a nightmare, but on top of that, you had to deal with the furnace that was your boyfriend.
Ryomen didn't really feel the heat. He was always just chilling half-naked around the flat you shared, completely unbothered by it—something that made you the most jealous person, you wished you could handled the heat. The worst thing? The second his head touched the pillow, he was already half asleep.
On instinct, his body would slide closer to yours, his heavy arms wrapping around your waist. That would genuinely make you want to tear up, as you could already feel the sweat trickling down your back and sleep just vanishing.
Once he was deeply asleep, you'd quietly sneak into the living room and spend hours on the balcony before exhaustion eventually caught up with you, leaving you passed out on the giant beanbag with the faint summer breeze keeping you company, that wasn't really enough to cool you down.
Every time, you'd wake up back in bed hours later, Ryomen nowhere to be seen—already at the gym or work.
Yesterday,however, a storm had broken out. Heavy, loud, scary—and fucking refreshing. The temperature had dropped from 37°C to 22°C, with the night cooling down to 13°C. It was as if heaven had finally settled on earth after days spent in hell.
The biggest smile stretched across your face right now. Even more than the cold and the silence, tonight was brainstorming night—meaning Ryo wasn't home. He'd only be back hours later, armed with dozens of new ideas he'd eagerly show you while asking for your opinion tomorrow.
Alone and cold, this was what you had been dreaming off for the past week.
With the window wide open, the cold wind made you shiver, but for now, you refused to cover yourself. You wanted to be as cold as possible before falling asleep. It felt as though you were being reborn, and you wanted to savour every second of it—as long as it would last, you'd stay cold.
This was going to be the best night of your life or at least, that's what it felt like.
You didn't know when you had fallen asleep. You couldn't tell what time it was, but you were jolted awake by the sound of the window slamming shut. Outside, the sky was darker than usual, heavy rain pelting the glass. Water had pooled on the floor from minutes—if not hours—of rain.
"Fuck," you mumbled into the pillow before forcing yourself up.
Before you could grab a random t-shirt from the laundry basket, the bedroom door opened, scaring the absolute shit out of you. The loudest scream ripped from your throat as you threw your hands over your face on instinct, preparing for a hit.
Seconds later, a warm hand clamped over your mouth, muffling the sound. Before you even opened your eyes, your palm cracked hard against the person's cheek. You immediately felt awful when you finally looked up, only to find your boyfriend staring back at you with the most deadpan expression imaginable.
Pushing him away, you slipped out of his arms before pressing a hand against your chest, your heart hammering violently.
"What the actual fuck?" you whispered, trying to steady your breathing.
"I'm just coming home," he whispered back. "You what the fuck?"
"I was sleeping!" Your whisper grew louder.
"With the shutters open?" His eyes flicked between you and the rain-soaked room.
Rolling your eyes, you lightly smacked his chest before noticing the t-shirt he was wearing. Seeing an opportunity to get back to bed sooner, you stared at it.
"Give me your shirt." It wasn't a request, it was an order.
"What?" he asked, one brow lifting.
"Give me your shirt," you repeated. "It's a simple thing."
Sighing, he didn't bother asking why, he simply pulled the shirt over his head. The lightning—being just as dramatic as your boyfriend—flashed at that exact moment, illuminating his body and the tattoos stretching across his chest.
If you weren't exhausted down to your very last bones, you probably would've jumped him right there—heatwave also meant no sex, so you were admittedly a little on edge. But no. You stayed focused, snatching the shirt before kneeling by the window and using it to soak up the water.
A loud catcall whistle echoed through the room, making you glare back at your boyfriend, who hadn't moved an inch. His eyes shamelessly fixed on your arse. Shaking your head, you couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips before returning to the puddle.
Once you were done, you stood and tossed the soaking shirt back at his chest.
"Go shower," was all you said.
His laugh followed you as you reopened the window for a moment before quickly pulling the shutters closed and climbing back into bed. The sheets were deliciously cold, your body finally cool against the freezing pillow.
It was perfect.
Perfection didn't last long, though.
Minutes later, a warm, still-damp body collapsed onto your back while you lay on your stomach.
"No," you groaned, trying to wriggle free.
"What?" You could hear the pout in his voice.
"Get away," you groaned again, your cheek squashed into the pillow.
"But it's cold tonight."
His voice was full of whining, and all you could picture was his little nephew, Yuji, pouting whenever he didn't get his way. Despite the hard demeanour he always put on, Ryomen was a complete cuddle bug. It had been one of the biggest surprises after you started dating, not that you minded.
Tonight, however, you wanted to enjoy the cold all by yourself.
When you didn't answer and kept trying to escape him, you felt his weight lift off your back. A small smile spread across your face, convinced you'd won. You should've known better.
Seconds later, the bedside lamp clicked on.
When you glanced over your shoulder, he was sitting against the headboard, arms crossed over his chest, wearing the deepest pout you'd ever seen.
"You're being ridiculous," you mumbled, dropping your head back onto the pillow.
You weren't about to fall for his trap. You closed your eyes immediately, determined to go back to sleep. When the light still didn't go off, you nearly spoke again but thought better of it.
"You're being ridiculous," he repeated, breaking the silence. And somehow you could still hear the pout in his voice. It made you giggle. "I left you alone for a week..."
He sounded genuinely offended.
"You didn't. I slept on the balcony most of the nights," you shot back, feeling yourself wake up a little more.
"Oh my God, sorry I love cuddling my girlfriend. God strike me down."
There he went. Being dramatic all over again.
"Jesus," you sighed. "Am I babysitting Yuji or something?"
"Sure, go ahead. Make fun of me." That only made you laugh harder. "I'm miserable over here and you're having a laugh."
"Turn the light off," was all he got in return.
Huffing dramatically, he finally lay back down, and a second later, the light clicked off.
His body settled on the opposite side of the bed, his warmth lingering even from a distance. With the window still slightly ajar, the room grew colder and colder, while the steady rain hitting against the shutters slowly lulled you back to sleep.
Another little sigh was the final straw.
Reaching behind you, you patted the mattress until you found your boyfriend. The moment your fingers brushed against his hand, you grabbed it and pulled him closer. His body followed immediately.
Seconds later, his arm was wrapped around your waist, his chest resting against your back.
"You're a baby," you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep.
"I know," he replied softly, pressing little kisses against the skin of your neck.
You'd be lying if you said it didn't feel nice.
As usual, his body melted against yours like it was always meant to be there. It was cute how attached he could get, how clingy he became—especially when he was tired, which you knew he was.
"God," he whispered against your neck sounding like a sigh of relief. "I love you."
That made you giggle. How a six-foot-something man could become this adorable was beyond you. How could you not fall for a man like that?
"Love you too," you whispered back.
Honestly, you'd take a hundred heatwaves for moments like these. Well... maybe not, but you could always move to a colder country. Problem solved.
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ pairing. tattoo artist!ryomen sukuna x reader
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ about.
a life along side ryomen sukuna is never an quiet one. no sorcerers!au.
ㅤㅤ ㅤ.ᐟ warnings.
suggestive. fluff. domestic ambiance. uncle!kuna. chubby reader.
→ be sure to read each part's warnings.
ㅤㅤ ㅤᯓ masterlist.
⭑ on going.
an anthology ˎˊ˗
ㅤㅤ ㅤᯓ knock knock
pounding on the door wasn't the best way to be woken up in the middle of the night. (wc: 1.790)
ㅤㅤ ㅤᯓ heatwave
you couldn't wait for the heatwave to be done, and finally the world had answered your prayers... so why you were punishing your boyfriend? (wc: 1.510)
do you think u can make a sukana x bimbo reader like he wants to fuck her stupidity out
hey nonnie!
tbh, i don't really feel comfortable with writing bimbo or dumb reader, cause like, i don't really like the idea that only women are stupid and that's attractive to men... cause i only write afab reader.
this is the closest you'll get to bimbo from me, sorry :/
