#It’s. a whole thing. I’m still working on the fic

[ama3003]

You Caught Me

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're Valentina's assistant, and somehow, you manage to fall in love with a certain Congressman.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!! I have seen Thunderbolts* on Thursday (amazing btw) and have been craving Thunderbolts!Bucky. Also reader is like 25.

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

You worked your whole life to get here. Straight A’s, a top-tier college, a string of impressive jobs that made your parents brag to their friends.

But that wasn’t the point. You didn’t do all of that just to climb a ladder. You wanted to help people. To actually do good. To give the voiceless a voice, to step in where others wouldn’t. You wanted to make the world better, even if it was just piece by piece.

That’s what led you to OXE. And eventually, to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

Or, more accurately, to being her assistant. Though calling it that feels like selling it short.

You’ve been working with her for a few years now. From the very beginning, she seemed to like you. Said you reminded her of herself. You’re still not sure if that was a compliment or a warning.

Valentina can be cold. She’s sharp, calculated, sarcastic to the point of painful. Some of her decisions don’t exactly land on the moral high ground. But she took you in, brought you closer, taught you how to survive in a world most people don't even know exists. And you’ve done things others your age only dream about. You were actually making a difference.

But now everything’s falling apart.

She’s under investigation. Impeachment is on the table. And you’re left trying to put out fires.

You’d been tense the entire hearing. And not the kind of tension that goes away with a few deep breaths. This was chest-tightening, eye-twitching, every-decision-matters tension.

Your job was on the line. Everything you’d worked for — or convinced yourself was worth it — was balancing on Valentina’s ability to lie with a smile.

She was performing. You were managing the fallout.

Your eyes kept drifting — trying to find some kind of anchor. And that’s when you caught a pair of them.

Blue. Cold but curious. Watching.

Congressman Bucky Barnes.

You met his stare, held it a second longer than you should’ve, then forced yourself to look away. Whatever that was — whatever he was trying to read — you didn’t have time to entertain it.

Then Valentina dropped the line you’d been dreading: “By all means, dig as deep as you like. I promise—there’s nothing to find.”

You knew that tone. It meant you had twenty minutes to erase every breadcrumb.

By the time the hearing adjourned, you were already outside, typing fast, juggling secure files and decoy trails on your tablet. You barely noticed the footsteps until—

“Y/N?”

You looked up, and there he was. Again.

That same cool stare, now paired with a too-casual smile.

“Congressman Barnes,” you said smoothly, tucking the tablet under your arm. “Nice to officially meet you. I’ve heard...great things.”

���I doubt it. Also, please just Bucky,” he said, offering a hand. “Unless you want to start talking tax policy — then I’ll put the tie back on.”

You cracked a smile and shook his hand. Firm. Warm. Too steady.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing back toward the hearing room. “I mean, what happened in there was... honestly? Kind of worrying. Extremely worrying. Kind of concerning if you ask me...in like a worrying way.”

You tilted your head. “You mean ‘concerning,’ or ‘I’m building a case against your boss’ worrying?”

He blinked. Didn’t expect you to hit back that fast.

You smiled politely. “No need to dance around it. I’m sure you’ve got a folder somewhere with Valentina's name on it.”

His grin crooked slightly. “Maybe. It’s a very organized folder. Color-coded tabs.”

“She always did love being underestimated,” you said with a shrug. “O.X.E. has nothing to hide, of course.”

He didn’t argue, but the look he gave you said he wasn’t buying it.

There was a beat of silence, and then he glanced over your shoulder — where Valentina was watching the two of you, pretending she wasn’t.

“She always stare like that?” he asked casually.

“Only when she thinks someone’s wasting my time.”

“And am I?”

“Depends on why you’re really here.”

He smiled. “Okay, fine. I’m new to D.C. First term, still finding my way. Thought maybe... you could give me a tour. Show me the non-corrupt parts.”

You laughed softly. “That’s a short list.”

“Still. Monuments, museums, a little fresh air — maybe a conversation?”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Right. A conversation. Just two people talking. No ulterior motives, no recording devices, no traps.”

He held up his hands. “I left the wire at home.”

You smirked, but you didn’t let it reach your eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” he said. “Just... improvising.”

You leaned in just enough for him to know you were done playing. “You’re fishing, Congressman. I’m just not the one you’ll catch.”

He opened his mouth — maybe to protest, maybe to flirt again — but you stepped back as Valentina waved you over.

“You're a very good-looking man,” you added, softer now. “And I appreciate the effort. But whatever you’re hoping to dig up from me? You won’t get it over coffee and small talk.”

A beat passed between you.

Then you gave him one last smirk, turned, and walked back toward Valentina — leaving him standing there, watching.

And even though you didn’t look back, you knew those blue eyes hadn’t moved.

*******

You had three things on your mind.

Shut down headquarters.

Erase every trace of Project Sentry.

Clean up Valentina’s reputation before the whole thing implodes.

And somehow, you're doing all of that in a dress and heels at a fundraiser.

“Honestly, Y/N, you have such an amazing brain,” Valentina says, her smile more calculated than warm. “Putting this fundraiser together? Brilliant move. This has to sway at least some of the votes.”

“Thanks,” you reply, quickly scrolling through your tablet. “I’ve categorized the guest list: influencers, allies, and the undecideds. Left off the hard no’s. No point wasting time. I just sent the files to you.”

“Perfect. Do I need you for anything else?”

“No, you should be good. I’ll stay close though. Just in case.”

“Smart. Stay where I can see you. And hear you. Actually, just don’t go far,” she says, already turning to work the room. “Time to network.”

As soon as she walks away, you exhale, realizing you hadn’t even noticed you were holding your breath.

This job is not for the weak. Especially not under someone like her.

You glance around the room, taking in the glittering lights, expensive suits, and fake smiles. Your eyes find Valentina again, instinctively keeping track of her. Then they drift to the large Avengers logo on display at the front of the gala.

You were still a kid the first time you saw the Avengers on screen. They were larger than life. Heroes. They saved people. They made things right.

Now? You’ve seen the world fall apart more times than you can count. And more often than not, no one shows up to fix it.

That’s why you’ve stuck by Valentina. Why you’ve been willing to blur the lines. The world still needs saving. People still need heroes.

They just don’t always look the way you imagined.

“You know,” a voice says beside you, calm but unmistakably familiar, “this whole gala is impressive. The Avengers memorabilia is a nice touch.”

You turn and see him. Congressman Bucky Barnes, standing just a few feet away, his gaze locked on the towering Avengers "A" on display like it still meant something.

“Valentina thought it would help raise awareness,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral, polite. “Tie the past to the present. Nostalgia works.”

You’re careful with your words. You know why he’s here, what game he’s playing. And more importantly, you know where your loyalty lies.

He glances at you now, the full weight of those ice-blue eyes meeting yours. “Awareness for what, exactly?”

You offer a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “The mission has always been simple. Help the people. The world’s been falling apart, and heroes… they’ve disappeared. People need someone to believe in again.”

He nods slowly, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “Again, call me Bucky. Also, that was good. Very rehearsed. Very polished. Bet Valentina was proud of that one.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m just here for the hors d'oeuvres,” he says, voice smooth, but you catch the edge underneath it.

You take a step closer. “Look, Congressman Barnes. I know your history. And we both know what happens when evil comes and no one is there to stop it. OXE is trying to prevent that. Everything we do is for the people. Valentina’s impeachment? It won’t go anywhere.”

Even as you say it, there's a flicker of doubt. Small, but there.

He studies you for a moment before pulling a card from inside his jacket and holding it out.

“What’s this?” you ask, accepting it cautiously.

“My direct line. In case you remember something useful.”

You blink at him, caught slightly off guard by how calm he is. How sure.

You move closer, slow and deliberate, then reach up and tuck the card neatly into his chest pocket. “I don’t know what you think you’re implying, but I don’t appreciate it."

The two of you lock eyes, silence stretching between you. Not hostile, exactly. But charged. Neither of you blinks.

Then your phone buzzes.

You glance at your phone. Valentina. Of course.

You slip it back into your pocket and look up at him one more time.

“I have to go,” you say, steady. “Enjoy the rest of the gala, Bucky.”

Your smile is polite, but your eyes stay sharp. You turn and walk off without waiting for a response, the sound of your heels swallowed by the noise of the event.

Behind you, he watches you disappear into the crowd, quiet and thoughtful. Then, without a word, he finds himself slipping the card into your bag later in the night. Not for pressure. Not even for leverage.

Just in case.

And whether you used the card or not—that was your choice. Bucky just hoped he’d planted the seed.

Later that night, you sat beside Valentina in the back of a sleek black car, the city lights flickering across her face as she debriefed the night with a grin.

“I think that went incredibly well,” she said, proud and pleased with herself. “Honestly, I’m so proud of us. Oh—hand me my tablet. I gave it to you earlier when Gary started sniffing around asking too many questions.”

Your fingers found something thin. Smooth edges. Not the tablet.

The card.

Bucky’s card.

Your stomach tightened, just for a second.

He’d slipped it in without you noticing. Of course he had.

You stared at it between your fingers. You should’ve tossed it the second you felt it. Should’ve never looked at it again. But something kept your hand still.

“Y/N?” Valentina’s voice cuts in, sharp and expectant. “Tablet. Me. Now.”

You snap out of it, quickly pushing the card deeper into your bag before pulling out the tablet and handing it over.

She doesn’t notice. She’s already scrolling.

You tried to focus on the night’s success, the way people clapped when Valentina spoke, the headlines you knew would be glowing by morning. But that card was still in your bag. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About the look in his eyes.

About the weight of what he said.

Maybe—just maybe—he really did get in your head. And maybe that seed he planted was already starting to grow.

*********

You’d made a mistake. A big one.

And you knew it.

Your heart raced as you paced the cramped hallway, mind spiraling. You'd believed you were making a difference—helping Valentina clean up her reputation felt like part of that. She said she needed you. That this was how things got done. So you listened.

Then she told you to burn the loose ends. Literally burn them.

Human beings.

And still, you followed orders. You rationalized. You looked the other way.

But the plan didn’t go as expected. They didn’t go quietly.

They were fighting back.

And Valentina didn’t like that.

Now a SWAT team is going to finish the job.

You couldn't let them die. You knew their names. Their stories. You didn’t believe they deserved this—not like this. Maybe it was too late to save them all, but maybe you could help save others.

Maybe there was still a chance.

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You dug into your bag, searching through the chaos until your fingers found it. That damn card.

You stared at it for a beat. Then you called.

It rang once. Then again. And then he picked up.

“This is Y/N,” you said before he could get a word in, your voice low, rushed, almost breathless. “I’ve, uh... been thinking. Remember that tour you wanted? You were right. Since you’re new to D.C., I figured—why not? Let’s hit the monuments. Maybe a museum. Or... I don’t know. Just talk. Just you and me.”

There was a beat of silence.

“A chat?” Bucky’s voice came through, teasingly. You started biting your nails, heart pounding. “Yeah. I’m down for a chat. When and where?”

Before you could answer, Valentina’s voice sliced through the hallway outside.

“I swear to god, Y/N, do I have to spell it out for you? You're coming with us. Get your ass in the car. Who else is going to make my coffee right? I swear, you Gen Zers make me want to throw myself off this damn building.”

You went silent, your jaw clenched. Bucky didn’t say anything either, but you knew he heard it.

Everything inside you was pulling in different directions. Guilt. Fear. Fury. Shame.

You swallowed hard.

“Look…” you whispered, voice shaking a little. “I’m sorry about the last few times. You were right. You were always right. I was so stupid. She doesn’t care about the world. She just wants the glory.”

You were rambling now. You always did when your anxiety started creeping up your throat.

“Whoa, hey—slow down, sweetheart,” he said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just tell me what I need to know.”

But before you could speak again, Valentina shouted your name, louder this time.

You turned slightly, lowered your voice again.

“Do you have an iPhone?”

“No. Samsung.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course. “Do you know how to track a phone?”

“I mean, yeah. But I don’t really do that anymore.”

“Well... start doing it again.”

You paused, then added quietly, “I have to go. Track my location. You'll get your answer.”

Then you hung up.

You let out a long breath, pushed the card deep back into your bag, and ran toward Valentina’s voice.

Hoping Bucky understood.

**********

You were pacing again. Nerves buzzing. Mind racing. You were worried about the others. They escaped when Bob distracted them. Then they couldn't find them. But something told you Bucky had gotten to them first. You could feel it in your gut.

He pulled through. Of course he did.

But now… there was a new problem.

Bob.

The new guy. The unstable one.

He wasn’t like the others. Something about him was off from the start. Too volatile. Too quick to react. And now he had powers — real powers — thanks to Valentina.

She said he was the future. Said he was the key.

But all you saw was a ticking bomb with a name tag.

He didn’t need power or exposure. He needed help. And if no one stepped in soon, he was going to destroy everything — maybe even himself.

You ducked into a quiet hallway, slipped into an empty supply closet, and dialed Bucky’s number with shaking hands.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Y/N,” he said, breathless like he’d been mid-action. “We’re good. I got them. Everyone’s safe. I’m keeping them under wraps as witnesses, so we’re covered. You did the right thing calling me. Thank you.”

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall.

“No,” you said softly. “Bucky, there’s more. A lot more.”

There was a pause.

“Talk to me.”

“She did it,” you whispered. “She actually made one. A super soldier. His name’s Bob.”

“Bob?” he repeated, half in disbelief, half already bracing for what was coming next.

You could hear background chatter on his end — voices muttering “Yeah, Bob,”

“Yes. Bob the super soldier. He’s... not stable, Bucky. He’s got powers, strength, speed — but his head isn’t right. He’s spiraling, and Valentina’s using him like he’s a tool.

You were rambling now, the anxiety bubbling up in your chest.

“She’s restarting the entire program, and this guy — he’s the prototype. And if she gets away with this, there will be more. Stronger. You have to stop it before it turns into something we can’t come back from.”

There was silence on the line. Then you heard him moving, footsteps pacing across concrete.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m coming. I’ll handle it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” his voice softened, “are you okay?”

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted, voice cracking just slightly. “Everything I worked for is going to be for nothing. I'm freaking out.”

“You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”

“I can't tell my friends or family.” you said, quieter now. “I already feel guilty and shameful enough. They would just make me feel worse.”

Another pause. Then softer, “Y/N... I meant what I said. You did the right thing. And I’m proud of you. Really.”

You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Thanks. That means more than you probably realize.”

“I realize it,” he said. And it was quiet, but it hit you harder than it should’ve.

You hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Are they okay? The others?”

“They’re safe. A little roughed up, but they’re going to be fine.”

“Good. That’s good,” you said, exhaling. “I should go. I’ll keep feeding you updates when I can. Just… get here fast, alright?”

“Okay,” He finally whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”

You hung up and slipped the phone back into your pocket before walking out the door. You immediately froze when your boss stared at you with raised eyebrows.

“Well,” she said coolly, “out of everyone, I never thought you would be the one second-guessing your work.”

You didn’t flinch. Not this time. “Giving Bob those powers? It’s reckless. And you know it.”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head like you were some disappointing intern instead of her right hand. “I’m not going to argue with you, kid. I like you. I really do. You’ve done exceptional work—with me. For us. That’s why I’m giving you a little time to get your head on straight.”

Your jaw clenched. You said nothing.

“But,” she added, stepping a little closer, lowering her voice, “don’t let Barnes cloud that beautiful brain of yours. He’s a distraction. A loud, inconvenient one. And he’s getting in the way.”

You met her gaze evenly, letting the silence stretch.

Then, without a word, you grabbed your purse and walked past her—heels clicking, spine straight.

You needed to find Bucky.

*********

"Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers."

After countless photos and a barrage of questions, you kept your smile steady, doing your job one last time.

“Thank you all for coming,” you said with calm finality. “Photos and questions will stop here. I’ll be in touch about the next press briefing soon. Seriously—thank you again.”

You gave a polite nod as Valentina waved beside you, her signature smirk in place.

As the crowd began to disperse, you turned your attention to the Thunderbolts. With a gentle but firm push, you guided them out of view, away from the cameras. And then—without thinking—you grabbed Bucky and pulled him into a hug.

You couldn’t stop yourself.

You’d been searching for him. Panicking. Lost. The last image you had was of him stepping into the Void. The moment his silhouette became just that—a shadow—you screamed his name. And then… nothing.

You thought you’d lost him.

But now, here he was. Alive. Solid. Real. And all the emotions you’d buried came rushing back.

You knew there was something between you—something electric, something raw and waiting. It had barely started, but it already meant something. And for a bit, you'd been mourning the future that never got a chance to begin.

Now, you didn’t have to mourn anymore.

The moment stretched. Everyone around you went quiet. You barely registered your boss muttering an uneasy, “Oh dear.”

Bucky froze, stiff in your arms. He glanced around, uncertain. John gave him a look before mimicking hugging someone. Alexei flashed a thumbs-up. The girls? They just smirked.

“I saw you,” you whispered, pulling back just slightly. “I saw you walk into the Void. You became a shadow. I—I was trying to find you, and then you pulled that crap. What the hell, Barnes?”

He opened his mouth, but you beat him to it—stepping back before he could even return the embrace.

“I’m okay,” he said gently. “I swear, I’m fine.” He just wanted you back into his arms.

“You still scared the hell out of me,” you said, your voice breaking just a little. “I thought you were gone for good.”

Bucky's expression softened. “I’m not going anywhere. You still owe me that tour, remember?”

You laughed—half out of relief, half because it suddenly felt so easy to breathe again. You stepped closer, pulled him into a kiss, and he kissed you back without hesitation. Sparks. Heat. Home.

When you finally pulled away, smiling, you whispered, “Looks like you caught me.”

He grinned. “Looks like I have.”

Then you kissed again.

A loud groan broke the moment. “I feel like I’m gonna barf,” Val muttered.

“Shut up, Val,” the entire team replied in unison.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi! Can I please request a fic where the reader is the young daughter of an F1 driver (you can pick who if you want), and one day she steals his phone in the paddock and starts running around filming everything like tyres, garages, the cars, even some drivers and she’s making the cutest little comments the whole time? A team social media admin notices and just lets her take over filming for them, and they post the video later and it becomes the most popular thing the team’s ever posted because everyone falls in love with her commentary? (The video from admin can be the drivers walking in or a tour of one of the teams garage)

Future Film Maker

The sun was shining down on the paddock, and the familiar low hum of activity buzzed through the air. It was Friday morning, and George had arrived bright and early — but this time, he wasn’t alone.

"Alright, sweetheart, you ready for a big weekend?" George asked as he lifted little Yn out of her car seat.

The three-year-old beamed up at him, her eyes bright with excitement. She wore a miniature Mercedes team shirt that practically swallowed her tiny frame, and her hair was pulled up into two tiny buns on either side of her head. A lanyard with her name and a VIP pass swung around her neck.

"Race cars!" she squealed.

George laughed, kissing her forehead. "Yes, race cars. But you have to promise to be good while Mama’s working, okay?"

Yn nodded very seriously, though George knew that promise would be short-lived.

The paddock was bustling with mechanics, drivers, and media personnel as George walked through, Yn perched securely on his hip.

"Hey! Look who’s here!" Alex said, walking over with a big grin. He bent down to Yn’s level. "Hello, Miss Trouble."

"Hi, Uncle Lex!" Yn giggled, holding her arms out. George passed her over with a fond sigh.

"You’ve got five minutes before she gets bored and starts plotting something," George warned.

"That’s five more than last time," Alex joked.

Yn looked around the garage, then spotted something shiny. "Tyres! Big tyres!"

"You want to see the tyres?" Alex asked. Yn nodded furiously, so he carried her over to the tyre stacks.

George watched, amused, but soon got pulled into his engineering briefing. Carmen had been swamped with back-to-back shoots and meetings, and George hadn’t hesitated to take Yn for the weekend. It wasn’t even a question — he adored any excuse to spend time with his daughter.

What he didn’t know was that while he sat through fuel data and sector times, a small storm was brewing.

Yn, ever the explorer, was now back in the garage sitting on a little stool with George’s phone — which she had sneakily taken from his bag.

"Cameraaa…" she whispered as she tapped on the screen until the video app popped up. She grinned.

"Hi! It’s me. Yn. I’m at Daddy’s work. Look!" She panned the camera dramatically to the floor. "That’s a shoe. It’s Uncle Lex’s shoe. Very fast shoe."

The camera wobbled as she got up and toddled around the paddock. She pointed it at a mechanic’s back. "That’s… um. I dunno who that is. But he’s workin’. So shhh."

A few meters away, one of the Mercedes social media admins, Mia, blinked in surprise as she noticed the toddler filming.

She crouched down gently beside Yn. "Hey there, Miss Yn. Whatcha doing?"

"Makin’ a movie," Yn replied confidently, still filming.

Mia smiled. "That’s cool. Want some help holding the phone so it’s not so wobbly?"

"Yes, please. You have nice shoes," Yn said.

Together, they held the phone steady as Yn continued her documentary. "This is the garage. It’s loud. My ears go beep beep when it’s loud. This is a car. It’s my daddy’s car. It’s very very fast. Vroom."

From behind, Charles approached, sipping on a water bottle. "Is our little Spielberg directing something today?"

"Uncle Cha!" Yn squealed, abandoning the phone momentarily to run into his arms.

Charles caught her easily, lifting her into a hug. "Are you being a good girl today?"

"I’m makin’ a movie! Want to be in it?"

Charles chuckled. "Of course. Should I smile? Pose like this?" He made a silly face that had Yn giggling uncontrollably.

Mia took the phone and kept filming as Yn directed him.

"Say: ‘I go zoom zoom!’"

Charles played along, throwing his hands up. "I go ZOOM ZOOM!"

"Cut!" Yn yelled dramatically.

Later, she ran into Lando, who was talking with one of his engineers.

"Uncle LaLa! I’m filming! Be in it?"

Lando turned and knelt. "Of course I will. What’s my line, Miss Director?"

"Say: ‘I’m cool.’"

"Easy. I am cool," he said with exaggerated flair.

Yn nodded. "Okay, you can go now."

Lando laughed. "Tough crowd."

In the hospitality tent, Toto was enjoying a quick lunch when he felt a small tug at his pant leg.

"Hi, Mr Toto! Can I have a bite?"

He turned, surprised, and found Yn looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Of course," he said with a warm smile, offering her his fork. "Don’t tell your papa I gave you his favorite part."

She chewed thoughtfully. "Tastes like chicken. But not chicken. Fancy chicken."

He burst out laughing, and Mia — still filming — made a note to keep that clip.

All around the paddock, drivers began noticing the little girl toddling around, narrating things in her high-pitched voice.

"That’s Uncle Lew. He laughs lots. That’s Oscar. He’s my friend. He smells like soap."

"This is a helmet. I can’t wear it. It’s BIG. Like my head is in a spaceship."

Drivers smiled, stepping aside to let her pass, sometimes walking behind her to make sure she didn’t trip or get too close to anything dangerous. Carlos followed her at one point for ten minutes straight, just in case.

By the end of the day, Mia had collected over thirty minutes of Yn’s footage.

"I’ve never seen anything like it," she told her colleague. "She’s gold."

George eventually found his daughter curled up on the couch in the media room, his phone still in her hand.

"Hey, you," he whispered, lifting her carefully.

"Dadda," she mumbled, already half-asleep. "I made a moovie."

"I heard," he said with a chuckle. "Can’t wait to see it."

The next morning, Mercedes’ social media posted a five-minute cut of the video with the caption: A day in the paddock through the eyes of our smallest team member: Yn.

Within minutes, it exploded online.

Fans flooded the comments:

This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

Give her the camera every weekend, I beg.

Uncle Lex’s shoe is iconic now.

Fancy chicken. DEAD.

Even rival teams reposted it with heart emojis and laughing reactions.

George held Yn on his lap as he scrolled through the comments. "You’ve gone viral, love."

Yn blinked at him sleepily. "I’m famous now."

He laughed. "You sure are."

By Sunday, drivers kept stopping by with snacks and toys for Yn. She sat in a little chair beside the engineers, wearing oversized headphones, proudly pointing things out to anyone who’d listen.

"That’s the telemetry. It goes beep. Daddy says that’s good."

Even Lewis came by, kneeling beside her. "Heard you’re the boss around here now."

Yn nodded seriously. "I make movies. Maybe you can be in my next one."

"Only if you let me wear cool sunglasses," Lewis grinned.

She thought about it. "Deal."

George just smiled from a few feet away, heart full.

His girl, his world — and now, apparently, the internet’s too.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💚🐍

[livelaughlovesubs]

need sub!sukuna who's is biggest pillow princess like he loves it when you do all the work!

he is the epitome of bratiness and wants you work hard for his submission! when you gets him to be a little submissive, he will literally hurl insults on just to see you lose your cool and when you get mad he basically goes back to being bratty! he wants your attention on him the whole time!

at first when you praise him, he tries to be nonchalant but after some time he starts to fall into subspace! although he loves when you praise him, he would never admit it!

Sorry but I kinda didn’t get to make him go into subspace, cuz I feel like it’d take longer for that to happen for his character and frankly I wanted to wrap this fic up lol

Dom!reader x sub!sukuna

Warning: anal sex/pegging (I use dick to refer to strap), riding, praise, sukuna insults ya, nipple play, bratty kuna

“Hah! Seriously? You are bad at this.” The man beneath you sneered, leaning back against the soft pillows as his sharp gaze mocked you. “Oh really?” You asked from between his legs, two fingers deep inside him. “I still remember that time you came just from my fingers.” His face flushed a little, and he gritted his teeth, a single remark enough to make his blood boil. “That’s because-” you interrupted him, chuckling slightly as you said, “ah I see, my skills are bad. The reason was our fearsome lord sukuna is just super sensitive.”

He squinted his eyes a little, furrowing his brows, “that must be the case, since even a mutt like you managed to pull it off.” You twitched a little at the insult, and he immediately doubled down, “what? Don’t like the nickname? What about insect then?” And there he goes, his usual smirk returning. How he loved seeing you agitated, though you weren’t going to play that game with him. No, not this time.

“I see, my ‘apologies’ then, my lord.” You sneered sarcastically, suddenly pulling back, your touch leaving his body. Whenever you referred to him in a mocking politeness, he knew you were scheming something. And this time as well, bingo, his intuition never failed him.

“Would you be merciful enough to show me how it works then?” You smiled brightly, putting on a farce even though you knew he can read right through you. He groaned out an annoyed “this again.” And in response, you popped down onto the bed next to him, on your back and with your arms spread. The position looked a little silly, like a sea star, and he laughed, “your actions suit a court jester.” A sigh left your lips, paired with a dismissive roll of your eyes.

It didn’t take long until he realised the meaning behind your words, and he glanced at you, “now you want ‘your lord’ to do all the work personally?” He raised himself up by his elbows, almost sitting up as he mumbled, “you should feel grateful you get to serve me at all.” Oh? Look at this? So picky. Well, you knew exactly which buttons to push to get him were you wanted, the only concern was time. How long you wanted to invest in fooling around with this brat you called ‘lord’.

“So, you want me to continue taking charge?” You closed your eyes, lips pressed into a thin line. A dramatic gesture to demonstrate your supposed thoughtfulness. “I guess it’s true people in power loves being submissive in bed.” You purposely dramatised your own choice of words, seeking to earn a reaction, not to speak the truth.

His eyebrow twitched, the corners of his lips curling upwards into an offended grin. “…hah! The audacity. I’m not being ‘docile’, I’m allowing you to serve me, that’s two different things okay?!” It was obvious that your lovely Sukuna was trying to act unfazed, yet the change of tone in his voice betrayed him. He closed his statement with another hurled insult, “or can’t you grasp something this simple?”

You blinked at him, head tilted to the side, trying to appear as clueless as possible. He knew this was just an act, of course, but that’s what irritated him the most. “Tsk, fine, since you are too useless I’ll do it.” Suddenly he climbed on top of you and straddled your lap, your length rubbed between his butt cheeks.

This was quite the view, was your first thought. To have his thighs clenched around your hips and him glancing down at you with a forced scowl. He was quite dedicated to his role. As if to prove something to someone, he tried to take your length in one swift thrust. The tip entered him with a little difficulty, but nothing he couldn’t manage. It did managed to earn a sharp grunt out of him. You smirked in amusement at the display, hands on his thighs as you watched.

The real problem emerged when he sunk down and reached half way. He wasn’t prepared enough, and the more he took, the more his legs shook. At this point he was kind of using brute force because his ego would be hurt otherwise. You noticed the way his skin glistened with sweat, and cooed at him, “this won’t do~ don’t hurt yourself, kuna. Take a deep breath, you look like you are dying.” The man glared at you again, and bottomed out during the next thrust, hands fisting the sheets and he gritted out a ‘shut up’.

For the next few moments, both of you stayed silent. All you did was drawing random patterns with your thumbs onto his thighs. An act of mercy, giving him time to compose himself. Then you took the liberty to observe him as you pleased, that’s how you liked to put it. While in truth, it was just you being fond of his face, and basically ogling at him. If you focused a lot, you’d notice the faint disharmony in his breathing, the slight shakiness when he exhaled. Or the twitch in his brows when he accidentally shifted on top of you.

Watching him squirm like this was one of your favourite pass times.

“So, kuna? Something the matter? Need more time to adjust?” You asked, paired it with a squeeze from your fingers, and he immediately snarled, “don’t mock me, you’ll take what I give.” Despite that tone of his, he fell for your provocations and began moving, slowly lifting his hips and sinking down again. Like before, you simply observed with a wide smile, praising him under your breath. “You are doing so good, try rolling your hips more?”

“Shut up, mortal.” He gnawed, glaring at you once again, but he didn’t look as fierce as normally. “I’m just saying, you look gorgeous from this angle.” You said it without even an ounce of hesitation, as if it was such a normal thing to say, to which he replied, “I see you don’t know what respect is.” And he punctuated his words with a rougher slam of his hips, a bitten-off gasp escaped his throat.

“I do respect you, kuna—” He interrupted you again, “what a bold liar, you wouldn’t call me by such an awful nickname if you did.” You froze, then giggled quite loudly, “pff- I thought that name was cute, and that it suits you.” Sukuna grinned to mask his anger, wondering in a rather agitated tone, “you really want to describe me with a word like that?” As if you’ve been waiting for that question, you leaned closer in, and smirked, “why not? I think you look plenty cute, straddling my lap like that.”

To his dismay, he didn’t have a comeback, so he groaned in annoyance before rolling his body and mumbling, “cute, what a joke.” Oh? Wait a second. This is the first time he surrendered first, could it be he enjoyed the compliments? Let’s see. “Every word I spoke were my true thoughts, kuna, don’t you trust me?” His grin widened, showing off his rather sharp teeth. “Why would I?” And the sukuna you knew was back again.

“Then look into my eyes, I’m sure you can see my sincerity.” You peeked at his pupils, making eye-contact and daring him to humour you. He gazed back at you lazily, acting nonchalant even after he failed to find a single trace of deceit. “You could also just be a better liar then I foresaw.” Sukuna muttered, a last attempt to argue back. “Then how should I prove my honesty? Want me to praise you more?” The word ‘praise’ echoed in his ears at least two more times, and he sneered, “what? I have no need for fla-”

But you copied his attitude and spoke without letting him finish, “no matter how often you deny it, it’s the truth~ Such a handsome boy, each second spend with you feels like bliss?” You ended on a question mark, then continued your antics and poured out a few more compliments. His lower eyelid twitched, and he whispered rather surprised, “you’ve got no shame, do you?” He might talk like that, though you were sure now, he’s weak to affectionate words.

“Hmm, but I really think my kuna is amazing, the very best-” out of nowhere he covered your mouth with both his hands, his eyes squeezed shut as he growled out a “that’s enough…” finally, your opportunity revealed themselves. Your hands wandered higher up, itching closer to his waist, before settling down completely. A teasing squeeze, causing him to twitch and leak some pre onto your chest, before you stuck your tongue out to lick at his palm.

As if burned, he quickly pulled his hands back, jerking a little as he snarled, “what’s wrong with you?” The cheesy words really messed with his head, causing him to feel all weird. You sat up even more, until you could push your face into his chest, whispering, “you are fond of ‘devouring’ humans, right? I was wondering why.” Just to rile him up- or to confuse him more, you licked his nipple, playing with the hardened bud as you forced a choked out hiss from him. “Mhm, delicious, now I get why you praise that act so loudly.”

It was another one of your games, yet also meant to put him in his place, telling him you’ve got the upper hand no matter how loud he barked. “Hah, audacious like always.” He shuddered when you bit down, a drop of sweat rolling down the side of his face. Your hands urged him to start moving again, and he obliged, one hand gripping your shoulder and the other holding the back of your head as he muttered, “that’s why you are the only one who gets to ‘devour’ me.”

[jishyucks]

was not, were not, is — ldh

pairing. haechan x reader  genre. friends to implied lovers, drunk confession wc. 1.5k summary. sober you would beat you up if she heard the bullshit spilling from your mouth; in which alcohol is both your best friend and your worst enemy warnings. excessive amount of fluff, reader’s drunk as hell, Donghyuck’s love language is acts of service  an. a little warm up writing before I start writing longer fics again—I REALLY like the drunk confession microtrope,,, this whole thing was either written at 5AM on my work breaks or 5AM bc my sleep schedule is fucked up,,, pls enjoy!

You couldn’t give any less of a fuck that the bare soles of your feet were touching the cool pavement. 

In fact, you couldn’t give any less of a fuck about anything.

Mind hazy, still tipsy from the shots your cousin had shoved in your hands, you briefly recall Donghyuck telling you that your mom had requested to bring you home—something about staying back to help clean up the venue and something about crashing out?—who the hell cares. 

You let out a snort for no reason.

Maybe you should’ve brought extra shoes.

But again, you don’t care.

Donghyuck tails you, not too far behind. His hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, a smile playing lightly upon his lips as he watched you stumble under the lights of the venue. He knows he should be at your side in case you lose your balance, but it hadn’t even been five minutes since you declined his arm.

“You sure you don’t want to wear my shoes?” 

You stop in your tracks and look back at him. It’s only now that you notice how sweaty the man was, bangs stuck to his forehead from all the dancing. This could also explain why your feet were killing you, “What shoes would you wear?”

He holds up the pair of heels dangling from his fingers, “Yours.” 

You scoff and continue walking, “You in heels? Funny.”

And although your intentions were to offend Donghyuck, the smile on his face stays put, “Well, if it means you could walk comfortably, then I’d endure that pain and embarrassment.” 

You roll your eyes, using all the strength in your entire body to not physically react to Donghyuck’s choice of words, “Please never say that ever again.” 

“I’m serious,” he responds, “Also, I told you about bringing extra shoes.” 

Donghyuck’s eyes trail further down the walkway, noting down that the parking lot was inching closer and closer. He recalls from this morning that the parking lot was sprinkled with pebbles. He frowns, “Can you please just put my shoes on?” 

“I’m fine, Hyuck,” you groan, “I think that the car isn’t even far from here.” 

“You’re right but…” 

You hear him sigh out deeply before you hear his footsteps pick up in pace, the heels of his dress shoes clicking against the pavement. The alcohol pulls your eyes shut for just a moment, and when you finally gain control of them again, you find your best friend kneeling down in front of you, back turned towards you, “Get on.” 

“Hyuck, I said I was fine,” you attempt to walk around him, but the man somehow predicts which way you’re going and scoots right in front of you. 

“And I said to get on,” he orders gently, “Please.” 

The ‘please’ causes you to giggle and you find yourself staring at the back of his head, dwindling on a few possible answers. His hair looks soft, like something you’d want to reach out and touch. “Don’t wanna… risk you dropping me.”

If you weren’t completely insane for your best friend, you would’ve hopped onto his back no problem. Hell, with the alcohol you felt a little bit bolder than usual, but nothing could mistake that little kick in your heartbeat telling you that if you decided to take his offer, you’d probably melt the second you make contact with him. 

“I’ll throw a tantrum if you don’t,” Donghyuck threatens (was that even considered a threat?), “C’mon.”

“I hate you,” you mutter. But your actions completely contradict your words as you carefully secure yourself onto Donghyuck’s back, arms wrapping right around his neck. He follows in pursuit, hooking his arms right under your knees before he stands up. “You suck.” 

“See, it isn’t so bad,” he laughs, “I’m strong. I won’t drop you.”

Your brain’s telling you to mock him back, but your words falter because you’re hit by Donghyuck’s perfume. Fuck—of course he smells good. You can’t remember a time that he didn’t. 

It takes every ounce of your sobriety to not bury your face in Donghyuck’s hair. 

“I actually had fun,” Donghyuck begins, referring to the wedding, “Honestly, I was scared to meet your other relatives. You always talk about them and they sound scary. But I actually had fun.” 

“That’s good,” you reply quietly, almost dazed, “I’m glad you had fun.” 

Your head flops onto Donghyuck’s shoulder, hair falling in front of your face and tickling his ear. His car finally comes into view and Donghyuck wastes no time to swing the door open. 

“There you go, Princess,” Donghyuck jokes. He lowers you down gently, allowing you to plop into the passenger seat. Once he’s sure you’re seated, he turns around to face you, combing the mess of hair away from your face. “Comfy?” 

“What if I said no?” You giggle, head falling back against the headrest. 

Another sigh leaves Donghyuck’s lips and he pokes your side, “Then I’d do whatever it takes to make you comfy.” 

“Quit talking like that,” you groan.

He hums, “Like what?” 

The leather seat squeaks when you shift to face the other way, letting your eyes draw close. 

Fatigue was definitely catching up. 

I don’t know… you think, Just… like that. 

And although your mind struggles to piece letters together to word how you were feeling, your heart knows exactly what you were thinking about. 

Donghyuck shuts the door and his shadow crosses the light leaking through your eyelids. The driver’s door clicks open and then Donghyuck’s settling in the seat next to yours. 

“Well…” You hear his foot hit the brake before he taps at the button to start the car, “Did you have fun?” 

“Mmmm…” your lips form a pout, suddenly hit by the events of the wedding. You feel like you’re teetering between sobriety and intoxication, unsure whether or not you should be genuine, “Yo.” 

Donghyuck raises a brow and tilts his head at you, “Yo?” 

“Yes and no,” you clarify, almost as if he was supposed to know what you meant, “I had fun but didn’t.” 

Again, Donghyuck’s eyebrow jerks, “Whatever you say.” He’s unsure whether he should wait for you to settle before he pulls out of the parking spot. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?” You whine. One of your eyelids draws open, just enough to peek out at him. 

He huffs, playing along, “…why?”

“I had fun because my cousin and her partner were cute and the dancing and the drinks, the games and everything…” You list, “But also, I didn’t have fun because all I could think about was the fact that I may never find the love they have.” 

Your best friend lets your words sink in, trying to make sense of it while stringing together the right words to say—ones that wouldn’t give it away. 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you will find that love you want.” 

Then tears start leaking out of the corners of your eyes and Donghyuck doesn’t hesitate to reach over to wipe them away. He can’t help but laugh, watching as you’ve finally reached your crying phase, simply meaning that you’d pass out next, “Why are you crying? I’m telling you the truth, you know.” 

You shrug sluggishly, “I don’t completely doubt you, Hyuckie.” Another tear slips out and you feel the pad of Donghyuck’s thumb swipe across your cheek. 

“Then why are you crying?” he frowns. 

“Well, what if…” you trail, “What if the love I want is with you?” You’re too far gone to even realize what you’ve just said, “I just feel like it’ll all be wrong if it wasn’t with you…” 

The pounding in Donghyuck’s ears almost drown out your voice. You’re speaking so quietly that he needs to lean in to hear you. 

Another tear—wipe.

“It’d be weird if it wasn’t your hand I was holding, if it wasn’t you I was waking up to, if the kisses I was getting weren't from your lips…” 

Your eyes remain close and the more you speak, the more spaced out the words come out your mouth. Sober you would not believe what you were confessing to a sober Donghyuck.

“I want you to love me,” you finally confess, like saying it out loud validated all your feelings, “And everyday I feel like that’s too much to ask.” 

“We should talk about this another time, Y/N.” 

You groan at his response, almost as if you weren’t satisfied with his answer. But before he could get another word out, he watches as your head flops onto your own shoulder. 

“Of course,” Donghyuck chuckles to himself, shaking his head. He reaches over and pulls the lever to recline your chair, letting your head fall back comfortably, “There you go… comfy…” 

Donghyuck sits back in his seat and admires you for a moment, a delicate frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

He wishes you weren’t drunk and saying these words, afraid that when the alcohol wasn’t running through your body, that none of them would even mean anything to you. 

Because if the love you wanted was with him, he’d do anything—everything—to give it to you.

[iceysnow]

going through my docs and found this half-baked slop. for reference, I read a whole lot of identity reveal fics when I made this. He was the mightiest mortal alive. Within him resided the wisdom of Solomon, the legendary strength of Hercules, the inexhaustible stamina of Atlas, the potent powers of Zeus, the unwavering courage of Achilles, and the swift speed of Mercury. He bordered on the divine.

Yet, No god was a frail ten-year-old boy. At least, no one would expect a god to be as such. 

This wasn't supposed to happen, they weren't supposed to know. But now, the knowledge lay bare between them.

Their gazes fixed onto his diminutive stature, struggling hard to compare the boy to the imposing figure they had known. Hard to believe. Even Batman had been stunned by his appearance. The villain responsible for this sat unconscious, fell the instant the forced transformation took hold. All that remained was a disheveled child.

“I-I can explain… “ Explain what, what was he supposed to explain!? ‘Oh yeah, I tricked you guys for a whole year into thinking I was a functional adult. The thing is, I’m actually a ten-year-old orphan who was forced to protect all of magic by six gods and a wizard. Oopsie daisy! Please don't kick me out!’ There was no way that would work. 

And even if, by some miracle, they were receptive, this was the Justice League. Sure, Batman had Robin, and Superman had Superboy (almost every top-ranking hero has a mini-me and yet he’s the outlier)—but they operated under intense supervision. Billy seriously doubted his pantheon would qualify as "responsible adults" in their eyes.

"I don't think there's any explaining you can do." Supermans arms crossed, a clear frustration etched upon his face. 

"I know, but—!" his voice cracked. Crap, I'm terrible at this.

“You look seven.” Batman chimes in, remaining stoic. 

“I’m ten!” he wasn't even that small. Granted, he was on the shorter side, but that's the best you can get when you’re a malnourished street rat. Yeah, he got an apartment with Uncle Dudley’s help last month (the gods had kept complaining, and complaining, and they wouldn’t stop), that still didn’t erase his time in the gutter.

They frowned at his outburst. Was he being too loud? Or was it something else? It was probably the latter, a disquieting feeling settling in his gut. The wave of sympathy and pity washing over their faces confirmed his fears. Honestly, was it so unbelievable?

Superman speaks up again, breaking the silence."See, that's the problem. This is unhealthy—especially for someone your age." he reprimanded in that familiar, condescending tone that always grated Billy's nerves. It felt belittling, oppressive, inherently dismissive.

He hated it. 

"You were all perfectly fine with me on the mission last week!!" He knew that their concern stemmed from a place of care, that they would likely react this way to any child in his situation. None of these words of acknowledgement equaled words of acceptance.

"We didn’t know last week." Superman countered

“I didn’t want you to know!” 

"What we're trying to say is—you shouldn't have lied about something like this. If you wanted to join a hero team…" Hal slowed down, pausing his words. (Even behind his mask, Billy could sense the pity radiating off him) "Young Justice is too old for you…but…"

"That's exactly the problem! It doesn't matter about the team; you're too young to be dealing with these kinds of threats!" Barry swung his arms around, snarling when words couldn’t be spoken through tongue, instead communicating through half-baked gestures.  "If you're ten now, that means you became a hero when you were barely eight! Nightwing hardly passed for Batman, and he was nine!”

And at that, those words, Billy lost it.

 “Do you think I wanted to do this! Do you really think EVERYONE gets to choose!?”

This was stupid, they were stupid! What was even stupider was he could already see the turning cogs in their heads.

[amirawrah]

✩ Styled by me

with JULES KOUNDE ✩ smau

.🤎.

synopsis: You’re a stylist. He’s a footballer. It started with a fitting but between the way Jules looks in your clothes and the way he talks like he’s been waiting to meet you, the line between work and something real gets harder to hold.

smau • face claim: amy okoli

a/n: GUYS I USED 3 WHOLE DAYS TO MAKE THIS, I WAS STRESSING WITH THE TWITTER STUFF. and finding the pictures were also really hard!! also i edited and made all of these by myself so please show some love, hopefully you guys like this. also this is my first main smau anyways enjoy!!

.🤎.

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y/nthestylist

liked by voguemagazine, jkeey4, wisdm and 670K others

@y/nthestylist: First fitting with the always dapper @jkeey4

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@jkeey4: Dapper’s a big word…

@y/nthestylist: I said what i said

@coutureinggirl: Not y’all linking up… my fashion and football worlds colliding 🙌🏾

@f1isformula1: remember when she styled lewis hamilton back in 2023 for the GQ men of the year party, those pieces were to good.

@clubfashion: I can already tell this collab is about to have the tunnel fits on LOCK. Respect. 👏🏽

@cocowintor: You better tag the brands when the final pics drop because I’m TAKING NOTES.

@islowkeyseinstine: I don't know why but i'm saving this post for future “how it started” edits 😭

@iwannabejulesbabymama: Theres nothing in this post thats giving that tho

@mysunshinejuley: yea like jules has to be single

@koundedaily: dude he dosen't know you

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@jkeey4 posted a new story

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@tochumine: He could’ve just said “thanks” but nah…

@bbgthatlovesfashion: Soooo this is a styling session or the beginning of a Wattpad fic or sum?

@y/nthestylist: reacted ❤️ to your story

@y/nthestylist: Greatest? Don’t gas me this early in the week come on

@jkeey4: Real ones get their flowers early in the week too, no?

@y/nthestylist: The flowers were beautiful. Thank you, truly. Unexpected but very appreciated.

@jkeey4: You deserve beautiful things. Simple as that❤️.

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─── SHORT BLURB

Since that first fitting, Jules had been trying to ask you out.

Not in a pushy way. No pressure. No drama. Just small things — soft, consistent signals — like he was leaving the door open for you whenever you felt ready to walk through it.

After that session, he posted the mirror selfie in your styled fit, tagged you in every Story like a badge of pride, and casually dropped compliments that hovered between professional and personal.

“Real ones get their flowers early in the week too, no?” That’s what he wrote the first time he sent flowers to your place — a low, gorgeous arrangement in deep plum, cream, and gold. Understated, elegant. Like he’d studied your taste without asking.

You stared at them in your kitchen for three hours before texting him

He’d asked you to dinner that week. A simple “you pick the spot” kind of text.

And you… dodged it. Politely. You always did.

“I don’t go out with clients.” It was your shield. Firm, well-rehearsed.

But the real reason sat heavier in your chest. You weren’t used to nice. Not like this. Not from someone who made being fine look effortless.

Not from someone who looked at you the way Jules did — like he saw past the layers. Like he wanted to.

“He’s cute,” you admitted once, alone in your bathroom mirror. “But scary cute.” Not in a red flag way. In a this could mean something kind of way. That was the terrifying part.

He never pressed. But he didn’t back down either.

Another fitting. Another bouquet.

“Still not backing down?” you asked, arms crossed but smiling as he leaned against the rack of new-season jackets.

“Not unless you want me to.” His voice was calm. “But I figured… you style people to feel their best. Maybe someone should try giving that back to you.”

And the way he said it?

You didn’t answer right away.

Because your heart did. And that was enough for now.

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britishgq

liked by y/nthestylist, jkeey4, footballwagstea and 720K others

@britishgq: Look who showed up and showed out at the [Fashion for Future] charity gala tonight 👀. @jkeey4 and @ynthestylist — both styled to absolute perfection. Fashion with a cause never looked so sharp. #GQEvents #StyleWatch #FashionForFuture #Cute

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@someonesusername: nah gq didn’t have to tag them both like that 😭 they KNOW what they’re doing

@footballwagstea: Jules and the stylist being at the same gala, probably styled by each other, smiling like that? come ON.

@ilovemen: you’re telling me this man showed up in a look she probably pulled and they didn’t arrive together??? sure.

@ynandjulesfanpage: this is their red carpet debut idc.

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⸻ SHORT BLURB

The interviews faded into background noise, and now you were inside the marble hall of the gala, cocktail in hand, pretending not to feel his eyes on you.

But you felt them.

Jules had walked in wearing a fit you had curated — effortlessly sharp and smooth tailoring with subtle texture. You hadn’t told him you’d be there. He hadn’t told you either. But somehow, both of you showed up dressed like you knew the other would be watching.

And he was watching.

From across the room, leaning against a velvet-draped bar, he was doing that thing again — that quiet, confident stare like he already knew something you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet.

When he crossed the room to you, his smile was a little smug, but soft at the edges.

“You always pull up like this?” he asked, eyes traveling from the structured lines of your dress to your gold cuffs.

“Only when I know someone might show up,” you replied, trying to keep your voice even.

He grinned.

“Okay, so let’s stop playing,” he said, inching just slightly closer. “Can I take you out? Not for fittings. Not for press. Just private... you and me.”

It wasn’t dramatic. Wasn’t slick or rehearsed. Just real.

You opened your mouth to give the usual line, the one you’d practiced: I don’t go out with clients.

But your heart… betrayed you. It had decided before your logic did.

So instead, you smiled and said:

“Okay.”

The surprise on his face was brief — then replaced by something warmer. A spark. Like his patience had been rewarded.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. Just nodded once, like he was locking the moment into memory.

“Good,” he said, eyes on yours. “Took you long enough.”

───────────────────────────────y/nthestylist

liked by voguemagazine, jkeey4, lewishamilton and 670K others

@ynthestylist: Still thinking about last night — honored to be part of the Fashion for Future charity gala surrounded by vision, purpose, and incredible style. I always say it’s about more than clothes. It’s about presence. Showing up, standing tall, and letting the details speak for you. And some details? Speak louder than words.

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@jkeey4: You’re not slick with that caption😂

@y/nthestylist: 😂😂

@koundefanupdates: 'Some details speak louder than words' OH SHE’S FLIRTING FLIRTING 😭

@lovergirl: Don’t be shy, tag your +1 👀

@caprisunjunkie2: i know jules is somewhere refreshing this post like 😍

@koundecore: jules was NOT smiling like that for no reason i fear…

───────────────────────────────jkeey4

liked by y/mnthestylist, aurelientchm, davidalaba and 800K others

@jkeey4: A good cause, a better night. Styled sharp, felt sharper. Appreciate the team behind the scenes that always makes it look easy @yourhandle. @davidalaba

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@ynthestylist: the real ones make the work effortless 🤝🏾

@davidalaba: my guy❤️

@koundefanupdates34: he really tagged her again… y’all don’t see the slow rollout? WAKE UP

@coreiscoring: so we all saw the way he looked at her in the GQ clip right??

@frenchiesiluv: You tagging her in every fit now? yeah… love is in the details.

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voguemagazine and britishvogue

liked by y/nthestylist, jkeey4, pharrell and 17,670K others

@voguemagazine and @britishvogue: From dressing Europe’s elite footballers to crafting red carpet moments with precision and heart, y/n is the tastemaker the world didn’t know it needed—until now. In her first Vogue cover story, the London-based stylist opens up about fearlessness, style as language, and joining forces with image architect Law Roach for a Met Gala partnership that’s rewriting the rules of fashion fantasy.

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@y/nmainfan: Finally getting the recognition she deserves! Been watching her eat

@l/nbaby: From behind the scenes to the COVER? Nah, she is amazing truly

@louis4vuttion: Y’all realize she’s the reason your fav footballer looks like a Dior campaign now? Put some respect

@fashionbiggirl: THEE stylist. THEE visionary. And a Met Gala collab with Law? Unstoppable.

@koundedaily: if jules doesn’t comment something romantic we ride at dawn.

────────────────────────────────────────── www.vogue.com

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────────────────────────────────────────── SHORT BLURB

The sheets are a mess, the air is thick with the glow of what just happened, and the window is cracked open just enough for London’s cool air to sneak in and chill the sweat on your bare shoulder.

Jules is lying beside you, his chest rising slow and steady, arm tucked behind his head like he’s trying to memorize the ceiling. His other hand finds yourss between the sheets and plays with your fingers, almost shy again now that the adrenaline is gone.

“You’re on the cover of Vogue,” he says, voice low, like he still doesn’t believe it.

You laughs softly and hide your face in his chest. “You’ve told me that like four times.”

“Well, I’m still processing,” he says, kissing your forehead. “That’s not small. It’s not even big. It’s... massive.”

You smiles, tracing slow circles on his chest. “You’re part of that, you know. You believed in me when I was still pretending I didn’t want anyone close.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “but you’re the one who did it.”

They lie there like that for a while, limbs tangled, skin still warm. It’s the kind of silence that feels like safety.

Then he shifts slightly. “I fly back tomorrow.”

You don’t answer right away. You knows what that means—Barcelona. His world. The matches, the focus, the rhythm of a life your still adjusting to aligning with.

Jules keeps going. “Game on Sunday. I want you there.”

You lifts her head, eyes finding his. “Yeah?”

“I came here for you. To celebrate you,” he says, brushing hair out of your face. “I want you there when I walk out.”

There’s no overthinking this time. No hesitation. Not when it’s him.

You nods. “I’ll be there.”

He smiles so softly it almost breaks you. “Good. I play better when you’re watching.”

You leans in, press your lips to his shoulder, then laughs. “Is that your way of asking me to be your good luck charm?”

He grins. “You’ve always been that. Just didn’t know it yet.”

────────────────────────────────────────── www.youtube.com

Step inside the eclectic, refined, and boundary-pushing closet of fashion’s newest powerhouse stylist. From custom runway pieces to vintage treasures and one-of-one football tunnel fits, [Your Name] takes us through her most personal collection yet. #VogueClosetTour

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@y/nthestylist posted a new story

─

@koundedaily234: I KNOW JULES LOOKED UP AT LEAST ONCE TO FIND YOU. I KNOW IT.

@spongebobsgirl: the ‘i’m just here watching football’ energy is killing me when we ALL know it’s for one man only.

@thisiswhatslayinglookslike: Woke up. Ate breakfast. Sat pretty at her man’s match. That’s a day well spent tbh.

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hotfootballtea

liked by fcbarcelonawags, koundedaily, randomperson1 and 1M others

@hotfootballtea: Stylist sweetheart [Your Name] was spotted in Barcelona with none other than Jules Koundé. Sources say the vibes were real friendly — hugs included. Styling session? Romance brewing? Or just two fashion lovers on a stroll?

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@y/nkounde: I don’t know who needs to hear this but they’re already dating and just not telling us.

@randomperson1: I’m unwell

@bubbleguppies5: The hand placement. the lean. the smile.

@koundedaily: Their aura together is dangerous. he’s glowing. SHE’S glowing. idk what’s in the air but i want it too.

@ilovethenotbook: I SWEAR we’re watching this love story unfold in real time and it’s actually so soft 😭

@peaxceandfree: Calling it now: they’re gonna do a shoot for GQ Couples next year and it’s going to destroy the internet.

────────────────────────────────────────── SHORT BLURB

The hotel room smelled like steam and vanilla sented soap, the windows fogged just a little despite the AC humming quietly in the background. You sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, scrolling through the flood of paparazzi shots now circling the internet. You and Jules, on the street. Hugging. Laughing. Way too close for just styling clients.

You sat at the foot of the bed, wrapped in white cotton, your damp legs stretched out in front of you, scrolling through your phone. The pap pics were everywhere now.

You tilted your head, the corners of your lips lifting. You should care. The internet was already spiraling into fan theories and soft launches. But right now? You really didn’t.

Behind you, the bathroom door creaked open. Steam curled into the room before Jules stepped out, towel slung low around his waist, droplets still clinging to his chest like they didn’t want to let go. He rubbed a hand through his locs, pushing them back as his eyes flicked to you.

“You’re trending,” you said, not even pretending not to look.

He smirked. “We’re trending.”

You arched a brow. “Don’t get cute.”

“Bit late for that,” he muttered, walking over slowly. He didn’t rush. Jules never did — he moved like he knew the air shifted with him.

He stood in front of you now, warm and still damp, his hand grazing your shoulder as he peered at your phone screen.

“Nice angle,” he murmured, nodding at a photo of the two of you hugging — his arm slung low around your waist, your face tilted up to him. “They caught my good side.”

You let out a low laugh. “You don’t have a bad side.”

He didn’t move away. Instead, he reached out, thumb brushing gently along your jaw. “You okay with it?”

“With what?”

“This,” he said quietly. “Being seen with me.”

You met his eyes — soft brown, steady. Even with the glint of charm, there was something serious behind the question. Not just about photos or rumors. About this. About you and him.

You nodded, slow and sure. “I’m okay.”

His hand slipped down, fingers brushing yours. “Good,” he said, voice low. “Because I’m not trying to hide you.”

You looked up at him — at his soaked locs and golden skin, the heat in his eyes and the softness in his smile — and for the first time, you let yourself lean into it.

“I wasn’t hiding,” you whispered, reaching for his hand. “Just figuring it out.”

“Still figuring it out?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

You smiled. “A little less now.”

The space between you disappeared, the noise of the world falling away. In that moment, it was just two towels, warm skin, and everything unspoken finally starting to make sense.

───────────────────────────────jkeey4

liked by y/nthestylist, aurelientchm, wisdm and 1M others

@jkeey4: Bits & pieces. Good days. Better company.

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@y/nthestylist: You’re lucky I look cute or I’d sue.

@jkeey4: I'd post more 🤎

@ilovefrench3men: Don’t be shy @jkeey4 tag her again 😭

@julsmyman: she’s pretty, I get it.

@koundedaily: Slide 2. SLIDE. 2. Everyone shut up

@ynkounde: i mean we called it.

@champgnhoney: yes we did.

───────────────────────────────

[thehighpriestess1]

Make a Wish: Mastermind

Warning: Strong themes. Manipulation.

Pairing: Gojo x y/n, Nanami x y/n

Word count: 13k

Ask box | Previous chapter | fic masterlist | Other works

You hummed softly to Matilda as the orchards blurred past, their blossoms flickering like ghosts of memories you weren’t quite ready to touch. Gojo tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel — rhythm absent, mind clearly elsewhere. Tangled in thoughts. Tangled in you.

Your confession had landed like a brick to the chest. You saw the flicker in his expression, mistaking his silence for disbelief. But there was nothing for him to question. He had always known. Every word you’d spoken rang true.

He should have said something right then — told you what he remembered, what he carried with him every day. But speaking the truth aloud would have fractured the fragile thing growing between you. And he couldn’t risk that. Not when, for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you were looking at him like he was something more than the man who had failed you.

So he stayed quiet. If pretending meant keeping you close a little longer, he’d carry the lie all the way to the grave. From the corner of his eye, he watched you. Peaceful. A little distant. Beautiful in the kind of quiet way that undid him.

He cleared his throat. “How did it feel… coming back? The whole thing?”

You turned toward him, smiling gently. “So you do believe me now?”

“I always believed you,” he replied, his voice light with effort. “I just want to understand.”

You shifted in your seat, eyes drifting to the window. “It was... unnerving at first. Terrifying. But once the shock wore off—” you inhaled deeply “—it felt exhilarating.”

His brow lifted. “Exhilarating? Why?”

But he already knew. He just wanted to hear it from you. Wanted to trace every fracture in the old version of himself — the one who let you slip away — so he’d never make the same mistake again.

You exhaled slowly, fingers curling around the hem of your sweater. “Because I’d been stuck. In this loop. Pain, loss, silence… pretending everything was fine. Coming back felt like breaking out of that. Like I was finally breathing again. Like I had a second chance.”

“Pain…” he echoed. “Loss?”

You paused. The air in the car shifted.

“Yeah. Loss of my footing. My peace. Maybe even my sanity,” you said with a laugh that was almost too quiet, too sad.

His grip on the wheel tightened. “I really messed things up, didn’t I?”

“You did,” you said softly. “But not you-you. The other you. The one who kept me a secret. Who chose his clan’s approval over me.”

He swallowed hard. “But I’m still him, aren’t I? Same face. Same voice.”

You turned to him, expression gentle. “No, Satoru. That version of you lived in fear. You…” you smiled faintly, “…you listen. You chose me.”

A silence settled between you, soft but heavy.

Then, as if afraid to break it, he asked, “How did we even start dating?”

You let out a small laugh. “One-night stand. After a company party. We weren’t supposed to catch feelings.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Classy. Sounds like me.”

“Terrible behavior, really.”

“So does this mean you trust me?” he asked, taking another smooth turn.

You leaned back in your seat, exhaling. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

He glanced at you again. “Then… your walls. Ready to let them down?”

You smirked. “My walls?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “You don’t let me spoil you. You flinch every time I try to take care of you. Sometimes, your independence feels like rebellion. Like you’re guarding yourself from me.”

You huffed. “Wow. Didn’t know you noticed me so much.”

“What can I say?” he murmured. “I’m hopelessly in love with you, but sometimes… it feels like I’m not allowed to be. Like if I show too much, you’ll run.”

You studied his face. Even with the glasses, you could see the sadness in his expression.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Even if things are different now… I’m still not over a lot.”

“Yet here you are,” he said softly. “You should’ve told me you needed time. I would’ve waited.”

The words struck you silently. He was right. You’d kept him close, but always at arm’s length. Your heart sank.

Gojo noticed the shift in your expression. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. It’s just—this is a lot.”

“It’s alright.” You gave him a fragile smile.

After a pause, he said gently, “Tell me something I did right. Just one thing.”

You looked out the window, thinking. “You were a good friend. Always there for others. My family. Always ready to help.”

He hummed quietly, nodding. But everything you said, while true, felt distant. Detached. Not about him and you.

“What’s something I did for you,” he asked, “that you actually liked?”

You rubbed your arm, struggling. “I… I guess I liked how you always said the right thing. You always knew what to say.”

He nodded again, silent. It wasn’t quite the answer he was hoping for — but maybe it was the only one you could give.

Nanami flipped through the file with surgical precision, each turn of the page more agitated than the last. His jaw was clenched so tightly it seemed like he might shatter a molar. The frown etched on his face had settled into something permanent over the past few days, but now it deepened to something almost dangerous.

Finally, he slammed the file shut with a sharp thud that echoed through the sterile silence of his office. Papers inside shuddered at the impact. He exhaled through his nose—controlled, cold, and deliberate—then picked up the phone.

“Miwa. Come in.”

His tone was calm, but it carried the weight of a storm building on the horizon.

The door creaked open within seconds. Miwa entered with quick, polite steps, notepad already in hand.

“Yes, sir?”

Nanami held the file beside his face like it offended him. “You expect me to submit this to investors?”

She blinked, confused. “I— I reviewed the numbers three times. I thought—”

He didn’t let her finish. He slid the file across the desk like a dealer tossing a losing hand.

“You have two hours. Fix everything and bring it back before lunch.”

Miwa hesitated, catching the file with both hands. “But sir, the investor meeting isn’t until tomor—”

“Do you give me deadlines now?” Nanami’s voice dropped lower, dangerously even. His brow arched slightly, a cold challenge in his eyes.

Miwa’s lips parted, then closed. Her shoulders stiffened, and she bowed her head.

“Understood,” she said quietly.

She turned and walked out, her breath shallow as she pulled the door shut behind her. The moment she stepped into the hallway, she nearly bumped into Maya, who had been standing nearby, having overheard enough.

“Miwa,” Maya said, reaching out. Her face was knit with concern. “Are you okay?”

Miwa nodded quickly, trying to seem unfazed, but her fingers clutched the file a little too tightly. “It’s my fault. I should’ve double-checked everything.”

“Are you sure?” Maya asked gently.

“I’ll fix it,” Miwa insisted with a forced smile, the edges of her professionalism cracking slightly. “I’ll see you after lunch.”

And with that, she rushed toward her desk, flipping open her laptop with practiced urgency. Maya stood in place, her arms folding across her chest, her thoughts racing.

She'd been watching Nanami all week. There was a pattern. He hadn’t just snapped at Miwa—Hitoshi had been on the receiving end of a biting comment yesterday, and even his usual coffee run had gone untouched this morning. He hadn’t spoken more than five words in the team briefing. This wasn’t the Nanami she knew — thoughtful, composed, meticulous in words as much as in numbers. This version was distant. Cold. Preoccupied.

Something was very wrong.

She pulled out her phone and typed quickly.

Maya: Y/n, you need to talk to Nanami. Something’s off. The whole office is tense. Y/n: What happened? Maya: No clue. But it’s not just a bad day. It feels bigger. Y/n: I’m back soon. I’ll talk to him first thing.

Maya stared at the screen for a moment after sending the last message, her reflection dim in the glass of the office window. She didn’t know what was going on, but something told her this wasn’t just about a few missed calculations.

Still unsettled, Maya headed toward the break area, where she found Hitoshi hunched over a vending machine, aggressively tapping the "C2" button.

“You know that button’s not gonna listen to you faster if you bully it,” she said, attempting a light tone.

Hitoshi glanced up, chuckling as the machine finally coughed up his can of cold brew. “It fears me. That's why it obeys.”

Maya smiled faintly, then leaned against the counter. “I just saw Miwa. Nanami really tore into her.”

“Yeah,” Hitoshi sighed, popping the tab and taking a sip. “I heard the door slam. He’s been like that all week. Short-tempered. Snappy. Kind of… off.”

“So it’s not just me,” Maya said, her voice dropping slightly.

“Nope,” Hitoshi replied. “He even gave me grief for submitting the new vendor shortlist. And I triple-checked that thing.” He raised a brow. “Maybe he’s just missing Y/n.”

Maya let out a short breath of amusement. “I wish it were something that simple.”

Hitoshi tilted his head. “You think it’s something else?”

Maya hesitated for a moment, then said, “I didn’t want to overthink it, but… a few nights ago, I forgot my phone in the office. When I came back to get it, everyone had left. Lights were off except in Nanami’s office.”

Hitoshi straightened slightly. “Okay…”

“I peeked through the glass to make sure I wasn’t interrupting anything. He was in there with a man and a woman I’ve never seen before. They weren’t dressed like clients. The woman had this… corporate air, but not from our usual circles.”

“You’re sure they weren’t new clients?” Hitoshi asked, frowning. “Nanami handles a lot of private consults. He’s always discreet about them.”

“I know,” Maya said. “That’s why I didn’t say anything then. But it wasn’t a typical meeting. No documents, no presentations. They were talking, but the vibe was tense. Like something serious was being decided.”

Hitoshi sipped his drink, watching her carefully. “You think it has something to do with his mood lately?”

“I don’t know,” Maya admitted. “But my gut says yes. I’ve worked with Nanami long enough to know he doesn’t unravel without reason. And something’s unraveling.”

“Maybe he’s trying to keep something under wraps,” Hitoshi said. “Wouldn’t be the first time leadership deals with high-stakes stuff behind closed doors.”

“Yeah… but this feels personal,” Maya murmured, more to herself than to him. “And I can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to affect more than just him.”

She looked toward the hallway that led to Nanami’s office — now quiet, the door closed, the storm temporarily sealed behind wood and glass.

“I just hope Y/n gets back soon,” she added softly. “He listens to her. If anyone can get through to him… it’s her.”

Hitoshi nodded, thoughtful now. “Let’s hope it’s not already too late.”

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of clothes being folded and tucked away. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your suitcase open beside you, half-packed and slightly chaotic — a reflection of your thoughts.

You were folding your sweater when the door clicked open.

Gojo stepped inside, shades pushed up into his hair, wind still clinging to him like the scent of the cherry orchards. “Hey,” he said softly. “How’s the packing?”

You shrugged, not looking up. “Therapeutic. Kind of. Helps me think.”

He wandered in, lazily draping himself across the armchair like it was his throne. “What time’s the flight?”

“Same route back,” you said, eyes still focused on a tangled pair of headphones. “Early morning. The one with the layover in Helsinki.”

There was a pause. You felt him watching you. And then, for some reason, you stopped.

You turned around slowly, meeting his eyes.

“…Are you planning to come with me?”

Gojo didn’t answer at first. He simply reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a boarding pass, waving it in the air with a triumphant little grin. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

You laughed — warm, genuine — but then he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a second one. A different one.

Now he was holding a ticket in each hand, one on either side of his face, like a magician about to perform a trick.

“I brought options,” he said, voice light. “Your commercial flight… or my jet. No pressure.”

Your eyes widened, half-amused, half-incredulous. “Your jet?”

He nodded, grinning. “Private. Smooth. No layovers. Less crying babies. Bonus points for having me all to yourself.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “but the offer stands. If you trust me.”

You bit your lip, heart stuttering a little. “I do trust you.”

“Then?” he prompted, eyes hopeful.

“…But I still want to be independent,” you added quietly. “It matters to me.”

Gojo nodded slowly, smile fading into something softer. “I get that. I do. But you said you’d try to let me in. Just a little.”

You looked away, guilt suddenly heavy in your chest. Your hands paused on your suitcase, unmoving.

He noticed. “What is it?”

You exhaled, the words catching in your throat. “I feel awful. You’ve gone through all of this— every twist, every hard moment — and most of it wasn’t even your fault. I blamed you for things… things that belonged to someone else. Another version of you.”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s still me. Past or present. I don’t get to dodge that.”

“I punished you anyway,” you whispered.

“You were hurting,” he said simply. “And I was part of that pain, even if I didn’t mean to be. I’ll take it — if it means I get to be here now.”

You blinked quickly, swallowing the emotion rising in your throat.

He smiled, tilting his head. “So… what’s it going to be? Cabin 14A with a window view and a crying toddler behind us? Or cherry wine and custom playlists on my jet?”

You rolled your eyes. “Such a hard sell.”

“Just being honest.”

You sighed, picking up your sweater and pressing it to your chest like a shield. “Fine. We’ll take your jet.”

He beamed like a kid who’d won at a claw machine. “You won’t regret it.”

“I already do.”

“You’re still going to cuddle me mid-flight.”

“No promises.”

“You say that now.” He stood up and crossed to your suitcase, casually tossing in one of his hoodies. “You always get cold midair.”

You looked up at him. “Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“…Thank you. For not giving up.”

He looked at you then — really looked — and said, quietly, “Never even crossed my mind.”

“And since when do you need a ticket for your private jet?”. You corked your head to the side and smiled.

“Oh it’s my boarding pass for our old flight, did it for the dramatics”. He grinned.

“You’re ridiculous”.

“Yet you love me”. 

Gojo leaned on his knuckles, elbows propped lazily on the armrest as he watched you, eyebrows pinched together in focus while you typed away furiously on your phone. His gaze didn’t waver.

“Who are you texting?” he asked, voice casual, but with a thread of curiosity threading through.

The soft hum of his private jet filled the cabin, punctuating the silence that followed.

“Oh, just Maya,” you murmured, eyes glued to the screen.

“All okay?” he asked, straightening up from his slouch.

You hesitated, thumbs still hovering over your keyboard. “Umm... I don’t know,” you muttered, the small frown between your brows deepening.

Gojo narrowed his eyes, interest officially piqued. “Can I help?”

You let out a dry chuckle and finally looked up at him, offering a half-smile. “It’s about Nanami.”

Gojo’s face twisted, barely perceptible but undeniably bitter. “What did he do now?”

The frustration in his voice wasn’t new. It tugged at the tail end of what had been one of the most serene holidays he'd ever had — and Nanami’s name had to sour it.

You sighed, your fingers slackening as you placed the phone on the glossy mahogany table between you. “He didn’t do anything. But Maya says he’s been acting weird.”

Gojo cocked a brow. “Weird? So... like himself?” he said with a smirk.

You gave him a flat look. “Yeah, sure. Maya said he’s been on edge. Irritable.”

Gojo leaned in slightly, elbows resting on his knees, the corners of his lips twitching. “Again — like himself.”

You let out an exasperated sigh and crossed your arms. “Come on, I’m being serious. Everyone’s worried.”

He scoffed and looked away, jaw tightening. “Everyone? Or you?” A beat. “And why are you even worried about him? He’s nothing but a conniving bastard.”

Your eyes sharpened. “Why do you hate him so much? He’s done nothing to you. He’s your business partner — you should have some respect.”

Gojo laughed. Not the joyful kind. The sharp, cutting kind. “Respect? For Nanami?” He tilted his head mockingly. “He’s not my partner. I’m his boss. I own his company.”

Your arms folded tighter as you leaned back, your tone clipped. “Well, he clearly built something lucrative enough for you to want to buy it and that deserves respect”

Gojo’s smirk vanished. His voice dropped an octave. “The only lucrative thing he did was hire you. I bought a loss-making company — overpaid for it, even — just to get close to you.”

You blinked. “Wh-what?”

He exhaled, tension surfacing. “Yes. The only reason I bought the company was because I— I found out you worked there. It was the only way I could... truly know who the woman from my dream was”

Silence fell. You stared at him, eyes wide. “You couldn’t just move to Kyoto? You had to buy a company?”

“Yes,” Gojo said without hesitation, tone suddenly raw. “Because it was the only organic way I could think of. Do you have any idea how pissed I was when I found out you worked for Nanami?”

Your tone turned sharp, defensive. “What’s wrong with working for Nanami?”

He shifted, jaw clenched. “I— never mind.”

You leaned forward, fed up. “Because of Mishki?”

Gojo froze mid-breath, the color draining slightly from his face. He turned his head slowly toward you. “What... what did you just say?”

Your chest tightened. But it was too late now. You inhaled sharply. “He told me. About Mishki.”

Gojo studied you — a long, unreadable stare. He could barely keep the fury from leaking into his tone. “And... what exactly did he tell you?”

“That... he was dating her. And you— you took her from him. Then mocked him when he confronted you.”

Gojo leaned back, slowly, lips curling into a dry smirk. “I took Mishki? From him?”

That look on his face made your blood boil. “Yes.”

“You believe him?”

“Yes.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”. You shrugged like it was the most obvious thing to believe Nanami.

Gojo’s eyes narrowed. “Would you believe me if I told you my side of the story?”

You lifted your shoulders in a slow shrug. “Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

You sighed, voice softer now. “You had history with Mishki. Not now, but... in the other life.”

His eyes darkened, and his heart dropped into his stomach. “And what history did I have with her in the other life?”

You hesitated, then said it plainly. “You cheated on me with her.”

Gojo’s fists clenched in his lap. He wanted to shout, to scream it wasn’t true — but he couldn’t risk it. One misstep and he’d give away too much. “Did I?” he said quietly. “How did you find out?”

“I saw the messages. The late-night calls. You ditched me for her, over and over.” You shook your head, bitterly. “So when Nanami told me about her, I had every reason to believe you’d do it again. That you’d take her from him, too.”

Gojo’s thoughts spun. Two lies — one from Nanami, one from the past. He took a breath. “Does Nanami know about your... thing?”

“What?! No! Why would I tell him?”

“Okay,” he said, slowly. “Well, I didn’t take Mishki from Nanami. It’s true they were together. But there’s more to the story.”

Your voice was cautious. “Like what?”

Gojo gave a sad smile. “Where do I even begin?” He picked up the glass, took a long sip, and placed it down with care. “Nanami used to work with me. He was family. Even my father admired him — he was loyal, smart, dependable. Suguru hated him, though. Said something was off. He wasn’t wrong.”

You listened in silence.

“Nanami met Mishki at my birthday gala. I introduced them. Mishki’s family handles our North America ops. Nanami liked her immediately. I knew she was trouble — but I let it go. Until he started slipping. Missing meetings. Skipping work. Obsessed.”

You blinked slowly.

“One day, my accountant found that Nanami was embezzling money. Millions. Properties, gifts — all in Mishki’s name. I was terrified. If my father found out... Nanami wouldn’t walk away with just a termination letter.”

You leaned in, barely breathing.

“So I threw a party. Invited them both. Tried to talk to Mishki first. She denied being with him. Said he was stalking her — buying her apartments, gifts, begging for attention. I didn’t believe her because I knew the truth”

“The truth?”

“Mishki was hitting on me for years. Even when Nanami thought she was his girlfriend. Once he lied and said they went on vacation together. Turns out she was with her friends. Nanami was just... funding it. Alone.”

You crossed your arms, uneasy. “So he was giving her money and she was taking it but she wasn’t his— girlfriend?”.

“That’s who Mishki is”. Gojo’s voice dropped.

“What happened at the party?”

“At that party, I texted Mishki to meet me. I offered her money to leave him alone. She didn’t want the money — she wanted me. She... came on to me. And right then, Nanami walked in.”

Silence again. Your throat felt tight. “Even if that’s true... why mock him?”

“I didn’t,” Gojo said. “I tried to protect him. She twisted everything. Told him I stole her. He didn’t believe my texts, photos — anything. Said I forced her. I lost it. That was the final straw. Soon after, my father found out, and Nanami was gone.”

Your heart pounded. It didn’t sound like Nanami. But...

Gojo saw your hesitation. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I... I don’t know what to believe.”

Gojo’s heart clenched. You were never going to believe him. He wanted to scream and tell you that he didn’t cheat on you. He wanted to tell you that MIshki was doing the same thing again. That she was threatening him with the photos taken secretly during his birthday. That he did what he did just to save you but he ended up hurting you. He wanted to tell you that yes he was wrong to hide things, but he was tired. The pressure of his clan, the company, Mishki, all with a common goal of taking you away and he did what he did to keep you with him and it all crashed on him in the end.How could he tell you that what happened with you was the aftermath of what happened with Nanami and Mishki .He had a bad feeling that the future will repeat itself.

“I understand," he whispered under his breath. It’s all he could offer. His understanding. 

You didn’t want to believe that Nanami was the man Gojo was painting him to be but if not that then you’d have to believe, accept that Gojo was lying again for selfish reasons and it pained you to think that you were making the same mistake again. 

“Did you ever have feelings for Nanami?” Gojo asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His tone was even, too even, like he was trying to play it cool, trying being the operative word.

You hesitated for just a breath, then nodded. “I did.”

Gojo nodded too, mechanically. His knuckles clenched into the leather armrest beside him, blood boiling under the skin. He looked away for a moment, jaw ticking, then brought his eyes back to you with forced casualness. “What changed?”

You exhaled softly. “You showed up. He backed off. Things changed.”

Gojo’s heart twisted. He leaned back slowly, like the movement would keep him grounded. “So if I hadn’t come to Kyoto… you’d be with Nanami?”

You gave him a small shrug. “Maybe.”

That word—maybe—stabbed him. The worst part wasn’t the uncertainty. It was the possibility.

He tried to laugh, but it came out bitter and dry. “Why Nanami?”

You met his eyes, calm and steady. “He’s kind. Sensitive. He understands me. He appreciates me. And…”—your lips curled slightly—“he has a nice smile.”

Gojo’s throat tightened. He laughed again, quiet this time, a low scoff masked as amusement. But his fingers were digging crescents into his palms.

He watched you as you said it—all of it—and something ugly settled in his chest. You were here, sitting in his jet, tangled in his world, but a part of you still lived in that soft corner Nanami once occupied.

Even if you were with Gojo now, you weren’t entirely over him.

And for someone like Gojo—who had the world at his feet—not having all of you was unbearable.

He nodded slowly, biting back the million things he wanted to say. The jet’s soft hum filled the silence again, almost mocking its constancy.

“Right,” he murmured, lips pressed tight. “Nice smile. Why me?”. Gojo asked, looking straight into your eyes.

You sighed and leaned back, for a moment neither of you said anything, “Maybe parts of it were remnants from the other life, but most of it was you. You showed me that you were not the same person. You were kind, sensitive, even though I pushed you away you didn’t hold it against me. You cared for my friends, family, and even me.”

Gojo smiled, but the pain spread through his chest. You loved him in comparison to what he used to be. He couldn’t blame you. 

Suzume sat up straighter in her chair, spine rigid, eyes locked on the screen. Her corner desk was tucked away from the main floor—half-hidden behind a filing cabinet, shielded by tall bookshelves and the lazy hum of the old air vent. Usually, she appreciated the solitude. Today, she was grateful for the cover.

Because she wasn’t working on the financial projections she’d been assigned. She was scrolling through your Instagram.

Images bled into one another on the screen: the slate-grey fjord against golden-hour light, a candlelit table at a rooftop restaurant, that blurred shot of the northern lights glowing like a celestial fire. Gojo was in most of them. Gojo was beside you in all of them.

It wasn’t the location that stung. She didn’t care about the fjord or the Michelin-star meals or the private jet snaps. That life—Gojo’s life—was too far removed from hers to even envy. What she did envy, almost bitterly, was the fact that you were with him.

The man she’d fallen for. She knew about his feelings for you. Everyone did. She wasn’t an idiot.

She’d watched him light up around you. Watch him invent reasons to stop by your desk. Bringing you coffee when you look tired. Sneaking you snacks during late meetings. That dumb smirk on his face when you rolled your eyes at his jokes, and the soft look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching. Suzume watched and she didn’t understand. Because you? You didn’t even try. Half the time, you looked like you were barely tolerating him. You dismissed his kindness like it was annoying background noise. And yet there he was—Gojo Satoru, the man who could charm his way into any heart, wagging his tail behind you like a stray mutt.

She didn’t hate you. Not really. But she couldn’t help the bile that rose in her throat every time she asked herself the same question: Why you?

You were ordinary. Safe. Pleasant in that forgettable way. Suzume had eyes. She knew she was more striking. Thinner. Sleeker. Smarter. Sharper. So why the hell wasn’t it enough?

She leaned back in her chair, resting her head against the high backrest. Her teeth gnawed absently at the blue cap of her pen. Her gaze stayed fixed on the latest photo you’d posted: a long-exposure shot of the aurora borealis. She could practically feel him beside you in the cold—his arm likely draped over your shoulder, that stupid grin on his face, dimples out, sunglasses probably still on like an idiot.

She kicked her foot against the desk. Once. Twice. Again—harder—until the dull thud in her shin began to match the sharp twist in her chest.

She remembered the first time she saw him in the office. He’d walked in on a Monday,  hair sticking up in chaotic spikes. He looked nothing like the executives she was used to. No rigid formality. No ego. He gave the receptionist a high-five. He called the interns by name. And when she spilled her lunch on her skirt at her desk two weeks later, mortified, he’d appeared out of nowhere with an emergency Tide pen and a bag of clean sweatpants from the company gym.

He’d winked. “I carry spares. HR disaster-proofing.”

She laughed—really laughed—for the first time that day.

Then there were the late nights when the office was nearly empty. Just her and him and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights. He’d stop by her desk with his sleeves rolled up, tie loose, tired but still smiling. He always asked about her ideas in meetings. Genuinely listened. He teased her, but never meanly. And he noticed things—like when she started wearing glasses, or when she switched to oat milk in her coffee.

He made her feel seen. And maybe that’s all it took. But all of that—every shared smile, every late-night report they finished together, every inside joke—meant nothing. Because his eyes were only ever on you.

And no matter how many nights she dreamed otherwise, Gojo Satoru had never looked at her the way he looked at you.

Suzume needed air.

She grabbed her mug with more force than necessary and walked briskly toward the break room. Her heels clicked sharply on the linoleum, each step a reminder of how hard she had kicked the desk earlier. There was a dull throb in her shin now, but it still hurt less than the thought of Gojo sharing a private dinner under the northern lights with someone who didn't even seem to see him the way she did.

As she turned the corner by the hallway, she collided with something—no, someone—solid.

Her mug tilted, but a steady hand reached out just in time to stop the spill.

“Suzume,” Nanami said, brows furrowed. “You alright?”

She stepped back, blinking up at him. “Sorry—I wasn’t watching.”

Nanami looked down, then slowly back  at her. “You’re limping.”

Suzume straightened. “I’m fine. Just bumped my leg earlier. Nothing serious.”

He didn’t press. Not directly. Instead, he tilted his head, observing her like one might examine a file they weren’t sure about yet. “Mm. Still,” he said calmly, “you look… tense.”

She attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Nanami glanced over his shoulder toward the corridor. “Why don’t you come to my office for a minute? You could use a break.”

Suzume hesitated. “Is this… work-related?”

He gave a barely-there shrug. “It can be.”

Something in his tone—nonchalant but warm—made it hard to say no.

She followed him. Nanami’s office was clinical but sleek, he poured her a cup of tea without asking, placing it in front of her as he settled behind his desk.

“Drink,” he said, his voice low and steady.

Suzume cupped the mug in her hands. The warmth helped. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but she didn’t speak.

Nanami didn’t rush her. He leaned back, fingers steepled, gaze careful and unreadable.

After a moment, he asked, “Long day?”

She gave a soft laugh. “You could say that.”

“Or… something else?” he said, voice gentle, almost curious.

She raised her eyes to meet his, but he didn’t look interrogative. Just… attentive. Safe.

She shook her head slowly. “It’s silly.”

“I don’t think you’re the type to get thrown by silly things,” he replied, with quiet assurance. “But I could be wrong.”

Suzume toyed with the edge of the cup. The steam fogged her glasses faintly. “It’s just—there’s someone I like,” she said, voice low, words curling cautiously from her lips, “but he’s… with someone else.”

Nanami kept his expression neutral, not a single twitch of surprise. But inside, he already knew. Her glances, her tension, the way her eyes followed Gojo around the office like a lost thread of light — it had been obvious for a while. But now, hearing her say it out loud, was confirmation. “Hmm,” he said, as though weighing a market trend. “That can be difficult.”

Suzume nodded, staring down at the swirl of tea. “It’s not just that he’s with her… I don’t get it. She’s not—” She stopped herself. “It’s confusing. Like I’m invisible. Like nothing I do would ever be enough.”

Nanami didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make her wonder if she’d said too much. Then, quietly, he said, “Sometimes people only see what they want to. And sometimes, they’re so focused on chasing one thing, they miss what’s already right in front of them.”

Suzume looked up. There was something comforting in his tone. Not quite sympathy. Not quite advice. Something in between. “You think so?” she asked.

Nanami gave the smallest smile. “I do.”

He watched her nod, her lips parting like she wanted to say something else, but couldn’t quite find the words. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Does he know how you feel?”

Suzume shook her head quickly, suddenly guarded. “No. God, no.”

He hummed. “Maybe he should.”

She looked away. Nanami leaned back again, pleased. He didn’t show it, of course. But there was a flicker of satisfaction behind his eyes. Her little crush on Gojo wasn’t just office gossip anymore—it was leverage. Delicate. Useful. He masked his smirk by adjusting his tie, sipping his tea as if the room hadn't just shifted in his favor.

Nanami glanced over the rim of his cup, his voice smooth, casual.

“By the way… do you know when Y/N is getting back?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, as though it were an afterthought.

He didn’t miss the way Suzume’s expression shifted—just a flicker, but enough. A tightening at the corners of her mouth. A dull shadow crossing her eyes.

“Monday,” she replied, curt and clipped. She set her cup down a little harder than necessary on the coaster.

Nanami smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth lifting as if in amusement. “Ah. Took a long break, didn’t she?”

It wasn’t really a question.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, adopting a thoughtful air. This was the moment. Time to drop the hook.

“Since we’re talking,” he said, voice dropping an octave into something quieter, more vulnerable, “can I… confess something?”

Suzume blinked and nodded, instinctively leaning forward. “Of course. I’m here for you,” she said warmly, offering a small, encouraging smile.

Nanami lowered his gaze, playing the part of reluctant sharer. “I’m in a similar situation, actually. The woman I—” he paused, allowing his breath to hitch slightly for effect, “the woman I love is in love with someone else.”

Suzume’s lips parted slightly, eyes widening with empathy.

“I had a chance,” Nanami continued, his voice soft and wounded, “a brief one. But I misread the moment. And before I could do anything… another man swooped in like a hawk. Took her from me. Effortlessly.” He chuckled, sad and self-deprecating, before shaking his head. “So I understand,” he murmured. “What you’re feeling. It’s not easy—watching someone give their affection to someone who doesn’t even realize how lucky they are.”

Suzume’s shoulders slumped, heart pinched by the unexpected vulnerability in him. “I know,” she said quietly. “We all know.”

Nanami raised a brow, a mask of subtle confusion. “Know what?”

She gave a small, almost conspiratorial smile. “About your feelings for Y/N.”

Nanami stilled. Not enough to seem alarmed—just enough to feign surprise. “Oh…” he said slowly.

“Believe me,” Suzume continued, “I’m on your team. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She seems… lighter. Calmer. Happier, when she’s with you.”

Nanami’s lips curved into something gentle—grateful on the outside, victorious on the inside. “I appreciate your confidence,” he said, voice wrapped in restraint. “But…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Never mind all that.”

“No, no,” Suzume said quickly. She reached forward on instinct, placing her hand gently over his. “Please. Let me help you.”

Nanami looked down at her hand—delicate, sincere, eager—and lifted his eyes slowly, with just the right amount of hesitance. “How, Suzume?” he asked, his smile tinged with sorrow. “No one can help me.”

“Yes, I can,” she said, nodding earnestly. “Y/N is my friend. And I want what’s best for her. I won’t sway her, but I can help her see. Help her realize that you’re the right man for her.”

Nanami blinked, like the idea had never occurred to him. Like it was too generous to believe. “You’d do that?” he asked, softly. “For me?”

“Yes,” Suzume said, with unwavering conviction. “I will.”

Nanami leaned back, hand still under hers, and smiled. A quiet, deadly smile. She had no idea she had just made a deal with the devil.

“I have a feeling something bad is going to happen”, Maya said as she slowly brought the coffe mug to her lips.

“Why?”Hitoshi asked mindlessly as he chewed on his muffin. “Y/n is coming back today, you should be happy”.

“I am happy, but..”, She trailed off as her eyes fixed on Suzume walking through the double glass door of the cafeteria. She looked, different. Her hair, usually in a pony tale, was now open and cascading down her shoulder in delicate curls. Her usual attire of straight pants, shirt and cardigan now replaced by a dress. Her tennis shoes now  replaced by pencil heels. She even had make up on. “Is that–”.

Hitoshi followed Maya’s gaze and his mouth hung open. “Oh my god. Why is she dressed like y/n?”.

“What?!”, Maya scoffed as she turned her attention to Hitohshi.

“Yes, She looks like y/n. The hair, makeup, even the dress. I think y/n has the same dress, no?”. He shrugged.

Maya hummed to herself. He was right. “Suzume!”. She called out and raised her hand to get her attention. 

Suzume smiled when she saw Maya and Hitoshi. She walked over to them with her coffee in hand. “Hello!”. She said cheerfully.

“Hello to you!”. Hitoshi exclaimed. “What’s with the new change?”.

Suzume smiled as she gracefully sat down between Maya and Hitoshi, “Oh I just wanted to experiment”.

“Experiment?”, Maya questione.

“Yeah”, She shrugged, “Do I not look good?”. She asked, looking at Maya and Hitoshi.

The surprised pair exchanged questioning looks. Hitoshi knew Maya would never ask this so he took one for the team, “You look so much like y/n”.

“What?!”. 

“Yeah”. Hitoshi shrugged.

Suzume felt attacked. She knew what she was doing but being confronted like this didn’t sit well with her. “I don’t think y/n owns a particular style”. She fidgeted with the hand of her coffee mug. “I just wanted to try something new. I thought you guys would be supportive”.

Maya sensed her agitation and gently put her hand on top of Suzume’s, “You look beautiful”. She smiled warmly. 

Maya’s voice barely left her lips before Suzume stood abruptly. “I should get back,” she said with a polite smile, brushing invisible crumbs from her dress. “Client call in ten.”. Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her coffee and walked away, her heels clicking steadily down the corridor. But her pace slowed as she turned the corner leading to her cabin.

There he was. Gojo. Coming out of your office, running a hand through his silver hair with that same half-smirk he wore whenever he was satisfied with himself. Suzume froze mid-step, ducking slightly behind the wall. Her breath caught. He looked… smug. Relaxed. That soft confidence that always made her heart twitch. But seeing it now, right outside your door—it stung like salt in an open wound.

She waited. When he disappeared down the hallway, she emerged, walking briskly toward your office. She didn’t knock—just pushed the door open.

You had just set your bag down on the couch and turned around, surprised. “Suzume!” Your voice was warm and genuine. “I was about to head to the cafeteria to see you and Maya.”

Suzume forced a smile, trying not to let her eyes drift, but they had already locked on it. The necklace. A delicate, glinting emerald resting on your collarbone. Elegant. Expensive. Real. Suzume knew the clarity, the depth of green—it wasn’t costume jewelry. She came from a family of jewelers; she could identify a genuine emerald from across a room. Gojo. It had to be him. Her chest tightened like a fist.

“You look amazing, by the way,” you said, tilting your head with a sincere smile. “That color really suits you.”

Suzume blinked, yanked from her spiral. She looked at you, really looked—and for a moment, her heart twisted with something sharp and ugly. But she kept the smile on.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “I… I just wanted to stop by and say hi. Welcome back.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” you replied, and she hated that you meant it.

Suzume’s eyes darted once more to the emerald on your chest. “I actually have a call,just stopped by to see if you were back” she added quickly, stepping back, “so I should head.”

You nodded, still smiling. 

But Suzume was already out the door. Her composure cracked the moment she turned the corner. Her breath sped up, her heels clicked faster, her grip tightened around her coffee cup until the lid popped off.

She didn’t care anymore. The bubbling jealousy, the polished mask, the forced smiles—she had shed them all by the time she marched down the corridor toward Gojo’s office. Her heels clicked with purpose against the tiles, and she barely paused before pushing open the frosted-glass door.

Gojo looked up, his thumb still mid-text. He was alone, seated in his usual relaxed sprawl, but his bright eyes narrowed slightly in surprise. “Suzume?”

She closed the door behind her gently, slipping into the room with a too-bright smile. “Good morning!”

He returned her greeting, still clearly puzzled. “Morning. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing urgent,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, her voice light, breezy. “Just wanted to ask—how was your trip?”

Gojo’s brows lifted slightly. “Uh, it was good.” He smiled politely, still trying to gauge what this was about. “Relaxing, I guess.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said, taking a step closer before tilting her head innocently. “By the way, have you seen Y/N this morning?”

There was a beat. Gojo’s expression didn’t change, but the air in the room shifted subtly. “Ye– Why?”

Suzume gave a shrug, feigning nonchalance, but her eyes flickered, sharpening with calculated mischief. “Oh, it’s probably nothing. Nanami was looking for her. Said he had something important to tell her.”

Gojo frowned slightly, lowering his phone. “Tell her what?”

“Well…” she trailed off, as if hesitant to continue, then leaned in just a little—enough to make it seem like she was trusting him with something fragile. “We don’t really know, but... word is, it might be a confession.”

“A confession?” Gojo’s voice lost its playful edge, and now he was watching her more carefully. “Suzume, be straight with me.”

She drew back, laughing nervously. “I mean, it’s just office gossip, so who knows, right? But please—don’t tell anyone I said anything. I don’t want to be dragged into this.”

Gojo didn’t respond right away. His jaw ticked once, and though he nodded, there was something unreadable in his gaze. “Right. No, I haven’t seen her,” he finally said, lying with practiced ease.

Suzume smiled sweetly, knowing exactly what he was doing. “I see. Well, I should get back to work. Have a good day, Gojo.”

She turned and walked out, her expression cool and composed until the door clicked shut behind her. Once out of sight, she pulled out her phone and typed a quick message.

Suzume: It’s done.

Nanami: Good.

Suzume: Now what?

Nanami: Wait. I’ll tell you when the time is right.

Suzume locked her screen and slid the phone back into her pocket, her heels echoing once again as she disappeared down the corridor—this time with a quiet, dangerous satisfaction curling at the corners of her lips.

Nanami placed his phone down like he was laying a relic on an altar. His smile crept in slowly, curling his lips into something unnatural. With a smooth, silent motion, he turned his chair toward the window, bathing himself in the golden morning light. It fell across his face like a halo, warm and soft—ironic, really, given the thoughts boiling beneath his skull. It felt like a divine signal, a blessing from whatever god still dared to watch. Victory, yes. That’s what this glow was. The light of inevitability.

He had been worried for weeks. The plan—his perfect, intricate plan—had been threatened by delays, unforeseen variables, Gojo’s arrogant presence. But then Suzume walked in. So eager. So desperate to be seen. And just like that, fate had handed him a scalpel. She would cut the way forward while his true machinery turned behind the scenes. Maybe, if he nudged her just right, she could even start a fire he could never be blamed for.

Let them call him evil if they wanted. Let them whisper about his darkness behind closed doors. He wasn’t evil. No. He was in love. A love so pure, so absolute, that it demanded sacrifice. When he first saw you—eyes bright with ambition, lips parted nervously in your interview—he had felt it crack open inside him. A knowing. Like the universe had ripped itself apart and whispered your name into the hollow of his soul. He had watched you through glass and paper and screens, your résumé memorized, your past dissected like a sacred text. Every friend, every interest, every secret you thought you had—he knew them already. But it wasn’t stalking. No. It was preparation. You can’t love someone if you don’t know them completely.

And when you chose his company over Domain Dynamics, he had wept. Literally fell to his knees and wept, because the gods had listened. You belonged to him. The first time you kissed—his fingers in your hair, your breath catching like a bird trapped in his hands—he felt the world stop spinning. Time slowed, warped, broke. Nothing else existed. He’d tasted you and knew: this was home. You were home.

But then… then you left. The moment Gojo arrived, it was like you forgot. Forgot the late nights, the trembling confessions, the way you said his name when no one was listening. You abandoned him. For him. A clown in a suit. A fool with a smile. A thief. You didn’t even hesitate. And that… that was where you failed him.

He could’ve given you everything. Power, money, worship. He would’ve sold his soul—his company—brick by brick to build you a palace. But you couldn’t wait. You were too blinded by Gojo’s laugh, his charm, his glinting lies. Nanami’s breath hitched, sharp and sudden, as the fury burned hot under his skin. It wasn’t your fault, not really. You were soft. Easily misled. Like a lamb. And Gojo? Gojo was the wolf. He knew what he was doing when he set eyes on you. He knew Nanami loved you. And he took you anyway.

But he wouldn’t have you for long.

Nanami leaned forward, his hands folded like a man in prayer. But his eyes were empty, cold pits of calculation. You would come back to him. You would realize your mistake. Even if he had to break the world to make it happen. Even if he had to burn everything Gojo touched and salt the ashes.

He would have you again. One way or another. A soft knock at the door shattered Nanami’s thoughts like glass underfoot. His head snapped toward the sound, every muscle in his body tensing—and then relaxing in slow, stunned waves as you stepped inside.

You.

The light from the hallway pooled behind you like a halo, making it hard to see your face at first. But he didn’t need to. He’d memorized your silhouette long ago. His heart kicked violently in his chest, thudding against his ribs like a prisoner desperate to escape. You smiled—soft, easy—and closed the door gently behind you.

“Hey,” you said with a casual warmth, walking toward the chair opposite his desk. You moved with the unbothered grace of someone who didn’t know you were the sun in someone else’s orbit. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

He swallowed hard and stood quickly, almost too quickly. “Not at all,” he said, voice unusually tight. “Please.” He gestured to the chair, already watching your every movement with obsessive intensity. You sat down and opened your bag, pulling something out wrapped in tissue paper.

“I got you something,” you said with a small laugh, setting it down on his desk. “Just a little souvenir. I saw it in this tiny shop in Bergen and thought of you.”

He stared at the package like it was a holy artifact. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for it, unwrapping the paper with a carefulness reserved for relics. Inside was a polished piece of carved wood—a traditional Norwegian troll figurine, its expression somewhere between mischievous and wise. Beside it, a small leather keychain stamped with a Viking ship.

Nanami’s breath caught.

You thought of him. In a foreign country. While with Gojo. In spite of Gojo. He felt the earth tilt slightly beneath his feet. You remembered him. You still remembered him.

“I know it’s a bit silly,” you said, brushing hair behind your ear, “but the shopkeeper said trolls are meant to bring good luck. And I figured you could use a little luck”

“It’s not silly,” Nanami replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s perfect.”

He meant it. You had no idea what that meant to him. You could’ve given him a rock from the side of the road and he would’ve kept it in a glass case. But this—this was something you chose for him.

“How was the trip?” he managed to ask, willing his voice to stay even.

“It was amazing,” you said, your smile widening. “We went on this hike outside of Oslo—up to the top of this ridge where the fjords just stretch forever. I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought I was going to pass out halfway through, but Gojo somehow made it look easy. Of course.”

The name made Nanami flinch internally, but he held the smile on his face like a mask stapled into place. He clung to your words—I thought I was going to pass out. He made it look easy. You weren’t impressed. You were tired. You didn’t enjoy it as much as you could have. You would’ve enjoyed it more with someone like him. Someone who would’ve let you rest, who would’ve carried your bag, wiped the sweat from your brow like a lover should.

He pictured the two of you on that ridge instead. Your legs over his lap. Your laughter echoing over the fjords. His jacket on your shoulders. Not Gojo’s. Never Gojo’s.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said softly, the words laced with deeper meaning you didn’t catch. “Things weren’t the same here without you.”

You smiled kindly, eyes bright. “Thanks, Nanami. That means a lot.”

You didn’t see the way his hand tightened into a fist under the desk, veins bulging with restrained impulse. You didn’t hear the scream inside his mind that begged him to reach out, to tell you how everything—everything—he was doing was for you.

“How have you been? Things have been quite intense here with all the new projects, right?”. You smiled.

“I am better now. It was stressful but-”, Nanami looked down at the little figurine, “I feel it was all worth it”.

“That’s good to hear. Don’t stress yourself too much Kento. We are all here for you”.

Nanami smiled. He didn’t know what it was about you but your presence brought him peace. Just being in your presence felt like finding an oasis in the desert. “Thank you y/n, it means a lot”.

“I should get going”, You stood up and smiled at him, “Lots of work to catch up on”.  

As you turned toward the door, Nanami’s voice stopped you mid-step. “I was wondering…” he began, striving for nonchalance, “would you like to grab lunch today? I’d love to hear more about your trip and I could catch you up on what you missed.”

You looked back at him, tilting your head slightly. “Sure,” you said with a smile that could melt iron. “That sounds good. It’s been a while.”

His heart slammed against his ribs. You said yes. So easily. So warmly. You wanted to spend time with him. You chose to. “Great,” he replied with quiet composure. “I’ll message you when I’m free.”

With a soft “see you then,” you stepped out of his office, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you echoing like a slow exhale through his chest.

Nanami stared at the little wooden troll on his desk, the one you'd just handed him moments ago. It sat there, tiny and grinning, and yet in his eyes, it radiated something sacred. He reached for it gently, as though it might shatter if he held it too roughly. His thumb traced its carved smile.

You didn’t have a bag. That meant you had carried this in your hand. Through the corridors, past others—unconcerned about what anyone thought. You brought it straight to him. A piece of your trip. A piece of your time. Given only to him.

He closed his eyes and clutched the figurine to his chest. The heat of it, faint and imagined, felt like your warmth. Like a pulse in wood. “She thought of me,” he whispered, lips curling. “Even while she was with him.”

He leaned back, slow and reverent, placing the troll on his desk like it was a religious idol. He adjusted it carefully, so it would face him directly—as though it might speak, as though your voice could pass through it.

She hadn’t forgotten. No matter what mask you wore with Gojo—no matter how you smiled or laughed or touched his arm—your heart hadn’t changed. Nanami could feel it. Like a wire humming under the floorboards. You were still his. You had to be.

Lunch today would be just the beginning. He would listen. He would remember every word. Every pause. He’d find the tension in your stories. The disappointments. The subtle shadows you didn’t even know were there. He’d press, gently, carefully—until Gojo started to crumble in your eyes and when you were finally ready to see things clearly—when your heart remembered the truth—Nanami would be waiting. He always had been. The little troll sat smiling back at him, unaware it had become a symbol of devotion, obsession… and destiny.

There was too much to do and not enough time to breathe. The morning had been a blur of half-finished reports, emails demanding immediate attention, and forms that seemed to multiply every time you blinked. You were knee-deep in departmental approvals when your phone buzzed on your desk. A message from Gojo lit up the screen.

Gojo: Lunch? Just us?

You paused, thumb hovering over the keyboard. For a second, you considered changing your plans. But the polite smile Nanami gave when he asked you earlier flickered in your mind—and more importantly, the fact that it was a work lunch. You typed back:

You: I have lunch with Nanami today. He wanted to catch up on the Norway trip and go over some work stuff I missed.

You didn’t get a reply.

You assumed Gojo was busy. So were you. You buried yourself back into the digital avalanche.

An hour slipped by. You were focused on redlining a supplier contract when the door to your cabin burst open.

“Why are you having lunch with Nanami?” Gojo stood at the doorway, his brows drawn tight, his usual easy smile nowhere in sight.

Your eyes snapped up from your screen, startled. “Gojo, what are you doing?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “He asked me. He wanted to hear about the trip and update me on some things I missed while I was away.”

“Yeah, and why does he need to hear about your trip?” Gojo stepped fully into the room now, voice sharper than you were used to hearing.

You straightened in your chair, surprised by the edge in his tone. “It’s not that deep. It’s lunch. We work together.”

Gojo folded his arms, jaw clenched. “You could’ve just said no.”

“Why would I do that?” you asked, blinking in disbelief. “I’ve barely spoken to him since I got back. He was being polite.”

Gojo scoffed. “Nanami doesn’t do anything just to be polite.”

“What are you trying to say?” your voice rose slightly. “That I shouldn’t have lunch with someone just because you don’t like them?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice but not the intensity. “I’m saying I don’t trust him. You don’t know what he’s like behind that boring façade.”

You stood now too, closing the laptop with a soft snap. “Gojo, this isn’t high school. It’s one meal, not a confession of loyalty.”

“And what about us?” he asked. “You think I want to sit around wondering what Nanami’s whispering to you over coffee and spreadsheets?”

You stared at him, stunned by the jealousy flickering just beneath his words. “You don’t get to control who I eat with, Gojo.”

The room was thick with silence. For a moment, you both just stood there—he breathing heavily, you glaring back at him, pulse quickened not from fear, but from sheer frustration.

“Lunch is lunch,” you said, voice calm but firm. “If you have a problem, maybe talk to me like an adult instead of barging in here like this.”

Gojo’s lips parted, but he didn’t say anything at first. His eyes searched your face, the fire in them slowly retreating. “Fine,” he muttered eventually, stepping back. “Enjoy your lunch.”

And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and sat back down. The lunch hadn’t even started, and somehow, it already felt like the beginning of something much more complicated.

Nanami had chosen a quiet, tucked-away bistro with soft lighting and minimal chatter—perfectly suited for private conversations. The little troll figurine you’d given him earlier that morning still sat proudly on the table beside his bento, as if it had been given a place of honor. You smiled faintly at the sight, touched by the gesture, and took your seat across from him.

He poured you a cup of tea without asking, and the two of you exchanged light pleasantries. You told him about the mountain hike, the freezing wind, and how the fog had rolled over the cliffs like a moving wall. Nanami listened closely, nodding occasionally, his expression warm—invested.

But even as he smiled and responded with quiet attentiveness, his gaze never left your face. He was reading you. Measuring every pause, every breath.

“You’re back, but you don’t seem all the way back,” he said, tone casual. “Something still on your mind?”

You gave a small, almost dismissive shrug. “Just a lot to catch up on. You know how it is.”

Nanami hummed thoughtfully and lifted his tea to his lips, studying you over the rim. “Gojo seems a bit… unsettled today. Did something happen?”

You blinked at him, mildly surprised. “You noticed that?”

“Hard not to,” he replied smoothly. “He practically slammed a door in the hallway. Not like him to be that graceless.”

You laughed softly. “He can be dramatic sometimes.”

Nanami tilted his head slightly, keeping his voice light and conversational. “Let me guess—he’s not thrilled you’re here with me?”

You looked down at your food, your expression faltering just for a second. “It’s not a big deal.”

“That wasn’t a no,” Nanami said gently, almost teasing.

You sighed, letting your guard down without realizing it. “He just… asked me not to have lunch with you. Said it was about work, but I think he got weirdly possessive.”

“Hmm,” Nanami murmured, his voice soft, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “That sounds like him.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nanami set down his chopsticks and looked at you with an air of reluctant honesty, his tone carefully measured. “Gojo doesn’t like sharing attention. Or space. Or people. Especially not when he thinks something belongs to him.”

You straightened slightly, bristling. “I’m not a thing to be shared.”

“No,” Nanami said quickly, shaking his head. “You’re not. Of course not. That’s what makes it so frustrating to watch.”

You let the silence linger a moment, sipping your tea. Nanami leaned forward just slightly, his voice quiet, tinged with concern. “Look… if my presence is creating tension between you two, I don’t want to cause problems. If it’s easier for you, I’m happy to step back.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “Nanami, no. That’s not fair. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not going to cut off a good friend just because Gojo can’t handle it.”

He held your gaze for a moment longer, then gave a small, sad smile. “You’re too kind.”

You returned to your meal, unaware of how precisely you’d been steered into that exchange. Nanami picked up his chopsticks again, but he didn’t eat right away. Instead, he watched you—his fingertips brushing the troll figurine as if it were a talisman.

She defends me. Even against him. She trusts me. She chose to tell me.

The seed had been planted. And Nanami knew exactly how to make it bloom.

Gojo sat motionless at his desk, eyes staring blankly at the glowing screen in front of him, but his mind was adrift—caught somewhere between rage and restraint. The cursor blinked in the silence like a metronome ticking toward something he didn’t want to face.

He shut his eyes and drew in a long, steady breath, trying to anchor himself. You can’t mess this up again, Satoru. Not like last time. Not with her.

But how was he supposed to stay calm when Nanami was whispering poison into your ears, turning you against him with that polished restraint and deliberate calmness? Gojo knew exactly the kind of game Nanami played—subtle, precise, emotionally manipulative in the most maddeningly rational way.

He was playing from a disadvantage—he always had been. But this time, he wasn’t going to retreat and lick his wounds. No. If Nanami expected him to burn out and spiral, Gojo would do the opposite. If Nanami thought he had the upper hand, Gojo would shift the rules entirely.

He shut his laptop with a sharp click, the sound final and decisive. Rising from his chair, he left his office without another glance. His steps were fast, purposeful—cutting through the hallways like a blade. That’s when he ran into her again.

Suzume.

She almost stumbled when their paths crossed. Gojo caught her arm, steadying her.

“Suzume,” he said, polite but unreadable.

“Mr. Gojo,” she blinked, clearly flustered. “You haven’t gone for lunch yet?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Not yet. What’s in the bag?”

Suzume’s eyes widened as she instinctively tucked the paper bag behind her back. “Oh, it’s nothing—just a delivery for Mr. Nanami. He wasn’t in, so I picked it up for him.”

Gojo’s gaze darkened slightly. “Then why are you hiding it?”

Her smile faltered. She looked away, unsure whether to lie again or fold under the weight of his stare.

“Suzume.” His voice dropped lower. Stern. Cold.

She hesitated, then slowly brought the bag in front of her, reluctantly handing it over like a child caught sneaking sweets.

Gojo opened the bag, pulled out the velvet box inside, and let the packaging drop to the floor without care. He opened the box and stared.

A necklace. A delicate butterfly pendant, glittering faintly beneath the lights—an imitation diamond piece on a chain too thick for your taste.

He let out a shaky breath, but it wasn’t relief—it was disgust, coiled and venomous. “Tell Nanami,” Gojo said quietly, snapping the box shut with a sound that echoed off the tiles, “that if it’s for Y/N, she doesn’t wear fake diamonds. Also…” he paused, offering a cruel smile, “the chain’s too heavy for her neck. She hates feeling caged.”

He pressed the box back into Suzume’s shaking hands. She didn’t dare meet his eyes.

Gojo leaned in just a little, enough for only her to hear. “He should’ve known better. Or maybe he does… but still likes playing with things that aren’t his.”

Gojo had barely taken three steps when he felt a hesitant tug at his wrist. He stopped, head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing as he turned around.

Suzume was gripping his hand—not tightly, but enough to stop him. Her eyes widened as if realizing what she’d just done. She quickly let go, her hand recoiling like it had been burned.

“I—I’m sorry,” she said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear and looking down at the floor. “I just… um… I was wondering if you might… want to grab lunch with me?”

Her voice was light, nervous. A soft flush rose to her cheeks, whether from embarrassment or something else, he couldn’t tell. For a moment, Gojo’s instinct flared—his pride wounded, his mood poisoned by the pendant still etched in his memory.

He was about to refuse. Polite but distant. He didn’t have the patience for small talk or clumsy flirtations, not today.

But then, a thought struck him.

Suzume. Nervous. Observant. A little too eager.

She was clearly trying to get on someone’s good side—and it wasn’t his. Not at first. She’s closer to Nanami than I realized. And if she’s playing messenger for him, maybe she’s hearing things too.

Gojo's expression softened instantly—like flipping a switch. He smiled, slow and disarming.

“Lunch?” he echoed, the sharpness melting from his voice. “You know what… that actually sounds good.”

Suzume blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden change.

“Really?” she asked, a small hopeful lilt in her voice.

“Yeah.” He slid his hands into his pockets, gaze leveling on her. “Lead the way.”

As they began walking side by side, Gojo's eyes flicked briefly to the velvet box still clutched in her hand. He didn’t mention it. He didn’t have to. The pieces were already moving.

Let’s see what you know, Suzume, he thought, keeping his expression light. And let’s see how much you’re willing to say if I smile long enough.

They sat across from each other at a small café tucked between office buildings, a warm breeze brushing past the awning above them. Gojo stirred his iced coffee absentmindedly, eyes flicking over Suzume as she glanced shyly down at her menu.

She had dressed up a little more than usual today. Lighter lipstick, earrings that caught the light just enough, and that tentative, hopeful look she gave him over the rim of her glass—he saw it now.

And it clicked. She liked him. Oh. Gojo leaned back in his chair, a slow grin creeping across his lips. This could be useful.

“You know, Suzume,” he said lazily, propping an arm up on the back of his chair, “I didn’t realize how cute you looked when you’re nervous.”

Suzume blinked. “W-What?”

“Just saying.” He sipped his drink with casual arrogance. “It’s kind of endearing. You should smile more—you have the kind of face that makes other people smile back.”

A visible flush bloomed across her cheeks. Suzume tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave a tiny, flustered laugh. “I… didn’t think you even noticed me most days.”

“I notice more than you think,” Gojo said, his voice dropping just enough to feel deliberate. “You’re sharp. Efficient. Kind of wasted doing Nanami’s grunt work, honestly.”

Suzume looked away, visibly flattered. “He just trusts me with stuff, that’s all.”

“Does he?” Gojo leaned forward slightly, pretending interest while quietly watching her squirm. “Or does he just like keeping you close?”

She looked up in surprise. “You think Nanami—?”

“I think Nanami doesn’t do anything without a reason,” Gojo said simply, then gave her a wink. “But hey, I’m glad he’s careless enough to let someone like you slip through the cracks.”

Suzume giggled softly, taking a sip of her water to hide the grin. Then, hesitantly she asked, “Does Y/N… mind? You having lunch with me, I mean.”

Gojo raised a brow. “Why would she?”

Suzume shrugged. “I don’t know. You two seem… close.”

Gojo gave a soft, amused chuckle and leaned in, resting his chin in his palm. “Let me be clear about something, Suzume.”

She looked at him, wide-eyed.

“No one tells me what to do. Not Y/N, not Nanami, no one. If I want to have lunch with a beautiful and intelligent woman who clearly deserves more attention than she’s been getting…” He let that hang in the air for a moment. “Then I’m going to do exactly that.”

Suzume practically glowed.

He tilted his head slightly. “Unless you don’t want to have lunch with me. I’d understand. Could always go eat alone, sulking in a dark corner of the office.”

“No, no,” she said quickly, too quickly. “I’m really happy you agreed. I mean—I didn’t think you would, but—”

Gojo smiled. “Good. I like being unpredictable.”

Their food arrived, and as Suzume eagerly launched into a story about a client she dealt with that morning, Gojo nodded along, half-listening. Under the table, he tapped his foot slowly, rhythmically. A quiet beat of strategy.

Suzume had a crush. Nanami was distracted.

If this was going to be a game, then he’d play it with the same recklessness that had always kept people guessing and now, he had a new pawn on the board. Willing, eager, and completely unaware.

Gojo smiled again, this time to himself. Let the game begin.

The office was unusually quiet that morning. The kind of stillness that settled like fog before a storm. Suzume walked in with a little spring in her step, still replaying yesterday’s lunch in her mind—Gojo’s laughter, his voice, the way he said beautiful and intelligent. She’d barely slept.

She reached her desk, fingers adjusting the collar of her blouse, and stopped dead in her tracks.

A box. Not just any box—a Cartier box.

It sat there, perfectly centered on her desk like it had been waiting just for her. Her breath caught. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached out and touched the velvet red case, the unmistakable gold trim shimmering under the office lights.

She glanced around—no one was watching. With a shaky breath, she opened it.

Inside was a delicate Cartier Love necklace. Rose gold. Classic. Elegant. Undeniably expensive.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Tucked into the satin lid was a small note, cream-colored, embossed in neat calligraphy:

Only the best for a woman like you. —G.S.

For a full second, her mind blanked.

G.S.

Her lips parted, barely forming the words.

“Gojo Satoru…”

Her fingers traced the fine curve of the pendant. She had admired this exact design online more times than she could count. Daydreamed about someone thinking her worthy of something so precious. But this—this wasn’t a dream.

She unfastened the chain, almost too eagerly, and slipped it around her neck. The metal was cold against her skin, sending a chill down her spine. She clasped it shut and looked down at the reflection in her phone screen.

It looked perfect. Like it belonged there. She brushed her fingers lightly over the charm and smiled. Her cheeks flushed, her heart hammering against her chest.

She turned to grab her coffee, but something in the air shifted. A quiet voice in the back of her mind asked, Why would Gojo Satoru give you this? But she crushed it quickly, like snuffing out a candle. He noticed me. He said I deserved more attention.This necklace—this wasn’t just a gift. It was a message. He saw her and now, she was wearing proof around her neck.

The café across the street from the headquarters was buzzing, but your table in the corner had a little pocket of calm to it. You sat across from Suzumeand Hitoshi, Maya and Gojo sat beside you, leisurely sipping his iced coffee as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

You were halfway through your salad when a glint of light caught your eye—rose gold, delicate, unmistakably Cartier. Your gaze flicked up.

Around Suzume’s neck hung a Cartier Love necklace, the rose-gold band sitting perfectly against her skin like it had been made for her.

You swallowed and casually asked, “That’s a nice necklace. Where did you get it?”

Suzume’s fork paused mid-air. Her eyes darted to yours for a moment too long. Something about your tone made her shoulders tighten.

She gave a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s… from someone I’ve recently started seeing.”

There was something defensive in her voice. As if she thought you were mocking her—questioning whether someone like her could really wear something like that. Your brows lifted ever so slightly, not in judgment but in curiosity, though Suzume seemed to misread it completely.

Before you could say anything else, Gojo leaned forward, eyes flicking to the necklace.

“It looks beautiful on you,” he said smoothly, voice low and warm. 

Suzume’s face lit up. She tilted her chin down slightly, fingertips brushing the pendant as if to draw more attention to it. “Thanks,” she said, breathy.

Gojo offered her a small, knowing wink—quick, almost imperceptible.

Maya’s interest immediately perked up. “Oh? A new guy? Tell us more!”

Suzume leaned in, confidence blooming like a slow flower. “He’s amazing. Really thoughtful. Always knows what I like without me having to say it. Honestly, he’s the best man I’ve ever been with.”

Across the table, Hitoshi whistled, raising his brows. “He must be loaded if he’s giving you Cartier.”

Suzume gave him a look—half-playful, half-dismissive. “It’s not about the money, Hitoshi. It’s the effort. He notices the little things.”

Her eyes slid to Gojo as she said it, and she smiled again. Gojo didn’t miss the cue. He returned her smile with one of his own—charming and just vague enough to be misread by anyone who wasn’t paying attention. But Maya was paying attention.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She watched the smile pass between them like an invisible thread.

You tilted your head, tone light but curious. “He sounds like a catch. I’d love to meet him sometime.”

Suzume blinked. Her smile tightened just a little. “Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

You raised an eyebrow at her response, but before the moment stretched too far, she turned sharply toward Gojo. “So, Mr. Gojo, how was your trip?”

Gojo took a sip of his drink, eyes still glinting. “It was great. Norway’s always beautiful. The fjords, the little towns, the air—nothing like it.”

He kept his voice smooth and steady, dancing around any details that might tie his experience to you. He didn’t mention the quiet moments you shared on that secluded hike, or the way your laughter echoed down mountain paths. None of that would help him now.

Suzume listened intently, nodding as if she was memorizing every word. “Sounds like a dream.”

“It was,” Gojo said, glancing at you just once from the corner of his eye—just enough to see if you caught anything in his tone. Then his attention swung back to Suzume. “But it’s always good to be back.”

Suzume’s eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to go to Norway. It looks like a dream.”

“Maybe you can go with your new man”. Hitoshi commented with a wink.

“Maybe I will”. She quipped.

Gojo glanced at her with a lopsided smile. “Maybe we should.” Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “We should all go.”

You nodded, thinking nothing of it. “I wouldn’t mind going again”

Maya arched a brow at the suggestion but said nothing, simply sipping her drink.

Hitoshi chuckled. “If someone’s paying, I’m packing tonight.”

Everyone laughed, the moment light again. Suzume, however, was glowing. She turned her head, letting the pendant catch the light again, clearly relishing every second. And Gojo? He leaned into the moment, calm and unreadable, every move intentional

Nanami’s office was quiet, awash in the mellow glow of a desk lamp as late afternoon light spilled through the blinds. The hum of conversation and clacking keyboards beyond the glass was faint, almost muffled — a soft reminder that the day was still ticking forward.

Maya stood by his desk, holding a tablet, flipping through reports on the latest client onboarding metrics.

“I think if we stagger the internal review with client comms, we can bring the close date forward by at least two days,” she explained.

Nanami nodded, eyes scanning the document she’d just handed him. “That would work. Good call.”

There was a moment of silence as he leaned back, the chair creaking slightly.

Then, in a casual tone, Nanami asked, “By the way... how’s Suzume doing?”

Maya blinked, caught off guard. “Suzume?”

“Yes.” Nanami tapped his pen against the armrest, feigning disinterest. “Just noticed she’s seemed... a bit distracted lately. Not in a disruptive way — just not quite her usual self.”

Maya paused, unsure where this was going. “I guess... she’s been a little more talkative than usual. But I haven’t noticed anything serious.”

Nanami gave a nonchalant shrug, as if it hardly mattered. “Mm. I only ask because I’ve seen a few moments — in the team meetings especially — where she seemed a bit… off. And maybe a little cold toward you?”

Maya’s eyes narrowed. “Cold how?”

He held up his hands slightly. “Could be nothing. Maybe I’m reading into things. But she barely acknowledged your idea in yesterday’s review — which was strange, considering she usually backs your suggestions without question.”

Maya folded her arms. “Why are you telling me this?”

Nanami offered a smooth smile. “Just making sure there’s no tension in the team that could affect delivery. That’s all.”

Maya hesitated. Her instincts told her to be careful. But the concern in Nanami’s voice — so calm, so reasonable — made her guard falter.

She exhaled slowly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to someone about it, actually.”

Nanami leaned forward slightly, just enough to signal interest without pushing. “Go on.”

“I don’t know for sure,” Maya began, lowering her voice slightly. “But I think Suzume might be... infatuated with Gojo.”

Nanami’s expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker of recognition. “Really?”

Maya nodded, frustration creeping into her voice. “She keeps staring at him in meetings. Laughing a little too hard at his jokes. And last week at lunch, she couldn’t stop smiling at him. She even wore a Cartier necklace and claimed some mystery man gave it to her.”

Nanami leaned back again, arms crossed. “I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like Gojo. He’s... not exactly subtle if he’s involved with someone. He’d flaunt it.”

Maya frowned. “I didn’t say Gojo’s reciprocating. I’m just saying something feels off.”

“I see.” Nanami tapped the pen against his desk once, twice. Then stopped. “Maybe you should talk to Y/N about it.”

Maya blinked. “Why?”

Nanami met her eyes. “Because if something’s really going on — even if it’s one-sided — Y/N should know. Especially if it’s going to turn messy.”

Maya looked down, conflicted.

“You’re close to her,” Nanami added, voice low and measured. “She’ll trust you. Better it comes from you than someone else.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Maya gave a small nod. “Alright. I’ll talk to her.”

Nanami smiled faintly and returned to the file on his desk. “Good. Let me know if you need anything.”

Maya walked out, still unsure whether she’d done the right thing — while behind her, Nanami’s smile slowly faded, replaced by something far more calculating.

The soft golden hue of the setting sun stretched across the quiet neighborhood, casting long shadows against the pavement. Trees rustled gently with the spring breeze, their leaves whispering secrets to one another as Maya waited outside your door, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat. The look on her face was unreadable — a blend of concern, hesitation, and quiet resolve.

You opened the door, surprised to see her.

“Maya? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just…” She gave a tight smile. “Thought you might like to go for a walk. Clear our heads. You’ve been cooped up with those campaign reviews all day.”

You hesitated for a beat — her tone was casual, but you knew Maya well enough to sense when something was off.

“Sure. Just give me a sec to grab a sweater.”

A few minutes later, the two of you were walking down the quiet, tree-lined street, the occasional car humming past. The air was crisp, the kind that makes your lungs feel clean, and for a while, neither of you spoke. You appreciated the silence — Maya often gave you space to think when she sensed you needed it. But today, she was the one struggling with her thoughts.

Finally, she spoke.

“You ever get a gut feeling about someone and you can’t shake it?”

You glanced at her. “This about work?”

She sighed. “Sort of. It’s about Suzume.”

You stopped mid-step, then resumed walking slowly. “Okay… what about her?”

Maya took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “I’ve been watching her the past week or so — not in a weird way, just… observing. And something’s changed. She’s constantly hovering around Gojo. Sitting closer in meetings. Laughing at things that aren’t even funny.”

You frowned. “Suzume’s always been a little… eager around new people. Maybe she’s just trying to fit in?”

“It’s not just that,” Maya said firmly. “She’s... infatuated. And I think she’s trying to get his attention. Honestly, I think she has it.”

You stopped walking. The word infatuated echoed in your mind longer than it should have. You stared ahead, lips pressed in a thin line.

“She’s been wearing that new necklace every day,” Maya added. “Said it was from someone she’s started seeing. At lunch, she couldn’t stop smiling at Gojo. He even winked at her.”

Your stomach tightened, but you kept your expression even. “That could mean anything.”

Maya gave you a long look. “I know how this sounds, okay? I’m not trying to make you suspicious for no reason. I just… something feels off. And I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t tell you.”

You stayed silent, the wind brushing strands of hair across your face.

Internally, your thoughts swirled. A week ago, you might’ve believed every word Maya just said. But now? Things between you and Gojo had shifted. He’d opened up to you. Let you see a part of him he rarely shared with anyone. You couldn’t let your past — the betrayal you swore you’d never let happen again — cloud your judgment.

“I appreciate you telling me,” you said quietly. “I really do. But you don’t have any actual proof.”

Maya stopped walking. “So you’re not going to say anything?”

You met her eyes. “Not yet. If something is going on, it’ll come to light. But until then… I trust him.”

Maya looked unconvinced, but she didn’t push. “Okay. Just... be careful, alright?”

You nodded. “I will.”

The two of you continued walking, but the silence now felt heavier — weighted with things unspoken. Behind you, the shadows of the street grew longer, the sun dipping just beneath the horizon, as if warning that some truths were better seen in the dark.

Somewhere behind you, hidden in the folds of the night, a pair of eyes watched from across the street — from the shadows behind a parked car.

A phone screen dimmed.

Someone walked away, unseen, happy that his bait had landed.

@commandertorindhepard @inlove-maze @starlightanyaaa @missybrat @lem-hhn @valleydoli @definetlythinkimanalien @luckyangelballoon @sheep-infog @gojoprincesss @kanaojacksonofc @bubera974 @ginginha @mari-ho14 @mashtura @concretewishes

[polyphemusboo]

ghost fic to Nails by Call Me Karizma if possible? I linked the music video from YouTube to make it easier :p, have a good day/night!!!

cw: brief? smut. cannibalism as a metaphor for an 0rgy. a human s-crifice, sort of. a hearth and witches. the underworld (not Hell). the devil wears prada, but literally. simon’s a simp. established relationship. they’re freaks. reader spikes simon’s brownies (he’s aware). that mv + peek a boo by red velvet cuz yes.

simon ghost riley x gn!reader.

Death Becomes You

If your partner tells you they’re part of a coven and you don’t immediately think they’re the coolest, you’re lame. At least, that’s how Simon sees it.

Truly, he never really questioned it. If you have places to be, Simon’s nobody to ask you about it, because you’re capable of taking care of yourself. He doesn’t really mind the blood stains —that he ends up cleaning because you usually pass out pretty soon after arriving—, nor the weird scratches he can see on your arms when you sleep next to him. He knows that if you needed his help, you would just ask him. The scratches make him squint, however. Cheating’s never been in his mind, up until that point.

Simon decided to ask once, the morning after he saw those scratches the first time, but the deadpan look in your eyes, the arch of your eyebrow, made him apologize, cheeks warm. That night, he made sure to make you come as many times as possible, three fingers deep inside, mouth all over you until he could taste your forgiveness for the slip of his tongue. He knelt for hours, flipping you onto your back and stomach until you pushed him away, sensitive. He got a really nice, warm meal after that.

It’s not like it comes as an actual surprise, looking back.

Not a single bug in sight except for spiders you would refuse to let him kill, jars filled with sparkling, crystal water you would not let him touch, all those weird things that would happen around the house, and your baking. Your brownies make him so sleepy he often finds himself waking up on the table with half a bite still in his mouth, with you nowhere to be seen for hours. Simon just gulps down the bite of brownie and lays on the couch, watching a show until you’re back.

He’s surprised, though, when you suddenly stop baking. No cooking, no touching. Simon keeps himself busy, trying not to think of the inevitable; you’re losing feelings. It’s so painfully obvious, with you being extra nice, coming home directly after work and spending less time out, talking to him, but there’s… nothing. You barely even kiss him anymore.

And then, after a whole month, you sit him down on the bed. A month without your food, a month without you letting him go down on you —a month of misery. A month of nothing. Simon’s mind fills with desperate screams, thinking you’re leaving him. That’s it, he thinks as he sits in front of you, you’re finally leaving him and he’s back to being alone and without you. He probably did something wrong, and you don’t want to tell him because you don’t want to hurt him. 

Simon’s already begging in his mind, because you look so sad, so nervous, and he really can’t believe you’re gonna leave him just like—

“I’m a witch.”

He stares, waiting. 

For a hot moment, neither of you say anything. Simon’s lips purse, body shaking, and he can’t hold it back any longer when your shoulders slump further. “What… does that have to do with anything?”

“Huh?”

“You’re leaving me, and you’re telling me you’re a witch… Why, exactly?”

“I’m- leaving you?”

Simon springs up from the bed, pacing in front of you. He waves a hand around the room, choking down his tears of desperation. The walls seem ready to swallow him, to drown him. “Yes, of course you are. You don’t want to look at me, won’t let me hold you at night, and you even refused to hug me for the past few days. I don’t even understand why!”

He doesn’t realize you’re standing as well, lips trembling as you look at him, bright eyes warming at his reaction. Your lips curl up, amused. Simon’s too busy panicking to see the smile he’s missed oh so much, however.

“No brownies, even though those have been my favorite for the past three years, no cuddling, no kissing, no ‘good morning, sweetheart’. What did I do wrong?” 

“Simon.”

“No! You know what, I don’t even wanna hear it. It’s fine. If that’s what you want, I’ll just grab my stuff and I’ll leave.”

Simon’s not expecting you to push him to the bed, lungs collapsing when your mouth finds his. Deep in his mind, he’s sure you’re just giving him this one more time so he doesn’t leave with his heart entirely broken, but there’s no way he’s gonna stop you. He can taste the way you’re calling him an idiot, brainless and stupid. Simon eats it up, slurping your tongue, making sure you can feel him through your clothes when he grips your hips tightly. He doesn’t care. If this is his last chance, he’ll prove you he can stay. He’s worth it. He really is.

“I tell you I’m a witch, and you don’t even blink,” you grunt, fingers scratching on his skin when you remove his t-shirt. It’s hot, and he’s sweating buckets, but he doesn’t make a single move to pin you down. It you want it like this, you can have it. “Ridiculous. Did you even listen to me?”

“Why would I care?” Simon pants, fingers tugging on the soft fabric of your clothes. The skin to skin contact nearly makes him faint, and he’s not even inside of you yet.

“I’ve been spiking your brownies,” you confess in a hiss, leaning down to bite down on his neck. “It’s easier to leave when you’re asleep”. Your skin is burning, smooth yet sticky, and it keeps him in a trance. It’s clear you’re trying to warn him, maybe make him understand, but honestly…

“They’re good. Worth it.”

“You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Mhm.”

The thing is, of course he knows. Brownies shouldn’t make people so dizzy, so sleepy they pass out for hours; but you never hurt him, and he didn’t question it because why would he? He gets to eat good brownies, and gets to muffle his complaints when he’s fucking you with his tongue, so really, Simon wins.

He keeps winning when you’re still babbling against the bedsheets, cheek shiny with spit as your words mix with your whimpers, telling him all the things you’ve done behind his back, all the things you’ve done with the coven deep in the night. Simon’s cock is pounding so deep inside of you that he’s almost sure you’re fucking with him when you mention his boss, and that delicious meatloaf you made last year.

“What?” He grunts anyway, one of his hands pressing down on your back, making sure you’re bending just the way he knows you like. The reaction is immediate, if the way your toes curl is anything to go by.

“Mhm. Baked.”

Simon doesn’t even bother asking, accepting his fate, and leans down forward, his strong arm wrapping around your neck to keep you in place as picks up the pace. The slapping of skin against skin is loud and overwhelming enough that he can’t hear your confessions anymore, and Simon couldn’t care less, not when you’re falling apart under him. Your babbling becomes only that, mindless words and whimpers, eyes rolling back into your skull when Simon only pins you harder on the bed. 

It goes on, and on, and on.

The birds chirping outside remind Simon that neither of you slept tonight, but he’s too busy holding your legs on his shoulders to care. Your eyes are half-lidded, expression cock-drunk, and he wouldn’t have it any other way; you’ve come apart so many times tonight that he’s sure you’re never leaving. That’s really all he cares about, not losing you —and making sure you’re satisfied, really.

Only when you mumble at him to give you a break, does he gently shift away. Simon gives you some time to breathe as he grabs a warm, damp pillow to wipe you down with it, humming contently. A smirk slowly curls his lips up, making sure to press kisses down your heated skin, a happy feeling blooming in his chest.

“Come with me.” Your voice is soft and dreamy, and he’s once again reminded of how long he went without hearing you sound like that.

“Where?”

“Home.”

When the sun comes down again, Simon’s finally allowed to come with you. For three years, he never once thought of asking you where you went, didn’t even wonder if he could know, and now, you guide him deep into the forest, with only a candle in your hands. You’re wearing a deep purple cloak over thin, white clothes, but he’s wearing his usual hoodie and trousers. It makes him feel out of place, but you had insisted. “Trust the process”, you told him.

Simon’s not expecting the group of people smiling at him when you two finally reach a big hearth in the middle of a clearing. There are seven people, all of them standing around the fire with their backs against big trees; two of them are empty. It takes him a moment, but when his eyes focus he realizes they’re all naked. Lips parted, slightly confused, he turns to you, only to see that your cloak and clothes are also gone. He frowns, not fond of people looking at you this way, but your smile has him sighing.

They all introduce themselves, names that Simon somehow already knew just looking at their faces, but nobody really talks, their lips unmoving. He doesn’t blink when their soft hands get rid of his clothes, voices filling his mind as they tug on him, pulling him closer to the hearth. Your eyes find his whenever he feels a spark of doubt, giving him a cheeky smile.

Simon’s eyes fall shut when your lips find his, but it doesn’t stop there. Hands grip on him, tugging on his skin, feeling as it’s ripped from his body but it doesn’t hurt. It’s pleasant, and it’s warm. 

It’s hot.

He’s not sure he’s even been touched by so many people, let alone at the same time, but he can’t think. Wet lips and soft hands, teeth and warm skin burn on him. It burns, and burns. When his eyes blink open, they’re all in the middle of the hearth, teeth sinking deep in his skin as they bite, as they rip him apart. They leave nothing but his bones behind.

There’s no real pain, he realizes, and the pride in your face is enough to convince him he’s right where he’s supposed to be.

The fire roars, and the flames grow, eating all the trees away, eating the dark sky until there’s nothing but yellow light all around. It’s warm, and he feels at home, especially now that he can focus only on you.

A moment later, he’s himself again, bones and skin, and very much bare, but he’s not in the forest anymore. 

Everything is bright, and it feels like he should be melting, but the warmth it’s welcoming, comforting. A man is smiling at everyone, all the seven people around and at the two of you. He’s wearing a beautiful suit, slicked back blonde hair, and Simon swears he has a brooch with horns right above his heart.

“Welcome.”

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

im so sorry it took me so long. writing isn’t coming easy to me at all since last month but i got inspired again because of this! I had a lot of fun writing it, and the song is amazing so thank you. also, i promise i tried to keep it close to the actual mv, but i ended up taking inspiration from some of the scenes and the concept instead of the actual mv. I hope you didn't mind sm 🙏🏻

buy me a coffee

tags: @kittygonap @silas-aeiou

[bluehaloofthehighestgrade]

here’s my confession (I’m kind of hooked on you)

By donationwayne

Summary: This fic is also lovingly known as DILF Eddie by the OG Buddie Month Discord Server.

Buck is forced to go on a temporary medical leave after getting crushed by a flight of stairs. In the meantime, he works at dispatch while he recovers. One evening after work, Buck hooks up with a mysterious, hot, family oriented DILF. The following morning he’s mortified and a little love sick after discovering said hook-up aka Eddie Diaz is the newest (temporary) firefighter liaison--poached from a house in El Paso, Texas. Buck navigates becoming best friends and eventually work partners with his ex-hookup. In the meantime, he desperately tries not to fall in love. He fails.

Cue: An adorable five year old, prank wars, gay offs, break room gossip, a fake dating plot, firefighting shenanigans, a packed summer of PTA responsibilities, karaoke, and copious amounts of cupcakes and thai food

OR

tldr: the hot dilf from the bar is my new work partner

Word count: 114,999 words, 19 chapters

LINK

I read this fic when it was still a WIP and then reread the whole thing once it was finished and then read it AGAIN a month later because it’s so good. It’s such a fun AU and the Buddie brings me such delight also!! PTA buck my beloved and this fic was part of the 118 Big Bang 2024 so it has lovely art to go with it!!

[danothan]

Just reading some comics and saw a panel I thought you might like. :)

ah fuck, characters reminiscing always get to me ;__;

but i will never ever get over that fond way these two talk to and abt each other. especially when they’re poking fun, you can just hear the love in their voice it’s SICK.

the halbarry love language is annoying each other, but even more than that, it’s being each other’s exceptions

[penn-dragon]

Hey, on the topic of my own fic writing, I’ve got a question for my followers/fic readers.

I have a tendency to never post any of my writing, because my various unmedicated (I’m working on it) neurodivergences and mental illnesses make it very hard for me to ever finish pieces, and I feel really bad about starting a fic that someone could be really into and then potentially never finishing it when my brain suddenly decides I’m not allowed to write any more of it. So a long time ago I made it a rule for myself that I never post anything until it’s 100% finished, even if I have like multiple chapter that are perfectly ready to be published. Which ultimately leads to me never posting anything and sitting on a hoard of writing that only myself and select friends ever see.

So my question is, it more upsetting to read part of a story that might never get finished? Or to know that there’s writing out there that you don’t get to read just because it’s not finished?

[stargirlfics]

healing isn’t enough, I need to punch my dad in the face

[impossible-rat-babies]

okay gamers I think we’re back in the pits bc I fell asleep putting together a DT timeline for eyrie and estinien

[pussymasterdooku]

my beloved imac from 2014 with a cracked screen that i conned my dad into giving me so i had a computer on which to do stupid freelancer shit for him but use primarily for personal use (file storage, use appletv to play streaming sites on our actual tv, play sims) seems to be……engaging in behaviors that for lack of a better way to put this best resemble when my elderly cat started having seizures after a hard summer of kidney problems and we had to be like. oh it’s the end the end? obviously less emotional than that but. you know. she’s had a long good life and maybe it’s her time. that’s okay. all things end. anyway. all this to say we are trying to coax her into not just waking up again but pretty please just giving me two files that are the backbone of the recurring stupid freelancer shit i do every month. please baby i have hand problems i can’t build those templates again. please.………

[deepseawave]

obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D

[ceramicbeetle]

almost no one has written binx/hob content and certainly no one had written it in the way i am currently finding it intriguing, which is admittedly disappointing. so perhaps i will have to do it if no one else will.