₍^. .^₎Ⳋ

𝖈𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𓃉 ⠀˚ ︵‿𝜗

[thecorrespondentt]

ᰍ𓂅᭪𓂃﹕℘ ╋━ 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚™ 𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒄𝒆

ㅤ════════ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ؛ ଓ ⋮ 𝖚nl𝖆beled/𝖆ny prono𝖚ns𓏻

ㅤ════ㅤㅤㅤ؛ ଓ ‿‿‿‿ ᵐᵘˡᵗᶤᶠᵃᶰᵈᵒᵐ ʷʳᶤᵗᵉʳ ´ཀ`

ㅤ════════ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ؛ ଓ ⋮ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐬. 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ┊𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛㅤ⋆ㅤᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛㅤ⋆ㅤᴀᴏ3ㅤ⋆ㅤʀᴜʟᴇs

©2026-27 @thecorrespondentt please do not copy, steal, or translate my work. all rights reserved. all my works are cross posted on my ao3.

[ballard96]

[vetckkie]

girl get off that c.ai and embrace the 'x reader'

[thecorrespondentt]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — ceo!nanami x baker!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 1,653

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — meet cute. nanami has always hated the constricting walls of corporate life. but when he sees you, working at your fathers bakery in his abscence, you steal his heart like a sneaky thief—and he doesn't want it back. "with you by his side, escape seemed possible."

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — 70% of this was written during school. was this inspired by tiana x nanami? noooo (yes). is this mostly just nanami obsessing over you? noooo (yes). was this proof read? not enough times to make me less nervous. i apologize in advance to anyone who actually knows how to bake. happy reading.

the ceo life was daunting—trips overseas, sleep replaced with nights of sifting through contracts, the occasional demotion of a wayward employee. nothing that nanami wasn’t accustomed to, of course. in fact, he was what most people would call a workaholic—married to the money.

but something about today was rubbing him the wrong way. even his usual order of coffee—black as midnight—couldn’t sate the fatigue that liked to claw at him early in the morning. to make matters worse, a new employee spilled a scorching-hot cup of coffee on his favorite tie, which was dark yellow and dotted with black spots. 

he didn’t lash out or scream—he never did; he made sure they hadn’t hurt themselves and retreated to his office, where his distraught secretary soon pushed the door open meekly and broke the news that they had lost almost a million in profits because of a miscalculation. 

after dismissing his secretary, nanami sank into his work chair, the leather creaking under his weight. he stared absently at the nameplate positioned on his desk. lettered in sparkling gold was “Nanami Kento, CEO.” he had never been proud of his status, but a spark of resentment had begun to quiver inside of him.

the title of CEO was born from the ideals of the working class. little children, young adults—almost everyone, dreamed of becoming CEO, owning a company, unaware that life could exist out of a stable job—like birds born in a cage. 

he was a bird aware he was in a cage, who had long ago relinquished any idea of escaping. 

in dreams, he often found himself frolicking on a quiet beach, the sun greeting him warmly like an old friend. but then he’d wake up to dim-light and sleek polish and realize he had never really left at all, and he wouldn’t—money was the surest form of stability in a society that treasured it.

before he knew it, he was leaving the office building behind. pulling out of the parking lot in his black rolls royce. he kept only his unadorned hand on the wheel, the gleam of the silver rolex on his wrist leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

on his off days, he liked to visit a small bakery downtown. 

with the money lining his pockets, he could buy an entire franchise if he wanted. yet he would return to that little ramshackle bakery a million times if he could. his tastebuds could discern clearly when his bread was made with love or made for money. 

today was no different. as he adjusted his suit collar, pulled at the door handle, and the warm, inviting aroma of something sickeningly sweet wafted in the air, he hoped that the pastries could muffle the little voice in his head that accused him of being a traitor to his desires.

but instead of drawing out the stout old man that usually manned the counters, following the chime of the door bell, you emerged from the door in the back, the sunflower apron tied tightly around your waist dusted with flour. his breath hitched. you were gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. in his mind he could see wings sprouting from your back; feathers—painted a holy white—glimmered with an enchanting beauty, like your irises when you noticed him standing, stupefied, at the entrance. he understood now why people tossed around the cliché “angel coming down from heaven.” you were proof it was possible.

your face split into a wide smile and you waved him over energetically, but he felt like he was back on that beach in his dreams, sand stuck between his toes, looking at the sun and it was staring back at him. 

“you must be nanami, the wealthy regular? my father talks about you a lot!” you chirped, sliding mitts onto your hands to handle the fresh pastries in the oven. 

nanami only nodded slowly, still rendered speechless. 

“he…fell ill a couple of days ago. so I moved here to take over for him,” you exhaled, gingerly laying the pan on the surface of the baking station. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally spoke, voice rough at the edges from disuse and nerves. he suddenly felt self-conscious.

“it’s fine. he’ll get better soon. I know it.”

the way you said those words, laced with raw faith, a soft smile sprouting across your face like a blooming flower, made him wish he could grant wishes—so he would never have to look at you and see himself, dull and utterly hopeless. 

“this is gonna take a hot minute,” you grunted, cutting into sourdough before lightly dusting it with flour. “i never anticipated the first customer was going to come this early. if i’m wasting your time, i deeply apologize.”

“not at all,” he responded flatly, tugging aimlessly at his tie to distract himself from the way his heart was fluttering in his chest. he wasn’t in the slightest bit angry. in fact, he was elated. he would get to spend more time with you, would get to listen to your voice, and watch you maneuver the kitchen with your special brand of diligence and care. 

silence descended over the both of you; the once barely audible rhythms emanating from a speaker set to a low volume, now filled the cozy bakery. you slid the second batch of sourdough into the oven and leaned over the counter. nanami estimated that the batch already in the oven when he arrived would be done soon, and the realization made his heart squeeze. 

“so…uh, what’s your favorite activity?” you asked, rather awkwardly, but in hopes of breaking the ice that had settled between both of you. 

favorite activity? nanami scoured the depths of his mind for anything he liked to do, but the only thing in the hollow, bottomless pit was conversations with his thoughts over a heavy drink. for some reason, the idea of telling that to you made his ears turn pink with shame.

“cooking,” he said. it was a partial truth: he cooked when he had nothing better to do, but he rarely took pleasure in it.

“me too!” your eyes twinkled with excitement at the mutual hobby. “I mean that’s a little obvious…but besides cooking and baking, I guess my favorite activities are singing and playing the saxophone.” 

he imagined you singing while you cooked, the lyrics of a song falling from your lips like the graceful melody of a songbird. his arms would snake around your waist, and he would press himself against you from behind, placing a trail of tender kisses along your jaw as you blessed him with the sound of your giggles.

immediately, he felt guilty for having the audacity to hop on that train of thought. you were behind the counter, working your fingers to the bone to assist your bedridden father, and he was watching you, only thinking about how soft your lips would feel when brushed against his own. it was selfish, but he couldn’t stop. you were like a drug—only one hit and he already wanted more of you.

“I think the sourdough should be done by now,” you hummed, turning to the oven before halting. he almost lurched forward to figure out what was wrong. “that’s your usual order, right? my father left me a note.”

yes, sourdough was his usual order. but if he told you that, you would hand him the bread and he would have to leave. he didn’t think he could handle being forced away from you so soon. being here with you in this little shop felt like home— tender and warm. in stark contrast, his minimalistic penthouse with its rough edges and sterile lighting was hollow and empty, devoid of color. here, there was color. 

self-awareness crashed over him like a tidal wave. god, he sounded like a teenager pleading, “five more minutes,” to a mother waking him up for school. you were already submerged in such a difficult situation. he wouldn’t make it harder for you, and knowing he had lied to you would grind him to dust. 

“sourdough bread is my usual,” he said, letting the part of him that wanted to take advantage of the situation fade into background noise. 

you wiped your forehead in relief, leaving a faint flour residue. “phew.” 

after slicing the warm sourdough bread in half, you shoveled it into a brown paper bag, folding it at the top and holding it out to him over the counter. 

“here!” he reached out to grab the bag, deliberately brushing his fingers against yours. your hands were soft yet calloused—proof of your hard work—and it took every last strand of control he had to refrain from taking it. your eyes flicked up at him from beneath your lashes, and his knees nearly wobbled like jelly. 

he didn’t know what you were doing to him or how you were doing it, but he would be back first thing tommorow—after he wrote a large check to a certain bakery downtown, of course. 

this time, however, he wouldn’t be returning for the bread—no, because you, with your bright smiles  and earnest effort, were the key to his cage. the light at the end of the tunnel he’d been ambling with no aim. the sun, with a smile so radiant he was burned just from standing in your vicinity; who stared back at him in his those dreams, where he had been freed from the cage and was able to taste the joy of being able to spread his wings. 

with you by his side, escape seemed possible. it wasn’t love at first sight—no, reducing what he felt to that label felt offensive. it was more than that. his soul had latched onto you the second it recognized your being. no word in any dictionary could get near to fully encapsulating it. 

©2026-27 @thecorrespondentt please do not copy, steal, or translate my work. all rights reserved. all my works are cross posted on my ao3.

[thecorrespondentt]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — gojo x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 1,997

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — academic rivals. midterms season had finally come to a close. the only thing more baffling to you than the questions on the exam is your rival, gojo. he always manages to leave you in the dust without an ounce of effort—but who says you can't "hate" him while admiring his pretty face?

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — this is my first post on tumblr. enjoy reading yourself go through an existential crisis trying to decipher the inner workings of gojos mind. dedicated to my gorgeous gojo-loving bsfs. happy reading.

the bitter taste of coffee lingered on your tongue as you slumped against the classroom desk. still, the presence of dark eyebags framing your eyes in loose semicircles could not make you regret your late night study session. 

satoru gojo.

your hand involuntarily clenched into a fist at the flash of pale hair and blue eyes. 

satoru gojo pissed you off to extreme lengths: the signature smug grin he wore after he held up the proof of your incompetence in a score that always managed to be higher than yours—oh, how often you dreamed of wiping it off his face. those dreams, however, seemed to get farther and farther away from reality with every failure. 

you couldn’t remember the last time you saw gojo toil or put effort into something other than that stupid game he liked to play—digimon, was it? but he always managed to get perfect marks and make sure you never heard of the end of it.

to speak of the devil, gojo soon emerged from the doorway alongside his friends shoko and geto. his platinum hair was tousled, but tousled in a way that almost looked deliberate. like usual, round glasses sat slightly askew atop his nose and his baby blue eyes glinted with mischief that had yet to be caused. the picture of gojo and geto in all their glory drew excited squeals from the two girls beside you, and you immediately desired a pillow to groan into. 

you could get past geto. the short-lived crush you had on him a year ago served as evidence that you were as susceptible to his unique charm as anybody else. what you couldn’t get by, however, was gojo’s popularity. 

sure, he was breathtakingly beautiful, but a pretty face couldn’t distract you from the fact that he was arrogance incarnate. 

a teasing voice cut through your thoughts and deflated them like a balloon. “someone looks tired. stay awake thinking about me?” 

as if the day couldn’t get off to a better start. 

gojo had materialized before you, leaning against your desk, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, looking down at you in every sense of the word. he was close enough to taunt you, yet distant enough that you couldn’t deck him in the face. maybe he’d felt your annoyance and was taking precautions.

“i was, but not in the way you hope,” you said curtly.

“really? enlighten me.” he shifted so that his electric blue eyes were digging into your own. you felt your throat run dry. what had you said again? breathtakingly beautiful. it was undeniable.

“i was thinking of your face when you see my higher score. i just can’t wait.” 

it wasn’t a good retort, but clear thought had jumped out of the window when he started to look at you like that—like he knew what he was doing to you and he loved every second of it.

he snorted. “remind me of a time when you ever beat me?” not waiting for a reply, he continued, “oh, sorry, i forgot you can’t.”

“congrats. you have an excellent memory,” you replied flatly, accepting the loss there. “why are you bothering me again? geto and shoko finally got tired of you?”

gojo cast a glance toward geto and shoko, who were leaning against one of the classroom’s windowsills, deep in conversation. geto’s dark hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, his signature strand dangling before his right eye. meanwhile, shoko appeared to be illustrating something; her hand gestures caused the ends of her cropped brown hair to bob slightly with each movement. 

“nah,” he drawled, eyes turning back to you, “I have a proposition.”

“what else do you want from me, my soul?” you mumbled, resting your cheek in your palm. 

finding your comment amusing, gojo let out a low chuckle. “sorry to disappoint, but it’s a more…earthly deal.”

you arched an eyebrow, a meager signal for him to just get on with it.

“if I get a higher score than you on the practical midterm, you have to watch the new horror movie with me this weekend.”

confusion hit you like a bullet train. 

a huge horror movie nerd, you had scoured for ages to find any available tickets and nothing surfaced—the computer viruses you’d contracted and the expletives you had thrown to reseller profiles all in vain. so how did satoru gojo, of all people, acquire tickets? 

an image of gojo coaxing the tickets from a girl with coy grins and flirtatious remarks took shape. 

well, plausible.

but most importantly, satoru gojo was interested in horror movies? you thought his list of hobbies ended after being a nuisance and stealing other peoples snacks. 

peculiarly, the idea of going to the movies with gojo didn’t bother you. in fact, you felt a twinge of excitement—no. you didn’t. you were thrilled about the movie, not satoru gojo. he’s an arrogant prick who probably gets off on watching you squirm.

truthfully, you weren’t sure what you felt anymore.

“why?” was all you could muster through the haze of jumbled emotions.

“geto bailed on me.” he exhaled dramatically, crossing his arms. “and I didn’t pay for these tickets for nothing. besides, I’ll agree to stop bothering you if you get a higher score.”

your brows knitted together as you mulled over the circumstances. it was a win-win situation: seeing the movie you’d been anticipating or getting gojo to stop grating on your nerves—if you minus the fact that the movie included having to spend time with your four-eyed archnemesis and a wounded pride.

there had to be a catch.

“oh, I forgot—you also have to pay for all of my snacks at the theater,” he added with enthusiasm. 

and there it was. typical. gojo never agreed to anything he couldn’t benefit from. you were no stranger to his foodiac tendencies—not that you had been watching him per se; you considered it more of a strategic assessment, sizing up the competition. he would absolutely drain your wallet purchasing snacks if given the chance. 

before a smile could form, you caught yourself.

“sure, whatever.” you feigned disinterest, but the way his eyes flicked toward you—his knowing grin—spelled that he had already seen through you. “deal’s on. get ready to say bye to your daily entertainment,” you teased, pressing the final stamp on the challenge.

as if on cue, yaga sensei entered the classroom with a stack of papers clasped between his hands. with his arrival, gojo was forced to retreat to his seat—it was about time. you wouldn’t consider yourself religious, yet a “thank you god” still floated through your mind. over your dead body would you let him figure out how much the idea of going to the movies delighted you, or how attractive you thought he really was, or that you wanted to see that smug grin stained with your lip gloss.

yeah, you definitely lost too much sleep last night. 

yaga strolled down the rows, setting the marked exams facedown on each desk with unusual leisure. restlessly, your leg bounced against the floor in trepidation, causing your desk to vibrate from the force of the impact. 

yaga warily placed down your exam results like a zookeeper tasked with feeding a starving lion. your hand sprang out to retrieve the paper as if by instinct. 

you inhaled deeply, clutching the paper to your heart; it was the long-awaited moment of truth. 

yaga’s reaction was masked by his sunglasses and the blank expression he routinely wore, but you still noticed the slight shake of his head as he continued down your row.

peeling the paper off your chest like a sticker, your eyes caught on the score “39/40” lettered in bright red pen on the head of the page. you beamed with pride.

“gojo got perfect marks again? I always wonder how he does it,” the sound of shoko’s voice carrying across the classroom immediately extinguished any fulfillment you had felt over your score. the poor paper rumpled between your tightening grip as you clearly imagined the i-told-you-so look on gojo’s face.

you had lost yet again.

for the remainder of class, you attempted to avoid eye contact with gojo or ruminate over the consequences of your loss, but yaga sensei’s droning, monotonous, voice created space for your thoughts to travel. 

deep down, you felt a peculiar sort of exhilaration from losing. was it from getting to see the movie, or was it that gojo wanted you to go with him? you couldn’t tell which, and it was driving you absolutely insane. all you wanted to do was hate him, but you could feel your resolve crumbling in real time.

did you even have resolve in the first place? every time he looked at you it felt like a hydraulic press lowering on you ever so slightly—a pressure that was building and building and you felt like you were going to burst soon.

he was right; you had stayed up all night thinking about him. you thought about the time he booped your nose teasingly and said the way you furrowed it in disgust at him was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. despite yourself, you had called him corny. the butterflies having a party in your stomach had a good laugh at your persistent denial of your feelings. 

your eyes, pulled toward gojo as if by gravity, made the mistake of stealing a glance, and before you knew it, he had ensnared you with his beautiful eyes, and your self-control plummeted like a ruined sandcastle. you didn’t care if he noticed you staring anymore.

it should be illegal to have a face like that.

a face destined to entail a lifetime of gawks and stares. eyes that could get away with almost everything, twinkling with zeal like two diamonds in the rough, a rarity, just like their owner. a boy who could command the attention of a room with his presence alone. a boy effortlessly perfect. perfect at keeping you on your toes, you realized, making sure that you always strove for perfection and nothing less—even if it meant sleepless nights. 

that’s when it sank in.

though you had yet to surpass him, your determination and discipline had been improving, gradually, with every taunt and mocking gesture, propelling you forward in class rankings. 

gojo. 

that bastard. 

you wanted to laugh.

he’d been playing you like a fiddle this entire time. 

at the end of class, the aforementioned glided over to you and leaned in, close enough that you could feel the cool brush of his breath against your ear—provoking a thorough shiver that spread across your body. 

“I’ll see you at the theater this saturday. no later than five in the evening. don’t forget to bring money—and loads of it.”

you made a mockery of rolling your eyes, but gojo just winked in that infuriating way that aroused panic—that made you anxiously wonder if he'd spotted the cracks in your composure. pink blossomed at the edges of your ears; there was no way he didn’t notice you gawking at him as you went on your whole spiel. but before you could study him and discern anything, he pivoted, your gaze lingering on the back of his pale hair as he disappeared beyond the doorway. 

there was still a certain suspicion you had. 

conveniently, geto remained at his desk, still gathering his things. that alone shocked you: gojo and geto were like peas in a pod—you never saw one without the other following close behind. it was almost as if lady luck was feeling generous today. 

“hey, geto. mind if I ask you something?” you questioned as you neared him, backpack slung loosely over your shoulder.

“hm?” he shoved the final book into his bag and then gave you his full attention, raising an eyebrow.

“did gojo ever ask you to go to the movies with him this weekend?”

a look of puzzlement crossed his face. “no, why do you ask?”

©2026-27 @thecorrespondentt please do not copy, steal, or translate my work. all rights reserved. all my works are cross posted on my ao3.

[thecorrespondentt]

═╪　﹒　﹙ᵗᵃᵍˡᶤˢᵗ﹚ 𝕿𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

@

©2026-27 @thecorrespondentt please do not copy, steal, or translate my work. all rights reserved. all my works are cross posted on my ao3.

[thecorrespondentt]

═╪　﹒　﹙ʳᵘˡᵉˢ﹚ 𝕽𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

╭▬▬ the general target audience for this blog is ALL ages.

│▬▬ however, in the event that I do post NSFW work, the age gate will be indicated on that work specifically.

│▬▬ and naturally, works with more sensitive topics will have age gates such as, 14+ or 16+

│▬▬ homophobes, racicsts, transphobes DNI

│▬▬ no discrimination toward anyone on my blog

│▬▬ please treat me && others with respect and patience

│▬▬ as a student, i will be busy

│▬▬ what i wont write: incest, scat, piss, feet, vomit, vore, beastality, pedophilia

│▬▬ what i will write (regarding genres specifically): mostly everything. my creativity has no bounds, and i don't plan on restricting it anytime soon.

╰▬▬ thank you for reading, my darling.

©2026-27 @thecorrespondentt please do not copy, steal, or translate my work. all rights reserved. all my works are cross posted on my ao3.

[thecorrespondentt]

═╪　﹒　﹙ᵐᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ﹚ 𝕸𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

https://what else do you want from me, my soul?.com student!gojo x reader, academic rivals, wc: 2k ╰⪼ midterms season had finally come to a close. the only thing more baffling to you than the questions on the exam is your rival, satoru gojo. he always manages to leave you in the dust without an ounce of effort—but who says you can't "hate" him while admiring his pretty face?

https://beach dreams and sourdough bread.com ceo!nanami x baker!reader, meet cute, wc: 1.6k ╰⪼ nanami has always hated the constricting walls of corporate life. but when he sees you, working at your fathers bakery in his abscence, you steal his heart like a sneaky thief—and he doesn't want it back. "with you by his side, escape seemed possible.”

©2026-27 @thecorrespondentt please do not copy, steal, or translate my work. all rights reserved. all my works are cross posted on my ao3.