not realizing you’re talking to your ex-boyfriend!sukuna while drunk !
you were way too drunk and the sigma chi house was spinning.
the music thumped through the walls and your head felt light and fuzzy, but you were smiling anyway, red cup dangling from your fingers as you leaned against the wall for balance. your friends had disappeared ages ago and you didn’t really mind.
that’s when you saw him.
tall. pink hair. tattoos crawling up his arms. he looked really familiar but your drunk brain couldn’t connect the dots. you just knew he was stupidly hot standing there by the stairs with his arms crossed.
you stumbled over with a bright smile.
“hi,” you said, voice soft and sweet. “you have the prettiest eyes. like… scary pretty.”
sukuna looked down at you and his eyebrow raised, but he didn’t move away. the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.
“yeah?” he asked, voice low.
you nodded, stepping closer until you were leaning into his space. he smelled so good. warm and a little sweet, just like someone you used to know.
“mhm. my ex had eyes like yours,” you mumbled, resting your forehead against his arm because the room wouldn’t stop tilting. “he was mean looking but really nice to me. i miss him a lot actually.”
sukuna stayed quiet, one big hand coming up to steady you by the waist so you wouldn’t fall.
you kept talking, words spilling out easily now that someone was listening.
“we broke up because i thought he didn’t care enough but… he used to do the sweetest things. like bringing me coffee before class or letting me play with his hair even when he acted all tough about it.” you sighed softly. “i think i messed up. i still wear his hoodie to sleep sometimes.”
his grip on your waist tightened just a little.
“you’re drunk,” he murmured.
“super drunk,” you agreed with a little laugh, tilting your head up to look at him again. “but i mean it. he was the best. made me feel safe even when he was quiet and scary. you kinda look like him, it’s weird.”
sukuna let out a quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh. he guided you through the crowd with a hand on your lower back, taking you upstairs without saying much. you didn’t even question it. his room felt familiar but everything was blurry.
he sat you on the edge of his bed and grabbed a bottle of water, crouching down in front of you so you could drink it. his hand rested gently on your knee the whole time.
“you’re really nice,” you whispered, eyes half closed. “my ex was nice like this too. when nobody else was looking.”
he didn’t answer right away. just brushed some hair out of your face with careful fingers and helped you lie down. when you reached out and grabbed his hand he paused.
“stay?” you asked softly.
sukuna sighed, but it was the soft kind. he sat on the edge of the bed and let you keep holding his hand, thumb rubbing slow circles over your knuckles while you drifted off.
“yeah,” he said quietly, watching you fall asleep in his bed again. “i’m not going anywhere.”
nerd gojo & fem reader, awkward gojo, occ characters
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who cannot flirt even if it meant that his life was on stake, yet still tries to hit you up cus he has a confidence of an ugly straight white man
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who WAITS till you start chugging down your coffee before blurting out stupid shit in hopes of swoonin you up,
"are you.. uhm.. like.. made of copper and tellurium?" he waits painfully long before continuing, "because you’re Cu-Te." and when your thoughts are, tf is ts ho on ab, he scrambles around, mumbling to himself
"no-- you know the periodic table? its.. its a chemistry joke aha.. sorry, do you.. do you want me to explain?"
AND HE FUCKING DOES EXPLAIN. like for two FULL minutes. this mf didn't even notice you choking on your coffee.
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who decides to "play it cool" by casually sliding into the seat next to you in the library.
except he miscalculates the distance and before he knows it, the chair screeches loud and eventually falls along with the manchild.
but the great gojo satoru does NOOT give up, instead, he whispers while still laid out on the ground,
“i fell for you,” (tht korean heart thingy included)
“are you done?”
“yes, sorry.”
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who tries to be subtle. you’re prob complaining about being tired and this man, dead serious, will go on
“well, you must be exhausted.. from running through my mind all day,” he blurts.
there’s a pause. a loooong pause.
in his mind, he got you speechless-- which he did, just not for the right reason, and he starts nodding to himself like he’s proud.
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who picks the worst possible time-- mid-argument about a group project,
“are you a 90-degree angle? because you’re looking right.”
he got tomatoes thrown at him after that.
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who literally practices pickup lines in the mirror. he times them, with different ways of saying it, with different smiles-- deepen his dimples or lazy smirk? (he looks constipated doing it, but he's cute so lets slide it ok? ok.)
he's convinced you'll fall for him if he adjusts his glasses. but when he finally approaches you at the vending machine, all that comes out is,
"doyoubelieveinloveatfirstsight,orshouldiwalkpastagain?” im not kidding u when i say that this man actually turns around to redo it. while he’s halfway through the second attempt is when he trips over someone’s bag AND THEN CONTINUED TO WALK.
you didn't understand what he said, so for you, gojo rapped some bs, walked all the way towards the gates, returned back after falling face first just to hit you with a pose with his hands on his hips.
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who thinks the best time to confess he likes you is during a study group. in front of everyone because he read somewhere that confidence is attractive. so when you lean over his shoulder to look at his notes, he freezes, ears red, and says way too loudly,
"if you were a triangle, you’d be acute one." the room goes silent. you blink at him. he immediately adds, softer this time, "i mean… you are. cute. not-- mathematically. i mean, also mathematically, but--"
he doesn’t sleep that night. but he keeps the way you smiled at him stored like a sacred relic.
ಎ ⎯⎯ ✉️
nerd 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 who pretends the cheesy lines are ironic, but he highlights the ones he thinks would make you laugh specifically. he notices the way you tuck your hair behind your ear. he notices when you’re tired. he notices everything.
and every terrible joke is just his very nerdy way of saying, please like me back.
hiromi higuruma x reader, reader knows a little about law, not proofread, fluff, petty 'argument'
a/n: my legalese isn't fluent yet, apologies for any mistakes
---
"You said you would-"
"Objection hearsay." Your stupid lawyer boyfriend replied.
He could use legal arguments all he wanted, you'd use them right back.
"Your honour, may I call Hiromi Higuruma to the stand?"
There was no judge here, so you decided that it was accepted.
"Now, Mr. Higuruma, do you recall the conversation you had with your lovely parter yesterday?" Of course you had to flatter yourself.
"I recall I had many conversations that day."
"Do you recall the conversation over dinner?" You clarified
"I do."
"Could you state what your response was to the question 'what movie should we watch'?"
"I couldn't recall the exact phrasing,"
"You said, 'you can pick, as long as it's not something that'll keep you awake', is that correct"
"Yes, and-"
You cut him off. "A yes or no will suffice"
"Yes" he frowned.
"And you shook hands on that?" You continued on.
"I made no legal contract." Next time you'd have him sign a whole contract.
"But you did make a contract of trust, trust that you are breaking by refusing to watch 'Legally Blonde' with me- er, your partner here tonight, correct?"
"No."
"No? You would not say that is a breach of trust?"
"It is not a breach of trust as I haven't refused to watch anything, I simply stated that we had seen that one 12 times now."
You finally broke character. "But it's a good movie..."
".... fine, we'll watch it...." He tried to hide his grin, you were getting better at cross examination.
tw; american psycho au, ooc nanami, mention of violence, unhealthy relationship, dom top reader, ewb, nsfw, tit play or sum shi like tha idk, voyeurism(?), bg (r receiving), degradation, poorly written smut.
the first thing you notice about nanami kento is that he is not trying, and that, more than anything else, is what irritates you. he wasn't performative like the way the others are, doesn’t lacquer himself in irony or feigned indifference.
no, he stands at the edge of the room during quarterly meetings, immaculate but unostentatious, his suit tailored with a precision that suggests quiet money rather than desperate wealth. when he speaks, people listen, not because he demands attention, but because his voice carries the weight of competence.
you hate that. competence should be loud, it should shine, should be seen. your name, on the other hand, is always seen.
[name] [last name]. senior vice president, perfect complexion, penthouse resident, curator of taste. your business card is bone-white with subtle embossing, your mornings are rituals, your life is a careful curation of surfaces. you believe, fervently, that superiority is something that must be displayed. you were someone to be envied upon.
after all, you're flawless, perfect even. and yet, last week, someone mistook nanami for you. it was a simple error, sure. a junior associate, flushed and eager, rushed up to him in the elevator lobby and congratulated him on your recent deal.
nanami corrected her politely, almost apologetically. but the damage had already been done. you watched from across the marble floor as the associate laughed, embarrassed, and then unthinkably continued talking to nanami anyway.
you didn't bother hiding your clenched jaw.
that evening, you invite nanami over. you phrase it as professional courtesy, a competitive détente disguised as civility. drinks, classy conversation. you tell yourself it’s about networking, about fostering mutual respect among equals.
you knew that was a lie. you need him gone. disappeared.
your apartment, when he arrives, is exactly as you intend it to be, pristine. it was glass and steel with muted neutrals arranged with museum-level deliberation. the city sprawls below you, obedient and small.
you watch nanami take it in, except it wasn't with awe, which would have pleased you, but with calm appraisal, "impressive,” he says, finally, setting his coat aside. “you must get a lot of light.”
was he implementing that you couldn't afford electricity bill?
yeah. that had to be it.
you pour the drinks with a steady hand, deliberately angling the bottle so the label catches the light. it was vintage, expensive enough to be spoken about in reverent tones. nanami accepts his glass, thanks you, and takes a sip.
but he doesn’t comment. you pivot seamlessly into your collection. vinyl records in flawless condition-- first editions as well. art pieces acquired through connections that took years to cultivate. each item is a statement, a challenge. you expect admiration. envy, at least.
or perhaps you just wanted him feel inferior before he took his final breath.
nanami listens and he nods. he asks questions-- but not the kind that reveal insecurity, it was almost as if his curiosity was genuine, unhurried.
“you enjoy this?” he observes, gesturing lightly around the room, "of course i do,” you reply. “taste is discipline.” "maybe,” he says. “or maybe it’s just another language people use to tell the world who they are.”
the words land uncomfortably close. you had planned to kill him, for peace you stated, but the conversation keeps unfolding, against your expectations. he speaks of work not as conquest but as craft.
he admits fatigue, his flaws, and gosh.. there is something disarming about his honesty, you relished in them. he wasn't a threat anymore, instead, a fuel to boost your ego.
and you were humble enough to give him a small gift, an appreciation for being the perfect audience. what was the gift you may ask? YOUR DICK 👅👅
cause right now that hunk of a man was on his knees, hands gripping your thighs for support, as he bobbed his head up and down, tears threatening to spill. his thin framed glass about to fall off his face, but you don't allow imperfection in your house, so you kindly fixed it back, biting back a groan.
nanami kento was a man of few words, and you wondered why. maybe this is why, his mouth was designed for other things-- for example, sucking you off until you came all over his face, painting his chiseled calm look white as he licked it off his lips.
how did you never notice this mans waist? they were perfect for you to hold, his hair, the hips, the arms, and his chest. especially the chest, you could spend hours playing with them, enjoying every single second he murmured coherent words for you to stop.
did you stop? not really, not when you had THE nanami kento pressed against your window, allowing the world to see the real him-- a fucked up man burying his true whore self underneath all that composure and charm.
the city lights catching in his glasses, as he tries to grip the plain glass, "the view pretty enough?" you chuckle into his ear, you had imagined him as an obstacle, a mirror distorted just enough to threaten your reflection, but god were you wrong. he was messy, disgusting even, letting his own colleague ram into his hole,.
that makes you wonder, "you got other men use that filthy hole of yours, kento?" you ask, your hand playing with his little nipples, earning a muffled moan as pre cum dripped from his angered girth, "bet that's why they love you so much huh?"
he shook his head, eyes hazy as he tried looking back over his shoulder, only to stop by your ruthless thrusts, "n-no!" he whimpered, biting back the lewd groans, the one who once threatened your authority now reduced to your cum dump.
yeah. you could get used to this.
new yrs resolution? to write more sub nanami fics 🙏🙏
︵⠀ Ꜥ · you don't like christmas.
instead, you would always complain about the weather being too cold, and get sick every now and then. but oh.. he loved it.
he would keep your little house warm and nice, help you get better when you’re bed ridden during the holidays and dress in a red and green sweater for the whole month.
it was so stupid to you, you were never a winter guy-- preferring the hot sand over the wet snow, and yet you never complained. not when he looked so happy doing it.
one thing that he cherished the most about was the mistletoe, “a tradition,” he once said, kissing under it during midnight grants you eternal love, he said. perhaps that wasn’t the proverb after all.
you loathe christmas.
and now no one is here to make it feel any better, because he wasn’t here with you. your house was now cold, pale lights instead of the warm ones that he installed, it didn’t smell like vanilla-- instead it had an overwhelming scent of neroli.
you came home to nothing but silence, with no cliché, overhyped christmas music in the background.
maybe that’s why you accepted your friend's party, or maybe because you were tired of sitting in the dark living room that used to glow under your sweet boys hands, or because part of you wanted to pretend, just for a night, that you weren’t slowly unraveling whenever december rolled around,
the house is decorated beautifully, warm lights, cranberry-scented candles, soft carols humming through the speakers. all the things yuji loved. all the things you used to act annoyed by, even though you secretly liked watching him fuss over them.
you try to breathe normally as you slip through the crowd, holding your drink too tight, dismissing everyone with a polite smile, heart racing as you see all the couples, remembering how that used to be you and him.
your fingers are cold now, the warmth of the room refusing to melt the coldness in you. you’re heading toward the quieter hallway when someone steps out from the opposite side, almost bumping into you as a groan left your lips,
“watch where you’re goin’,” you spat out, before lifting your gaze, and for a split second, the world seemed to stop, your heart dropping to the pits of your stomach as you took in the sight.
he was there, in front of you, looking as ethereal as ever.
the soft glow of golden light shone over him, wearing that same gentle expression you used to wake up to. older, yes, but heartbreakingly familiar. the kind of familiar that makes your throat close. you freeze first, he freezes right after.
for a moment, neither of you speaks. you just stare at each other like you’re trying to make sense of something impossible-- because it feels impossible. after all this time, after all those cold, silent nights, after all those christmases spent pretending you didn’t look for him in crowds.
he parts his lips like he wants to say your name, but he doesn’t get the chance, because then you both look up at the sound of chymes.
the mistletoe, hanging right above your heads, swaying along with the wind like it was mocking you. how cruel was christmas. your apples adam bobs down as your breath shakes, you hear his breath hitch.
he used to adore this stupid tradition. he’d drag you under it every year, just so he could press a soft kiss to your lips and whisper “eternal love, remember?” with that teasing grin.
but now his eyes flicker with something else you really couldn’t point out, maybe it was hope, maybe regret. you tried to convince yourself it was neither of it. you didn’t want to go back
“i didn’t know you’d be here,” he says quietly, his voice is softer than you remember, like the winters have been unkind to him too.
“i didn’t either,” you manage. your chest feels tight, painfully so, like your ribs are folding inward.
the silence stretches. you can hear distant laughter, clinking glasses, that warm, cozy joy that doesn’t belong to you anymore.
you take a step back instinctively, he notices and his shoulders tighten just slightly. “we don’t.. have to do anything,” he murmurs, glancing up again. “it’s just a decoration.”
but it isn’t just a decoration.
it’s every christmas you shared, every promise whispered half-asleep, every night he held you through fevers, every morning he insisted on baking gingerbread even though he always burned them.
it’s everything you lost.
“yeah,” you whisper, forcing a nod. “just decoration.” the lie sits heavy in your mouth.
he swallows hard, like he wants to reach out, like he wants to erase every cold december you spent alone, but he stays still. two people who used to know each other’s heartbeat like their own now acting like strangers. your heart clenched at this.
you move first. stepping out from under the mistletoe, leaving its shadow-- and him behind, “merry christmas,” he says softly.
you don’t turn around. “you too.”
and god, it hurts, it really does, because for the first time, you finally understand, you don’t hate christmas. you hate how it reminds you of him.
tangentwithtanner
jbbartram-illu
jacobvanloon
annaxmalina
theartofmadeline
