Starlightmid - S T A R L I G H T

Two Souls and Hillsides

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𖤓 Pairings: Cowboy!Gojo x f!reader 𖤓 Content warnings + tags: 18+ MDNI, Childhood-friends-to-lovers, light enemies-to-lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, slow burn fr, Flirting, jealousy, playful banter, lots of staring at hot men, Minor language (light swearing), Light possessiveness/territorial behavior, Small-town charm and shenanigans Art by: @/-3aem on X

Your first day at the farmer’s market brings more than just fresh air and sunshine—you were just supposed to help sell eggs. Instead, you caught yourself eyeing every fine man in town, accidentally flirting with a bakery owner, and maybe (definitely) making someone jealous. Small-town life might be a lot more complicated (and a lot more fun) than you thought.

Chapter Three: A Harvest of Firsts

You never thought you’d get used to it—the early mornings, the dirt under your fingernails, the way the sun could bake the back of your neck until it felt raw.

You never thought you'd want to get used to it.

But somewhere between scrubbing out water troughs and learning which stalls creaked the loudest at night, you stopped counting down the days until you could leave. Somewhere along the way, Ashford stopped feeling like a punishment after a few weeks of living there.

It started feeling a little like... home.

There were the slow mornings with Grandma, who always set a second mug of coffee out for you without asking, even when you shuffled into the kitchen half-dead from exhaustion, bags incredibly prominent under your eyes.

The afternoons spent hauling feed buckets, boots slipping in the mud, Gojo laughing himself stupid every time you nearly wiped out.

The quiet evenings on the porch with Grandpa, who taught you how to whittle wood and told you stories about the ranch like it was a living, breathing thing that needed loving just like a person would.

And somewhere in there, somehow, Gojo went from being a thorn in your side to... something else entirely.

There’d be the dumb contests he always started—who could stack hay bales faster, who could catch a loose chicken first. (Spoiler: he cheated.)

There were the long, lazy rides out into the fields, where he'd tip his hat low and glance at you like he was thinking something he wasn’t brave enough to say.

There was the way he'd toss you an apple from the barrel by the barn, a crooked grin on his face, daring you to catch it one-handed. (You missed. Every time.)

You were still clumsy, still slower than the others, still the occasional butt of a joke—but it didn’t sting the way it used to. It just made you try harder.

And some mornings, when the sun rose soft and gold over the fields, you even thought—you could maybe be happy here.

If you let yourself.

You woke up to the crow of the rooster you still hadn't forgiven for existing, the scent of fresh coffee from grandma sneaking through the cracks in your door.

Another day. Another chance to embarrass yourself on the ranch.

You dragged yourself out of bed with a stretch, going through the motions of your new morning routine: Brush your teeth, rub the exhaustion from your eyes, stand at the front of your closet for way too long trying to decide what cute outfit to wear (even though your nice clothes from home were slowly getting ruined every time you worked). You always just ended up in the same thing—some denim shorts and that old green flannel you never used to touch.

By the time you stumbled outside, sneakers half-laced and hair barely wrangled into a ponytail, Gojo was already there—leaning against the fence like he'd been posing for a Western catalog, one boot kicked up on the bottom rail, hat tipped low to shield his eyes from the morning sun.

You squinted at him, yawning a little under your breath, "Do you ever actually work or just stand around lookin’ pretty?"

"Princess," he drawled, grinning slow and wide, "some of us are blessed enough to do both."

You muttered something rude under your breath and made a beeline for the feed shed. You barely got the door open before you heard boots crunching behind you, followed by a suspiciously innocent, "Need a hand?"

You turned to glare at him—and immediately got whacked in the chest with a bag of grain. You staggered back a step, barely catching it before it hit the dirt.

"Oh, fuck!" you gasped, wrestling the bag into your arms.

"Training your reflexes," Gojo said, the picture of smugness as he loaded another bag onto his own shoulder like it weighed absolutely nothing. Smug bastard.

"Training to murder you, maybe."

He winked. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

Despite your grumbling, you followed him back out into the yard, the morning already warm against your skin. You worked side-by-side, him tossing bales of hay like they were toys, you dragging yours with a determined scowl. Every once in a while, when you thought he wasn’t looking, you caught yourself sneaking glances—at the way his sleeves stretched around his biceps tightly, the way he squinted into the sun, the way he laughed, low and warm, at his own bad jokes.

Unfortunately, Gojo always caught you looking.

"You're staring," he said, voice all singsong and smug.

"You're imagining things," you snapped, feeling your ears burn.

He only smirked and went back to work, whistling off-key as he moved.

You hated that you smiled.

By the time mid-morning rolled around, you were sweaty, sore, and a little sun-dazed—but you didn’t mind it as much as you used to. You’d gotten used to the rhythm of it—the work, the quiet hum of the ranch, and Gojo's constant, irritating presence. And at lunch, when you sat down with your grandparents on the porch, your grandpa shot you a look over his coffee mug. The kind of look that said he knew exactly what you were pretending not to feel for his certain ranchhand.

"Y'know," he said casually, "I always thought you two’d make a good team."

You nearly choked on your sweet tea. Gojo just grinned wider and kicked his boot against yours under the table.

"She's still got a lot to learn," he said, tone teasing but eyes warm, lingering on you a little too long.

"Yeah," your grandma said with a sly little smile, "but luckily she's got a good teacher."

You ducked your head, cheeks burning, pretending to be very interested in the pattern of the wood floor as you chewed on a piece of toast with homemade jam. Gojo just laughed under his breath, low and rough, like he'd won something you hadn't realized you were playing for.

And despite yourself—despite everything—you smiled too.

You were still smiling into your sweet tea when Grandma set her cup down with a soft clink.

"I was thinking," she said, smoothing her hand over the tablecloth like she was trying to play it casual. "About setting up a booth at the farmers market this afternoon. Sell some of the extra eggs and jam, and veggies we’ve got piled up."

You looked up, brushing a crumb off your shorts. "The farmers market?"

"Mm-hm." She smiled at you, a little sly. "Thought you might like to come with me. Help out. Meet some folks."

You hesitated—only for a second—but surprisingly, the idea didn't make your stomach twist the way it might have a few weeks ago. You could picture it already: sunlight filtering through the old oaks in the town square, tables full of fresh produce and baked goods, people milling around with shopping bags and mason jars of lemonade.

"Yeah, I’d like that," you said, surprising yourself with how much you actually meant it.

Grandpa gave a grunt that sounded suspiciously like approval. Gojo just leaned back in his chair with a lazy stretch, grinning at you over the rim of his coffee cup.

"I suppose I can hold down the fort here, princess," he drawled. "Try not to miss me too much."

You rolled your eyes, tossing a crumpled napkin at him that made your grandparents share knowing glances with each other, but the truth was—you kind of already did.

Later that afternoon, after a quick rinse and a change of clothes, you found yourself wedged into the bench seat of Grandpa’s old pickup, rumbling down the road toward town with baskets and crates rattling in the truck bed.

Grandpa whistled low under his breath, hands steady on the wheel, a battered Stetson tipped low on his brow. "You girls got everything?" he asked, glancing over at the two of you.

Grandma patted the tote at her feet, crammed full of jars and bundles of herbs. "Eggs, jam, preserves, and all the cucumbers we grew too many of," she said, shooting him a teasing look.

"You’ll thank me come pickle season," Grandpa grumbled good-naturedly, making you smile.

Ashford’s downtown unfolded in front of you, all red brick and white-painted storefronts, an old barbershop pole spinning lazily in the breeze—a few blocks of brick buildings with faded awnings, an old courthouse with a clock that hadn't worked in years, a diner that smelled like fried bacon even from the sidewalk. But it had a kind of charm that stuck to your ribs, all sweet and stubborn, like the town itself refused to grow up.

The farmers market stretched across the town square, a handful of colorful tents and tables sprouting like wildflowers between the oaks. Bunting fluttered from the lampposts, and the air buzzed with the hum of conversation, the strum of a banjo from somewhere near the fountain, the air thick with the scent of kettle corn and cut grass.

Grandpa found a spot to park right along the curb, then hopped down with a grunt. He helped you unload the heavy crates, stacking them neatly beneath the folding table that already had a wooden sign swinging proudly from it: Sundown Ranch Goods. Hand-painted in faded blue letters, with a little horse silhouette carved into the corner.

"Looks good, don’t it?" Grandpa said, stepping back to admire your little setup, hands braced on his hips.

"It’s perfect," you replied, brushing a smudge of dirt off the corner of the sign.

Grandma beamed, arranging jars of jam and shiny bell peppers with practiced hands while you filled small baskets with cucumbers and tomatoes and snapped peas. Grandpa stayed long enough to fuss over the egg cartons—making sure they were packed safe—before tipping his hat at you both.

"I’ll come fetch ya when you’re ready," he said. "Don’t let your grandma sell you for a jar of pickled green beans now. And holler if y'all need anythin’.”

Grandma laughed and swatted his arm, though the gesture was filled with love. “Go on, get now. Them horses need tending to.”

You laughed as he ambled back to the truck, engine sputtering to life as he pulled away with a wave out the window.

Left alone, you and Grandma fell into an easy rhythm, arranging your goods just so, the late afternoon sun slanting warm across the table. The market bustled around you, alive with the low murmur of conversation and the distant twang of a banjo from near the courthouse steps.

Ashford’s town square had a charm to it—the kind that couldn’t be built, only grown. Little boutiques lined the street alongside a diner with a neon sign that buzzed faintly, a hardware store with creaky floors, and a bakery that made the whole block smell like cinnamon and fresh bread. Kids darted between booths with paper snow cones dripping down their fingers, dogs strained at leashes to sniff everything in sight.

People wandered past your booth in slow, easy currents. Some just nodded politely, but a few stopped—a woman with silver hair and a woven basket, who bought a jar of blackberry jam and complimented Grandma's canning; a wiry old man in suspenders who teased you about city girls not knowing a tomato from an apple (you rolled your eyes but still smiled); a young mom chasing two toddlers, who asked if you'd have more eggs next week.

It wasn’t perfect—you still caught the occasional curious glance, a few whispered comments—but it wasn’t mean, either.

It was... cautious.

Interested.

Like maybe the town wasn’t sure what to make of you just yet. But maybe, just maybe, they were willing to find out.

You let yourself breathe, finally, under the easy buzz of it all, feeling the slow and steady beat of something you hadn’t realized you’d missed—belonging.

By late afternoon, the market had settled into a lazy hum, the early rush tapering off into a comfortable trickle. The sun hung low over the rooftops, painting everything gold, and the jars of jam on your table gleamed like little jewels in the light.

You were just brushing crumbs off the tablecloth when Grandma leaned over and patted your hand. "You're doing good, honey," she said warmly. "Why don't you take a little walk, stretch your legs? I can hold down the fort for a while."

You hesitated, but when she smiled at you—soft, encouraging—you relented, slipping a few dollars into your pocket just in case something caught your eye.

You wandered through the booths, taking your time, soaking it all in: the clatter of horseshoes over pavement, the faint buzz of cicadas in the trees, the buttery smell of something baking from the other side of the market. A trio of kids dashed past you with sticks of cotton candy, and someone strummed a guitar lazily from the corner near the old general store.

It was… nice. Quaint. Warm in a way the city never had been.

You were smiling to yourself when you saw him.

Gojo.

Leaning against a lamppost like he owned the damn thing, with all the casual arrogance of someone who knew he looked good doing it, laughing at something a guy beside him said. And not just any guy—tall, with long black hair pulled back in a low, messy tie, a sleepy, wicked sort of smile stretching across his face like he knew secrets you didn’t.

You slowed instinctively, ducking behind a nearby booth, peeking without meaning to.

First of all, rude that Gojo looked even hotter off the ranch. His white t-shirt clung in all the right places, sleeves stretched over the kind of arms you didn’t want to admit you stared at sometimes (all the time). His jeans rode low on his hips, accentuating that sweet ass of his that never quit, and your gaze treacherously dipped lower before you yanked it back up.

The guy next to him was no slouch either—just another unfairly attractive man standing in your direct line of sight.

Your stomach flipped once, awkward and unwanted.

Was there some kind of water around here that just grew fine men like crops?

Because it wasn’t normal how every single one of them looked like they could grace the cover of some country-living magazine and ruin your life at the same time.

You might’ve been able to ignore it—could’ve told yourself you didn’t care—until you spotted them.

Two girls, standing a little too close, batting their lashes, twirling their hair. They were pretty in that easy, sun-kissed way that only girls who grew up in towns like this seemed to manage. One of them playfully smacked Gojo’s arm; the other leaned into the dark-haired guy, laughing.

You tore your eyes away, busying yourself by pretending to admire a booth near your own selling beeswax candles. Grandma must have wandered off because she was no longer standing there in her cute little sunhat. You could hear Gojo’s stupid laugh floating through the air behind you, low and bright. It made your blood heat in a way you didn’t want to think about.

You scowled and huffed, determinedly turning away—and nearly collided with someone standing at your booth.

"Excuse me," a voice said politely, low and even.

You blinked up—and into another gorgeous face.

Different from Gojo’s bright, arrogant handsomeness.

Different from the other guy’s lazy danger.

This man was... solid. Golden-skinned and serious, with messy blond hair pushed back from his forehead, warm brown eyes, and a steady kind of strength that wrapped around him like armor. His shirt sleeves were rolled neatly to his elbows, revealing flour-dusted forearms that made your brain short-circuit for a half-second.

Marrying this man within a month would honestly not be the craziest decision you could ever make.

He offered a small smile, polite but not unfriendly.

"Are you the one selling eggs?" he asked.

You scrambled to pull yourself together. "Uh—yeah! Yes. We sell eggs. Or my grandma does, anyway. We’ve still got a few dozen left."

He nodded, pulling a canvas tote higher on his shoulder. "I’ll take two, please. I run the bakery down the street."

Right. That explained the flour. (And possibly the unfairly attractive, husband-material energy.)

You busied yourself packing up the eggs, slipping them carefully into a cardboard flat. The man watched you with patient interest, like you were something worth paying attention to, which only made your hands fumble more.

"I’m Nanami," he said as you handed the carton over. "Kento Nanami."

You gave him your name, cheeks warming under the weight of his calm, unreadable gaze. His fingers brushed yours as he passed you the money, and you were so thrown off by it you barely managed to stammer out a "thank you."

Nanami dipped his head in a small nod, tucking the eggs into his bag like he actually cared not to crush them.

And maybe it was petty—maybe—but when you flicked a glance over to where Gojo was still laughing it up with his pretty little groupies, you felt a very particular kind of satisfaction bloom in your chest.

Because when you caught Gojo's eye—because of course you did—you saw it.

The sharp little glance at Nanami.

The narrowing of those stupidly bright blue eyes.

The faint tilt of his head, as if to say, Oh?

You turned your back, smiling sweetly as Nanami asked, "Would you happen to know if the strawberries here are fresh?"

God help you—you were about to flirt back.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling braver than you had in weeks. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the golden glow of the market. Maybe it was just the way Nanami looked at you—steady, warm, intent.

"They're fresh," you said, smiling up at him, "Picked just a couple days ago."

Nanami gave a small, appreciative nod. "Good. I'd hate to disappoint my customers."

"So, you run the bakery down the street?" you asked, leaning your elbows onto the booth a little, casual but undeniably flirty. "My grandma absolutely raves about your pastries."

A faint smile curved his mouth, something almost shy in the way he glanced down before meeting your eyes again. "I'm glad. I do most of the baking myself. Fresh ingredients make all the difference."

You hummed thoughtfully, "I might have to come by sometime. You know, for... quality assurance."

Nanami chuckled lowly, a rich sound that made something flip in your stomach.

"I'd welcome the feedback," he said, voice smooth as honey.

You were so caught up in the moment—basking in the way Nanami seemed genuinely interested, feeling that rare rush of being seen—that you didn’t even notice the approaching footsteps.

Not until a familiar voice, way too loud and way too casual, cut through the air.

"There you are, princess," Gojo drawled, leaning against the booth casually, one hand braced on the table, the other resting at the small of your back, way too familiar, like he had every right to touch you.

Your skin prickled under the heat of it.

Possessive little shit.

Nanami simply regarded him with polite curiosity, like a customer inspecting a product before buying. "Gojo," Nanami said, polite but clipped. "It's been a while."

Gojo grinned, all teeth, knowing exactly what he was doing. "Yeah, been a minute. Bakery keepin’ you busy, Nanamin?"

"It does," he replied simply, glancing at you before back to Gojo.

Gojo noticed. Oh, he noticed. And he leaned in just slightly, like he couldn't help but crowd your space, tipping his hat back with one hand so he could squint down at you with that slow, lazy smirk you hated for how much it made your heart stutter.

"Princess here’s new in town," he said easily, though his thumb brushed once, deliberately, against the fabric of your shirt. "Gotta make sure she don’t get led astray by all these smooth-talking country boys."

Nanami only arched a brow. "I think she can handle herself."

You bit your cheek, hiding a smile.

God, this was better than a soap opera.

Nanami, unbothered, glanced between the two of you, clearly filing something away in that sharp mind of his.

"Well," he said eventually, offering you a final, faintly amused smile, "It was a pleasure meeting you. I'll see you at the bakery sometime?"

Your heart did a stupid little flip at the way he phrased it like a promise.

You nodded—maybe a little too quickly—and Nanami dipped his head politely before strolling off into the crowd, the late afternoon sun catching in his hair like a halo.

You watched him go for a second too long.

Gojo leaned closer, voice dropping into something lower, rougher.

"Didn't know you were into the whole 'nice guy' thing," he teased, nudging your arm with his elbow. "Kinda boring, don’t you think?"

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt.

"He wasn’t boring, he was incredibly nice," you shot back. "Better than arrogant and annoying."

Gojo smirked—slow, lazy, dangerous.

"And smooth-talking country boys?" you echoed, eyebrow arching high. "You grew up here, too, stupid."

Gojo just grinned wider, like your irritation was his favorite thing.

You huffed, trying—failing—not to stare at the line of his throat, the stupid stretch of his biceps under his rolled sleeves that looked so, so, strong.

"You’re unbelievable," you muttered, half under your breath.

Gojo leaned even closer, voice dropping to something rough and velvet-soft, meant for you alone.

“And how was your first farmer’s market experience?”

You barely had a chance to recover from the way he said it, all low and teasing, before Gojo reached across the table and plucked a strawberry right out of one of the cartons.

"Hey!" you protested, smacking at his hand half-heartedly.

He just popped the berry into his mouth with a wicked grin, biting into it like he had all the right in the world, juice slipping down the corner of his mouth before he licked it away. Slowly. Purposefully.

Your brain fizzed like soda in the heat.

Before you could summon a single coherent thought, Grandma reappeared, bustling up behind the booth, arms full of fresh flyers she’d gathered from a nearby stall.

She took one look at the two of you—at Gojo standing way too close, at you practically vibrating with frustration (or something suspiciously close to it)—and just laughed, rich and knowing.

"Go on now, Satoru," she said, swatting at him lightly with the flyers. "Quit harassin' Y/N before she up and decks you good."

Gojo grinned, completely unbothered. "Wouldn't be the first time," he said, winking at you as he backed away, slow and lazy.

You huffed, crossing your arms, pretending your heart wasn’t trying to climb up your throat.

As he sauntered off into the crowd, whistling some tune you didn’t recognize, Grandma set her flyers down and leaned in close, conspiratorial.

"You be careful with that one, honey," she said, voice low and fond. "He’s always been trouble. Cute trouble, but still trouble."

Your face burned hot enough to fry an egg.

"I’m not—" you started, but she just patted your hand, eyes twinkling.

"I was young once, too, you know," she said, before turning to straighten the tablecloth like the conversation hadn’t even happened.

You stood there, flustered beyond all measure, watching Gojo’s stupid broad shoulders disappear into the crowd—and wondering how on earth you were supposed to survive a whole summer of this.

And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to realize this town had a whole lot more to offer than you thought.

Author's Note: Am I pumping these chapters out too fast?? If you wanna be added to the taglist, let me know in the notes below! Also, I think I mention Gojo's juicy ass too much. Bet let a girl have hobbies and interests.

Taglist: @indiewritesxoxo @vina21 @sweetwonieee @billiondollarworth @fati27ma

146 notes View Post

starlightmid

1 year ago

Jujutsu Kaisen men + Twitter Links

All links are nsfw!

A/n saw alot of people doing this so i wanted to try it :3

Toji Fushiguro

How he eats your cunt

Making out with him in the elevator

Something he’d do

Pounding you in public

How he fingers you

Fucking you dumb

Satoru Gojo

Morning sex

Him stuffing his finger in your ass <3

Him pounding you rough

You two fucking in a plane and getting caught

Grinding on him while he's tired

Fucking your tight little asshole

Playing with you on his thigh

Choso kamo

Rubbing his cock on your cunt

Fucking you like this

Eating your ass while rubbing your cunt

Fingering you

Creaming on his cock

Fucking your boobs

Nanami Kento

Made another one just for Nanami click here <3

14K notes View Post

starlightmid

5 months ago

hope your days get softer from here on out. hope the hurt lessens and the dark turns to light. you deserve gentleness and good love. I hope it finds you soon.

183K notes View Post

starlightmid

1 year ago

gojo satoru x reader / college au (18+)

↠ 'kickoff' ch.3 returning the favor

☆ pairing: college au - soccer boy! gojo x film major! reader (f)

(note: lots of other jjk characters are included)

☆ summary: Gojo Satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. He's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. But he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. But when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

☆ warnings/tags: 18+, fluff, angst, eventual smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, gojo being an idiot

☆ chapter: 3/? (probably 12)

☆ words: 4,463

a/n: hope you enjoy! i really had fun writing in a lot of the other characters in this one

|| 9:21AM Gojo Satoru sent you a photo

|| 9:22AM Gojo Satoru: Here’s our practice schedule for the week. Honestly, it’s better if you come when we do practice games or something, since on other days we just do drills or strength training, but coach doesn’t really tell us what we’re doing beforehand so would probs have to play it by ear

|| 9:27AM Gojo Satoru: Oh yeah, we’ve got a big game in three weeks on the 28th. It’ll decide if we’re automatically seeded into the top 16 teams bracket, which is really crucial if we want to eventually bring home the championship. Not sure when your assignment is due, but that would be a good official game to come to

|| 9:28AM Gojo Satoru: Let me know as soon as you can if you want to make that game. I’ll have to ask coach to get the referee sign-off for you to be on-field during play at least a week before

You look down at all the messages he was sending you during class on a Monday morning. After he sent you that house party details post from his fraternity’s Instagram page last week, their posts kept popping up in your feed and you saw one this morning with a bunch of the guys in the frat, Gojo included, shotgunning beers until 3AM last night. You marvel at how he’s somehow not hungover beyond repair and is texting you before noon.

Pressing and holding on to his messages, you give him little thumbs up reactions and you decide on a heart reaction for the picture he sent you of the practice schedule. Then, you set your phone down and look at the video of the men’s soccer team highlights your professor was playing from the game a week and a half ago.

“Here, here, this right here. Midfielder #24 surveyed the field, spotting #13 making a run for it down the flank. Pinpoint pass to left winger, who starts steering through defenders, but loses the ball. Then, center forward #10 steals the ball back! He steals the ball, he fucking steals the fucking ball back!” Your professor was running back and forth in front of the projector screen, his finger following the movement of the soccer ball in the video. Your heart jumps a beat when Gojo shows up on screen, with his signature #10 jersey, and some people in the lecture hall stand up in excitement with the professor. “Beelines towards the goal, and BAM! Goalie stood no fucking chance, ball sent immaculately into the back of the net. Victory for UTokyo, 2-1, in the last seconds of the game!" Your professor cheers and jumps up and down. Some people cheer with him, others sigh, others are in awe, and some simply clap.

Another entire lecture goes by where the professor spends absolutely no time going over film photography theory and instead just talks about how soccer used to be back in his day. You approach him after class, clutching your laptop case to your chest, and it’s only when you clear your throat in front of him that he finally looks up at you from the podium.

“Oh, y/n, how can I help you?” He asks as he shoves his phone back in his pocket.

“Hey, professor. Bit of a request, could I have like two extra days for my assignment? There’s this event that I really want to use for the subject matter but it’s the day before the deadline, and I would need some time to develop my photos,” you say in the politest tone you can muster up.

“Yeah, sure. Just get it in before the end of the deadline week,” he says nonchalantly. “Looking forward to seeing it. Good work on the last one, by the way.”

You give him a smile and a word of appreciation before turning on your heel and making it up the stairs to exit the lecture hall, pulling your phone out of your tote bag.

|| 9:53AM You: i can make it on the 28th. please get that referee permission for me

You press your lips together as you press send, and then type a bit more.

|| 9:54AM You: and thanks a lot

Your stomach is suddenly growling and you’re about to head over to the student hub when your phone starts ringing. You look down at the contact name that says Nobara and pick up.

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up,” you say as you make your way towards the heart of campus, enjoying the light breeze as the sun peeked through the clouds.

“Where are you? Didn’t we have a Film Club meeting today?” She asks you, her tone a bit impatient. “We were supposed to discuss that collaboration with the school newsletter.”

Shoot. You forgot. These days, you were a bit too distracted by recent happenings, like Mina practically falling head-over-heels for a guy that was quite possibly the opposite of her type, the towering amount of class assignments that never seemed to end, and this whole arrangement you were trying to coordinate with Gojo Satoru. The Film Club meeting totally slipped your mind. You were supposed to head out of class a bit early to make it on time. “I’m so sorry, Nobara. I totally forgot about it. I’m unfortunately all the way on the other end of campus right now. I typed up some notes in the document, can you just run those by them? If we need anything else, I’ll reach out to them by email.”

She sighs on the other end of the line. “Yeah. I’m not good at these conversations, but I guess as President I should be better at them anyways. I’ll let you know how it goes.” And then she hangs up.

Mentally happy that you were at least free of one other obligation today, you prepare to make your way to the dining hall when your phone vibrates again.

|| 10:01AM Gojo Satoru: Will do, and sure thing. By the way, you free right now? Coach is having us do a practice game, probably for around 2 hours

You squint your eyes at his message, considering the opportunity. You didn’t have any other classes left for the day and were just going to grab something to eat before heading home, but now you wonder if you should make it to this practice session. He did say that you have to be flexible since he doesn’t even know exactly what they’ll end up doing before practice, so you figured this might be your only chance this week to practice capturing shots of them as they play, since it seemed like they had Tuesday & Friday off based on Gojo’s schedule picture. Unfortunately, you only brought your digital camera with you today since your film camera was too heavy to carry around unless you knew you needed it, but you can still do a lot with digital that would help for the film camera shoot. You could make it work.

|| 10:05AM You: yeah, i’m free. i was just gonna grab something to eat first, and then i’ll head over to the field in maybe 15 min. but i’m not exactly sure how to get onto the field, or where the entrance is…

He adds a heart reaction to your message which startles you a little bit. An accident, maybe?

|| 10:06AM Gojo Satoru: Lol, just meet me at that weird art sculpture they put up last semester. The one that cost like all of our tuition money. I’ll walk you to the field

You let out a sigh, somewhat nervous that you'll be seeing him again soon. The last time you saw Gojo was when you left him standing unceremoniously at the kitchen island with a somewhat offending comment. Nonetheless, he didn’t necessarily seem angry at you. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s been way more helpful than you had ever anticipated. You started to feel like the effort you put into getting Mina to go to that house party was nothing compared to the effort he was putting in for you to ace this assignment.

Stopping by your school’s mini grocery store, you pick up a sandwich plus some strawberry vanilla soda, and take some bites as well as some sips as you leisurely make your way to the expensive art sculpture near the sports fields. As you get closer to it, you see Gojo from a distance talking to some people. A few of them were guys, a few of them girls, and he was laughing out loud at something one of the girls said. A part of you wonders what it’s like to be adored by so many people.

When he spots you at the other side of the cross walk, he doesn’t break eye contact with you as he’s hurriedly saying goodbye to the group in front of him. Their heads turn to each other in confusion before turning their attention in your direction as he makes his way over to you.

“Hey,” he says as he lightly jogs up to the sidewalk you were standing on. You notice he’s wearing a black long sleeve undershirt with a short-sleeved blue one on top, along with some athletic black shorts and running shoes. When he brushes some of his hair away from where it had fallen near his eyes, your heart skips a beat at his handsome expression. A smile graces his face. “You ready?”

You nod, swallowing the mouthful of sandwich you didn’t realize you had stopped chewing, and follow his lead as the two of you cut across behind the batting cages of the school’s softball training area. Your eyes fell to Gojo’s back as he walked on the pavement. His shoulders were broad, shoulder blades pulling the upper half of the fabric of his clothing somewhat taut across as the rest of it freely flowed down to his lean lower back. The long sleeved shirt he wore underneath was pretty loose-fitting, but you could still see the thickness of his muscles. With every step that he took, his calves flexed in a way that made you realize he must really work out.

“What are you eating?” He says as he turns around to face you, walking backwards for a few paces as he looks at your hands.

“Oh, just a veggie sandwich,” you answer as you hold it up next to your face. “Campus delicacy.”

His smile widens. “And what are you drinking?” This time he asks with a bit more curiosity.

“It's strawberry vanilla soda,” you say as you juggle all of the things you were holding in your arms.

“Can I have some?” He asks with a somewhat innocent tone. “The soda, I mean. I’ve never had that flavor.”

You hesitate, but alas you were a people-pleaser. “Sure.”

He halts his movements and so you do too, and he closes the gap between you two in one exaggerated stride. His hand gently pulls the soda bottle out from where it was tucked into your elbow to keep it from falling. You notice the veins on his hand get more defined as he squeezes & twists to release the cap and it sends something akin to a wave of arousal through your body, entirely startling you. But when he brings the bottle up to his lips with his head tipping backwards, drinking directly from it, neck bobbing as he swallows and a single drop trickles down the expanse of his jawline, the arousal directly hits you at your core.

“Hm,” he licks his lips. “That’s pretty good.”

You’re standing there in shock, your grip on your sandwich causing dents in the bread. He dabs the stray droplet of liquid at his chin with the back of his hand and turns around to keep walking ahead, making his way up the stairs onto what looks like a grassy field. It takes you a second to start moving too, and by then you need to do a light jog just to catch up to him.

There’s a comfortable silence that develops between the two of you and when you glance at Gojo, you notice his eyes are closed and there’s a serene smile on his face, a gust of wind pushing the hair up out of his forehead and sending the blades of grass dancing across the hilly field. You smile too at the sensation of cool wind on your skin. It was a beautiful day outside with sparkling sunshine and quiet whistling wind.

“Can I ask you something?” You say after contemplating if you should interrupt his somewhat meditative state.

“You can ask me anything,” he easily replies.

“Why are you so willing to help me out with my assignment?”

He turns his head to look at you with a neutral expression. “Because you did me a favor.”

You sigh. “I know…but it really wasn’t that hard to convince Mina to go to that party. I feel like you’re helping me out way more than I helped you out.” A small ladybug lands on the fabric of your jeans and you marvel at it before it flutters its wings and flies away.

He’s silent for a second. “Honestly, when you agreed to help me out with Todo’s little crush, which by the way I had to do because I lost a bet, and you mentioned something about terms and conditions in your message,” he starts to say, a brief pause making its way between the sentence as if he was actively trying to relive that first night he was texting you, “I thought you were going to ask for something sexual in return.”

Your mouth drops at his line of thinking, suddenly mortified. That’s how your message came across to him? Oh my God, you had to rethink how you texted everyone in your life from now on.

“I mean, weren’t you being a little flirty? ‘My terms and conditions will come later’. Or do I just have some weird sexual brain rot?” His eyes are still on you, his tone way too casual in your opinion for this sudden topic of conversation. You also realize that he thinks having sex with him would be returning you the favor. And then you try not to think about how good he probably is in bed.

When you can’t think of what to say and just stare at him with wide eyes, he smiles and stretches his arms out in front of him as another gust of wind passes by. “Well, anyways, when you shared what you actually wanted from me and it ended up being a pretty earnest request…let’s just say I was emotionally moved by your dreams and aspirations.” He says that last part somewhat dramatically and you roll your eyes, sending him an annoyed look. “A little disappointed, but nonetheless moved.”

“Wow, you’re the type of person that would trade favors for sex?” You ask him with a sneer to your tone.

He sends a lazy smirk to you over his shoulder to where you’re trailing behind him now. “Not really, no, can’t say I’ve ever done it before,” he says slyly, “probably would’ve made an exception for you, though.” And then he’s giving you a wink.

You can’t help but blush a little. He was definitely just teasing you, some hobby of his that he does just to constantly get a kick out of the people around him since he knows he just has that much of an effect on them, so you try not to let his words get past your skin to the more vulnerable parts of you. He’s reading your expression before he speaks up again.

“We’ve already started this little return favor of yours, so no take-backs. It’s an eye for an eye. Not an eye for an eye and throw some casual sex in there, too.” He makes his way up what seems to be the largest hill across the field and he stops at the top, peering out at whatever was across from it. When you made your way to the top too, your eyes widened as you saw an expanse of flat grassiness covered in orange cones, green land markers, white chalk outlines, and netted goals. Oh, and a lot of men. “Alrighty, you freaky little photographer. Here are your muses.”

You let out the breath you were holding in and smiled, hands immediately reaching for your digital camera case within your tote bag. A wave of creativity and inspiration hit you as you were finally able to lay your eyes on your subject matter and setting, and you couldn’t wait to get started.

Gojo makes his way down the hill and you stumble after him. He high-fives a couple of his teammates that were leaving the first wave of practice and makes his way over where the second-wave practice players were stretching on the field and running laps.

“C’mon, Itadori, I’ve seen snails with a more urgent sense of direction than you! Pick up those goddamn knees!” You hear a loud voice from a few feet away from you and flinch, eyeing the scary looking man that had a…Pomeranian dog in his arms? He was wearing a black athletic jumpsuit and had extremely tinted, thick sunglasses on. His facial hair was a bit jarring and you immediately decided you were scared of him, despite how gently he was petting the little dog cradled in his arms.

“That’s coach Yaga,” Gojo says beside you with a smile on his face and his hands on his hips. “Real nice guy.”

You turn to give him a suspicious look and he just returns it with a wider smile.

“Hey! It’s y/n,” you hear a somewhat familiar voice call out and you glance at the direction it came from. You see Geto standing next to Nanami and he whacks his hand against the blonde's chest to get his attention when he makes eye contact with you before jogging over. You see Gojo put his hands in his shorts pockets in your periphery. “What are you doing here?”

You give him a somewhat shy smile, suddenly embarrassed by the attention. “Here to take some photos.”

“Are you with the school newsletter?” Nanami’s smooth voice says as he approaches Geto, standing next to him. They both were wearing matching blue tracksuits.

“No, I’m not. Just here to…take some photos for one of my classes. It’s for a film photography assignment.” You suddenly wished you were part of the school newsletter committee, so that you could at least provide them with some positive publicity with your photos. You wondered if they would think you’re just using them. As if Gojo could read your mind, he patted Geto harshly on the back and let out a loud, obnoxious laugh.

“Hear that, punks? She wants to try and take some nice photos of you lot. Be grateful! Of course, your grotesque appearances cannot simply be fixed by any technology yet known to man,” Gojo says rather loudly, continuing to smack Geto on the back. Geto has a small pitiful smile on his face and Nanami just looks annoyed. You feel lighter somehow, less tense.

“Okay, cool, let us know if we can help in any way,” Geto says kindly as he sits down on the grass to continue stretching out his legs. “Oh by the way, Satoru, Chosou’s out sick today so you might need to cover for goalie.”

“What? Why’s that fucker always getting sick?” Gojo says as he walks towards one of the duffle bags on the bench, and you assume it’s his. He pulls out a water bottle. “He needs to stop eating that goddamn grocery store sushi.”

“Oh! Oh! It’s you,” another somewhat familiar voice calls out from ahead. You see a guy wearing a dark blue jacket that had a red hood approaching you from the inner field. Then you recognize he was that guy at the entrance of the house party that called you a- “It’s casual tomboy!”

Your eye twitches slightly as you take in your appearance. Sure, you were wearing jeans again, but your top was somewhat stylish and feminine. He arrives in front of you and notices the digital camera hung at your neck. “Hey, what’s that?” He points directly at your midriff where the camera sat. He almost pokes his finger right through the delicate attachable lens that cost you nearly two months of rent.

“A little rude, Yuuji,” Geto says, grunting as he switches from one stretch to the other.

Yuuji gets closer to you to study the camera and you instinctively lean away from him before Gojo is grabbing him by the hood of his jacket and yanking him away from you, Yuuji’s arms flailing out in front of himself in a struggle. “Hey, get back to practice. You’re not allowed to talk to pretty seniors.”

Coach Yaga grunts and crosses his arms from where he stood a few feet away, the tiny pomeranian now barking at his feet. “I never said you could stop running laps, Itadori! Get your ass back out there! I’ll be sending you to recreational soccer for the rest of your freshman year if you don’t get your damn head straight!” Gojo lets go of Itadori’s hood and the poor boy is scrambling across the field to join what seems like the other first-years for their warm-up laps. Coach Yaga turns to you and gives a hmph before vaguely gesturing to you. “May I know what you’re doing out on my field?”

“Coach!” Gojo says, making his way over to the scary man. He slings his arm around his neck and the man just continues to glare at him through his sunglasses. “She’s with me today. Photographer y/n will be taking some handsome photographs of you that you can send to your wife, and then maybe your wife will actually want to-”

Coach Yaga puts Gojo in a headlock and Gojo’s instantly tapping on his back to get him to ease up. “I dare you to finish that sentence, boy.”

You let out a small laugh. This was certainly a lively bunch. Nanami approaches you and expresses interest in your camera. You lift it up for him to take a closer look. He pinches his chin between his bent index finger and thumb, as if he was a detective analyzing a crime scene. “I see…so this is a film camera.”

“Ah…” you laugh awkwardly. “No, this is just a digital camera.”

“I see…so this is a digital camera,” he repeats, equally as intrigued.

The time eventually comes along where all the players start the practice match. There’s obviously not enough players out on the field for full teams on each side, but they’re split into 1st & 4th years vs. 2nd & 3rd years. You learn that the second wave practice group has the talented players at the top of each of their year groups. Gojo doesn’t seem to participate in the practice match despite one team having to omit having a goalie since the coach requested he sit out to watch the plays and make suggestions. You’re a bit sad you don’t get to see him play, but figured you’ll have a chance in the future. You take a few snapshots as one of the other first-years, a quiet boy named Megumi, kicks the ball towards the goal that ends up bouncing off the goal frame. You spend some time tweaking the exposure, zoom, and focus until you feel like you have a pretty good idea of the settings you’ll need to get some fluid shots.

When you look up over the field again, raising your digital camera to your face, you notice Gojo looking at you from across the field where he stood at the sidelines. You both keep your gaze on one another for a couple of seconds, and you boldly lift the camera up to your eye, taking a few snapshots of him. When you pull it away, look down at the results on the small screen, and then glance back up at him, his eyes are slightly wide. Something stirs within you when you remember his words from earlier: I thought you were going to ask for something sexual.

Your mind wanders back to the party from last weekend, and the feeling of him leaning down next to your ear in the kitchen as he said “Thanks, I owe you one. Find me later, ‘kay?” The memory itself made your cheeks feel warm. Did he…think that something was going to happen that night at the party? Probably would’ve made an exception for you…Disappointed, but nonetheless moved. Somewhere in the haziness of your thoughts, you realize that meant that Gojo would’ve wanted to sleep with you if that was indeed your condition.

When you look to the other side of the field again, Gojo’s eyes are still on you but his handsome face looks a bit troubled, eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly pursed. You couldn’t really tell what he was thinking, but for some reason you felt like he could tell what you were. When you raised an eyebrow at him, his face relaxed and he slowly shook his head as if to say it's nothing.

Coach Yaga’s sharp whistle cuts through the silent conversation you two were having as he yells, “alright, boys. Practice over! Go hit the showers.”

You quickly stuff your digital camera back into its case and collect your things into your tote bag. In your peripheral vision, Gojo’s making his way over to you and when he’s right next to you, you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“How’d it go? Get some good shots?” He asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“Um, yeah, I think so.” You’re still not looking at him, pretending to fiddle with something in your tote bag. He leans down a bit to look at your face more clearly when he notices you’re not meeting his gaze, but you still struggle to make eye contact with him. “I’ve gotta go, can you tell the guys I said bye?” And then you’re making your way up the hill.

There’s a beat of silence as confusion washes over him from your behavior. “Hey, wait, y/n, do you know how to get back to campus?”

You spin to face him when you're at the top of the hill, finally looking him in the eye. There’s a concerned expression on his face. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Thanks a lot for today. Let me buy you a strawberry vanilla soda sometime, okay?” Flashing him a small smile, you turn around and run down the hill, ignoring the fast beating of your heart.

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a/n: thanks a bunch for reading! ch4 is already up :)

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