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He doesnβt stop when you scream.
Doesnβt slow down when your nails sink into his arms, your back arching in a pathetic attempt to writhe away from him. If anything, he grinsβwolfish and smug, teeth bared in an almost delighted sneer.
“That’s cute,” Sukuna laughs, voice thick with amusement, with arrogance, as he drags you back under him like itβs second nature. “Still fighting like youβve got a chance.”
You donβt. You never did.
Not when you let him into your lifeβunknowing, unwilling, stupidly, naively believing that Sukuna was ever capable of anything other than taking. He is not kind. He does not love. What he does do, however, is fucking ownβand that includes you.
His hips slam forward, tearing another sob from your throat. The bed rocks, headboard denting the wall. You can feel the heat of his skin, the weight of his body, the way his fingers sink into your fleshβhard, punishing, unyielding.
He likes this. Likes watching you break, your defiance fracturing into desperate, hiccuping whimpers.
Sukuna is a bully, through and through.
He thrives off your humiliation, feeds on your suffering, drinks in the helpless tremble of your thighs as he spreads them wider, as he pounds into you with cruel, measured intent. His fingers find your jaw, squeezing, forcing you to look at him.
βGo ahead,β he taunts, tilting his head. βCry for me.β
Your body betrays youβshaking, burning, raw. It makes him laugh, deep and guttural, as he slams in again, relishing in the choked-out gasp that tears from your lips.
βFuck, youβre tight. Clenching up like a scared little virgin.” His smirk grows wider, meaner. “Hurts, doesnβt it? I can feel how much.”
You shake your head, trying to deny him the pleasure of your misery. But he sees itβsees every little shudder, every twitch, every shameful quiver of your thighs.
And he fucking loves it.
“God, youβre a shit liar,” Sukuna groans, rolling his hips deeper, harder, forcing you to feel him, to acknowledge every inch of him inside you. “Your cuntβs sucking me in, baby. Wanna tell me again how much you hate this?”
The answer sticks in your throat, drowned out by the slick, obscene sounds filling the room.
He leans in, mouth ghosting over your ear. His breath is hot, his voice silk and razor wire.
“You shouldβve never let me fuck you that first time,” he murmurs, and the memory hitsβhis cock twitching inside you at the thought of it, at the image of you sprawled beneath him, helpless and gasping. “Now look at you. Canβt get rid of me even if you tried.”
You did try.
You failed.
And Sukuna? Sukuna never lets go of whatβs his.
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