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Vice President!Sukuna

Pétain: losing it all pt 2

Word count: 3.3k Contents: cursing, alcohol use, angst, triggering, flashback to The Night, from reader's perspective

This is it.

This is the culmination of everything you’ve ever done in your entire life. All the late nights, the volunteering work, the part time jobs, the internships, the extra credit, all the clubs anyone could possibly do crammed into your schedule for years. Every friend you’ve lost, every teacher’s ass you’ve kissed, and every tear you’ve shred. None of it you regret.

Here, at Eden University, the top university in the country. Standing among the sons and daughters of the wealthiest, most successful families in the world, the best and the brightest, future leaders, record breakers, record setters, industry changing individuals. You’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted; you’ve got a scholarship to back you.

And now, it’s time to celebrate.

“Y/n, come on!”

Penny beckons you over, shaking her hair with a wide grin. She’s your friend, your bestest friend. And you came to EdenU with her. Wild and carefree, you two are opposites, but you’ve been stuck together like glue since you were in diapers. Insisting that you catch up on lost time, she’s made a pact with you.

You’re going to lose your virginity tonight.

Your alcohol, party, kiss, and of course, sexual virginities.

All things she swore eighteen-year-olds needed to have lost before entering university. You’re not convinced that’s true, but the idea does sound good. Losing everything that was holding you back from being just like everyone else and starting fresh on equal footing with your new peers.

That’s tonight’s plan.

With a giggle, you let her lead you into the middle of the dance floor. Club Lilith is packed; every freshman, both EdenU and non-EdenU students, filling the underground nightclub. Body to body, you’re being pushed back and forth and side to side, like waves crashing at you from all sides. The music is loud, and you can’t make out the lyrics, can only feel the beats thumping through your chest, piercing you with the bass. It’s exhilarating, to be moved by external forces and to go with the flow, to be untethered for one night.

You start to understand why Penny did it all the time whilst you were in the library.

Swaying, you both grip each other’s hips and waist, partially from a desire to let loose together, and to keep afloat amongst the crowd. Your cheeks are aching from smiling so much and so widely, giggling as she bops her head like a rockstar.

But then she spots something above you.

“Oh my god, look!” She screams in your ear. “It’s Gojo! And he’s with Sukuna and Geto.”

There’s only one name you recognise, and it wasn’t ‘Gojo’ or ‘Geto’. You have no idea who they are and why she’s screeching in your ear about them. The three people are standing on the second floor, leaning against the railing as they half converse together, and half watch the people. Suddenly, you’re being pulled again, this time away from the dance floor. The crowd doesn’t part, the people become steel walls, all rigid and fixed, and you both have to dig your elbows for leverage.

“This is your chance to get with Sukuna, come on!”

As you both make your way upstairs, with Penny flashing her family’s name at the security guard, you gulp. Having been no stranger to the world of politics, you recognised Sukuna immediately. You saw him at the induction day, sat just metres away from you as he eyed the hall with mild interest.

His family is Old Money, having been there at the very founding of the country, building every foundation and infrastructure with their bare hands, and continuing to do as leaders of the political regime. Ryomen is a world-famous name with a world-famous empire to back it up. And their one, and only, son?

He’s fucking hot.

And you hate that you find him attractive. You aren’t the type to get all nervous around a guy, they’re just boys, after all. But he might just be the first person you’ve ever had a crush on in your entire life. You hope he likes you.

“Gojo, hey, babe,” Penny squeals, jumping into a slightly surprised white-haired man. He returns the hug and introduces her to everyone as a family friend.

You stand there awkwardly, waving at the girls sipping champagne, and at the guys who eye both you and your friend. Walking over to Penny who’s chatting excitedly to Gojo, recapping her summer, you smile at Sukuna and, who you’ve deduced as being, Geto.

The latter returns a polite smile and the former quirks one corner of his lip, his own version of a greeting, you’ve gathered. Up close, he’s even better looking; his hair is a pastel pink, he has broad shoulders, and his skin is flawless.

You wonder if he tastes just as dangerous as he looks.

Rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, you try to make conversation, “So what are you guys studying?”

With a scoff, Sukuna stalks off.

Your cheeks start heating up.

“Don’t mind him,” Geto sighs, “he just doesn’t like crowds or strangers.”

Then why is he at a club on the busiest night?

That’s one of those thoughts you keep to yourself, so you nod. You make idle chit chat with the long haired man; he's sweet, polite and gentlemanly. You could see yourself losing everything tonight, with him, and you know he'd take care of you. But, somewhere in the back of your mind, you're aware your attraction is surface-level. There's something he wouldn't be able to give, something deep inside of you that can't be scratched. It's dark and sinister and you're ashamed.

Your friend and Gojo are laughing, talking about some family event they had to go to, and you kind of feel bad for how touchy she's being, though she's like that to everyone. She hugs his arm, squeezing it between her breasts as she slurs her words. The man only laughs and pats her on her head.

Eventually, appearing satisfied with the last ten minutes, Penny’s grabbing your arm and cheering. “Okay, let’s go dance again.”

Apparently, all she wanted was to make her presence known to Gojo. You say goodbye to everyone, even though their attentions already shifted to a couple making out in the corner, cheering them on. And you both return to the dance floor.

Another hour passes, well, it could have been ten hours, it’s hard to tell. There are no windows nor clocks, and the crowd isn’t waning. But despite how unnatural it is for you, you continue to dance, rocking to the music, and ignoring the ache in your chest that manifested after being shrugged off by your first ever crush.

This is everything you've ever wanted, all at your fingertips. The soothing coolness of alcohol lifting you higher and higher as you grind on a random man, his hands all over your body in a way you don't really hate. And you're elated, grinning at Penny who's fluffing her hair as she lets a guy kiss her neck.

You've talked about this night for so long, going over all the wild and crazy things you'd do now that you're unburdened by responsibilities. It feels incredibly surreal to be here, with everyone regarding you as a peer as they grin back at you, finding your body just as attractive as you find them.

Soon, the lack of fresh air gets to you, so you excuse yourself to step out for a second. Penny pouts but once a hot guy steps into her line of view, she lets you go without complaint.

Ascending the stairs and fidgeting with your wristband, you’re shocked to find that it’s still night. It’s as if time passes differently down there. But the cool air feels good on your flushed skin, and you feel light again. Partying is cathartic, for sure, but it’s also quite exhausting. The makeup and the tight clothes took up so much time and energy that you really didn’t think you’d have energy at all to dance, and yet you found it.

“Y/n, right?”

You jolt.

Sukuna’s leaning against the brick wall, one foot bent. He’s got a cigarette between his fingers and a hand in his pocket. You frown a little — he’s addressing you, but his gaze is set in the distance, at a flickering streetlight.

Clearing your throat, you answer, “Yeah.”

He nods.

A silence befalls you and you’re both standing side by side, careful not to touch, watching the lights, feeling the muted thumping of the music against your back. Your heart is beating pretty fast, and you don’t mind just staying here, listening to him inhale and then exhale the smoke.

But when your pinkie twitches and it brushes against his, a bolt of electricity runs through your body. You both glance at each other, looking away just as quickly.

When had he even taken his hand out of his pocket?

Flustered, you stammer, “I’m a law student.”

Slowly, he raises a brow, and repeats, “Law student?”

“Yep,” you pop your lips, “top of my class. Perfect grades.” The alcohol is not doing you any favours, it’s making you loose lipped, tearing down your inhibitions, and silencing that voice at the back of your head telling you it’s impolite, and shameless, to brag.

Sukuna doesn’t look impressed. In fact, his expression doesn’t change, not even with a flicker. “That a big achievement for you?”

His tone is patronising, completely condescending, like you’re a little dog he’s rubbing the belly of. Your eye twitches. He’s still not looking at you. How could he possibly just shrug you off like you’re not worth looking at? Sure, he’s rich, but what does that matter when you’re all in the same place, with the exact same opportunities in front of you.

“As opposed to getting here with your daddy’s money?” You fire back.

The temperature drops. You feel it. It’s the palpable tension, the one that pricks the back of your neck in warning, that tells you to apologise, to bow your head, present your neck in submission or run away. Gulping, you clench your fist, willing the anxiety to go away.

“What the fuck do you know about me?” Sukuna’s voice has dropped an octave, digging deeper than before, deeper than you thought possible. He’s turned his head towards you now, you definitely have his attention. Dark and raging, his eyes pierce through you, and it’s like he’s scouring your soul for weaknesses. “Oh, I see. Little Perfect Missy thinks she has a right to stomp her feet, yes? Why? Because you have a scholarship?”

“How- “

He scoffs, right in your face, and his smoke fans your face. “You reek the smell of a scholarship student. You think just ‘cause you have good grades that puts you on equal footing to me? And maybe even to your little friend?”

“Leave her out of this,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

Tilting his head, he scans your body, and you wish he had never acknowledged your presence. With a lofty tone, he presses, “Which one are you? A Gojo Foundation kid? No, you would have been more impressed to meet the white-haired freak. You’re not one of mine, either, otherwise you wouldn’t dare speak to me like that. You must be an Adamson.”

Something must have flashed in your eyes because then he’s laughing.

“You are, aren’t you?” He flashes you his pearly white teeth, razor sharp and glinting under the warm streetlights. “And you have no idea about anything at all.”

“Fuck you,” is all you manage.

The corner of his mouth quirks up, then he’s softening his body, shoulders slouching, and he leans over to you. You try to step back but he grabs your waist with a firm hand. He smells good, he feels good, and you hate it. Hate it so much because you shouldn’t still find him the most beautiful man in all of Eden.

“Is that what you want?” He squeezes your waist, and you have to bite back a sharp breath. “You want to be fucked? I bet you’re nervous, hmm? New to all of this. Bet you’re someone who never stepped one foot out of line, all so you could be here, and now that you are, you want a taste of freedom.”

Are you so easy to read?

Is that what everyone sees when they look at you?

A meek little girl who wants to be just like everyone else?

“Leave me alone,” you mumble weakly. It has no real strength, no real authority. Because he was right on the money; you want to taste what liberation feels like, and right now, as your chest presses to his and you feel the hard outline of his torso, you realise you want to taste the freedom he’s offering.

It’s just for one night, one bad decision, one mistake — you’re allowed, you’ve worked hard your entire life, you should be able to have regrets. And this mistake is too damn good to let go.

“Meet me in Room 2, tell the bouncer you’re a Vessel, they’ll know what it means. Come in 10 minutes.” He snaps his teeth at you and his eyes twinkle at your flinch. “Don’t be late.”

And then he’s gone.

Sukuna’s retreated into the depths of Lilith, leaving you reeling in the streets, feeling as if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. But that one moment where he looked at you, really looked at you, set your blood ablaze; you're breathless, feeling adrenaline rushing your body. It was a taste of what you could have, and you want more.

So you head back down, deeper and deeper into the belly of the she-beast, and you push your way through the crowd. You’re being bumped left and right, and they constrict you with pulsing grooves until you’re getting lost in the music. Searching all around, you try to find any familiar face, and see only the blur of euphoric expressions, heads thrown back, eyes closed, and mouths parted.

Emerging into the hallway, you stumble onto the wall, gripping the smooth surface with clammy hands; the vodka in your system is slurring your movements and you’re lightheaded, delirious from the pull urging you forward. You do as Sukuna say, you meet a bouncer —bald, tall, big and mean — you tell him you’re a ‘Vessel’, stumbling with the word as if it’s foreign, and he lets you pass without even a cursory glance.

Stretching your skirt further down your thighs, you scan the hallway; long, narrow, and dark, it feels wrong to be here. There are only a few lights above, leaking dim red hues, barely enough to see what lies ahead, but you push through. You don’t know what you’re expecting, this is new to you — but you’ve been shaved and waxed and perfumed to the maximum; Penny insisted. And you’re giggling at the supple feel of your own body, still a little raw from all the scrubbing.

Would he hate that you’re inexperienced? Would he be disgusted by your clumsiness? Maybe he, himself, isn’t a very good lover. Would he expect you to do all the work?

To your right, you find Room 2, it’s a door so black you almost missed it; it blends into the shadows. But the golden number is hard to miss, and you know you’re at the right place.

Wiping your hands down your skirt, you exhale, and then you twist the door open.

Your heart drops.

Right in front of you is the bare back of a naked girl, she’s throwing her head back in pleasure, bouncing up and down. The sounds of pleasure echo in the room, and your voice is stuck in your throat; you know this girl. She’s been the person that braided your hair, that curled your lashes, that spun you around and cheered. The one on the front row of every play, every debate, every award. A girl who held your hand when you fell and scraped your knee at 6, and again when your dad left at 12.

“Tell me more about your friend,” a deep voice breathes out.

“Y/n?” The girl clarifies, she’s panting, a little confusion lacing her words as she continues her gyrations. “What is there to say? She’s boring.”

“She didn’t look boring.”

The sound of her laughter penetrates your chest like a dagger digging its way into your heart and when she says, “Trust me, she is. All she does is study and yet she couldn’t get into Eden by herself,” you feel the dagger’s hilt twist.

You reel back like you’ve been slapped.

She continues, still bouncing, still moaning, “Yeah, had to get my dad to talk -ha- to the Dean, they’re -fuck!- long time golf buddies. Oh, that’s so good! Right there, yes! He -fuuuuck- gave her a scholarship so she’ll feel better about herself.”

Sitting up, the man grips her waist and kisses her neck. His eyes meet yours. His stare burns and your eyes are watering, a bead of sweat dripping down your forehead. There’s a blazing heat in his gaze, not one borne from pleasure but from a sick satisfaction. You’re going to throw up.

“You do that often?” His eyes aren’t leaving yours, he’s watching for every single twitch of your brow, every flutter of your lashes, and narrows his gaze on the quiver of your bottom lip. “You have to make her feel better?”

“Fuck! Yes, Sukuna, right there, baby!” She digs her hands into his scalp, clutching him close as she seeks out her release. “I always have -ngh- to make her feel better. Daddy says she’s going to be -yesssss- somebody someday so I need her for connections.”

Then she's laughing. It's the kind you've never heard her use. No. You have. Just never at you.

"She didn't know Adamson's my dad's name. Everyone else -ha- knows who I am but she's never bothered to care. So good! God, she thinks we're actually on the same level. It's pathetic."

The bile is rising from your throat and the urge is overwhelming. Your blood has run cold and you’re stumbling back out, tripping over your own feet as you clutch your stomach, trying to find your way back out. You wind up back at the dance floor and there’s somehow even more people in here, jumping, grinding, gyrating. The beat is blaring, thumping and thudding, and the crowd sways in waves, pulsing as they surround you.

Spinning, your vision is spinning. And the flashing lights is blinding, disorientating, you're losing your mind. You have no idea where the exit is, where you are, who you are. You're going to throw up.

“Let me out,” you don’t know if you scream or whisper that. “Please.”

You’re gasping, clawing your hands wherever they can gain purchase. The crowd doesn’t let up, they tighten around you, squeezing every breath away, and their skin is sticky, dampening your clothes with a mix of things you don’t want to think about. You need to get out of here.

“I want to go home, please.”

You’re crying. There’s no doubt about it, there are tears streaming down your face, fat droplets that are drowning you. You push and push, shoving past every person in front of you but it feels like you’re only going deeper and deeper, being dragged down into the circles of hell. It's like you’re already at the very centre.

It’s hot in here. All the air’s been sucked out of the room, you toss your head in all directions, gasping and gasping and gasping, there are hands on your hips, your waist, gripping your arms, twisting and kneading and scratching, it’s all too much.

“Let me go!” You sob. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

No one can hear you.

“I DON'T BELONG HERE!"

You blink.

You’re on the streets. The cold air nipping at your skin and it stings your eyes, threatening to freeze the tears there. There’s no time to think about how you got there or how long you’ve been there; you run back to your dorm, clutching your ripped up cardigan and wiping the mascara from your cheeks.

And all night long, until the sun comes up, you cry.

Hours pass by, and those hours turn into days until a whole week has come and go, and you’re numb. Half of your things are still in their boxes, collecting dust, and you’ve received a ton of emails that stare back at you.

Your mother calls. She asks how you’ve been, and you lie.

You’ve made lots of friends, your subjects are super interesting, the people are welcoming, and you love it here. There isn’t anywhere else you’d rather go. She beams at you, spouting about how proud she is, and you watch her wipe tears away, just as you had before you picked up the phone, and whatever is left of your heart breaks further.

It’s from that very moment, where she says she’s happy you’re where you’ve always wanted to be, you decide that it may not be now, but you’ll make it become the place of your dreams. It doesn’t matter how you got here; what matters is that you are here, and where you will be once you get your head down.

No one needs anything other than hard work and ambition. You have never needed anything more, and you will never need anything more.

These are all the lies you tell yourself as you fix yourself up, showering, changing and walking to class. The lies you repeat over and over again as you cry yourself to sleep, as you work at your desk, and when you try to drown yourself in the shower. A hollow mantra that holds no real weight as you ignore the onslaught of texts and calls from a person you no longer know.

And a month later, when she walks past you wordlessly, you repeat it again.

This is how things are supposed to be.

How things will be.

And you’ve never been happier.

#jjk x reader #jjk sukuna ryomen #jjk angst #sukuna x reader #sukuna angst #jjk drabble #jjk fic #geto suguru #gojo satoru

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