⋆˚❜⋆ Saph

Your family sets you up with potential husbands….. rich, influential JJK men… for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfires… 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

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 ANNOUNCEMENT (AKA THE DAY YOU SIGNED YOUR OWN DEATH WARRANT)

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

THE PROBLEM WITH BLOCKING PEOPLE (THEY FIND OTHER WAYS TO FUCK WITH YOU)

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.

THAT NIGHT (THE ONE WHERE YOU MADE SEVERAL QUESTIONABLE DECISIONS)

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 ENGAGEMENT PARTY (AKA THE LONGEST NIGHT OF YOUR MISERABLE LIFE)

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.

THE CONFRONTATION (OR… WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH DANGEROUS MEN)

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."

THE GARDEN (OR…. WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER GO OUTSIDE ALONE AT PARTIES)

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.

SATURDAY NIGHT: THE FUCKENING

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.

THE KISS (OR… THE MOMENT YOU REALIZED YOU WERE FUCKED)

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.

EPILOGUE (OR… THREE MONTHS LATER)

"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♥︎

Your family sets you up with potential husbands….. rich, influential JJK men… for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfires… 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

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 ANNOUNCEMENT (AKA THE DAY YOU SIGNED YOUR OWN DEATH WARRANT)

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

THE PROBLEM WITH BLOCKING PEOPLE (THEY FIND OTHER WAYS TO FUCK WITH YOU)

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.

THAT NIGHT (THE ONE WHERE YOU MADE SEVERAL QUESTIONABLE DECISIONS)

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 ENGAGEMENT PARTY (AKA THE LONGEST NIGHT OF YOUR MISERABLE LIFE)

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.

THE CONFRONTATION (OR… WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH DANGEROUS MEN)

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."

THE GARDEN (OR…. WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER GO OUTSIDE ALONE AT PARTIES)

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.

SATURDAY NIGHT: THE FUCKENING

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.

THE KISS (OR… THE MOMENT YOU REALIZED YOU WERE FUCKED)

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.

EPILOGUE (OR… THREE MONTHS LATER)

"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♥︎

Your family sets you up with potential husbands….. rich, influential JJK men… for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfires… 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

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 ANNOUNCEMENT (AKA THE DAY YOU SIGNED YOUR OWN DEATH WARRANT)

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

THE PROBLEM WITH BLOCKING PEOPLE (THEY FIND OTHER WAYS TO FUCK WITH YOU)

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.

THAT NIGHT (THE ONE WHERE YOU MADE SEVERAL QUESTIONABLE DECISIONS)

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 ENGAGEMENT PARTY (AKA THE LONGEST NIGHT OF YOUR MISERABLE LIFE)

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.

THE CONFRONTATION (OR… WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH DANGEROUS MEN)

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."

THE GARDEN (OR…. WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER GO OUTSIDE ALONE AT PARTIES)

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.

SATURDAY NIGHT: THE FUCKENING

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.

THE KISS (OR… THE MOMENT YOU REALIZED YOU WERE FUCKED)

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.

EPILOGUE (OR… THREE MONTHS LATER)

"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♥︎

Your family sets you up with potential husbands….. rich, influential JJK men… for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfires… 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

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 ANNOUNCEMENT (AKA THE DAY YOU SIGNED YOUR OWN DEATH WARRANT)

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

THE PROBLEM WITH BLOCKING PEOPLE (THEY FIND OTHER WAYS TO FUCK WITH YOU)

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.

THAT NIGHT (THE ONE WHERE YOU MADE SEVERAL QUESTIONABLE DECISIONS)

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 ENGAGEMENT PARTY (AKA THE LONGEST NIGHT OF YOUR MISERABLE LIFE)

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.

THE CONFRONTATION (OR… WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH DANGEROUS MEN)

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."

THE GARDEN (OR…. WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER GO OUTSIDE ALONE AT PARTIES)

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.

SATURDAY NIGHT: THE FUCKENING

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.

THE KISS (OR… THE MOMENT YOU REALIZED YOU WERE FUCKED)

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.

EPILOGUE (OR… THREE MONTHS LATER)

"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♥︎

Your family sets you up with potential husbands….. rich, influential JJK men… for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfires… 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

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 ANNOUNCEMENT (AKA THE DAY YOU SIGNED YOUR OWN DEATH WARRANT)

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

THE PROBLEM WITH BLOCKING PEOPLE (THEY FIND OTHER WAYS TO FUCK WITH YOU)

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.

THAT NIGHT (THE ONE WHERE YOU MADE SEVERAL QUESTIONABLE DECISIONS)

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 ENGAGEMENT PARTY (AKA THE LONGEST NIGHT OF YOUR MISERABLE LIFE)

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.

THE CONFRONTATION (OR… WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH DANGEROUS MEN)

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."

THE GARDEN (OR…. WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER GO OUTSIDE ALONE AT PARTIES)

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.

SATURDAY NIGHT: THE FUCKENING

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.

THE KISS (OR… THE MOMENT YOU REALIZED YOU WERE FUCKED)

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.

EPILOGUE (OR… THREE MONTHS LATER)

"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♥︎

Yandere Shoko Gojo Geto x reader

Tw: Yandere, mentions of violence and death, obsessive and possessive behaviour

You’re sitting in Geto’s apartment, mascara running down your face because Haruki… your boyfriend… blocked you on everything. Every social media account, your number, even LinkedIn for fuck’s sake. No explanation, nothing.

And this is the fourth time this has happened to you in two years.

“I don’t fucking get it,” you’re saying, wiping your nose with the tissue Shoko handed you. “Things were going so well. We were literally talking about meeting his parents and…”

Shoko’s behind you on the couch, and you’re between her legs, leaning back against her stomach in a way that would probably look weird to outsiders but feels completely natural to you. You’ve been friends since college. Her fingers are in your hair, scratching your scalp the way she knows makes you relax.

“Some guys are just cowards,” she says. “They’d rather disappear than have an actual conversation like adults.”

“He didnt deserve you anyway.” Gojo adds. He’s on the floor between your legs, arms rested on your knees, looking up at you. “Remember when he couldn’t even kill that spider in your apartment? He made you do it. What kind of man does that?”

You would laugh if you weren’t so miserable.

“He was weak,” Geto says from his position next to Shoko, close enough that his knee touches your hip…. which is another thing that would probably seem weird to people who don’t know you. But you’ve all been friends for six years. His hand comes up to wipe a tear from your cheek, thumb brushing across your skin with a gentleness that seems at odds with how imposing he looks “You need someone stronger than that.”

“I just need someone who doesn’t disappear on me,” you mutter. “This is the fourth guy, you guys. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you.” Gojo says it too quickly, with too much intensity. He shifts closer, and now both his hands are on your legs, palms warm through your jeans. “You’re fucking perfect. They’re the problem.”

Shoko’s hands slide from your hair down to your shoulders, massaging. “Maybe you should take a break from dating,” she suggests. Her voice is right by your ear. “Just focus on yourself….. On us.”

Yandere Shoko Gojo Geto x reader

Tw: Yandere, mentions of violence and death, obsessive and possessive behaviour

You’re sitting in Geto’s apartment, mascara running down your face because Haruki… your boyfriend… blocked you on everything. Every social media account, your number, even LinkedIn for fuck’s sake. No explanation, nothing.

And this is the fourth time this has happened to you in two years.

“I don’t fucking get it,” you’re saying, wiping your nose with the tissue Shoko handed you. “Things were going so well. We were literally talking about meeting his parents and…”

Shoko’s behind you on the couch, and you’re between her legs, leaning back against her stomach in a way that would probably look weird to outsiders but feels completely natural to you. You’ve been friends since college. Her fingers are in your hair, scratching your scalp the way she knows makes you relax.

“Some guys are just cowards,” she says. “They’d rather disappear than have an actual conversation like adults.”

“He didnt deserve you anyway.” Gojo adds. He’s on the floor between your legs, arms rested on your knees, looking up at you. “Remember when he couldn’t even kill that spider in your apartment? He made you do it. What kind of man does that?”

You would laugh if you weren’t so miserable.

“He was weak,” Geto says from his position next to Shoko, close enough that his knee touches your hip…. which is another thing that would probably seem weird to people who don’t know you. But you’ve all been friends for six years. His hand comes up to wipe a tear from your cheek, thumb brushing across your skin with a gentleness that seems at odds with how imposing he looks “You need someone stronger than that.”

“I just need someone who doesn’t disappear on me,” you mutter. “This is the fourth guy, you guys. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you.” Gojo says it too quickly, with too much intensity. He shifts closer, and now both his hands are on your legs, palms warm through your jeans. “You’re fucking perfect. They’re the problem.”

Shoko’s hands slide from your hair down to your shoulders, massaging. “Maybe you should take a break from dating,” she suggests. Her voice is right by your ear. “Just focus on yourself….. On us.”

Yandere Shoko Gojo Geto x reader

Tw: Yandere, mentions of violence and death, obsessive and possessive behaviour

You’re sitting in Geto’s apartment, mascara running down your face because Haruki… your boyfriend… blocked you on everything. Every social media account, your number, even LinkedIn for fuck’s sake. No explanation, nothing.

And this is the fourth time this has happened to you in two years.

“I don’t fucking get it,” you’re saying, wiping your nose with the tissue Shoko handed you. “Things were going so well. We were literally talking about meeting his parents and…”

Shoko’s behind you on the couch, and you’re between her legs, leaning back against her stomach in a way that would probably look weird to outsiders but feels completely natural to you. You’ve been friends since college. Her fingers are in your hair, scratching your scalp the way she knows makes you relax.

“Some guys are just cowards,” she says. “They’d rather disappear than have an actual conversation like adults.”

“He didnt deserve you anyway.” Gojo adds. He’s on the floor between your legs, arms rested on your knees, looking up at you. “Remember when he couldn’t even kill that spider in your apartment? He made you do it. What kind of man does that?”

You would laugh if you weren’t so miserable.

“He was weak,” Geto says from his position next to Shoko, close enough that his knee touches your hip…. which is another thing that would probably seem weird to people who don’t know you. But you’ve all been friends for six years. His hand comes up to wipe a tear from your cheek, thumb brushing across your skin with a gentleness that seems at odds with how imposing he looks “You need someone stronger than that.”

“I just need someone who doesn’t disappear on me,” you mutter. “This is the fourth guy, you guys. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you.” Gojo says it too quickly, with too much intensity. He shifts closer, and now both his hands are on your legs, palms warm through your jeans. “You’re fucking perfect. They’re the problem.”

Shoko’s hands slide from your hair down to your shoulders, massaging. “Maybe you should take a break from dating,” she suggests. Her voice is right by your ear. “Just focus on yourself….. On us.”

You knew exactly who he was… and stayed

Tw : MDNI, 18+

Part 1 Part 2

Sukuna knows he fucked up.He knows he deserves the award for The Biggest Dickhead of the Year.

You spent your birthday alone because he was too busy being a selfish prick to remember the one person who’d been there for him for literally everything.

You were there when his mom got sick.You were there when his dad was a drunk asshole. You were there when he failed maths and thought his life was over. You were there for every birthday, every breakup, every panic attack about nothing and everything. And somewhere along the way you stopped being his best friend and became…. just a girl he fucked.

When did he stop seeing you?

When did he stop noticing you were there?

What’s killing him is that you just gave up on him. You didn’t scream or throw shit or demand explanations…he could handle anger. You looked exhausted. Tired of him. Tired of being the person who cared more.

Fix it. He has to fix it.

But how the fuck do you fix fifteen years of friendship that you torpedoed in six months?

☾☾☾.

Heartbreak, as it turns out, is fucking exhausting.

Not in the romantic way movies portrayed it. No standing in the rain, no meaningful stares out windows while sad music played.

Just bone deep exhaustion.

You’re extremely fucking confused when Sukuna shows up at your apartment ten days after your birthday….. ten days of radio silence, ten days of you ugly crying into ice cream and deleting his number only to restore it from recently deleted like the pathetic creature you are……. with flowers and mochi. Not just any mochi. Mochi from your favourite place that’s twenty three minutes across town in traffic. You know because you’ve driven there multiple times. Usually when you were having a shit day and needed something that felt like a small extravagant fuck you to responsible adult decisions.

He’s holding it out like a peace offering. Like it’s a white flag. Like it’s anything other than what it actually is, which is a desperately transparent attempt to buy forgiveness.

You stare at him through the crack in your door chain lock still on….. and he looks… bad.

You can tell he hasn’t slept properly, which you know because you’ve seen Sukuna on two hours of sleep after exam season in university and he still looked better than most people do on a full eight. There are actual shadows under his eyes.

And his usual expression…. that infuriating smirk that says he knows he’s hot shit and you’re probably thinking about him naked… is completely absent. Replaced by something that looks almost… nervous?

Ryomen Sukuna. Nervous. The same man who once fucked you against your kitchen counter, maintained eye contact the entire time, and then had the audacity to eat your leftovers after.

“What do you want?” Your voice comes out flat, which is good. Flat doesn’t show that your heart’s jumping just from seeing him standing there.

“To talk.” He lifts the mochi box slightly.“Please.”

‘Slam the door in his face.’ That’s what your best friend would say, right?

‘Don’t be his friend. You know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning’ At least listen to Dua Lipa. You’re undoing all the progress you’ve made.

What progress? You’ve made zero progress. You’re a mess.

So you undo the chain and let him in, because apparently self respect is a myth and you’re living proof.

He steps inside and immediately your apartment feels smaller, which is saying something because it’s already pretty fucking small. It’s not even that Sukuna’s particularly huge, he’s tall, yeah, but it’s more about the way he takes up space. The way he’s always had this gravitational pull that makes you orbit him whether you want to or not. You’ve been orbiting him since you were kids. Maybe that’s the whole problem. Maybe you never learned how to exist in your own solar system.

“You have five minutes,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, which is definitely a defensive position but also necessary because you’re not wearing a bra and you’re not about to let him think this is that kind of visit.

“I fucked up.” The words come out so fast like he’s been practicing them.

You can’t help it… you laugh. “Oh, wow. Groundbreaking. Should we call the press? Alert the media?”

His jaw does a tiny clench that you’ve seen a thousand times, usually right before he says something he knows is going to start a fight. But he doesn’t. He just takes it. Absorbs your sarcasm because he deserves it.

“I know sorry doesn’t fix it,” he continues, and his voice has this quality to it that you’ve never heard before. It’s rough.“I know showing up with flowers isn’t enough. I know…” He stops and runs his hand through his hair and you watch it happen, watch the way his fingers drag through the pink strands and leave them sticking up at odd angles. “I’m fucking drowning without you.”

Your chest squeezes painfully. Like your heart’s being wrung out like a wet towel. You ignore it. You’ve gotten good at ignoring things. Six months of practice.

“You forgot my birthday, Sukuna. You went on a date with someone else and then you showed up here expecting me to be available? Like I’m some 24 hour convenience store for your dick?” The words come out quieter than you intended. Less accusatory and more… hurt. Which you hate. You wanted to sound angry.

“No, I…….”

“Do you even know what that felt like?”The words explode out of you and you’re not yelling, not quite, but your voice is definitely raised and you can feel the tears threatening and fuck, you don’t want to cry in front of him. Not again. “Waiting all day for a text. Checking my phone every five minutes like a fucking idiot?

He looks wrecked. Absolutely fucking wrecked, and some petty part of you is glad. Wants him to hurt the way you hurt. “You’re right. About all of it. I treated you like shit. I took you for granted because you were always there and I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Apology noted. Was that all?” you say, and you’re proud of how steady your voice is. How calm. Like you’re not actively falling apart inside.

“What…no……” He runs a hand through his hair again, frustrated. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. I don’t want you to say anything.” And oh, there’s the anger. It’s bubbling up now, hot and acidic. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. You just walk away. You’re good at that.”

He flinches at your words “please…” He pauses “The last ten days have been hell without you. I miss you.”

“You miss fucking me.”

“No.” His voice comes out sharp. “I miss hearing about your day. I miss you stealing my hoodies. I miss the way you laugh at stupid shit. I miss you falling asleep on my couch during movies. I miss you.”

“Don’t do that” You can feel tears burning behind your eyes. “Don’t try to…. ”

“I’m in love with you.”

The words land and it feels like getting punched in the stomach and kissed at the same time. White noise fills your ears where thoughts used to be. You’re vaguely aware that your mouth is open…. definitely looking stupid……. but you can’t seem to close it. Can’t seem to do anything except stand there and replay those four words over and over

“What?”

“I’m in love with you.”He steps closer and you step back. Your spine hits the kitchen counter. “I’ve been in love with you for… I don’t even know how long. Maybe always. Maybe since we were kids. I don’t know. But I know that I fucked it up because I was scared and stupid an….”

No.

No, he doesn't get to do this.

He doesn't get to say the words you’ve been dying to hear for months…. not now, not after everything, not when you’ve finally started to piece yourself back together.

“Bullshit.” Your voice shakes. “No feelings, no strings, remember?”

“I was wrong.” He moves closer. You let him this time, too shocked to move. “I was fucking wrong about everything.”

Tears are streaming down your face now. You don't even try to stop them.

“Ten days,” he continues, voice raw. “Ten days without you and I’ve been losing my fucking mind. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t think about anything except how badly I fucked up.”

“Stop.” You are full on sobbing now “Just stop talking.”

“I love you.” He reaches for you, then drops his hand when you flinch. “I’m sorry, I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m begging. Please. Let me fix this.”

You stare at him through blurry vision. This is what you’ve wanted, isn't it? For months, this is all you’ve wanted… for him to choose you, to love you back.

But now that you have it…

“I can’t….. after everything, I can’t just jump back in like nothing happened.” You want to believe him. You wantto believe him so badly it physically hurt. It’s like this ache in your chest that radiates outward, makes your fingers tingle and your throat tight. But you’ve been hurt before. So many times before.

“I’ll wait.” He says it without hesitation. “However long you need. I’ll wait.”

This is stupid. This is the kind of shit that happens in romance novels where the emotionally constipated man child suddenly becomes a feminist poet who understands feelings and the girl forgives him and they have passionate sex in the rain and everyone forgets that he was a dick for the first two hundred pages.

Real life doesn’t work like that. Real life is messier.

You wipe your eyes and try to compose yourself. “I need you to leave,”

That hurts more than he expected. More than anything has hurt in his entire fucking life.

He nods, stepping back immediately. He makes it three steps before you stop him. “Sukuna?”

He turns back

“Yeah?” He looks at you with so much hope in his eyes it hurts to see.

Giving Sukuna a second chance to prove himself is like giving a gambling addict chips and expecting them not to hit the casino. It’s like trusting a cat to guard your sandwich. It’s doomed to fail.

But a stupid, naive part of you wants to believe that he can change. “If you actually mean this…” You wipe your eyes. “If you’re serious about this…prove it.”

Relief crashes over his face…. Like you just told him he’s been pardoned from execution. “How?”

“Figure it out.”

And for the first time in ten days, Sukuna feels like he can breathe.

You don’t t know if this can work.

But maybe it is worth finding out.

If he proves it.

☽☽☽.

He proves it slowly.

Not with flowers (though he sends them anyway, your favorites, every Sunday). Not with expensive gifts (though he leaves your favorite mochi on your doorstep some mornings).

And somewhere along the way, you soften.

You let him take you to dinner (not a date, you insist, even though it feels like one). You let him drive you home (you don’t invite him up). You let him text you (and you text back).

Three months after that night, you let him kiss you.

It’s different this time… Softer. Like he's cherishing every moment, memorizing the feel of your mouth, the taste of you, the way you sigh against his lips.

Six months later, you’re in his bed (your choice this time, you’d insisted), and he’s holding you like you might disappear if he lets go.

“I love you,” He presses a kiss to your shoulder.

You turn in his arms to face him. Your eyes are heavy with sleep, your hair a mess, and you’ve never looked more beautiful. “I love you too”

Your reblogs and comments are appreciated ♥︎

Not proofread 😭 I'm sorry

You knew exactly who he was… and stayed

Tw : MDNI, 18+

Part 1 Part 2

Sukuna knows he fucked up.He knows he deserves the award for The Biggest Dickhead of the Year.

You spent your birthday alone because he was too busy being a selfish prick to remember the one person who’d been there for him for literally everything.

You were there when his mom got sick.You were there when his dad was a drunk asshole. You were there when he failed maths and thought his life was over. You were there for every birthday, every breakup, every panic attack about nothing and everything. And somewhere along the way you stopped being his best friend and became…. just a girl he fucked.

When did he stop seeing you?

When did he stop noticing you were there?

What’s killing him is that you just gave up on him. You didn’t scream or throw shit or demand explanations…he could handle anger. You looked exhausted. Tired of him. Tired of being the person who cared more.

Fix it. He has to fix it.

But how the fuck do you fix fifteen years of friendship that you torpedoed in six months?

☾☾☾.

Heartbreak, as it turns out, is fucking exhausting.

Not in the romantic way movies portrayed it. No standing in the rain, no meaningful stares out windows while sad music played.

Just bone deep exhaustion.

You’re extremely fucking confused when Sukuna shows up at your apartment ten days after your birthday….. ten days of radio silence, ten days of you ugly crying into ice cream and deleting his number only to restore it from recently deleted like the pathetic creature you are……. with flowers and mochi. Not just any mochi. Mochi from your favourite place that’s twenty three minutes across town in traffic. You know because you’ve driven there multiple times. Usually when you were having a shit day and needed something that felt like a small extravagant fuck you to responsible adult decisions.

He’s holding it out like a peace offering. Like it’s a white flag. Like it’s anything other than what it actually is, which is a desperately transparent attempt to buy forgiveness.

You stare at him through the crack in your door chain lock still on….. and he looks… bad.

You can tell he hasn’t slept properly, which you know because you’ve seen Sukuna on two hours of sleep after exam season in university and he still looked better than most people do on a full eight. There are actual shadows under his eyes.

And his usual expression…. that infuriating smirk that says he knows he’s hot shit and you’re probably thinking about him naked… is completely absent. Replaced by something that looks almost… nervous?

Ryomen Sukuna. Nervous. The same man who once fucked you against your kitchen counter, maintained eye contact the entire time, and then had the audacity to eat your leftovers after.

“What do you want?” Your voice comes out flat, which is good. Flat doesn’t show that your heart’s jumping just from seeing him standing there.

“To talk.” He lifts the mochi box slightly.“Please.”

‘Slam the door in his face.’ That’s what your best friend would say, right?

‘Don’t be his friend. You know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning’ At least listen to Dua Lipa. You’re undoing all the progress you’ve made.

What progress? You’ve made zero progress. You’re a mess.

So you undo the chain and let him in, because apparently self respect is a myth and you’re living proof.

He steps inside and immediately your apartment feels smaller, which is saying something because it’s already pretty fucking small. It’s not even that Sukuna’s particularly huge, he’s tall, yeah, but it’s more about the way he takes up space. The way he’s always had this gravitational pull that makes you orbit him whether you want to or not. You’ve been orbiting him since you were kids. Maybe that’s the whole problem. Maybe you never learned how to exist in your own solar system.

“You have five minutes,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, which is definitely a defensive position but also necessary because you’re not wearing a bra and you’re not about to let him think this is that kind of visit.

“I fucked up.” The words come out so fast like he’s been practicing them.

You can’t help it… you laugh. “Oh, wow. Groundbreaking. Should we call the press? Alert the media?”

His jaw does a tiny clench that you’ve seen a thousand times, usually right before he says something he knows is going to start a fight. But he doesn’t. He just takes it. Absorbs your sarcasm because he deserves it.

“I know sorry doesn’t fix it,” he continues, and his voice has this quality to it that you’ve never heard before. It’s rough.“I know showing up with flowers isn’t enough. I know…” He stops and runs his hand through his hair and you watch it happen, watch the way his fingers drag through the pink strands and leave them sticking up at odd angles. “I’m fucking drowning without you.”

Your chest squeezes painfully. Like your heart’s being wrung out like a wet towel. You ignore it. You’ve gotten good at ignoring things. Six months of practice.

“You forgot my birthday, Sukuna. You went on a date with someone else and then you showed up here expecting me to be available? Like I’m some 24 hour convenience store for your dick?” The words come out quieter than you intended. Less accusatory and more… hurt. Which you hate. You wanted to sound angry.

“No, I…….”

“Do you even know what that felt like?”The words explode out of you and you’re not yelling, not quite, but your voice is definitely raised and you can feel the tears threatening and fuck, you don’t want to cry in front of him. Not again. “Waiting all day for a text. Checking my phone every five minutes like a fucking idiot?

He looks wrecked. Absolutely fucking wrecked, and some petty part of you is glad. Wants him to hurt the way you hurt. “You’re right. About all of it. I treated you like shit. I took you for granted because you were always there and I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Apology noted. Was that all?” you say, and you’re proud of how steady your voice is. How calm. Like you’re not actively falling apart inside.

“What…no……” He runs a hand through his hair again, frustrated. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. I don’t want you to say anything.” And oh, there’s the anger. It’s bubbling up now, hot and acidic. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. You just walk away. You’re good at that.”

He flinches at your words “please…” He pauses “The last ten days have been hell without you. I miss you.”

“You miss fucking me.”

“No.” His voice comes out sharp. “I miss hearing about your day. I miss you stealing my hoodies. I miss the way you laugh at stupid shit. I miss you falling asleep on my couch during movies. I miss you.”

“Don’t do that” You can feel tears burning behind your eyes. “Don’t try to…. ”

“I’m in love with you.”

The words land and it feels like getting punched in the stomach and kissed at the same time. White noise fills your ears where thoughts used to be. You’re vaguely aware that your mouth is open…. definitely looking stupid……. but you can’t seem to close it. Can’t seem to do anything except stand there and replay those four words over and over

“What?”

“I’m in love with you.”He steps closer and you step back. Your spine hits the kitchen counter. “I’ve been in love with you for… I don’t even know how long. Maybe always. Maybe since we were kids. I don’t know. But I know that I fucked it up because I was scared and stupid an….”

No.

No, he doesn't get to do this.

He doesn't get to say the words you’ve been dying to hear for months…. not now, not after everything, not when you’ve finally started to piece yourself back together.

“Bullshit.” Your voice shakes. “No feelings, no strings, remember?”

“I was wrong.” He moves closer. You let him this time, too shocked to move. “I was fucking wrong about everything.”

Tears are streaming down your face now. You don't even try to stop them.

“Ten days,” he continues, voice raw. “Ten days without you and I’ve been losing my fucking mind. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t think about anything except how badly I fucked up.”

“Stop.” You are full on sobbing now “Just stop talking.”

“I love you.” He reaches for you, then drops his hand when you flinch. “I’m sorry, I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m begging. Please. Let me fix this.”

You stare at him through blurry vision. This is what you’ve wanted, isn't it? For months, this is all you’ve wanted… for him to choose you, to love you back.

But now that you have it…

“I can’t….. after everything, I can’t just jump back in like nothing happened.” You want to believe him. You wantto believe him so badly it physically hurt. It’s like this ache in your chest that radiates outward, makes your fingers tingle and your throat tight. But you’ve been hurt before. So many times before.

“I’ll wait.” He says it without hesitation. “However long you need. I’ll wait.”

This is stupid. This is the kind of shit that happens in romance novels where the emotionally constipated man child suddenly becomes a feminist poet who understands feelings and the girl forgives him and they have passionate sex in the rain and everyone forgets that he was a dick for the first two hundred pages.

Real life doesn’t work like that. Real life is messier.

You wipe your eyes and try to compose yourself. “I need you to leave,”

That hurts more than he expected. More than anything has hurt in his entire fucking life.

He nods, stepping back immediately. He makes it three steps before you stop him. “Sukuna?”

He turns back

“Yeah?” He looks at you with so much hope in his eyes it hurts to see.

Giving Sukuna a second chance to prove himself is like giving a gambling addict chips and expecting them not to hit the casino. It’s like trusting a cat to guard your sandwich. It’s doomed to fail.

But a stupid, naive part of you wants to believe that he can change. “If you actually mean this…” You wipe your eyes. “If you’re serious about this…prove it.”

Relief crashes over his face…. Like you just told him he’s been pardoned from execution. “How?”

“Figure it out.”

And for the first time in ten days, Sukuna feels like he can breathe.

You don’t t know if this can work.

But maybe it is worth finding out.

If he proves it.

☽☽☽.

He proves it slowly.

Not with flowers (though he sends them anyway, your favorites, every Sunday). Not with expensive gifts (though he leaves your favorite mochi on your doorstep some mornings).

And somewhere along the way, you soften.

You let him take you to dinner (not a date, you insist, even though it feels like one). You let him drive you home (you don’t invite him up). You let him text you (and you text back).

Three months after that night, you let him kiss you.

It’s different this time… Softer. Like he's cherishing every moment, memorizing the feel of your mouth, the taste of you, the way you sigh against his lips.

Six months later, you’re in his bed (your choice this time, you’d insisted), and he’s holding you like you might disappear if he lets go.

“I love you,” He presses a kiss to your shoulder.

You turn in his arms to face him. Your eyes are heavy with sleep, your hair a mess, and you’ve never looked more beautiful. “I love you too”

Your reblogs and comments are appreciated ♥︎

Not proofread 😭 I'm sorry

You knew exactly who he was… and stayed

Tw : MDNI, 18+

Part 1 Part 2

Sukuna knows he fucked up.He knows he deserves the award for The Biggest Dickhead of the Year.

You spent your birthday alone because he was too busy being a selfish prick to remember the one person who’d been there for him for literally everything.

You were there when his mom got sick.You were there when his dad was a drunk asshole. You were there when he failed maths and thought his life was over. You were there for every birthday, every breakup, every panic attack about nothing and everything. And somewhere along the way you stopped being his best friend and became…. just a girl he fucked.

When did he stop seeing you?

When did he stop noticing you were there?

What’s killing him is that you just gave up on him. You didn’t scream or throw shit or demand explanations…he could handle anger. You looked exhausted. Tired of him. Tired of being the person who cared more.

Fix it. He has to fix it.

But how the fuck do you fix fifteen years of friendship that you torpedoed in six months?

☾☾☾.

Heartbreak, as it turns out, is fucking exhausting.

Not in the romantic way movies portrayed it. No standing in the rain, no meaningful stares out windows while sad music played.

Just bone deep exhaustion.

You’re extremely fucking confused when Sukuna shows up at your apartment ten days after your birthday….. ten days of radio silence, ten days of you ugly crying into ice cream and deleting his number only to restore it from recently deleted like the pathetic creature you are……. with flowers and mochi. Not just any mochi. Mochi from your favourite place that’s twenty three minutes across town in traffic. You know because you’ve driven there multiple times. Usually when you were having a shit day and needed something that felt like a small extravagant fuck you to responsible adult decisions.

He’s holding it out like a peace offering. Like it’s a white flag. Like it’s anything other than what it actually is, which is a desperately transparent attempt to buy forgiveness.

You stare at him through the crack in your door chain lock still on….. and he looks… bad.

You can tell he hasn’t slept properly, which you know because you’ve seen Sukuna on two hours of sleep after exam season in university and he still looked better than most people do on a full eight. There are actual shadows under his eyes.

And his usual expression…. that infuriating smirk that says he knows he’s hot shit and you’re probably thinking about him naked… is completely absent. Replaced by something that looks almost… nervous?

Ryomen Sukuna. Nervous. The same man who once fucked you against your kitchen counter, maintained eye contact the entire time, and then had the audacity to eat your leftovers after.

“What do you want?” Your voice comes out flat, which is good. Flat doesn’t show that your heart’s jumping just from seeing him standing there.

“To talk.” He lifts the mochi box slightly.“Please.”

‘Slam the door in his face.’ That’s what your best friend would say, right?

‘Don’t be his friend. You know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning’ At least listen to Dua Lipa. You’re undoing all the progress you’ve made.

What progress? You’ve made zero progress. You’re a mess.

So you undo the chain and let him in, because apparently self respect is a myth and you’re living proof.

He steps inside and immediately your apartment feels smaller, which is saying something because it’s already pretty fucking small. It’s not even that Sukuna’s particularly huge, he’s tall, yeah, but it’s more about the way he takes up space. The way he’s always had this gravitational pull that makes you orbit him whether you want to or not. You’ve been orbiting him since you were kids. Maybe that’s the whole problem. Maybe you never learned how to exist in your own solar system.

“You have five minutes,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, which is definitely a defensive position but also necessary because you’re not wearing a bra and you’re not about to let him think this is that kind of visit.

“I fucked up.” The words come out so fast like he’s been practicing them.

You can’t help it… you laugh. “Oh, wow. Groundbreaking. Should we call the press? Alert the media?”

His jaw does a tiny clench that you’ve seen a thousand times, usually right before he says something he knows is going to start a fight. But he doesn’t. He just takes it. Absorbs your sarcasm because he deserves it.

“I know sorry doesn’t fix it,” he continues, and his voice has this quality to it that you’ve never heard before. It’s rough.“I know showing up with flowers isn’t enough. I know…” He stops and runs his hand through his hair and you watch it happen, watch the way his fingers drag through the pink strands and leave them sticking up at odd angles. “I’m fucking drowning without you.”

Your chest squeezes painfully. Like your heart’s being wrung out like a wet towel. You ignore it. You’ve gotten good at ignoring things. Six months of practice.

“You forgot my birthday, Sukuna. You went on a date with someone else and then you showed up here expecting me to be available? Like I’m some 24 hour convenience store for your dick?” The words come out quieter than you intended. Less accusatory and more… hurt. Which you hate. You wanted to sound angry.

“No, I…….”

“Do you even know what that felt like?”The words explode out of you and you’re not yelling, not quite, but your voice is definitely raised and you can feel the tears threatening and fuck, you don’t want to cry in front of him. Not again. “Waiting all day for a text. Checking my phone every five minutes like a fucking idiot?

He looks wrecked. Absolutely fucking wrecked, and some petty part of you is glad. Wants him to hurt the way you hurt. “You’re right. About all of it. I treated you like shit. I took you for granted because you were always there and I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Apology noted. Was that all?” you say, and you’re proud of how steady your voice is. How calm. Like you’re not actively falling apart inside.

“What…no……” He runs a hand through his hair again, frustrated. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. I don’t want you to say anything.” And oh, there’s the anger. It’s bubbling up now, hot and acidic. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. You just walk away. You’re good at that.”

He flinches at your words “please…” He pauses “The last ten days have been hell without you. I miss you.”

“You miss fucking me.”

“No.” His voice comes out sharp. “I miss hearing about your day. I miss you stealing my hoodies. I miss the way you laugh at stupid shit. I miss you falling asleep on my couch during movies. I miss you.”

“Don’t do that” You can feel tears burning behind your eyes. “Don’t try to…. ”

“I’m in love with you.”

The words land and it feels like getting punched in the stomach and kissed at the same time. White noise fills your ears where thoughts used to be. You’re vaguely aware that your mouth is open…. definitely looking stupid……. but you can’t seem to close it. Can’t seem to do anything except stand there and replay those four words over and over

“What?”

“I’m in love with you.”He steps closer and you step back. Your spine hits the kitchen counter. “I’ve been in love with you for… I don’t even know how long. Maybe always. Maybe since we were kids. I don’t know. But I know that I fucked it up because I was scared and stupid an….”

No.

No, he doesn't get to do this.

He doesn't get to say the words you’ve been dying to hear for months…. not now, not after everything, not when you’ve finally started to piece yourself back together.

“Bullshit.” Your voice shakes. “No feelings, no strings, remember?”

“I was wrong.” He moves closer. You let him this time, too shocked to move. “I was fucking wrong about everything.”

Tears are streaming down your face now. You don't even try to stop them.

“Ten days,” he continues, voice raw. “Ten days without you and I’ve been losing my fucking mind. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t think about anything except how badly I fucked up.”

“Stop.” You are full on sobbing now “Just stop talking.”

“I love you.” He reaches for you, then drops his hand when you flinch. “I’m sorry, I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m begging. Please. Let me fix this.”

You stare at him through blurry vision. This is what you’ve wanted, isn't it? For months, this is all you’ve wanted… for him to choose you, to love you back.

But now that you have it…

“I can’t….. after everything, I can’t just jump back in like nothing happened.” You want to believe him. You wantto believe him so badly it physically hurt. It’s like this ache in your chest that radiates outward, makes your fingers tingle and your throat tight. But you’ve been hurt before. So many times before.

“I’ll wait.” He says it without hesitation. “However long you need. I’ll wait.”

This is stupid. This is the kind of shit that happens in romance novels where the emotionally constipated man child suddenly becomes a feminist poet who understands feelings and the girl forgives him and they have passionate sex in the rain and everyone forgets that he was a dick for the first two hundred pages.

Real life doesn’t work like that. Real life is messier.

You wipe your eyes and try to compose yourself. “I need you to leave,”

That hurts more than he expected. More than anything has hurt in his entire fucking life.

He nods, stepping back immediately. He makes it three steps before you stop him. “Sukuna?”

He turns back

“Yeah?” He looks at you with so much hope in his eyes it hurts to see.

Giving Sukuna a second chance to prove himself is like giving a gambling addict chips and expecting them not to hit the casino. It’s like trusting a cat to guard your sandwich. It’s doomed to fail.

But a stupid, naive part of you wants to believe that he can change. “If you actually mean this…” You wipe your eyes. “If you’re serious about this…prove it.”

Relief crashes over his face…. Like you just told him he’s been pardoned from execution. “How?”

“Figure it out.”

And for the first time in ten days, Sukuna feels like he can breathe.

You don’t t know if this can work.

But maybe it is worth finding out.

If he proves it.

☽☽☽.

He proves it slowly.

Not with flowers (though he sends them anyway, your favorites, every Sunday). Not with expensive gifts (though he leaves your favorite mochi on your doorstep some mornings).

And somewhere along the way, you soften.

You let him take you to dinner (not a date, you insist, even though it feels like one). You let him drive you home (you don’t invite him up). You let him text you (and you text back).

Three months after that night, you let him kiss you.

It’s different this time… Softer. Like he's cherishing every moment, memorizing the feel of your mouth, the taste of you, the way you sigh against his lips.

Six months later, you’re in his bed (your choice this time, you’d insisted), and he’s holding you like you might disappear if he lets go.

“I love you,” He presses a kiss to your shoulder.

You turn in his arms to face him. Your eyes are heavy with sleep, your hair a mess, and you’ve never looked more beautiful. “I love you too”

Your reblogs and comments are appreciated ♥︎

Not proofread 😭 I'm sorry