⋆˚࿔ Take a Hit ࿔˚⋆
pairing: frat!sukuna x gf!reader
info: this came to me in a dream, lmao, I've never written jjk before, but like, I just needed to write and post this, ok??? let me live, and also be kind idk
warning: dv (reader gets hit, NOT by Sukuna), angst, hurt/comfort, mention of great dicking down (not proofread)
wc: 4k
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and for the ninth time that hour, you hit ignore. Then you turn your phone off. And then, you throw it under your twin XL bed and roll over so your face presses fully into your pillow. Maybe you’ll suffocate and this will all be over.
See, the day had been going perfectly. You’d woken to Sukuna grinding slowly against you in his sleep, which led to him absolutely fucking you dumb and drooling. Then, you’d had breakfast together before he’d gone back to his frathouse and you’d gone to the library to study. Then, after you’d finally emerged from a day-long cram session, your phone had rung and ruined everything.
Your ex was back in town, and he was looking for you.
He’d called and left voicemails, texted and DMed, and as you’d ignored him, the dread inside your chest bloomed like a bruise. You’d broken up two years ago after an 18-month-long relationship of hell ended when he’d gotten so angry that he punched a hole in the wall directly next to your head. Then came the next six months of calling and texting you, then your friends after you’d changed your number, and finally your parents, who’d called the cops. Then, he’d moved out of the area, finally leaving you alone, albeit a husk of who you’d been before you’d met him.
Then, seven months into putting yourself back together, shard by shard, you’d been partnered with Sukuna in your chemistry lab. He was an arrogant jackass at first, but you’d sworn to yourself that you’d never let a man make you feel small again, so you’d stood your ground, and somehow, fighting turned to friendship turned to… more.
You hadn’t given your ex another thought… until now. So the last you wanted to do was go to a frat party, which was precisely the event Sukuna was here to pick you up for.
“Oi!” he barked, pounding on the door. “Open up! I don’t have all night!”
You don’t move. Maybe, you’ll get lucky, and he’ll think Oh, my poor girlfriend must be so exhausted, she must be getting some much needed sleep! and leave you alone.
The scrape of a key in the door had your stomach dropping. You’d given him the key, copied explicitly against university rules, after he’d complained about how far his frathouse was from the science center. You’d told him he could nap in your single if he needed to, and now here he was, using his key for evil.
Light suddenly seeps through your green comforter as Sukuna flips the light on, and you groan.
“Is this a fuckin’ joke?”
“...No?”
“Woman, you better be ready under there,” he growls. “I can’t skip this one, or Gojo will be up my ass.”
He’d been complaining about the white-haired Rush Chair for the past week, who’d hounded him in every free moment about coming to the party celebrating the previous night’s initiation. As VP of the frat, Sukuna was required to go, which meant you’d end up there, too. It wasn’t that you were a big partier, or that you didn’t trust him around other girls—No, it was because Sukuna found the parties particularly boring and all but demanded you come to “entertain” him. And by that, he meant holding you on his lap on one of the couches, silently playing with the ends of your hair while you sang along to the DJ.
Which, you loved and had actually been looking forward to. Before.
“I… don’t think I can go,” you mumble finally, burrowing deeper under your blanket. “’M not feeling well.”
“Hmm.”
A second later, the blanket is ripped from your body, and you shoot upright, eyes wide in shock.
“Sukuna, what the fuck?” you demand shrilly, wrapping your arms around your stomach.
The pink-haired asshole just ignores you, balling the blanket up and tossing it in the corner of the room. He glares, red eyes blazing with irritation, jaw clenched tight. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans and a black henley with the sleeves rolled up his tattooed forearms, and when you glance at your watch, you realize why—the party had started half an hour ago, and you’d been bedrotting longer than you’d realized.
“I was using that,” you snap, jutting a finger at the blanket. He steps in front of it and folds his arms across his broad chest.
“You’re not sick,” he says, as if it’s a fact. Which, of course, it is, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“I am!”
“No,” he smirks, smug and annoying and handsome, “You’re not.”
“Fine,” you mutter, “I’m tired.”
“Tch, so come sleep over,” Sukuna replies, rolling his eyes, “but get dressed and come to the party first.”
“Your bed sucks.”
“You snore in my bed.”
“I so do not!”
“Fuck, brat,” he groans, rubbing his eyes, “Just… just get ready, yeah? We won’t stay long, and you got that stupid eye marker thing you wanted to try.”
Despite yourself, you smile. Apparently, despite complaining for the mere ten minutes you’d spent in the makeup store, he’d been paying attention. And it’s that, that reminder that he loves you in quiet ways, that has you sighing and peeling off his your sweatshirt. He whistles, so you throw a book at him, and then you change into a lacy black bodysuit, a pair of light-wash jeans, and a pair of black booties. You do your makeup in record time, smirking as you apply your stupid eye marker (which works just as well as the ad on Instagram promised), and run your hands through your hair until it’s appropriately messy.
“Done?” Sukuna asks, watching her from her bed. Watching her tits, really.
“I have eyes, you know,” you comment, and he shrugs.
“Those are nice and big, too.”
The second book hits him in the side of the head.
“Hey!”
“You’re a fucking perv.”
He snorts but doesn’t argue—you both know you’re right—and instead grabs your coat from the back of your closet door and throws it at you. You almost thank him for his thoughtfulness, but he immediately ruins the moment.
“Don’t want you bitching on the way over that you’re cold.”
You glower and push past him into the dorm hallway, and you just know he’s smirking as he follows right behind. Eventually, not long after you step out into the late October chill, your hand finds itself in his, and then you're tucked in against his side, his arm should your shoulders as reassuring as a bulletproof shield.
Okay, so fucking what that your ex is back in town?
You’re a different girl now, tough as scar tissue after all the healing you’ve done. You’ve built yourself back from nothing, finding friends like Shoko, clawing your GPA back from the edge of expulsion, and standing ten toes down against Sukuna when you first met. He’d scared you, all arrogance and aggression as he gave you shit during lab, but you’d forced yourself not to show it. You’d forced yourself to give him shit right back, and eventually, you realized that he wasn’t the same as your ex. He didn’t need to gain strength by beating you down—in fact, Sukuna’s barbs somehow managed to make you feel even more confident than before.
So, with one arm around his waist and the other holding his hand that dangled over your shoulder, you reminded yourself of your strength. Your ex couldn’t hurt you now, not with the girl you’d become.
By the time you get to the frat house, the party is in full swing. Music pours through the open windows and doors onto the front yard, and you can practically feel the ground beneath your feet vibrating. People spill outside onto the porch, chattering loudly as they chug red solo cups and smoke joints. As Sukuna guides you up the front steps, he greets his frat brothers with a few grunts and a quick pull off the tail end of a roach. People also welcome you with smiles and raises of their cups, and you wave back, secretly proud that you’d carved out a little spot for yourself in this part of Sukuna’s life.
He’s been bringing you to the frat house for a year now, and you suspect he’d threatened his brothers at some point because they were always scarily polite when he brought you around. Well, most of them were.
“There’s my darling!”
Satoru appears out of nowhere, slyly extricating you from Sukuna’s side and pulling your hands up to his mouth to kiss repeatedly. His lips linger on your knuckles while he looks up through his white eyelashes, not at you but at your boyfriend, who seethes next to you. Sukuna tries to pull you free, but Satoru twirls you deftly from his reach, his arms going around you as if you’re dancing in a ballroom rather than a humid frathouse living room. Then, before Sukuna can lunge, Satoru hugs you tight into his chest and presses his lips against your cheek.
“He’s going to kill you,” you hiss, and Satoru chuckles.
“Leave him for me,” he replies, and you roll your eyes as Sukuna charges forward, an actual growl leaving his throat. He yanks Satoru’s hands away and immediately replaces them with his own, wrapping you in his arms as if he can erase the other man’s touch.
“Jealous,” you whisper, and Sukuna just grunts.
“Gojo, you’re just asking to get your ass handed to you.” Suguru, the frat’s president, appears with a smirk, a can of beer in his hand. “We’re lucky he came at all.” His mane of raven black hair hangs in a sheet over his shoulders, all loose and long, and you notice a pair of girls staring at him from the wall, hearts in their eyes.
Satoru puts his hands up in surrender, and Suguru nods at Sukuna and you before forcing his best friend in the opposite direction. When they finally vanish, you elbow Sukuna in the stomach lightly.
“You gonna let me go now?” you say, tilting your head back to look at him, “or do you need to pee on my leg first?”
“Brat,” he grunts, but he releases you, pulling your coat off with experienced ease. “Drink?”
You nod, and Sukuna squeezes your shoulder before putting your coat up in a closet and heading towards the kitchen at the end of the hall. You lean against the wall patiently and watch Sukuna bend over the keg, cradling two red solo cups in one large hand with ease. His henley lifts as he maneuvers the beer line, revealing the chiseled V of his lower back muscles, and if you look close enough—which, of course, you do—scratch marks still pink from this morning. Just seeing them makes your cheeks heat, satisfaction pooling in your belly along with something else.
There was something about marking the one and only Sukuna, campus king with a glare as deadly as a knife blade, that makes you feel powerful. Important. Turned on.
The song changes from something bubbly and bright to something deep and sultry, with a slow but heavy bassline that begs to be danced to. You consider going to the kitchen and wrapping your fingers around Sukuna’s bicep, pressing your cheek against his shoulder blade, and asking him to join you. People think that just because Sukuna’s all big and scary that he doesn’t dance, but he does. He knows how to hold you tight against him, one hand on the small of your back while the other kneads your hip. You’d wrap your arms around his neck, fingertips playing with his soft, pink hair as you’d press your tits against his chest, your hearts beating together in time with the synthetic bass. Or, maybe he’d pull you in with your back to his chest, powerful hands guiding your hips as you’d grind your ass against his groin. He’d lean his head down, growling filthy things in your ear and pulling you tighter against his rock hard dick.
My pretty little slut, dancing like this in front of all these people. Show them who you belong to.
You almost lose yourself to the daydream.
But then you hear it.
Your name, shouted just loud enough over the music, and your blood freezes in your veins.
It isn’t Kento or Saturo, Suguro or Toji, and it certainly isn’t Sukuna, who you’re still watching pour a pair of lukewarm beers.
It’s your ex, the one person you really didn’t want to run into tonight.
You want to pretend you don’t hear him, flee to the kitchen and the protection of Sukuna, but then his hand is on your shoulder, squeezing in the way that makes you nauseous. That makes you scared.
He turns you around, his too-cold palm skating down your skin to lock around your wrist like iron, and you have to force yourself not to drop your eyes.
It’s shameful, really, how quickly he can revert you back to the scared mouse he’d turned you into during your relationship. Your hair stands up on end, prickling at the base of your neck like prey cornered by a predator, and you feel yourself folding inward, ashamed of your outfit and body. It’s almost as if the last two years were a lie, as if all of the strength you’ve fought tooth and nail for was an illusion.
“Hey,” he says, his grin feral as he leans close, pupils too large.
Fuck, was he on something?
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you,” he continues, grip tightening. “Haven’t you gotten my texts? Or voicemails?”
It’s there beneath his smile—anger, simmering but close to boiling. Back when you were together, you’d almost never go longer than five minutes without responding to him. And if you did, if your phone died or you’d fallen asleep, he’d make you regret it. With his words, his hands…
But you aren’t together, not anymore and not for a long time. No, you have Sukuna, who loves you strong. Who loves that you bite back. He’d never met this weak version of you—you’d never allowed it—and he wouldn’t get to tonight.
You pull your shoulders back and fix your ex with as disinterested a look as you can manage.
“I got them,” you say, and he frowns.You can see thoughts swirling behind his eyes, a gathering tornado about to hit, and try to yank your wrist free. “I’m—”
The violence blooms on his face in an instant, and while your wrist remains in one hand, he uses the other to grab you roughly on the back of the neck.
“Oh, I get it,” he seethes, eyes narrowing as he closes the space between you. “You think you’re better than me, hmm? You think you’re hot shit, coming to this party dressed like a whore, looking for some guy to fuck you? You’re not innocent, you’re a manipulative little bitch, and you owe me—”
Then he’s gone, ripped away by a force stronger than nature. For a second, you see him flailing backwards, landing on his ass on the alcohol-slick floor, but then a body moves between you, red eyes finding yours.
“Who?” Sukuna asks, his voice low. Dangerous. His expression is lethal, tattooed face pulled taut with barely contained rage, and yet those crimson eyes regard you with so much care and concern. For a second, you forget his question.
But only for a second.
“My ex,” you whisper, and it’s a miracle he hears you. “Can we go?”
“Not yet” he replies, already turning around, “I need to have a word with him, yeah? He can’t—”
“Ryo,” you say, and there’s something in your voice that stops him. In his name is a plea, one he’s never heard before. Not from you.
You know he’d turn your ex into a pile of blood and broken bones just for looking at you, let alone touching you, but the longer you’re around him, the weaker you feel, and you don’t want Sukuna to see that. You can’t risk it, not after everything you’ve done these past two years just to feel like a person again. Just to feel like more than a maid with useful holes.
His gaze studies yours, studies the flurry churning behind it, and you can tell just how torn he is. Almost every cell in his body wants to turn around and beat your ex to a ruined pulp—this is the kind of violence Sukuna is built for, and the kind he craves. He’s hit other men for far less, and to be honest, you wouldn’t mind him getting his hands on your ex if not for the fact that every part of your being was screaming to flee.
You were spiraling down, reverting back to your ex’s cowed little girlfriend, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe from the shame of it all. You weren’t strong, not really. You were just really good at lying to yourself.
Your eyes leave his, just for a second, and see him.
Your ex winding back his arm, fist clenched so tightly beneath his thumb that his knuckles have turned white. His muscles flex tightly, his lips curl back in a toothy snarl, and he puts all his power into the swing forward. His target is the back of Sukuna’s head.
You move without thought because this is your fault.
You hear a grunt of surprise as you shove past Sukuna, and then the whoosh of the first through the air.
And then, all you can do is feel.
Pain, blinding white, erupts through the side of your face, splinting across your head like lightning. You feel yourself drop to the floor as the room tilts abruptly, and the taste of blood spreads across your tongue as you struggle to suck in a breath. Your face throbs, as if someone is pounding on it from the inside, fighting to get out. Something hot and wet floods down your face, leaking into your eye and stinging. Slow, shaking fingertips—yours, you realize—barely touch your cheek, and your stomach lurches at the torn skin on the top of your cheekbone.
When sound comes back to you, it comes back too loud, and you realize you’re crying. Or, at least trying to—you can’t get enough air in to truly sob. You also hear the sound of skin on skin, of howling and deep, jagged snarls. You try looking towards the sound, but the room swims, and you have to choke down vomit. Fuck, you might be concussed.
“Ryo,” you think you say, “Ryo?”
Careful hands appear under your armpits, and Suguru’s voice instructs in your ear.
“Let me help you stand,” he says, barely audible over the sound of knuckles pounding into flesh. Your ex has stopped yelling now, but Sukuna hasn’t stopped punching. He roars with anger, profanity bursting from his lips with every strike.
Suguru says your name softly, and you grunt before pushing yourself up with Suguru’s help. Gojo materializes at your other side, one hand at your elbow as you move slowly. When you finally look up, both men look savage, their eyes not on you, but on the pile of flesh at Sukuna’s feet. Your ex, bruised and broken, unconscious or maybe…
Dead?
“No,” Suguru replies, lips carved in a disgusted frown. “But he should be. Sukuna, let us handle this.”
Your boyfriend lands a kick in your ex’s stomach that sends his limp body lolling onto its side. Then, he spits on the man’s face, his face twisted in pain even in unconsciousness.
“I should kill you,” Sukuna snaps before turning and taking you in. His eyes go wide, just for a split second, and you realize you must look like a horror. Slowly, you notice the music is gone, and all eyes are on you and the scene you’ve caused. Fuck, you’ve ruined not just a party, but an important one. All because you couldn’t handle your past yourself.
Before you can apologize, you’re in Sukuna’s embrace, strong and warm and safe. He picks you up, hands under your ass as you wrap your legs and arms around his waist and neck, respectively. You tuck your head where his neck meets shoulder, and when he begins to move, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to figure out how you’re going to make this up to him.
He carries you up the stairs to his room and en suite, which everyone else knows are off limits to all, especially during parties. Then, he sits you on the counter and grabs a washcloth, all business as he runs it under some warm water. In silence, he cleans your face, careful as he dabs the cut on the cheek that makes you gasp in pain. He brushes your hair, sticky with blood, out of your face, and takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger as he examines your vaguely too-pink flesh. It isn’t until he starts searching for his first aid kit—which you’d gotten him, and which you knew he never used—that you work up the courage to confront the situation head-on.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice raw.
Sukuna’s eyes snap to yours, too intense.
“Sorry?” he echoes, disbelieving. “You’re sorry?”
You nod too quickly, and then close your eyes to fight against the violent shift of the world. Yup, you’re definitely concussed.
“My fault,” you rasps, “It’s—”
Two familiar, large hands cup your jaw in a disarmingly gentle way, and slowly, you reopen your eyes. Sukuna glares down at you, and you fight the urge to shrink away.
“It is not your fault that that motherfucker hit you,” he states, enunciating each word so they’re impossible to ignore. You open your mouth to argue, but he shakes his head. “No, it is not your fault.”
“He was going to hit you,” you say, as if that changes things.
Sukuna’s face darkens. “You should’ve let him, brat.”
“Couldn’t.” You offer a weak smile. “I love you.”
He doesn’t smile back. If anything, he looks close to murder.
“Don’t ever take a hit for me,” he practically spits, “Ever.”
It’s the way he says the last word, the way his whole body is as tense as a taut bowstring, that sends tears flooding from your eyes and down your cheeks. Your body trembles violently, a combination of adrenaline and humiliation and fear pumping through your muscles, and Sukuna’s lips part in rare surprise. Then, panic.
Then, he’s holding you. Gently, but firmly, one arm banding around your shoulder blades, and the other cradling the back of your head as he holds it against his chest.
“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry,” he breathes, and you realize the intense pounding in your ear is his heart going double-time. Had he been... scared? Ryomen Sukuna, scared? “I’m sorry, I’m just so fucking… That bastard hit you, and I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t protect you, and now you’re fucking hurt.”
You close your eyes and breathe in his trademark spicy, smoky scent, letting it soothe you as you carefully wrap your own arms around his torso.
“You’re not mad at me?”
“That’s a stupid fuckin’ question.”
“Please.” Your cheeks burn, and you’re glad he can’t see them. You hate needing this, but seeing your ex has you falling back into patterns of distrusting yourself. If he's not mad, then maybe you're not weak. “I just need to hear you say it.”
He sighs, and to your surprise, presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“I’m not mad at you, brat. I’m never mad at you.”
“Oh, now that’s a lie,” you snort, and Sukuna actually chuckles, and his body seems to relax, just a hair, under your touch. After a few minutes, he pulls back and peers at your injured cheek, murder still flashing in his eyes.
“Will you tell me about him?” Sukuna asks quietly, seriously.
You consider his request.
“You’ll probably wish you’d killed him,” you reply, shrugging.
The back of his jaw clenches.
“I already do.”
ya'll, I don't know what this is. I just had a dream about it, I wanted to write it, and I wanted it to be my man Sukuna. Just, pls be nice. I feel like such a dork lol.
