Your family sets you up with potential husbandsβ¦.. rich, influential JJK menβ¦ for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfiresβ¦ and now you have 4 men obsessed with you.
Pairings: Yandere JJK men x Reader
Ft. Gojo, Sukuna, Toji, Nanami
TW : MDNI, some 18+ jokes, fanfic
In Which You Learn That Rich Men Are Like Glitter (Impossible To Get Rid Of Once Theyβre On You)
Shokoβs voiceβ¦ 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 itβs shaped like a dinosaur.
βIβm aware,β you said, lying on your floorβ¦. your cat was sitting on your chest. βThatβs why Iβm calling you atβ¦β you checked your phone ββ¦. fuck, is it really 3 AM?β
βWhat 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. Youβd been meaning to get that fixed since you moved in. That was two years ago.
Then Shoko started cackling like sheβd just witnessed someone slip on a banana peel in real life. βMaybe theyβre into weird girls?β
βItβs not FUNNYβ¦ β
βItβs SO funny,β she wheezed.
You groaned. Your cat adjusted herself, digging her claws into your chest.
βOkay but hereβs the thing,β Shoko said, and you could hear her typing, which meant she was already stalking, which meant this was about to get worse. βI did some diggingβ
βAnd babe.β More typing. βThese guys donβt DO second dates.β
βI meanβ¦ Sukunaβs last 3 arrangements all withdrew. One of em moved to Swedenβ More clicking βGojo fucks his first dates and then ghosts them. Dick and dipβ
βOh and Tojiβs dates end up becoming his sugar mommies.β
You sat up, dislodging your cat, who gave you a look of pure betrayal before walking off to knock something off your counter.
βSo what youβre saying isβ¦..β
βWhat Iβm saying is you somehow did the impossible.β She sounds gleeful. βHow does that feel?β
βLike I need to fake my own death and join the Swedish meatball girlβ
You spend the next hour on the phone, going through theories. Maybe you werenβt weird enough. Maybe you were too weird. Maybe theyβre all in a cult and youβre the sacrifice. Maybe this is an elaborate prank show and Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out of your closet.
βOr,β Shoko offers, βmaybe youβre just hot and theyβre willing to overlook the crazy.β
βI spilled water on Tojiβs DICK.β
βSome guys are into thatβ¦.β
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 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 Ryomen - After the first date
Sukuna sat in his office, looking out at Tokyoβs 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 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.
Bank account balance: Depressing
Sukuna leaned back in his chair, staring at your photo attached to the report. You were smiling in itβ¦. holding a cup of what was definitely not champagne while standing in what appeared to be your kitchen.
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.
βHi!!β you beam at him "I'm so excited for today. I've been thinking about it all week.β
βHave youβ He looks amused. That's... new.
Your soul leaves your body for a second, then reluctantly returns when you realize heβs still watching.
βOf course.β you laugh βI love shoppingβ
Twenty minutes later, you're standing in a store that doesn't have prices on anything. Which means you donβt 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.
"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 Vuittonβ¦. twice.
"You don't shop here often," he observes, handing you a dress"Try this."
"Try it on." He gestures toward the fitting rooms. "I want to see how it looks."
You stumble toward the changing roomβ¦ (THEREβS A CHANDELIER IN THE CHANGING ROOM) β¦ clutching the dress. The fabric is softβ¦ softer than anything you've ever ownedβ¦ 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."
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'llβ¦ what? No, it's too much, I couldn'tβ¦. "
"I thought you wanted expensive things." He raises an eyebrow
"I do" you say, too bright. "This is great. Let's buy all of it.β
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 βIβ¦ no. Those. Over there. The... things."
"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.
Nanami Kento - After the first date
Nanami Kento was having a problem.
The problem was not work related, though his colleagues would probably disagree given that heβd missed two meetings and had to redo a contract because heβd 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 heβd 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 heβd nearly bent it.
About what you would look like on your kneesβ¦.
He was in the middle of a client call when his mind wandered to what you would sound like if heβ¦
βNanami san? Are you still there?β
βYes. Apologies. Please continue.β
This was unacceptable. Heβd built his entire career on discipline and self control. He didnβt get distracted. He didnβt let his personal life interfere with his work. And he certainly didnβt spend five days straight having increasingly inappropriate thoughts about a woman heβd 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.)
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 timeβ¦. 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 sitβ¦. gentleman, goddamn himβ¦. before settling back down. "Nanami is fine."
"Nanami." You lean forwardβ¦ smelling his cologne. Itβs a nice cologne. Stop smelling him "I have to admitβ¦ I was surprised you wanted to meet again. You don't seem like the type to call women for second dates."
"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?"
"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.
"I assure you," he says, voice low, "I am perfectly capable of letting go. When the situation calls for it."
Your heart rate spikes. βI need the bathroomβ¦.. β
When you come back, heβs still there, perfectly composed, looking at you like youβre dessert and heβs planning how to eat you.
βShall we order dessert?β he asks
βPity. I was hoping to watch you enjoy something sweet.β
Abort. Abort mission. This is not going according to plan.
Toji Fushiguro - After the first date
Toji wasnβt 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 didnβt 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 couldnβt even walk straightβ¦ in heels you clearly couldn't handle, andβ¦.
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."
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. Youβd probably forgotten something in the dark.
The word popped into his head uninvited. He immediately wanted to punch himself for thinking it.
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.
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 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. βIβ¦. yes, of course I know how to have fun, I'm very fun, I'm the funnestβ¦β
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. "Whateverβ¦. the game is brokenβ¦β
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."
"You've been looking at that giant cat thing since we walked in. Go get it."
"I don't need you to win me prizes," you say, trying to recover your strategy "I can win my own prizesβ¦..β
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???)β¦ you clutching the cat with one arm and his waist with the otherβ¦.you can't help thinking that this was the most fun you've had in months.
Gojo Satoru - After the first date
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 mightβve 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.
You wanted him to be temptedβ¦. he thoughtβ¦. 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, thoughβ¦. 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.
He pulls out his laptop, cracks his knuckles, and gets to work.
Social media: Private Instagramβ¦. which yes, he has access toβ¦. 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.
βMiss Virgin Mary,β he grins, scrolling through a photo of you doing a keg stand in 2019. βYou absolute fraudβ
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.
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.
βSo," 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."
"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."
"No hand holding?" he pouts
"What about eye contact?" Those blue eyes fix on yours
"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."
"A...a few seconds?" you stutter
"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.
"Stop what?" His smile is innocent. His eyes are anything butβ¦.. "I thought eye contact was acceptable."
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."
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."
AFTERMATH - The great ghosting
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 2: Your mother called 47 times.
Day 3: Your father sent an email in all caps.
Day 5: Maybe they gave upβ¦.
A cheese platter arrived at your office.
Expensive cheese in a wooden box with a card: βSince you can clearly tell the difference. - Sukunaβ
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 rosesβ¦. hundreds of themβ¦. piled so high you can't see over the top. It takes thirty minutes to drag the whole thing inside.
Card: βRed suits you better. - Gojoβ
Three missed calls from Nanami.
Shoko sends you a screenshot of Toji lingering outside your building. βShould I be concerned?" She texts
"There's four guys at reception," your coworker, Mei says, poking her head into your office. "They're asking for you.β
Your blood leaves your body βFour?β
"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 calmlyβ¦.β
"Fuck calm," Sukuna snaps.
Mei appears at your elbow. "Are those guys here for you?"
You take a breath. Then another. Then you walk into the chaos.
They don't hear you. "Excuse me."
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 allβ¦. know each other?" you ask weakly.
βUnfortunately." 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.
A/n : Your Reblogs and comments are appreciated π«Άπ
