Sukuna loves his needy, clingy, clueless little girlfriend — and he’d rather die than ever say it out loud.
✦. cws : smut, possessive dynamics, lots of physical touch, weirdly soft moments/obsession, light angst, fluff, two idiots in love. ✦. wc : 2k
Ryomen Sukuna didn’t believe in love at first sight…
Though technically… you were the one who picked him.
Like a puppy choosing its owner. Right?
You just walked up to him that day and hung off his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You rubbed your cheek against his shoulder, searched for his hand in the crowd, looked up at him with those needy eyes that made him think: you’re either weird, or just… weird?
But you were so sweet...
You were so shamelessly desperate for his attention that he let you stay.
Back then he didn’t realize you’d stick to him forever...
You’re always touching him.
On walks, you slip your freezing hands into his jacket pockets and hook your fingers with his.
In line, you wedge yourself in front of him, forcing his hands into your coat pockets.
In elevators, you turn around, slide your hands into his back pockets, pull him closer and melt against him.
Sukuna mutters, “People are staring.” And you just press closer.
You don’t care about people.
You don’t care about anything except him.
When you sit at a cafe, you wrap both your legs around his under the table.
Hook your heels around his ankle, rub against him like a cat in heat.
He gets hard, his jeans start digging into him, and Sukuna leans down to your ear with a smirk. “Wanna find somewhere private?”
And you look at him with the most innocent eyes in the world.
You’re just a little stupid, right? Not even doing it intentionally.
And that drives him even crazier.
You’re a menace, you know that?
He swears it under his breath like it’s an insult. It isn’t.
You’re his girlfriend.
His innocently sinful, doesn’t-even-know-what-she’s-doing girlfriend.
At every party you stand next to him while he talks to his friends, clinging to his arm so his hand ends up dangerously close to between your thighs when you rest your head on his shoulder.
His friends tease him.
Sukuna snaps back, but you’re already dragging him away, whining, “Dance with me!”
It takes you less than a second to reach for him, your palm settling right over the growing bulge in his jeans.
Sukuna leans down, voice rough: “Keep this up and I’ll fuck you right here.”
You smile, bite his bottom lip and whisper, “Promise?”
Sukuna swallows and thinks about how he’s a damn prude for thinking there are too many people here.
Sukuna, for fuck’s sake, blushes.
And he thinks you’re actually going to drive him insane.
But you’re his girlfriend.
His makes-him-lose-his-mind girlfriend.
At home you never leave him alone.
If he’s cooking, you’re behind him, hugging his waist, pressing your forehead between his shoulder blades, making it impossible to chop vegetables.
If he’s reading, you’re sprawled on his chest, tracing the lines with your finger even though it’s your book and you’re the one reading out loud.
If you’re watching a movie, you’re on his chest again, dragging your finger over his collarbones, biting at the skin of his neck, leaving tiny red marks between his tattoos.
Sukuna hisses, “Stop it. I’ve got classes tomorrow. I can’t show up covered in hickeys.”
You lick the spot like you’re “healing” it
What’s he supposed to do? Strangle you?
You’re his girlfriend.
His bitey, has-no-boundaries girlfriend.
You sit on his thigh when you eat. Not next to him — on him.
Chairs are for strangers. You belong on Sukuna.
You reach over him for the remote, for chips, for his coffee because yours got cold.
You lick sauce off his fingers and look at him like you did nothing wrong.
You eat from his fork because it “tastes better,” drink from his mug because it’s “warmer,” rub your cheek against his shoulder because you “need to.”
Sukuna hasn’t eaten a hot meal in months.
You never let him focus.
You’re his girlfriend.
His hyper, always-hungry-for-him girlfriend.
Sukuna’s gaming, last HP, intense fight, adrenaline spiking — and you crawl into his lap like you belong there.
Sit on his thighs, wrap your arms around his neck and stare at him.
“I’m bored,” you whine.
Then you start moving. Grinding when he’s tense, matching your hips to his clicks, breathing into his neck, letting out little sounds.
You’re cheating. You bite his ear harder. Now all he can think about is fucking you on the desk while the entire voice chat hears.
Sukuna growls, “Let me finish the fight, woman!”
You have the worst timing on the planet.
And the audacity to look innocent about it.
You’re his girlfriend.
His can’t-let-him-play-in-peace girlfriend.
In the morning you wake him up your way. Kissing his chest, his stomach, going lower while he’s still half-asleep.
He jolts awake and fists your hair, tugging you back from his cock.
“Are you insane?!”
You look at him with sleepy eyes, lick your lips and lean in to kiss him.
“Morning,” you purr, pressing your naked body to his, leg thrown over his thigh, fingers already sliding down his cock, guiding him to your pussy...
And Sukuna realizes it really is a good morning.
In the bathroom…
God, you’re in there with him too.
You drag him into the shower every morning. “Sukuna-aa, get in here.”
He goes.
Because if he doesn’t, you’ll walk out soaking wet and naked and stick to him on the cold floor.
Who’s the crazy one here? He doesn’t have a choice.
You soap his back, drag your hands down his chest. He prays you don’t bite his nipple or he’s done for and they’ll both be late to class.
You brush your ass against him “accidentally” when reaching for shampoo.
“You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” he hisses.
You blink at him. “Doing what?”
You blink at him like you’re the victim here.
Like he’s the one starting trouble.
You brush your teeth together every morning.
You squeeze between him and the sink, so he has to brush his teeth basically hugging you from behind.
He watches your reflection — you in his oversized shirt, messy and happy. Him — trapped, grumpy, and somehow… well-rested. Satisfied.
“How did I end up like this?” he thinks.
But he doesn’t remove his hand from your waist.
You’re his girlfriend.
His dumb, clingy girlfriend.
You wear his clothes.
His shirts are your pajamas. His hoodies are yours now. Even his socks. They’re huge on you. He finds you in his favorite boxers and just sighs. Useless to argue...
You’re his girlfriend.
His tiny thief of a girlfriend.
You bite him. All the damn time.
Biceps, neck, even his nose once. “Are you a dog?” he snaps.
You lick the bite and smile. He mutters under his breath.
Once you actually bit down on his nose so hard you cut off his breathing, and for a second he genuinely thought you might kill him in his sleep.
You’d bite him in public if he let you.
You probably would, actually.
You’re his girlfriend.
His weird, bitey, obsessed-with-him girlfriend.
Sukuna sometimes refuses to let you suck him off.
Not because he doesn’t want you to.
But because he genuinely fears you’ll get too enthusiastic and bite his dick off.
He sees the sparkle in your eyes when you reach for his waistband and wonders if he actually values his life.
And when Sukuna eats you out — that’s a whole different level of extreme sports.
You clamp your thighs around his head so tight his vision actually starts to blur. Sukuna smacks your hip.
“Breathe! Let me fucking breathe!”
You loosen your grip for a second — just a second — and then pull him right back because it feels too good.
And he’s smiling through it, half suffocating.
Because dying like that — between your thighs, strangled by the sweetest girl in the world — might honestly be the best way to go.
You’re his girlfriend.
His dangerous, deadly girlfriend.
You sleep on top of him, wrapped around his body with your arms and legs.
You basically use him as a mattress, a blanket, and a stuffed toy all at once.
Sukuna wakes up in the middle of the night because his arm is numb, his leg is numb, his back hurts, and he swears even his ear fell asleep.
It’s hot, suffocating. He’s thirsty. He needs to turn over.
He tries to peel you off him — you just keep sleeping, wearing the dumbest, happiest expression in the world.
You’re snoring softly into his armpit, twitching in your sleep and only clinging tighter.
Sukuna looks at you and briefly considers poking you in the nose.
Instead, he kisses your forehead and stays where he is, feeling every part of his body go numb. He stares at the ceiling, listening to you breathe.
“Fucking little parasite…” he mutters under his breath.
You’re his girlfriend.
His forever girlfriend.
Even during fights you cling to him.
You yell at each other. You scream. Slam doors. Say awful things...
And five minutes later you crawl back to him and rest your head on his knees.
You wrap your arms around his legs, press your nose into his stomach and sit there until he starts stroking your hair.
“I’m sorry. I love you. Don’t be mad,” you whisper.
And he can’t stay mad.
“You’re unbearable,” he grumbles.
But you’re already leaning in to kiss him, already tugging his shirt up because making up has to be done properly.
And Sukuna gives in...
You’re his girlfriend.
You latch onto him when he leaves for work.
Cry like it’s a tragedy.
You hang off his leg while he’s trying to put on his sneakers.
You wrap around his torso while he’s grabbing his keys.
You stand in the doorway with wet eyes, and every single time he considers just staying home.
Sukuna kisses your forehead. Your nose. Your lips. Peels you off himself and leaves.
Three hours later he comes back — and you jump on him again.
Wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and he catches you automatically, stepping back so he doesn’t fall.
You cling to him like a little monkey, rubbing your nose against his neck.
“Missed youuu,” you whine.
His bag drops to the floor, his keys go flying somewhere into the hallway, and he’s standing there holding you under your thighs, grumbling that he hasn’t even taken his shoes off yet.
But he’s smiling.
You’re his girlfriend.
His always-jumps-into-his-arms girlfriend.
Sukuna grumbles.
Constantly.
He grumbles when you rub up against him in the kitchen.
When you climb into his lap mid-game.
When you bite his nose.
When you drag him into the shower.
When you steal his boxers.
When you lick his face after sex.
He grumbles when you shove your freezing hands into his pockets in winter. When you sit on his thigh at dinner.
When you refuse to let him get up from the couch because you’ve already made yourself comfortable on top of him and you’re not moving.
“Get off.”
“Cut it out.”
“Let me eat in peace.”
“I don’t have a single shirt left that’s actually mine.”
“Can I pee alone? Are you gonna stand outside the door?”
“You’re gonna eat me alive one day.”
But when you fall asleep on his chest with the dumbest, happiest expression in the world, when your fingers loosen around his forearm, when you snore and twitch in your sleep, pressing closer— he just looks at you and thinks.
He thinks about the day you just walked up and glued yourself to him.
About how you filled his apartment with your smell, your things, your endless energy — everywhere, all the time, no breaks, no pause button, not even a damn lunch break...
About how you chose him.
Could’ve chosen someone who wouldn’t pretend to be annoyed when you crawl into their lap. Fucking Gojo, for example — touch-starved, always reaching, always wanting, clingy, touchy, just as damn needy as you are.
Annoyed, Sukuna pulls you closer.
Fucking Gojo can go to hell.
Sukuna is hopelessly obsessed with his clingy girlfriend.
He’s just too stubborn to admit how much.
You don’t even know what you’ve done to him.
And he’s not about to tell you.
Sukuna doesn’t even remember what it was like before your hands were always reaching for him.
Before your lips were always searching for his.
Before your body was constantly pressed against his.
Before your whispers at night.
Before your “I missed you” in the hallway.
And when you cry because he was five minutes late and think he doesn’t love you, he sighs, pulls you close, kisses your hair.
“Idiot,” he whispers. “I was late because of traffic, but next time I’ll threaten the cab driver to go faster. Deal?”
You’re dramatic. Completely dramatic.
Sukuna smiles when he feels you nod and already start slipping your hands under his shirt.
Because the truth is — if you ever stopped being like this, if you suddenly became distant and independent — he wouldn’t survive it.
He’d be the one clinging to you. Forever.
You’re his girlfriend.
And he wouldn’t trade you for a peaceful life.
Not for anything.
Sukuna just really loves his needy, clingy, ridiculous, loved, clueless little girlfriend.
Do not repost, copy, plagiarize, translate, or feed my work into AI in any form!) English is not my first language, so yes, my writing might not be perfect.(
Divider credit: @angeliicide
Steam fogged the mirror as he leaned against the sink, towel hitched low on his hips, breath tight with the familiar ache in his joints. Flambae -no- Chad stood close, still fully dressed, hands glowing with a gentle warmth only he could summon. His hair had come undone sometime earlier - spilling now over his shoulders framing both of their faces. He pressed his palms to knotted muscles, careful and steady. Heat flowed—not burning, just right—easing pain into loosened quiet. The ache softened; shoulders dropped.
“Better?” he asked softly.
A nod, a faint smile. In the small bathroom, comfort hummed like a living thing, warm as a held promise.
