Every thrust drove the bedframe into the wall in a rhythm that nearly matched the congregation's amens—close enough. You bit down on his fingers to muffle your own rising noises, tasting iron, and he growled approval against your shoulder. The scent of him—leather, sweat, sin—filled your lungs more thoroughly than any incense ever had.

Below, the sermon reached its crescendo about purity as Sukuna’s hips snapped forward, forcing a choked gasp from you. His grip on your hair tightened, pulling your head back just enough to hear his ragged breath against your ear. "That’s it" he muttered, voice rough as gravel, "let ‘em think y’r speaking in tongues."

You muffled your moan against his palm, the taste of his skin sharp with salt and gunpowder. His other hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. The bedframe knocked against the wall in time with his thrusts, each one deeper, until you were biting down so hard you worried you’d draw blood.

"Look at you," he murmured, almost tender if not for the way his hips kept a punishing pace. "Pretty little sinner." The words shouldn’t have made your stomach flutter, but they did, and he knew it—his chuckle was dark with satisfaction.

His fingers loosened their grip on your hair just enough to thread through it instead, pulling just shy of painful. You arched against him, rewarded with a sharp thrust that had you swallowing a whimper. “Quiet” he warned, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

The hand over your mouth slid away, replaced by his thumb brushing your bottom lip, smearing it with the salt of his skin. For a heartbeat, his rhythm slowed—almost gentle—until you made the mistake of rocking back against him. His growl vibrated against your spine as he pinned you harder into the mattress, the bedframe protesting under the renewed force.

"Greedy little girl" he accused, but his palm smoothed down your side like an apology.

"Bet they’d love to see ya like this," he mused, dragging his tongue up your spine. "All spread out for me."

You choked back a moan, fingers clawing at the quilt as he angled his hips just right—deep enough to make your toes curl. The hymn downstairs had faded into murmured prayers, but Sukuna’s breathing was louder.

His hand slid from your hip to your stomach, pressing down hard as he fucked you deeper, like he was trying to carve himself into you. "Ya feel that?" he gritted out, and you did—the stretch, the heat, the way your body clenched around him like it was begging for more even as your lungs burned with suppressed cries.

"Gonna fill this womb" he growled, hips snapping forward in a brutal rhythm that had your vision blurring. "Let it take, let’em all see—" His fingers dug into your thigh, forcing your legs wider. "—see how pretty you’d look carryin’ my babies."

You nodded frantically, breath hitching as he bottomed out, the stretch almost too much—he was always too much, thick enough to make you whimper just taking him. "More," you begged, voice cracked and ragged against the quilt, fingers twisting in the fabric as if you could pull him deeper.

His chuckle was dark with promise, one hand fisting your hair while the other spread possessively over your stomach. "Gonna ruin ya," he murmured, hips snapping forward in short, brutal strokes that punched the air from your lungs. "Fill ya so full you’ll feel me for days" The thought shouldn’t have made your thighs clench around him, but it did, and he groaned at the sudden tightness.

You bit the quilt to stifle a sob as his pace turned erratic, the slap of skin drowning out the faint murmur of hymns below. His fingers dug into your hip hard enough to leave bruises—tomorrow’s penance—as his thrusts lost all rhythm, driving into you with a desperation that burned. "Shit," he gritted out, voice raw, "gonna—"

The rest dissolved into a growl as he came, hips jerking forward one last time, pressing you deep into the mattress like he wanted to fuse you together. You felt him pulse inside you, hot and insistent, his grip on your hair tightening as he shuddered—then his hand slid down to circle your clit, rough strokes coaxing you to follow. "K-kuna-" you gasped, hips bucking against his fingers, the coil in your stomach winding tighter.

Below, the congregation murmured their final amen just as your vision whited out, thighs trembling around him as you bit down on the quilt to silence your own choked cry. Sukuna’s palm muffled you again, pressing harder when your back arched, you felt his chuckle against your shoulder.

"There it is” he murmured, fingers still working you through it, drawing out every last twitch until you went limp beneath him.

He didn’t pull out immediately, just stayed buried inside you, his breath hot against your spine as the hymn downstairs faded into shuffling footsteps. His thumb brushed your lower lip, smearing it with spit and the faintest hint of blood where you’d bitten too hard. "Y’r stuck with me now."