⋆˚❜⋆ Saph

Business proposal

Pairings : Yandere JJK men x Reader

Ft. Gojo, Sukuna, Toji, Nanami

Tw: Mdni, some 18+ jokes

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Last part

You know that moment in horror movies where the protagonist hears a noise in the basement and instead of doing the sensible thing… leaving, calling the police, burning down the entire house… they grab a flashlight and go investigate?

That's you.

You are the idiot in the basement.

Except the basement is your own life and the monster waiting in the dark is the shitshow you've created by fake engaging yourself to Gojo Satoru

Also, your period is late.

Not because you're pregnant… you haven't had sex in so long your hymen is probably growing back… but because stress does fun things to the human body, and your body has apparently decided that regular menstruation is a luxury you no longer deserve.

The engagement announcement went live three days ago.

Your mother had insisted on handling the press release, which meant the entire thing read like she'd written it while experiencing a simultaneous orgasm and divine revelation. There was a photo of you and Gojo that his PR team had staged…. you in a beautiful dress, him looking like he'd been carved by angels.

You looked happy. In love, even.

It was all bullshit, of course.

But convincing enough that had your aunt calling seventeen times in two hours, your grandmother sending you a vibrator "for your wedding night, dear" (GRANDMA, WHAT THE FUCK), and every gossip site in Japan running headlines about how "Playboy Heir Finally Tamed."

Ha.

Tamed.

If only they knew that your ‘fiancé’ had spent last night on your couch eating your snacks while you both watched a documentary about cults and discussed which of his exes would most likely try to murder you at the engagement party.

(The answer was.. at least four, by the way. He'd made a list.)

☽☽☽.

"Oi relax."

You blinked, dragged back to reality. Gojo was standing in your kitchen, holding a spatula, wearing an apron that said "KISS THE COOK" in huge pink letters… sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms withh visible veins and….

Jesus Christ, stop staring at his forearms like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

“You okay?” He leaned against your counter, arms crossed.. those fucking forearms again.… watching you with those impossibly blue eyes. Eyes that belong on Instagram thirst traps… not in your kitchen.

“No”fuck “I mean Yeah..”

Smooth. Very convincing. You should definitely go into acting.

He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

"The engagement party is tomorrow," he said, like you could possibly forget. Like you hadn't been having stress dreams about it for a week. In last night's dream, you'd shown up naked and Sukuna had been the priest. You'd woken up screaming.

When did your life become a sitcom written by someone who clearly hates you?

"I'm aware." Your voice came out flatter than a pancake

"You need to be convincing." he said

Oh, thanks, Captain Obvious.

"I'm aware of that too." You bit back the urge to throw something at his head.

"Which means….”

"If you're about to give me a lecture on how to pretend to be in love with you, I will throw this cereal box at your head." You picked up the cereal box... Frosted Flakes…. slightly crushed from where you'd been stress gripping it for the past ten minutes.

Gojo held up his hands in surrender "Wouldn't dream of it."

A looong pause.

"Also," he added, casual as anything, "Sukuna RSVP'd."

The cereal box slipped from your fingers. It hit the floor with a sad little thump, and Frosted Flakes exploded all over your kitchen tiles

Blocking someone only works if they care about the block.

Sukuna Ryomen did not care about the block.

Sukuna Ryomen cared about absolutely nothing except getting what he wanted, and… horrifyingly… what he wanted was you. Which was flattering in the way that being stalked by a very attractive serial killer is flattering. Like, yes, you’re special, but also you might end up in a freezer.

"He can't just show up," you said, pacing your living room while Gojo watched from the couch "This is our engagement party. OURS. As in, mine and yours. As in, not his."

"Technically, it's a joint family event." Gojo's voice was maddeningly calm. "Both families invited their own guests."

"And your family invited him?"

"His family does business with my family."

"Your family does business with CRIMINALS?" you stopped pacing and stared at him.

Gojo gave you a look that said ‘you sweet summer child’

"Sweetheart." Oh, you hated when he called you that. (Loved it.) (Shut up.). "My family is criminals. Just the white collar kind."

Right. The Gojos. Old money that bought politicians and moved markets and probably had at least three skeletons buried in their houses.

"It's fine." He said

Two words that have never, in the history of the English language, actually meant ‘it’s fine.’

"It is not fine. What if he makes a scene? What if… " Your voice dropped to a horrified whisper usually reserved for speaking about your sex life or the ending of Game of Thrones. “.….what if he he says something?”

"He won't."

"How do you know?" you asked

Gojo's expression shifted into something unreadable. "Because if he does, he admits he was competing for a woman and lost. And Sukuna Ryomen does not lose."

That... actually made sense. In a fucked up, masculine ego, dick measuring contest kind of way. Which was, now that you thought about it, the only way anything in your life made sense anymore.

"What about the other two?" you asked, dreading the answer.

"Nanami sent a very polite decline … 'professional obligations.'" Gojo air quoted, and something in his voice suggested he knew exactly how much bullshit that was.

Nanami. Sweet, serious Nanami. He'd said he wanted to date you properly. Had asked you to dinner and you…

STOP, your brain screamed, before you could bury yourself further down that guilt hole. Focus on surviving tomorrow.

"And Toji?"

A pause. A pause so long that your heart had time to do three separate backflips and land badly on each one.

"Toji," Gojo said slowly, "didn't respond at all."

You weren't sure if that was better or worse.

You couldn't sleep.

Which was becoming a pattern. Every night since the announcement, you'd lain in bed… thinking about all the ways tomorrow could go wrong.

Sukuna causing a scene. (Most likely. Almost guaranteed. Should probably have security on standby.)

Your dress ripping at an inopportune moment. (You'd stress eaten three pints of ice cream this week. It was a valid concern.)

Your mother drinking too much champagne and telling everyone about that time you peed yourself at a family reunion when you were eight. (You were sick and you had a fever. It wasn't your fault.)

And Toji.

Always, eventually, Toji.

You hadn't messaged him…. you weren't that stupid…. but you hadn’t blocked him either. Just so you could see if he was online. Just so you could torture yourself with the knowledge that he was out there, somewhere, existing, probably not thinking about you at all.

Your phone buzzed.

Toji: Heard you're getting married.

You stared at the screen. The timestamp said 1:47 AM

You: Engaged.

Toji: Same thing.

( No it fucking isn't you absolute Neanderthal ) A pause. He was typing something. Deleting it then typing again. Oh ffs

Toji: You happy?

You stared at the question. Were you happy? You were surviving. You were managing. You were playing a role so well that sometimes you forgot it was a role at all. But happy?

You: I don't know.

More dots. More waiting.

Toji: I'm not coming tomorrow. But I'll be around.

Before you could ask what that meant… before you could ask anything… he went offline. The green dot disappeared. You threw your phone across the bed and screamed into your pillow.

Everything was fine. (nothing was fine)

The venue was obscene.

There was no other word for it. Crystal chandeliers dripping from ceilings that belonged in a cathedral. Champagne fountains… plural, because apparently one champagne fountain was for peasants… bubbled expensively in multiple corners. A string quartet playing something classical that you were probably supposed to recognize but didn't because you were uncultured and also currently experiencing what felt like a heart attack.

You were wearing THE DRESS. The Dress was... a lot.

Gojo's stylist had picked it out, and you were pretty sure she hated you, because The Dress was designed to make breathing impossible. It was silk. It was backless. It was the color of sin.

You looked hot. You also looked like you were about to pass out. (Schrodinger's Girlboss: serving cunt while dying.)

"Smile," Gojo murmured, hand warm on your lower back as he guided you through the crowd. His fingers rested just above the curve of your ass. “You're supposed to be the blushing bride."

"I'm about to be the vomiting bride if you don't….”

"Darling!!!” Your mother descended upon you like a vulture. Behind her, your father trailed like a hostage. "Oh, look at you.So beautiful!!! Satoru, isn't she beautiful? She gets it from me, you know."

She grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks together. "My little girl, getting married to a GOJO. Your aunt nearly fainted when I told her. She spilled wine all over her new carpet."

Good, your aunt was a bitch. That woman had once told you that you'd never find a husband

"Mom…."

"And the ring!!!!" She grabbed your hand, examining the rock Gojo had gotten you from god knows where. It was massive.

"Isn't it gorgeous?" you said, because that was your line. The line you'd rehearsed.

"It's perfect. Oh, Satoru, you have such wonderful taste." Your mother actually batted her eyelashes at him. BATTED. HER. EYELASHES. While your father stood three feet away, staring at the champagne fountain like he was considering drowning himself in it.

Relatable, Dad. Truly.

"Thank you, ma'am." Gojo's voice was smooth as silk. "Though I must say, your daughter makes anything look beautiful."

Your mother made a sound like a mating cat. Gojo was going to get her pregnant with compliments alone if he kept this up.

"We should mingle," you said quickly, before your mother could start planning grandchildren. Or worse, providing helpful suggestions about how to make grandchildren. “So many guests to greet!"

You grabbed Gojo's arm and fled. Fuck this

"That was dramatic," he said, once you'd put sufficient distance between yourselves and the parental orbit.

"She was looking at you like you were a piece of meat."

"Most women do." he was smirking. This was all very amusing to him.

"Disgusting." You rolled your eyes. "Just help me survive the next three hours."

"Only three?"

"After that, I'm faking a medical emergency and leaving."

"Dedicated to the bit. I respect it."

A waiter appeared, bearing champagne on a silver tray. You grabbed a glass and downed half of it in one go, which was probably not the behavior of a refined future Mrs. Gojo but fuck it

"Easy," Gojo said, eyebrow raised.

You were about to respond when you felt it. That prickling sensation at the back of your neck. The one that said someone was watching you.

You turned.

And there, across the room, glass of whiskey in hand, dressed in a suit that probably belonged on a Bond villain…

Was Sukuna Ryomen.

Ah, fuck.

He didn't approach immediately.

That would have been too easy. Too much like something a normal human being would do. He just... watched. Like he had all the time in the world and was planning to use every second of it to make you uncomfortable.

"Don't engage," Gojo murmured, fingers tightening on your waist.

"I'm not."

"You're looking at him."

"Satoru.” You gritted out his name “It's a survival instinct."

"It's called FEEDING THE BEAR, and you need to stop."

But it was too late.

Sukuna was moving. Cutting through the crowd like it didn't exist. People instinctively parted for him because Sukuna Ryomen was a predator even in a room full of billionaires.

"Gojo." His voice was smooth…. Dark like whiskey aged in a coffin. "Congratulations."

"Sukuna." Gojo gave a fake smile. A mirror held up to avoid. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Your family invited mine. It would have been rude to decline."

"Since when do you care about being rude?" The words dripped with sarcasm.

Sukuna's lips curved. "I don't."

"And the bride." his gaze slid to you and pinned you in place like a butterfly caught in a spiderweb. "Don't you look... radiant."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Thank you." Your voice came out steadier than you felt., which was honestly a miracle considering….

"I have to say," he continued, taking a slow sip of his whiskey, savoring your obvious discomfort, “I was surprised by the announcement. You two seemed... mismatched."

"Love works in mysterious ways," Gojo said flatly.

"Does it?" Sukuna's eyes hadn't left your face.

"If you'll excuse us," you said, grabbing Gojo's arm, "we have other guests to greet."

"Of course." Sukuna stepped aside, politely. A wolf wearing a sheep's costume that was clearly several sizes too small. And as you passed, his voice dropped to a murmur only you could hear "This isn't over."

You didn't look back. You didn't breathe until you were on the other side of the room, as far from Sukuna as physically possible without leaving the building entirely.

"Well," Gojo said, "that was fun."

"I'm going to kill this bastard."

You needed air.

That was the excuse you gave yourself as you slipped through the french doors and into the garden, leaving Gojo to handle your combined families' questions about wedding dates and children and whether you'd be taking his name.

(The answer to all of those was "fake," "fake," and "FAKE," but you couldn't exactly say that.)

The garden was beautiful. Of course. Everything about this party was beautiful… expensive… it made you feel like you were walking through a movie set instead of real life.

There were fairy lights strung through the trees. A stone path winding through manicured hedges. A fountain in the distance.

You walked until you couldn't hear the music anymore. Until the voices faded. Until you found a bench, hidden behind a wall of roses, and collapsed onto it like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Your feet were SCREAMING.

These heels were gorgeous, and they were also torture devices designed by someone who had never actually walked anywhere in their entire life. Probably designed by a man.

You kicked them off.

Flexed your toes and made a small sound of relief that sounded like a moan.

"That good, huh?"

You nearly fell off the bench. Because there, leaning against a nearby tree like he'd appeared from the shadows themselves, was…

"Toji."

He looked... the same. Leather jacket, dark jeans, that scar on his lip curving with his smirk. Like he hadn't texted you last night and thenghosted you. Like he hadn't said he wasn't coming and then SHOWN UP ANYWAY.

Men. Fucking men.

"You said you weren't going to be here," Your voice came out shakier than you wanted.

"I said I wasn't coming." He pushed off the tree, walking toward you "I didn't say anything about lurking in the garden."

Right….

Silence stretched between you.

"Congratulations," he said finally, smoke curling from his lips

"Thanks." It came out flat and empty. Like the word didn't mean anything because it didn't…. the engagement wasn't real, the marriage wouldn't be real, your entire life had become a performance and the curtain never closed.

"Gojo's a good choice." A drag on his cigarette, the ember glowing bright. You hadn't even noticed he was smoking. Too busy staring at his face. ( Jesus Christ. Get a grip) "Rich girl… richer husband"

Ouch

"Toji….”

"I'm not asking for an explanation." He turned, finally, and his eyes were dark. Pools of something you couldn't name and didn't want to. “You don't owe me one. We weren't anything. A couple dates. One ride on my bike. A stuffed cat."

"I still have the cat," you said, and immediately want to punch yourself. Why would you say that? What does that even mean in this context?

But his expression Softened. Like ice cracking under spring sun. He laughed and god, you forgot what that sound did to you. Like a really good orgasm, but for your ears.

"You're something else," he said. "You know that?"

"I've been told."

Usually as an insult. But the way he said it made you want to be something else forever.

More silence.…

"He treats you right?" Toji asked "Gojo?"

"Yes."

It wasn't not even a lie. Satoru did treat you right. He' was considerate and funny and he remembered that you hate cilantro and he bought you pizza when you forgot to eat. He'd never once made you feel small or stupid or worthless.

"Good," he said. "That's... good." He dropped his cigarette, ground it out with his heel, and began to walk away. And you were going to let him. You were going to sit here on this bench and watch him leave and that would be it.

Except…. "Toji."

He paused.

"I'm sorry," you said. ( Sorry for not choosing you. Sorry for choosing the safe option. Sorry for being a coward. Sorry for…)

He didn't turn around. "Go back to your party princess” And then he was gone. Swallowed by the shadows like he'd never been there at all.

☽☽☽.

Satoru found you in the garden ten minutes later, shivering in your designer dress that was designed for looking good, not for warmth.

"You okay?" The gentleness in his voice made you want to cry

"No."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, dropping down onto the bench beside you. He looked concerned but didn't push.

"Absolutely not."

"Do you want more champagne?"

"God yes."

He produced a bottle from somewhere… literally where had he been keeping that?… and the two of you sat on the cold stone bench, passing it back and forth like teenagers. The silk dress was going to be ruined. Grass stains and champagne and probably tears if you weren't careful.

"Sorry about the guest list," he said eventually. "I should have checked."

"Your mother is a bitch."

"Hey…..."

You laughed, and it echoed off the stone walls, and for a moment everything felt almost okay. Inside, someone started playing the piano. Guests were dancing now, twirling under the chandeliers.

"We should probably go back in," you said

"Probably."

Neither of you moved. The cold seeped through the thin silk of your dress. The bench was cold. Your ass was numb. Your feet were still bare, toes curling against the stone. Above you, the stars were out… or what passed for stars in the light polluted city sky.

"Thanks," For what? You weren't sure. For the champagne. For the silence. For not asking questions you couldn't answer. For being here, even when he didn't have to be.

He looked at you, and there's something in his eyes you couldnt quite name. Something that made your chest tight.

~~~

The car ride home was quiet.

Satoru insisted on driving you himself, which meant sitting in his expensive sports car while Tokyo blurred past the windows.

The car slowed at a red light, and you glanced out the window at the pedestrians crossing… couples holding hands, friends laughing, normal people living normal lives and…..

Your breath caught.

Toji.

Standing on the sidewalk with a woman. She was beautiful… tall, with dark hair that caught the streetlight. Toji was smiling at her, leaning close, saying something that made her laugh.

The light turned green. The car moved forward. And you felt something ugly and hot twist in your stomach.

Of COURSE he moved on. Why wouldn't he? You rejected him. You got engaged to someone else. What was he supposed to do, pine forever? Sit in his apartment crying over you?

No. He found someone else.

Someone prettier

Someone better.

"What?" Gojo noticed your expression. Nothing escaped those crystal eyes. “What is it?"

"Nothing." You turned away from the window. "Just tired."

He didn't push. He never pushed. (Sometimes you wished he would.)

☽☽☽.

The next few days passed in a blur of work and avoidance and one memorable evening where Gojo showed up at your apartment and you accidentally fell asleep on his shoulder during a movie.

You woke up three hours later, drooling on his very expensive shirt, while he scrolled through his phone with his free hand like this was completely normal.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," he said.

"It's night." Your voice came out scratchy.

He turned his phone off, setting it aside. "You snore, by the way."

"I do not” Slander. Defamation. You were going to sue.

"Like a tiny, adorable chainsaw."

You shoved at his shoulder… or tried to, but moving would have required disentangling yourself from his side, and you were warm and comfortable and apparently had lost all self respect.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

He shrugged. "You're kind of cute when you're unconscious."

"Creep”

His arm was still around your shoulders. You didn't remember him putting it there, but it felt like it belonged there. Like…

(Dangerous thought. Delete delete delete)

"I should go," you said, not moving.

"This is your apartment."

Oh. Right…

"Then you should go."

"Mm." He didn't move either. "Probably."

The moment stretched. Warm and quiet and filled with something you couldn't name. Didn't want to name. Because naming it would make it real, and if it was real, then you were fucked. More fucked than you already were

Then Dumpling jumped on Gojo's lap, broke whatever spell had descended, and you both laughed…. awkward and relieved and maybe a little disappointed.

Shoko picked a takeout place… one of those casual spots where e you could wear sweatpants to without anyone judging you. Not that you were wearing sweatpants. You had some dignity left. A tiny, pathetic amount, but still.

You were on your fourth beer while Shoko regaled you with tales of her latest dating disaster.

"And then," she said, gesturing wildly with her chopsticks, nearly taking out your eye, “he asked if I wanted to see his sword. And I thought, kinky… that’s a code word for sex, right? Wrong. It was actual swords in his bedroom above his bed."

"Red flag."

"Red fucking flag.” She agreed

You snorted “Walking…"

You stopped mid sentence.

Because there, across the restaurant, standing at the counter waiting for her order….

The woman. The one from the sidewalk with Toji. She was even prettier up close. Perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect goddamn everything.

“Holy shit”

"What?" Shoko asked, mouth full of noodles

"Don't look now, but….”

"What?" She immediately looked because that's what people do when you tell them not to look.

"I said DON'T LOOK."

"That's the universal signal to look immediately.” Shoko craned her neck without an ounce of shame. “Who am I looking at?"

"Her. From the other night. The woman with Toji."

Shoko turned back to look again, not even trying to be subtle. “The hot one?"

"SHOKO."

"What? I'm just saying….”

The door opened and Toji walked in. And sat down at the woman's table.

"FUCK," you hissed, sinking lower in your chair. "FUCK FUCK FUCK."

"Okay," Shoko said carefully. "Maybe we should…”

"I need another drink."

"I don't think that's…”

"DRINK. NOW."

She flagged down the waiter, who brought you shots. Four shots later, you'd lost all semblance of rational thought. You were a cliché. A walking stereotype of a drunk woman.

"WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS?" you slurred, gesturing wildly toward Toji's table. "Coming here with her. Being all... all happy and smiling…”

Toji laughed at something the woman said and you saw red. Like a bull seeing a matador's cape.

You stood up.

"No,Absolutely not.” Shoko grabbed your arm. "Sit down."

"I can't."

"You absolutely can. Let me show you." She patted her chair. "See? Easy. Now you try”

But you were already walking…stumbling, really… across the restaurant.

The alcohol was in control now. You were just a passenger in your own body, watching in horror as your feet carried you toward Toji's table.

"Oh no," Shoko muttered behind you.

~~

"Excuse me," you said, too loud, as you stopped in front of their table. Every head in the restaurant turned. Toji looked up. His expression shifted from surprised to amused in the span of about half a second.

"Hey," he said, casual as anything “Fancy seeing you here."

"Toji."

"...that's my name."

"You." You pointed at him with a wobbly finger that was only mostly aimed in the right direction. "YOU have some NERVE."

The woman looked between you and Toji with raised eyebrows. She didn't look upset, though. If anything, she looked... entertained?

"Is this the one?" she asked.

"The one?" You rounded on her. "Listen here, lady, I don't know who you think you ae, but he…” you jabbed your finger toward Toji "….was mine first. Well, not mine mine, but we had a moment, several moments actually, and we rode on his motorcycle and his hands were on my thighs…..”

"Okay, maybe….” Toji started and he was trying not to laugh. This asshole

"DON'T INTERRUPT ME." You turned back to him, swaying slightly "You were so sad at the party and I felt bad about it and then you're out here with her….”

"….." awkward silence

"Do you even know how hard it is to be fake engaged to someone?” Oh no no no, why was that coming out of your mouth. “Do you know how many CANAPÉS I had to skip because I was panicking? I didn't eat a single shrimp. NOT ONE."

Your priorities were very clear here.

"That does sound tragic," the woman said, clearly entertained. She was laughing at you or trying not to, anyway. Her lips were twitching.

"IT WAS." You swung back to her. "And who even are you? His GIRLFRIEND? His WIFE? His….”

"His sister." She interrupted

“Because I don’t give a fuck whoever…”

Oh fuck. (You're probably wondering how you got here. Well. Alcohol.)

The floor needed to open up. Right now.

You prayed to every god you could name… and several you made up on the spot… for a sinkhole, an earthquake, anything to save you from this moment. God? Jesus? Budha?

"Sister sister?" you repeated, voice small.

"We share parents. That's usually how it works." Toji said, and now he wasn't even trying to hide his grin.

Yuki… the sister… raised her hand in an awkward wave. "Hi. Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you, actually."

Heard a lot about you?? The floor still wasn't swallowing you.

“I need to go," you said, voice strangled. "I need to…”

Toji's hand caught your wrist. Before you could react… before you could pull away or apologise… he was standing, yanking you toward the exit with a muttered "Be right back" to his sister.

"What are you… "

"Shut up."

Rude "Excuse me?"

"You've been talking for five minutes straight.” He pushed through the restaurant door, dragging you behind him. “Give it a rest."

He pulled you outside, around the corner of the building, into a narrow alley

"Toji….” All the fight went out of you at once, leaving you painfully sober despite the five shots still sloshing in your stomach.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me, I just…"

"Hey." His hand was on your face suddenly, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes.(God, his eyes are beautiful) "Shut up for a second."

"But… "

"What did I just say?"

You shut up. First time for everything.

Toji looked at you for a long moment. The streetlight behind him turned his edges soft. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, and you forgot how to breathe.

"You're a mess," he said. " A beautiful mess”

"Is there a point to this, or…”

He kissed you.

It wasn't gentle.

You didn't expect gentle from Toji, and you didn't get it. His mouth was hot, demanding, one hand fisting your dress while the other cupped the back of your neck like he was afraid you'd run.

You weren't going to run.

His lips parted yours, tongue sliding against yours, and you made a sound… small, desperate, completely humiliating… that seemed to break something in him.

"Fuck," he breathed against your mouth. "Do you have any idea….”

"Shut up."

"…how long I've wanted to….”

"Shut UP." You pulled him closer and hee came willingly.

His body pressed yours and the cold wall against your bare shoulders should have been a shock but all you could feel was him… finally there, after weeks of wanting and denying and pretending.

His hand slid up your thigh. Your hands slid under his jacket. And the world narrowed to this… his mouth on your neck, your fingers digging into his back, the ragged sound of both of you.

"We should…” you gasped. "Toji…”

"Say my name again."

You did. Moaned it, really, because his hand had found a spot that made you see stars. Made you understand why people wrote poetry about this shit.

"We have to stop," you managed, though every cell in your body was screaming at you to absolutely not stop, to let him pull you into his lap, to see exactly what would happen if you…

"There you are”

You shoved Toji off you so hard he nearly fell into a trash bin.

Shoko stood at the edge of the alley, phone in hand, expression caught somewhere between horrified and delighted.

"I've been looking for you for twenty minutes," she said. Her eyes landed on Toji, traveled down to where his hand was still on your waist, traveled back up to your probably swollen lips “…..oh. OH. Oh wow, okay."

"It's not what it looks like," you said.

Liar. Liar, pants on fire. Pants very much wanting to come OFF, actually.

"It looks like you were about to fuck in the alley."

"Okay, it's a little what it looks like."

Toji, the bastard, just smirked. Like he hadn't just had his hand up your dress. Like he wasn't currently looking at you like he wanted to finish what he started.

“Come on," he said, "I'm taking you home."

~~~

Toji drove you home on his motorcycle.

You clung to him the whole way, arms wrapped around his waist, cheek pressed against his back. The vibration of the engine between your thighs was not helping your current state. Neither was the way he smelled.

When you got to your apartment, he carried you up the stairs (all five fucking flights, because your building still didn't have a working elevator), barely breaking a sweat while you clung to his neck like a koala. A horny koala

He set you down outside your door, and you fumbled for your keys, which took at least seven years because your bag was a black hole where useful items go to die. Your phone was there. Old receipts. Gum wrappers. A condom from 2019 that you should probably throw away. Everything except your keys.

"Got it," you announced triumphantly, holding up the key ring like you've found the Holy Grail.

"Congratulations." You could hear the smile in his voice.

"Don't mock me." You said, struggling with the lock because your hands were shaking.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

You unlocked the door. He followed you inside. Dumpling… your cat… immediately appeared… meowing at the intrusion. Probably about to give you a lecture on bringing home strange men. Dumpling, the cockblock.

"Hey, cat," Toji said

Dumpling sniffed his shoe suspiciously, then apparently decided he was acceptable, because she started rubbing against his ankles.

"You lil Traitor”

Et tu, Dumpling?

Toji laughed…. and when he looked at you, there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch.

He stepped closer. Cupped your face in his hands and kissed you again… slower this time.

~~~

Across the street, a car pulled up.

Gojo Satoru sat behind the wheel, fingers frozen on the ignition, watching as you disappeared through your doorway in another man's arms.

His hand tightened on the steering wheel.

In his pocket, an engagement ring…. the real one. He bought it three days ago and has been carrying it around ever since, waiting for the right moment. He'd been planning to surprise you. To suggest that maybe, possibly, the fake engagement didn't have to be so fake after all.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The door closed behind you. Through the window, silhouetted against the warm light of your apartment, he saw Toji pull you close. Saw you rise on your tiptoes to meet him halfway.

His chest ached. A dull, hollow thing, like something had been carved out and left empty. He sat there for a long moment. Minutes, maybe. An hour. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring.

It was beautiful. White gold band. Diamond that caught light like captured starlight.

Clause one: neither party shall develop genuine romantic feelings for the other.

He’d broken the rule. Weeks ago. Maybe from the start, if he was being honest with himself.

He’d fallen in love with you somewhere between the fake dates and the real laughs, between your dumb jokes and your inability to walk in heels, between the moments when you looked at him like he was just Satoru, not the Gojo heir.

Gojo Satoru drove home alone, with an empty passenger seat and a full heart that had no one to give itself to.

"You're late." Toji threw himself onto your couch, narrowly missing Dumpling.

"Traffic." You said

"You don't have a car."

You collapsed onto the couch beside him. "There was an old lady. She was walking very slowly. I couldn't pass her without seeming rude."

"Did you try?"

"No, I respect my elders."

"Liar."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. You'd been smiling a lot lately.

It wasn't perfect. Nothing ever was. Your mother still called weekly to ‘check in’ (guilt trip you about choosing "that vagabond" over a Gojo heir). She'd sent you seven articles about Satoru's recent philanthropy work, as if that would change your mind. Your father chose to stay silent which was somehow worse than the guilt trips.

But Toji was there.

Every night on your couch. Every morning making burnt pancakes in your tiny kitchen. Every moment feeling more real than anything else in your life.

Your phone buzzed.

Gojo: Saw the news about your parents finally accepting Toji. Congrats. Also, I hate you both.

You laughed.

You: You're dating a supermodel.

Gojo: She's boring.

You: Find someone else then

Gojo: Working on it. Also, Sukuna keeps asking about you. Should I be concerned?

You: Tell him I'm very happy and also blocked him again.

Gojo: He'll love that.

"Who's that?" Toji asked, not opening his eyes.

"Gojo."

"Still weird that you're friends."

“Are you jealous?”

“Yes” He said pulling you down onto the couch with him and kissed your forehead.

You were happy. Actually, genuinely happy.

The idiot in the basement actually made it out alive.

(For now.)

Sukuna was still out there. Satoru was still carrying around a ring he hadn't returned. Your mother was still plotting ways to break you up.

But that was a problem for future you.

THE END (probably)

A/n : Your reblogs and comments are appreciated ♥︎

Sorry for the late update. I was lacking motivation but I finally finished it. I hope y'all like it♥︎

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Business Proposal

Pairings : Yandere JJKmen x Reader

Ft. Gojo, Sukuna, Toji, Nanami

Tw: MDNI, some 18+ jokes, fanfic

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Last Part

How the fuck were you supposed to know they all knew each other? Like, genuinely, in what universe was that information NOT relevant?

The office scene from earlier still played in your brain like a YouTube video stuck on loop. Your coworker Mei had filmed the whole thing and was probably already editing it for TikTok with some godforsaken caption like "bestie's reverse harem era just dropped."

(You were starting to suspect you WERE the protagonist of a poorly written fanfiction.)

You had managed to usher them out… separately, because putting them in an elevator together seemed like a recipe for either murder or an orgy, and you weren't sure which was worse.

Nanami sat at his desk at home, tie loosened, jacket discarded, staring at nothing.

He’d never been in a situation like this. Never competed for a woman’s attention. Never wanted to. But here he was.

And worse… here they were. Three other men who apparently wanted exactly what he wanted.

You.

The gentlemanly thing to do would be to step aside, let you choose from the others without pressure.

But the thought of you choosing Gojo… a womanizer…. made his jaw clench.

Or Sukuna…. dangerous, possibly criminal.

Or Toji…. who clearly didn’t respect you enough to take any of this seriously.

No.

No, he wasn’t stepping aside.

Business proposal

Pairings: Yandere JJK men x Reader

Ft. Gojo, Sukuna, Toji, Nanami

TW : MDNI, some 18+ jokes, fanfic

part 1 - Part 2 - part 3

In Which You Learn That Rich Men Are Like Glitter (Impossible To Get Rid Of Once They’re On You)

“You’re fucked.”

Shoko’s voice… through your phone speaker had that particular tone of someone delivering bad news while also finding it hilarious, like a doctor telling you that you have a weird rash but also it’s shaped like a dinosaur.

“I’m aware,” you said, lying on your floor…. your cat was sitting on your chest. “That’s why I’m calling you at…” you checked your phone “…. fuck, is it really 3 AM?”

“What the fuck is wrong with these men?" You stared at your ceiling, which had a water stain that looked like either Jesus or a mushroom. You’d been meaning to get that fixed since you moved in. That was two years ago.

Silence.

Then Shoko started cackling like she’d just witnessed someone slip on a banana peel in real life. “Maybe they’re into weird girls?”

“It’s not FUNNY… ”

“It’s SO funny,” she wheezed.

You groaned. Your cat adjusted herself, digging her claws into your chest.

“Okay but here’s the thing,” Shoko said, and you could hear her typing, which meant she was already stalking, which meant this was about to get worse. “I did some digging”

“And?…”

“And babe.” More typing. “These guys don’t DO second dates.”

“What do you mean”

“I mean… Sukuna’s last 3 arrangements all withdrew. One of em moved to Sweden” More clicking “Gojo fucks his first dates and then ghosts them. Dick and dip”

“SHOKO!!”

“Oh and Toji’s dates end up becoming his sugar mommies.”

You sat up, dislodging your cat, who gave you a look of pure betrayal before walking off to knock something off your counter.

“So what you’re saying is…..”

“What I’m saying is you somehow did the impossible.” She sounds gleeful. “How does that feel?”

“Like I need to fake my own death and join the Swedish meatball girl”

You spend the next hour on the phone, going through theories. Maybe you weren’t weird enough. Maybe you were too weird. Maybe they’re all in a cult and you’re the sacrifice. Maybe this is an elaborate prank show and Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out of your closet.

“Or,” Shoko offers, “maybe you’re just hot and they’re willing to overlook the crazy.”

“I spilled water on Toji’s DICK.”

“Some guys are into that….”

You hung up and stared at your phone. At the four messages still sitting there. Haunting you.

Outside your window, a pigeon was trying to fuck another pigeon on your fire escape, which felt oddly appropriate for this situation.

You can do this.

You are GOING to do this.

(You can not, in fact, do this, and what happens next will haunt you for the rest of your natural life.)

Sukuna sat in his office, looking out at Tokyo’s skyline, and tried to remember the last time someone had annoyed him this much without ending up in a hospital.

The audacity. The fucking AUDACITY of sitting across from him and dropping designer labels like they were supposed to impress him.

A shameless gold digger. The kind of woman he'd normally have escorted out before the appetizers arrived.

Except.

Except something was off.

He couldn't place it at first. He'd seen gold diggers before. Hell, he'd dated a few. They had a certain ease to them, a comfort in luxury that came from either experience or genuine desire.

You had neither. You looked like someone playing dress up.

"Get me everything on her," he tells Uraume the next morning.

The report landed on his desk five days later. Sukuna opens it expecting a lifestyle propped up by daddy's money.

What he finds instead makes him laugh out loud.

Forty seven pages of utterly ordinary information. No luxury purchases. No country club memberships or spa packages or any of the shit gold diggers usually had.

Groceries from 7 Eleven.

Bank account balance: Depressing

Sukuna leaned back in his chair, staring at your photo attached to the report. You were smiling in it…. holding a cup of what was definitely not champagne while standing in what appeared to be your kitchen.

You looked... soft.

He picks up his phone… a small smile on his face.

Name your terms. I'm interested.

Send (why tf did he phrase it like a challenge?)

Location : Shopping district

Threat level : High (probable yakuza connections, definitely judging you)

Sukuna picks you up in a black car. The driver opens the door for you without making eye contact, which feels ominous. Sukuna is already inside, taking up most of the backseat.

“Hi!!” you beam at him "I'm so excited for today. I've been thinking about it all week.”

“Have you” He looks amused. That's... new.

Your soul leaves your body for a second, then reluctantly returns when you realize he’s still watching.

“Of course.” you laugh “I love shopping”

Twenty minutes later, you're standing in a store that doesn't have prices on anything. Which means you don’t know what to buy because you have no idea what anything costs.

A sales associate instantly recognises Sukuna "Mr Ryomen. A pleasure. How can we assist you today?"

"The lady wants to shop." His eyes slide to you. "Give her whatever she wants."

This is a trap. This is DEFINITELY a trap.

You approach the nearest display… a rack of coats and pull one off with zero delicacy.

"Ooh, this is cute!!!!" You hold it up, checking the label. Your eyes don't recognise the brand name at all. It's something German, maybe? Or Italian? Fuck. "Is this..." You squint. "Valentino?"

The sales associate's eye twitches. "That's Brunello Cucinelli, ma'am."

"Right, right. Bruno something." You wave your hand dismissively. "Same thing."

Behind you, Sukuna makes a sound. It might be a cough. It might be a suppressed laugh.

"This one….”

"That's a child's backpack."

You stare at the tiny pink monstrosity in your hands. It does, in fact, have a cartoon character on it.

"I knew that," you say weakly. ( Error 404 : Brain not found )

The corner of his mouth twitches. Is that a smile? Is he making fun of you? You can't tell and it's driving you insane.

"Perhaps," he says, stepping closer, "I should help you."

What follows is the most humiliating hour of your life.

Sukuna guides you through the store like a disappointed tour guide at a museum for idiots. He corrects your pronunciation of Louis Vuitton…. twice.

"You don't shop here often," he observes, handing you a dress"Try this."

"I… what?"

"Try it on." He gestures toward the fitting rooms. "I want to see how it looks."

You stumble toward the changing room… (THERE’S A CHANDELIER IN THE CHANGING ROOM) … clutching the dress. The fabric is soft… softer than anything you've ever owned… and when you put it on, you barely recognize yourself in the mirror.

You look... expensive. Like someone who actually belongs in a place like this.

"Well?" Sukuna's voice comes from outside the curtain. "Are you hiding?"

"No." Yes. "I'm just... adjusting."

"Come out."

You step out, feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with the amount of skin showing.

His eyes move slowly… face, shoulders, waist, back up. The way he looks at you makes every inch of skin feel suddenly, stupidly alive.

"Better," he says finally. "We'll take it."

"We'll… what? No, it's too much, I couldn't…. "

"I thought you wanted expensive things." He raises an eyebrow

Shit. Shit

"I do" you say, too bright. "This is great. Let's buy all of it.”

You gesture wildly at the nearest rack. Sukuna follows your hand to a display of men's accessories.

"You want me to buy you cufflinks?"

Your stomach drops into your fucking shoes “I… no. Those. Over there. The... things."

"The hats?"

"Yes!!! Hats. I love hats!"

You don't wear hats. You've never worn hats. The last time you tried to wear a hat, Shoko laughed so hard she choked on her drink.

But Sukuna is still watching you with that expression… amused, knowing, waiting (smug asshole)… and you can't back down now.

"Pick one," he says. "Whichever you want."

He pays for it, along with the dress you didn't ask for, and several other items you don't remember selecting.

After your date, you know three things.

One: couture is terrifying.

Two: rich people are stupid.

Three: Sukuna knows

Nanami Kento was having a problem.

The problem was not work related, though his colleagues would probably disagree given that he’d missed two meetings and had to redo a contract because he’d been too distracted to catch a critical error.

The problem was not health related, though his doctor would probably be concerned about his blood pressure given how many cold showers he’d taken this week.

The problem was that he could not stop thinking about you. About your mouth on that wine glass. About the sound you had made and how he had to grip his fork so hard he’d nearly bent it.

About what you would look like on your knees….

He was in the middle of a client call when his mind wandered to what you would sound like if he…

“Nanami san? Are you still there?”

“Yes. Apologies. Please continue.”

This was unacceptable. He’d built his entire career on discipline and self control. He didn’t get distracted. He didn’t let his personal life interfere with his work. And he certainly didn’t spend five days straight having increasingly inappropriate thoughts about a woman he’d met once.

But here he was. Day five. Still thinking about you.

He tried to rationalize it. Tried to tell himself this was just physical attraction. That he needed to see you again to confirm there was no actual compatibility. That a second date would cure him of whatever this was.

(This was a lie. He knew it was a lie.)

On day seven, he broke.

I would like to continue our discussion. Are you free Thursday evening at 7:00 PM?

He hit send. What the fuck was happening to him?

LOCATION: French Restaurant, Different This Time

THREAT LEVEL: Low (too polite to murder you, probably)

You arrive five minutes early.

Nanami is already there. Of course. The man probably arrived at the restaurant's founding and has been waiting ever since. His suit is different from last time…. but somehow just as pristine. Just as distracting.

Stop noticing his suits, you tell yourself. You're supposed to be making him uncomfortable, not yourself

"Mr. Nanami." You slide into your seat with what you hope is a seductive smile.

"Please." He stands as you sit…. gentleman, goddamn him…. before settling back down. "Nanami is fine."

"Nanami." You lean forward… smelling his cologne. It’s a nice cologne. Stop smelling him "I have to admit… I was surprised you wanted to meet again. You don't seem like the type to call women for second dates."

"I'm not."

"So what's different about me?"

There's an intensity to his gaze that wasn't there before… or maybe it was, and you just didn't notice. "I haven't determined that yet."

Okay. That's either flattering or terrifying.

You push forward with your strategy and order the messiest thing on the menu… pasta with red sauce, specifically chosen because there's no elegant way to eat it. You twirl your fork, let sauce drip onto your chin.

"Sorry," you say, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin. "I'm such a messy eater. But it's so good. Don't you think food just tastes better when you're not worried about being neat?"

"I... wouldn't know."

"You should try it sometime." You tilt your head. "Don't you ever just want to... let go?"

His eyes turn dark and hungry in an instant, sending your belly into free fall.

Oh

"I assure you," he says, voice low, "I am perfectly capable of letting go. When the situation calls for it."

Your heart rate spikes. “I need the bathroom….. ”

You practically RUN.

When you come back, he’s still there, perfectly composed, looking at you like you’re dessert and he’s planning how to eat you.

“Shall we order dessert?” he asks

“I’m good…..”

“Pity. I was hoping to watch you enjoy something sweet.”

Abort. Abort mission. This is not going according to plan.

Toji wasn’t a stalker. He wouldd like to make that clear.

He followed you out on instinct, hands in pockets, expression bored, telling himself he was just making sure you got into a car and didn’t kill yourself crossing traffic.

You were different from the other rich bitches his family throws at him.

He had seen women play dumb before. Usually it's an act… a way to seem unthreatening, to make men feel smarter, to manipulate without being obvious.

This one couldn’t even walk straight… in heels you clearly couldn't handle, and….

You tripped.

Right there on the sidewalk. Over literally nothing. Your bag went flying, contents scattering across concrete.

"Fuck my life," you muttered, loud enough for him to hear from ten feet away. "Fuck it right in its stupid face."

Toji snorted.

He followed you all the way to your apartment building, watched you struggle with your keys for a full two minutes before getting the door open, and then stood on the street below your window like the world's most pathetic stalker.

Your light turned on. Then off. Then on again. You’d probably forgotten something in the dark.

Cute.

The word popped into his head uninvited. He immediately wanted to punch himself for thinking it.

Toji was fucking gone.

Hey, he typed on day seven. You're weird. I'm in.

His family's going to lose their shit when they find out he actually wants a second date for once.

LOCATION: Some random address in Shibuya

THREAT LEVEL: Unknown (not much details, which is concerning)

The address turns out to be an arcade.

An arcade???

You stand outside, staring at the neon lights and the sounds of digital explosions leaking through the doors, and wonder if you've been pranked.

"You came."

You spin. Toji is leaning against the wall beside the entrance, looking like he wandered in from a motorcycle gang's photo shoot. Leather jacket. Jeans. That scar on his lip curving with his smirk.

You follow him inside, immediately assaulted by flashing lights and the cacophony of a hundred games happening simultaneously.

"What are we doing here?" you ask, dodging a kid running past with a stuffed prize twice his size.

"Having fun." He looks back at you with an expression that's almost... soft? "You do know how to have fun, right?"

You tried your bimbo act. “I…. yes, of course I know how to have fun, I'm very fun, I'm the funnest…”

"That's not a word."

“Oh”

You lose spectacularly at every game you try.

"You're terrible at this," he says, leaning against the machine while you die for the fifteenth time.

You huff, pushing away from the machine. "Whatever…. the game is broken…”

Toji laughs, full and genuine, and something in your chest does a weird flutter thing.

No. Absolutely not. Focus.

"Let me try something," he says, and steps up to a basketball shooting game. He feeds in coins, picks up a ball, and proceeds to sink fifteen shots in a row without missing once.

Tickets pour out of the machine like a waterfall.

He hands you the tickets. "Pick a prize."

"What?"

"You've been looking at that giant cat thing since we walked in. Go get it."

He noticed that?

"I don't need you to win me prizes," you say, trying to recover your strategy "I can win my own prizes…..”

He's already walking toward the prize counter, your tickets in hand. You trail after him, protests dying on your lips.

The giant cat is even fluffier up close. The employee hands it to Toji, who hands it to you

"There," he says. "Now you have something to show for today."

You clutch the ridiculous stuffed animal to your chest and feel something dangerous building in your ribcage.

Don't, you tell yourself. Don't you fkn dare.

But when he drives you home on his motorcycle (motorcycle???)… you clutching the cat with one arm and his waist with the other….you can't help thinking that this was the most fun you've had in months.

Gojo knows you're lying before you even sit down.

It's the eyes. The too bright smile. The way your voice goes slightly higher when you're saying something you don't mean.

He's spent his entire adult life surrounded by liars. Business partners who smile while plotting. Models who swear they're "not like other girls" while being exactly like every other girl. Family members who claim to love him while treating him like a prize show pony.

He's learned to spot deception… instantly, instinctively, with a vague sense of disgust.

You're not as good at it as you think.

The church talk? He almost laughed. Your lockscreen might’ve had a church on it, but your nails had remnants of black polish, and there was a tiny tattoo peeking out from your collarbone that you had tried to cover with concealer.

The purity workshop thing? Just to avoid temptation.

Oh, sweetheart.

You wanted him to be tempted…. he thought…. That was the whole point, right? You had dressed like a nun specifically to make him think about undressing you.

Reverse psychology. Classic move. Bold as hell, though…. he'll give you that.

Most women try to impress him. They wear tight dresses and push up bras, laugh at his jokes, agree with everything he says.

You showed up looking like you were about to lead a prayer circle and told him he needed Jesus.

Gojo is delighted.

He pulls out his laptop, cracks his knuckles, and gets to work.

Social media: Private Instagram…. which yes, he has access to…. with party photos going back to college. Twitter that was mostly complaints about your job and retweets of cat videos.

Dating history: College boyfriend for two years, ended badly. Three short term relationships after that, all ending with you ghosting them when you got bored.

Employment: Work in management, hates your boss, online shops during meetings.

“Miss Virgin Mary,” he grins, scrolling through a photo of you doing a keg stand in 2019. “You absolute fraud”

Round two, sweetheart? My place, Friday. Don't worry, I'll be on my best behavior. He hits send

He can practically hear you screaming when you read it.

Perfect.

LOCATION: His Place (concerning)

THREAT LEVEL: Maximum (the man is a predator)

Strategy: Bring actual chaperone.

You arrive with Shoko in tow. She's agreed to play the part of your "church friend" aka chaperone… for the evening, which basically means she's going to sit in the corner, drink his expensive alcohol, and watch you make a fool of yourself.

"You brought a chaperone," Gojo says when he opens the door. He doesn't look surprised. He looks delighted.

"I told you I would." You fold your hands primly. "This is my friend Shoko. She's from my congregation."

Shoko waves. "Praise Jesus."

Gojo's eyes sparkle. "Please, come in."

His apartment is obscene. Floor to ceiling windows with a city view.

Furniture that costs more than your entire existence. A kitchen that's clearly never been used for actual cooking.

You sit on the couch… knees pressed together, hands in your lap, the picture of modesty.

“So," Gojo says, settling across from you. "How's God?"

"Huh? Oh… He's... good. Great, actually. Very blessed."

"Mmm." He leans forward. "And what does God think about us? Did he give you any revelations this week?"

"Actually, yes." You clasp your hands together. "I've been praying a lot, and I really feel like the Lord is telling me to take things slow. Very slow. Probably years of courtship before any... physical contact."

"Years?" he asks

"At least."

"How many years?"

"Um." You hadn't thought this far ahead. "Seven?"

Shoko chokes on her wine.

Gojo's smile doesn't waver. "Seven years. Of no physical contact."

"Exactly."

"No kissing?"

"No." You smile brightly

"No hand holding?" he pouts

"Probably not."

"What about eye contact?" Those blue eyes fix on yours

"I…. what?"

"Eye contact can be very intimate." He's leaning closer now, voice dropping. "Some people find it even more intimate than touching."

You swallow. "I suppose... brief eye contact would be acceptable."

"How brief?"

"A...a few seconds?" you stutter

"Three seconds?" he asks

"Sure?"

"Like this?" And then he just... looks at you.

Three seconds stretch into five. Five into ten. His eyes are impossibly blue, impossibly bright, impossibly knowing. You feel stripped bare. Exposed. Like he can see right through your modest dress and your fake cross necklace and your bullshit act straight to the core of you.

Your face burns.

"Stop that," you manage.

"Stop what?" His smile is innocent. His eyes are anything but….. "I thought eye contact was acceptable."

"Not like that."

He laughs, low and warm, and you feel it in places you definitely shouldn't.

The rest of the evening is a torture. He finds ways to make everything sound suggestive. Offers you water and comments on how good you are at swallowing.

By the time you leave, Shoko is crying with suppressed laughter and you're seriously considering actual prayer for the first time in your life.

"This was fun," Gojo says at the door. "We should do it again."

"I don't think…. "

He cuts you off "Without the chaperone next time."

"There won't be a next time."

"Mmm." His hand reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is feather light. Devastating. "We'll see."

Fuck Fuck Fuck

You decide to disappear.

No texts. No calls. No responses. Complete radio silence. Maybe if you ignore the problem hard enough, it'll go away on its own.

(This has never worked for any problem in the history of problems, but hope springs eternal.)

Day 1: Peace.

Day 2: Your mother called 47 times.

Day 3: Your father sent an email in all caps.

Day 4: Silence.

Day 5: Maybe they gave up….

DAY 6:

A cheese platter arrived at your office.

Expensive cheese in a wooden box with a card: “Since you can clearly tell the difference. - Sukuna”

Your coworkers descend on it like vultures. You barely get a piece.

When you get home: you can't open your front door. Because there's a bouquet blocking it.

Not a bouquet. A monument. Red roses…. hundreds of them…. piled so high you can't see over the top. It takes thirty minutes to drag the whole thing inside.

Card: “Red suits you better. - Gojo”

Three missed calls from Nanami.

Shoko sends you a screenshot of Toji lingering outside your building. “Should I be concerned?" She texts

Day 7

"There's four guys at reception," your coworker, Mei says, poking her head into your office. "They're asking for you.”

Your blood leaves your body “Four?”

"They're kind of... arguing? With each other? Security is considering calling the police."

You walk to reception like you're walking to your own execution. And there they are.

Gojo, arms crossed, glaring at Sukuna. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Sukuna, looking murderous. "I could ask you the same thing. How do you know [name]?"

Toji, leaning against the wall. "Keep her name out of your mouth."

Nanami, trying to be the voice of reason. "Perhaps we should discuss this calmly….”

"Fuck calm," Sukuna snaps.

Mei appears at your elbow. "Are those guys here for you?"

"Please kill me."

"Do you owe them money?"

"I wish." you whisper

You take a breath. Then another. Then you walk into the chaos.

"Excuse me," you say.

They don't hear you. "Excuse me."

Still nothing.

"HEY!!!” you shout

Four heads turn. Four pairs of eyes land on you. Four expressions shift from hostile to... something else entirely.

Nanami opens his mouth, probably to say something reasonable, but you cut him off.

"Do you all…. know each other?" you ask weakly.

Silence.

“Unfortunately." Toji mutters

Gojo just grins. "Small world, isn't it, sweetheart?"

Your coworkers are watching this like it's the season finale of Love Island.

You are so fucked.

A/n : Your Reblogs and comments are appreciated 🫶💕

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