𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ ❝𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓❞

He’s going to kill you.

Not in the way you think, though your mind should be teeming with that fear, drowning in it, choked out beneath his weight. Sukuna’s been in the ring too long, fists conditioned for breaking bones and snapping tendons, knuckles accustomed to caving in cheekbones like brittle glass. But no—he doesn’t want to kill you that way.

He’s going to do it slowly. From the inside. Because he saw it.

That bastard, Gojo. That walking punchline of a rival. That smug, lanky bastard who’s had his eyes on you far too long—talking to you, grinning at you, making you laugh when you haven’t so much as looked at Sukuna properly in weeks.

It all makes sense now.

Why you’ve been avoiding him. Why you flinch when his fingers brush your wrist. Why your voice has turned soft, placating, when you say his name—as if he’s a beast to be tamed.

He wasn’t supposed to find out like this.

You, outside the gym, tucked in the dim alley where you thought no one could see, clutching a bundle of letters—his name scrawled in ink on the envelopes. That fucker leaning too close, breath hitting your ear, whispering, “Come on, baby, you don’t have to pretend for him.”

It’s disgusting. You are disgusting.

The blood rushes to his head so fast it drowns out everything—reason, restraint, the dull ache in his bruised fists. Sukuna doesn’t even remember moving—but suddenly he’s here, watching you, his wife, pressed against his rival, a picture-perfect betrayal.

And you smile at Gojo.

The same smile you used to give him.

A pretty little cheat.

✦✧✦✧

You barely have time to scream before Sukuna drags you into the car. He shoves you inside with so much force you topple onto the seat, hands trembling, eyes blown wide with something between confusion and terror. He doesn’t care.

Your body belongs to him.

Not to that weakling.

And he’s going to remind you.

✦✧✦✧

The room spins. Your skull slams against the mattress. His hands rip the buttons from your blouse—pearls bouncing across the floor like teeth spilling from a shattered jaw.

“You think you’re fucking cute, huh?” His voice is a low growl, thick with rage and something more terrifying—something sickeningly aroused.

You choke out his name.

“Shut up.” A slap. Sharp, stinging. “You don’t get to say my name after that shit.”

You’re crying. Pleading. Sukuna doesn’t care.

He’s already pushing your thighs apart, fingers cruel against the silk of your panties, tearing fabric and sanity alike. You squirm, but his weight pins you down, thighs locked around his hips, your wrists caged above your head.

“You were gonna fuck him, weren’t you?” He laughs, low and breathless, cock pressing against your entrance. “Gonna let that weak little shit touch you?”

You shake your head frantically. It doesn’t matter.

Because he doesn’t believe you.

And he’s going to fuck the proof out of you.

Painful. Hard. Without mercy.

Until you forget any name that isn’t his.

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