𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬

He catches you.

You don’t hear him come in, too focused on the way your body moves—awkward, unsure, mimicking the self-defense tutorial on your phone screen. Your fists are small, your stance weak, but you try anyway, throwing a clumsy punch into the air.

It’s laughable.

And he does laugh, low and dark behind you.

You freeze. Cold sweat prickles your skin before you even turn around.

Sukuna leans against the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like he’s caught something pathetic in his trap. His gaze drags over your frame, slow, assessing, predatory.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You swallow, stepping back. “Nothing.”

He steps forward. “Looked like something.”

Your throat tightens. You try to move past him—try to pretend you weren’t just trying to make yourself less weak—but he blocks you, one big hand pressing against your stomach, stopping you cold.

“Where’d you get this dumb fucking idea, huh?” His fingers curl around your waist, squeezing, feeling how easily he could snap you in half. “Self-defense? Against who?”

Against him.

But you don’t say it.

His smirk deepens, like he can hear the thought anyway.

He moves fast. Too fast.

One second, you’re standing. The next, you’re on the floor, your back hitting the mat hard, your breath knocked from your lungs.

He’s on top of you.

“You wanna fight?” His voice is silk-laced mockery, a cruel, purring taunt as he pins you down effortlessly. One knee shoves between your legs, spreading them. “Go on, then. Stop me.”

Your hands push against his chest, weak, trembling. He doesn’t budge.

He grins. “Pathetic.”

Panic grips you, twisting in your gut. You try to twist away, but his grip tightens, fingers digging into your wrists, forcing them above your head.

His mouth is at your ear now. “I like you like this.” His tongue flicks against your skin. “Helpless. Weak.”

Your pulse spikes as his free hand slides down your stomach, over your thighs, between them.

“No,” you gasp, but he’s already tugging at your shorts, yanking them down, exposing the softness he refuses to let harden.

“You don’t get to say no,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement as his fingers slip beneath your panties, finding heat, forcing it.

Tears burn at your lashes. You thrash, fight, but it only makes him groan, makes his hold tighten, makes him rut against you like he gets off on the struggle alone.

“That’s right,” he breathes, shoving two fingers inside you, stretching you open while you whimper, while you beg. “You don’t need to be strong, sweetheart.”

His cock grinds against your stomach, hard, heavy, impatient.

“You just need to take it.”

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