萌一下鬍子把拔

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.

-------

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

Two Souls and Hillsides

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𖤓 Pairings: Cowboy!Gojo x f!reader 𖤓 Synopsis: After getting expelled from college for one reckless mistake too many, you're shipped off to spend the summer with your estranged grandparents on their remote horse ranch—a place you haven’t set foot on since you were a kid. You expected boredom, chores, and a long, hot summer of shame. What you didn’t expect? The tall, cocky ranch-hand who remembers you all too well… and isn't about to let you forget your roots. 𖤓 Content warnings + tags: 18+ MDNI, Childhood-friends-to-lovers, light enemies-to-lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, slow burn fr (mentions of) virginity loss, alcohol use and partying, family drama, miscommunication, themes of self-worth and identity (loosely based off of the Hannah Montana movie lol) Art by: @/-3aem on X

Chapter Two: Still Waters, Beneath the Surface

You were back downstairs about an hour later, after settling into your childhood bedroom and unpacking your overstuffed luggage—clothes, makeup, shoes, all the remnants of your old life shoved into a few heavy bags.

You felt…nervous.

It didn’t make sense, not really. These were your grandparents. People who helped raise you, who used to sneak you cookies before dinner, and let you fall asleep in front of the TV as old westerns played. But everything felt different now. Like the ranch and people had stayed the same, but you hadn’t. Even if they acted like you’d never left at all.

You took a seat at the small kitchen table, its wood a little more worn than you remembered. The lights above glowed soft and yellow, casting warmth over the room. The windows were propped open with little wooden wedges, letting in a light breeze and the faint, steady hum of cicadas from the fields outside.

Your grandma moved around the stove with practiced ease, transferring food into serving bowls and laying down pots onto what looked like handmade, crocheted hot pads. The air smelled like fried chicken and buttered corn and something sweet baking in the oven.

And—surprisingly—Gojo was still there.

He was setting the table like he belonged there, like he lived there. No cowboy hat tonight, just a mess of snowy white hair catching the kitchen light in soft, wild angles.

Your eyes met.

The corners of his mouth tugged up into a half-smile—barely there, just a flicker—and then he looked back down, focused on the napkins and silverware in his hands like they were suddenly the most important thing in the world.

You were quick to sit down, across the table from him, flanked by your grandparents. You avoided his piercing gaze like it carried the plague, focusing instead on scooping mashed potatoes onto your plate. Why was he so damn nosy?

Grandma finally set down the bowl of green beans and lowered herself into the seat across from Grandpa. “There we go. Y’all dig in before it gets cold.”

Grandpa passed the plate of fried chicken to Gojo on his left, glancing at you as he spoke. “Bet the city doesn’t cook like this, huh?”

You forced a smile. “No, not really. Not unless you count overpriced takeout. But the chef Mom hired is pretty good.”

Satoru snickered under his breath—subtle, but you caught it. A jab, like always.

Grandma interrupted before you could react, scooping a healthy serving of food onto her plate. “That chef making enough food? You look awfully skinny, honey. We’ll have you fattened up in no time.”

Gojo grinned with that same smug expression you remembered, stuffing a heaping forkful of potatoes into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days. Real charming. “Guess we’re back to raisin’ strays again.”

Your grandpa chuckled and lightly swatted his elbow in a disapproving tone. “Satoru.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging your fork slowly through your food. “Funny.”

“Just sayin’. First day back and you already looked like you were gonna melt in the sun.”

“It was ninety-five degrees.” You deadpanned.

“And yet, I didn’t hear the horses complainin’.”

Your grandma cut in gently, clearly trying her best to ease the growing tension between the two of you, “She’ll adjust. Takes time, is all.”

You knew what was coming next. Of course, they’d be curious. Who wouldn’t be? Stuck up girl with a trust fund and everything handed to her on a silver platter suddenly finds her way back to the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. Grandpa leaned in a little, lowering his voice like it was some big family secret. “So… what really happened? Your mama didn’t say much over the phone. Just that you’d be stayin’ with us a while.”

You stared down at your plate, feeling that familiar sense of shame that plagued your thoughts on the daily. “I… I messed up. Got kicked out of school… Mom didn’t want me home. Well, David didn’t want me home.”

There was a beat of silence. The only sound was the quiet scrape of Gojo’s fork before he had to chime in again.

“Damn. Didn’t peg you as the rebellious type. What’d you do, set the library on fire?”

You shot him a look, sharp enough to cut glass. “No. I wasn’t flunking either, if that’s what you're implying.”

“Now, we don’t have to get into all that tonight,” your grandma cut in quickly, voice thin and tight.

“No shame in fallin’ down, sugar,” Grandpa said gently, resting a hand over your forearm. “Just matters what you do after.”

And Gojo? It’s like he didn’t know how to shut up. He propped his chin in his palm, grinning that same idiotic grin. “So what’s the plan now? Stick around, milk cows till your city instincts come back?”

“There aren’t even cows here.”

“Yet.” He shrugged, still smiling.

You could feel the heat rising to your face, your voice climbing with it. “Can you just not tonight? I already feel like a failure. I don’t need you making it worse.”

The table fell silent. Again.

Even your grandma didn’t know what to say.

Gojo blinked, caught off guard. “Hey. I was just messin’. Didn’t mean it like that.”

Maybe it was dramatic. You didn’t care. You shoved your chair back with a loud scrape, standing in a rush.

“Whatever. I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t gotta run, sweetheart,” Grandpa said gently, his voice steady but soft. “You can sit. Be mad if you want. But stay.”

But you were already scraping your food into the trash and setting your plate down into the empty sink. “I just need some air.”

The screen door creaked as you swung it open and stepped out into the humid dusk, letting it thump closed behind you.

Inside, the kitchen was quiet. The clink of silverware had stopped. The cicadas outside suddenly seemed louder than they had before.

Gojo let out a sigh, pushing his plate away.

Grandpa shot him a look. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, huh?”

Gojo winced. “No, sir. Just got a mouth on me…”

The porch creaked under your weight as you sank onto the top step.

It was quiet out here—the kind of quiet that wraps around you, thick and soft, until all you can hear is your own thoughts echoing louder than they should. The cicadas buzzed somewhere far off, a low hum under the night. You pulled your knees up to your chest, hugging them loosely, chin resting on the denim of your dirt-smudged jeans.

Out past the porch railing, the fields stretched wide and dark, the grass swaying in the warm breeze like it didn’t know the world had changed. The moon hung low, casting a silvery sheen over the barn roof, the tops of the trees, the wooden fence that hadn’t changed since you were ten. Fireflies blinked at the edge of the pasture—lazy little lights, flickering like stars too tired to shine properly.

A horse whinnied in the distance, followed by the soft rustle of hooves against hay and dirt. The sound was comforting and lonely at the same time.

You hated how fast your heart was still beating.

You shouldn’t have snapped like that. Not in front of your grandparents. Not in front of him. But something about the way he said it—like you didn’t belong here either—just hit the wrong nerve. Again.

Everything you’ve done lately feels like a mistake. Getting kicked out. Getting cut off. Ending up back here like some dead-end case with nothing to show for yourself but half a degree and a suitcase full of regrets.

You thought this would feel like coming home.

Instead, it feels like walking into a version of your life that just kept going without you.

You bit the inside of your cheek, hard. Metallic warmth bloomed across your tongue. You welcomed the sting—it was the only thing that felt real.

What would your friends back in the city say if they saw you now? They’d probably laugh. Or worse, pity you. You could already hear the way they’d say your name like it was some sort of tragedy. But you couldn’t even blame them.

And you couldn’t really blame your parents, either.

You were the problem. You were always the problem.

Just a lazy, spoiled, good-for-nothing excuse of a daughter.

Your fingers fidgeted with a loose thread on your jeans, nails bitten short and raw at the edges. You pressed your face into your folded arms, hiding from the moonlight, hiding from yourself. The burn behind your eyes stung deep, but you blinked it away, stubborn and silent.

You don’t get to cry over this anymore.

You made your bed. Now you had to lie in it—even if it was 500 miles from the life you were supposed to be living…

The screen door creaked open behind you, hinges groaning like they’d been holding their breath all day. You didn’t turn around. Just tucked your chin deeper into the cradle of your knees and stared out at the moonlit fields, trying not to think too hard. The air was thick with the scent of cut grass and the faint sweetness of honeysuckle creeping up the side of the porch. Somewhere out near the fence line, a horse snorted softly, the rustle of hay echoing under the low hum of cicadas.

Bootsteps followed—slow, steady, like whoever it was didn’t want to scare you off. The boards creaked under his weight. He stopped just behind you, where the porch met the steps, hovering like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“I’m headin’ out,” Gojo said after a beat, voice softer than usual.

You nodded, still not turning to look at him. “‘Kay...”

There was a pause, but he didn’t move.

“Didn’t mean to get under your skin. Not like that, anyway...”

You let out a breath through your nose, the sound sharp in the quiet of the night. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

He chuckled—barely. “Yeah. S’pose I do.”

Another beat of silence passed between you, the air palpable with lingering tension from dinner. You could hear him shift, boots scraping against the wood as he sat down behind you on the next step, not quite beside you, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him.

“I wasn’t lying, y’know,” he murmured. “You’re not a failure.”

Your eyes stayed on the fields. The wind stirred the grass, rippling like water under moonlight. Yeah, right…“Doesn’t really matter what I am. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You say that like it’s some kinda punishment.”

You stayed quiet, picking at the hem of your jeans until a thread snapped loose between your fingers. A cicada buzzed in the distance, shrill and stubborn. “Why are you even out here?” 

He shrugged, gaze following yours into the dark. “Supposed to be leavin’. Figured I’d say goodnight.” A pause. Then, lighter, “Maybe make sure you didn’t go throw yourself in the horse trough.”

That earned a tiny smirk, even if you didn’t mean to give it to him.

He leaned forward, forearms pressed against his knees. “We all mess up. Hell, I’ve done worse than get kicked outta school.”

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

“Not savin’ the last cinnamon roll for your grandpa at breakfast one time,” he replied solemnly. “Still haven’t been forgiven for that. That man sure knows how to hold a grudge, I’ll tell you that much.”

You huffed, but just barely. Was he really trying to make you feel better right now?

Gojo’s smile faded into something gentler. “Look…I know it don’t fix anything. And I ain’t tryin’ to tell you how to feel. But this place? It’s not gonna shut you out just ‘cause you’re hurting. Neither will your folks. And…neither will I.”

The knot in your throat pulled tight. You bit the inside of your cheek, swallowed down the sting behind your eyes. “I just feel like I’m screwing everything up...”

“You’re twenty,” he said. “You’re supposed to screw everything up.”

You finally turned to look at him. His silver hair caught the moonlight, a soft mess of curls above a face that, for once, wasn’t smug or teasing—just honest. He met your eyes, his voice even quieter now. “Ain’t no shame in falling, princess. Just matters what you do after.”

You stared at him for a moment, then looked away, brushing at your eyes with the heel of your hand before he could catch the glint there. How would he know? He didn’t screw up his entire life and every opportunity ever handed to him.

He stood a second later, brushing dust from his jeans.

“I’ll be back in the morning. We start early around here,” he said, already turning toward the steps. “Don’t go disappearing again, alright?” He dusted off the brim of his hat this time, tilting it towards you with that irritating, gentle expression, before finally turning to leave down the steps. You watched as he mounted his horse near the barn just yards away, graceful yet strong. Sturdy. And with a click of his heels, he rode off into the night.

A breeze swept through the porch, carrying the scent of dust and horse sweat. You closed your eyes and let it pass over you. And just like that, it was quiet again. But the silence didn’t feel so heavy this time.

You weren’t sure what woke you first—the rooster’s screech or the sheer betrayal of being conscious before the sun. Either way, it felt violent. You blinked up at the ceiling in stunned silence, a death glare already forming as that damn bird let out another war cry just beyond your window.

You didn’t even need to look to know where it was perched. Probably right there on the porch rail, puffed up like it owned the place, screaming just because it could. Roosters were honestly worse than car alarms.

If you went outside right now and smothered that fucking bird with your pillow, would anyone actually care?

Probably not. Maybe worth the risk.

You groaned and rolled onto your side, dragging the thin country quilt over your head. It was no silk duvet, that was for sure. The sheets felt stiff, the pillow was aggressively firm, and there was no hum of traffic or buzz of your phone to lull you back to sleep. Just the clatter of hooves in the distance, the soft creak of the house waking up, and that damn rooster again, yelling like its life depended on it.

This was not how mornings were supposed to start.

This was a violation of basic human rights.

Back home, you didn’t wake up until at least noon—wrapped in a fortress of fluffy blankets, cushioned by high-thread-count luxury, maybe scrolling through social media until your iced latte was delivered straight to your door. That was your kind of peace. That was comfort. That was normal.

This… wasn’t. This was farmhand purgatory.

Eventually, you accepted your fate and swung your legs out of bed, padding across the old wooden floor in your socks. The air was cool, crisp in a way that made your skin tighten, like the house still held onto the chill of the night. You tugged on a hoodie—your old college one, soft from a hundred washes and printed with a logo that felt a little heavier now—and made your way downstairs.

Voices floated up from the kitchen, low and warm. The smell hit you next—bacon, eggs, maybe biscuits in the oven. Something buttery and comforting. The kettle was starting to whistle on the stove, and you could hear grandma humming under her breath between gentle clinks of dishware, grandpa probably sitting at the table, flicking through the pages of this morning’s newspaper. Who the hell still reads the paper?

You padded into the kitchen, the warm scent of breakfast wrapping around you like a blanket. Sunlight was just beginning to spill through the windows, catching in little dust motes that danced above the table. Your grandma stood at the stove in her worn, quilted apron, gently flipping bacon in a skillet while humming something soft and familiar. Your grandpa sat at the table with his reading glasses low on his nose, newspaper rustling in his hands, a steaming mug of coffee close by.

“There she is,” Grandma said, not even turning as you entered. “Thought we’d have to send the rooster in to drag you out.”

You made a face, slumping into one of the old wooden chairs. “You mean that demon outside my window?”

Grandpa chuckled behind the paper. “That demon bird’s been waking us up for fifteen years.”

“Maybe it’s time for early retirement,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes.

Grandma just smiled and slid a plate in front of you, stacked with eggs, bacon, and a biscuit that was still warm to the touch. “Eat up. You’ve got a full day ahead of you.”

You blinked. “Wait—I do?”

Grandpa folded the paper and leaned back in his chair, giving you a look that was equal parts amused and serious. “You didn’t think you’d come back and just lounge around, did you?”

You opened your mouth to argue, then shut it again. Fair enough.

“Figured we’d start you off easy,” he continued, “maybe get you out by the barn. See if the coop needs cleaning, or lend a hand brushing the horses.”

You were halfway through chewing a bite of biscuit when you glanced out the window—and paused.

Out by the fence, backlit by the morning sun, was Gojo. He was already elbow-deep in work, hauling bales of hay like they weighed nothing, his shirt slightly damp with sweat despite the early hour. His hair was a little wild, catching the light like silver threads. He moved with a kind of ease, like all of this—the labor, the land—fit him in a way that made your stomach twist with something unfamiliar. For someone so irritating, he looked way too good covered in grime and sweat. That dick…

You looked away before either of your grandparents noticed you staring, but they had already clocked you on it. Luckily, they didn’t care to say anything about it.

“He’s been out there since before dawn,” Grandma said, following your gaze. “That boy works harder than anyone gives him credit for. Good thing we hired him.”

“Looks like he could use some breakfast,” Grandpa added, scratching his beard. “Why don’t you go fetch him in before we eat?”

You hesitated. “Me?”

“He won’t bite,” Grandma said with a knowing look. “Go on, take him a biscuit. Tell him there’s coffee, too.”

You groaned quietly but stood, snatching a warm biscuit from the stack and avoiding your grandma’s smug grin. She always did like playing matchmaker, even when you were little.

The screen door squeaked open behind you as you stepped out onto the porch. The air was brighter now, touched with the promise of heat later in the day. You crossed the yard slowly, heart doing something weird and uncalled-for when Gojo finally noticed you.

He straightened up, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Mornin’, princess.”

You rolled your eyes, holding out the biscuit. “Breakfast is ready. Thought I’d offer before you pass out from being too heroic.”

He grinned, all dimples and mischief, but there was something gentler behind it today. “Look at you, bringing me food. Thought you city girls didn’t do manual labor or acts of kindness.”

You made a face and turned to leave, but he fell into step beside you anyway.

“I’ll come eat,” he said, almost lightly. “Only ‘cause your grandma’s cooking is worth it.”

You didn't say anything, but you let him follow you back to the porch.

The screen door slammed shut behind the two of you, the familiar creak followed by the soft thud of boots on wood. Gojo wiped his hands on the hem of his shirt, still dusty from the barn, before dropping into the seat across from you with a lazy grin and a “Mornin’, folks.”

Grandma turned from the stove with a smile and a playful swat of her dish towel. “Bout time. You’re up with the sun but never remember to eat.”

“You always feed me too well,” Gojo said, already reaching for the plate she set down in front of him. “Wouldn’t get anything done if I started the day all bloated on your cookin’.”

Grandpa gave a huff of amusement. “Pretty sure you’re running on coffee and charm anyway.”

Gojo winked. “Don’t forget sheer willpower.”

You rolled your eyes and picked at your eggs.

It was warm in the kitchen—between the smell of food, the soft murmur of conversation, and the sound of silverware clinking against plates, it almost felt like a memory you’d forgotten you missed. Familiar and slow and good.

Grandma took her seat last, sliding into the spot beside Grandpa. “So,” she said, “we were just talkin’ about the day. Thought maybe you’d like to take our girl here out to the barn, Satoru. Show her the ropes again.”

You looked up sharply. “Wait, what?”

He didn’t even hesitate as he replied, “Sure. Long as she doesn’t faint from the smell of manure.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I grew up here too, y’know.”

“You mean when you were ten and used to wear light-up sneakers and run away from the chickens.”

“I was a child.”

“You screamed.”

“Once.”

“Hmmm, always.” He looked at you, eyes already glinting with mischief.

You kicked him under the table. He didn’t even flinch.

Grandma smothered a laugh and stood up to refill her tea. “He’ll take you out after breakfast. Just a few chores, nothing heavy. Help you get your feet under you again.”

You didn’t say anything right away, just stared down at the last bite of biscuit on your plate. You didn’t want to admit it, but maybe a part of you wanted it—something to do. Something to fix. Something real for once in your life.

You finally nodded. “Alright, fine. Show me the ropes.”

Gojo leaned back in his chair like he’d just won a prize. “You’re gonna love shovelin’ horse crap.”

By the time the plates were cleared and the sun was high enough to really start working the yard, you were already regretting every mistake you had made. 

Gojo led the way toward the barn with that lazy cowboy swagger that somehow managed to be both irritating and hypnotic, his ass shifting in those tight jeans…You were no better than a man. But couldn’t a girl have hobbies? You trudged behind him, the soles of your sneakers slipping slightly in the dewy grass, hoodie sleeves shoved up past your elbows, trying not to look like you were struggling to keep up. You were not dressed for the occasion, but you also refused to purchase a pair of cowboy boots. You weren’t a hick quite yet.

“You always walk this slow,” you grumbled, “or are you trying to make this take longer?”

He looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “Gotta make sure you don’t wander off and get lost, princess.”

“May I remind you once again that I grew up here, too?”

“Well, you sure don’t look the part.”

The barn door creaked open, and suddenly you were in it—thrown headfirst into a full-on crash course of ranch life, courtesy of one smug Satoru Gojo.

First up: the chicken coop.

“You want me to go in there?” you asked, eyeing the flapping birds with much hesitation. The coop smelled like warm hay and bird shit and regret.

“Don’t worry,” he purred, handing you a shovel with way too much glee. “They only peck when you cry.”

You squawked louder than the hens when one fluttered too close to your head, ducking to the ground in fear. Gojo laughed so hard he had to lean on the fence to keep from tipping over.

Next was water trough duty.

“Tip it out,” he said, gesturing at the massive metal basin. “Then hose it down and refill it. Easy.”

“You say that like it doesn’t weigh a thousand pounds.”

“It’s about leverage,” he shrugged. “And core strength. You got either of those?”

Your glare said no, but your pride said I’ll figure it out. So you did. Sort of. You soaked your shoes and half your jeans in the process, and Gojo took a mental photograph of it for future blackmail.

Then came the hay bales.

“Lift with your legs, not your back,” he instructed, tossing one over his shoulder like it was a bag of marshmallows.

You grunted and dragged yours two feet before dramatically collapsing on top of it, completely out of breath. You occasionally went to the gym back home, but a machine was way different than barrels of straw that weighed more than you did. “I think…I’m dying…how are you not exhausted yet?”

“Good genes,” he said, wiping sweat from his neck with the hem of his shirt—drawing your unwilling gaze for just a second too long. “And years of suffering.”

“You should put that on a t-shirt.”

Somewhere between brushing down a few of the horses and learning how to check tack for damage, you actually started to find a rhythm. Your hands got dirty. Your hair stuck to your forehead, even when you pulled it back into a ponytail. And your lungs filled with the kind of air you didn’t get in the city—clean, warm, and just a little sweet from the wildflowers blooming near the fence line.

And Gojo?

He didn’t let up with the teasing, but there were moments. Quiet ones. Like when he corrected your grip on a halter with an unexpected gentleness. Or when he offered you his water bottle without saying anything, just a flick of his wrist and a nod. Or when he paused to watch you work—not in a judging way, but like he was...actually admiring you.

By the time noon rolled around, you were sweaty, sore, and more exhausted than you cared to admit.

You leaned against the barn wall, wiping your forehead with your sleeve. “So… do I pass the test?”

Gojo looked over at you, lips tugged into something soft. “Barely. But I’ll allow it.”

You scoffed. “Generous.”

“I try.” He nudged your shoulder with his own. “You didn’t faint. That’s somethin’.”

You bumped him right back. “Give me a week, and I’ll be out-working you.”

He barked a laugh. “Princess, I’d love to see you try.”

You accepted the bottle of water he passed over, feeling the hairs on your arms stick up when his calloused hand brushed against your fingers. You chugged until it was completely empty, tossing it down into the dirt. “It’s so fucking hot out. I think I’ll just die of a heat stroke or something.”

Gojo leaned one forearm on the barn wall beside you, all sun-warmed denim and sweat-slicked forearms, smirking like the heat didn’t touch him. “That so? Want me to hose you down?”

You laughed and teased back, “And here I thought you’d just dunk my head into the trough.”

“Ouch. You think I’m that cruel? I’m offended, really.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved off the wall, brushing your damp bangs from your forehead. “Seriously, though. I’m two minutes away from passing out with the chickens.”

He watched you for a beat, like he was deciding something. Then he pushed off the wall, a lazy grin still in place. “Alright. Time for your reward.”

You squinted at him. “That sounds suspicious.”

“Relax, you big baby. I was gonna take you out to the pond.”

You blinked, unamused. “A pond? With like…fish and algae and stuff? Pass.” Maybe it was that spoiled, pampered side of you, but you had some standards. You preferred clean pools where you could see the bottom, maybe even a nice hot tub or a hot spring.

“Yes, princess, a pond. By all means stay here, unless you don’t wanna keep shovelin’ horse shit.”

You didn’t hesitate this time. “Pond it is.”

Jasper took to you like no time had passed. His ears flicked toward your voice, and he nuzzled your palm when you slipped into the saddle, a little shaky but holding your own. Gojo gave you a once-over from atop his own horse, a cocky gleam in his eye.

“Still remember how to steer?”

“Still remember how to steer?” You childishly mocked his words back, struggling to get a proper footing on the bulky saddle. 

He let out a bark of laughter and clicked his tongue, kicking off into an easy trot. You followed, heart thudding—not from the horse or the pace, but the fact that somehow, riding beside Gojo like this felt…almost fun. 

The path curved past wildflower-covered fields, the scent of honeysuckle hanging thick in the air. Grass brushed your boots. Birds chattered overhead. And every now and then, you caught Gojo glancing your way when he thought you weren’t looking, his brilliant blue eyes meeting your own before flicking away towards the path.

You tried not to think about how good he looked on a horse. Or how nice it felt to be back in the saddle. Or how you kinda didn’t mind this whole “farm girl” thing when the weather was nice and the view looked like that.

The pond came into view, still and glassy under the mid-afternoon sun. It was nestled in a natural bowl of earth, shaded by a ring of old cypress and cottonwood trees that filtered the light into shimmering gold. The breeze was just enough to send little ripples across the surface, like the water was sighing in its sleep.

You slid off Jasper and let your shoes sink into the grass with a soft thud, toeing them off, then peeling your damp socks off with a grimace. Your legs ached, your hands were sore, and your clothes clung in all the wrong places—but for the first time all day, it felt kind of worth it.

Gojo stretched, arms lifted high over his head with a groan. His shirt rode up just enough to flash a narrow strip of golden skin above the waistband of his jeans—sun-warmed and sweat-slick, every inch of him infuriatingly effortless.

And then, with absolutely no warning, he peeled the shirt off entirely and tossed it into the grass like he hadn’t just caused a minor existential crisis.

You didn’t mean to look.

But you did.

And then immediately turned away, eyes on a random patch of wildflowers. “You are so annoying.”

“What?” he asked, already heading for the water. “I’m hot.”

“Emotionally or thermally?”

“Both,” he said without missing a beat, wading in until the surface licked at his hips.

You followed behind, hesitating at the edge before stepping in. The pond was colder than expected, a welcome shock against your sunburned skin. You kept your tank top and shorts on, letting the water lap at your calves, then your knees, until it hit your thighs and made you suck in a breath. Gojo was already out where it was deepest, pushing wet hair back with both hands, the sunlight catching in his lashes.

“So,” he called over, “on a scale of one to you crying in the chicken coop, how bad was your first day?”

You shot him a look. “Honestly? It kinda sucked.”

“Even with my charming company?”

“You were the worst part.”

He grinned. “And yet, here you are. Swimmin’ with me.”

Instead of answering, you dove forward, arms slicing through the water in one clean stroke. It was colder beneath the surface, silent and blue and still. You resurfaced with a gasp, hair clinging to your cheeks, water dripping from your chin.

Gojo was watching you again.

Not smirking. Not teasing.

Just… looking.

You blinked water from your lashes. “What?”

He shrugged, voice a little rough. “Just didn’t expect you to come back lookin’ like this.”

Your breath caught. “...Like what?”

But he didn’t answer. Just swam a little closer, eyes searching. The water moved between you, shifting and cool. A dragonfly skimmed across the surface behind him. His leg brushed yours under the water—light, maybe even accidental, but you felt it like a spark.

And then: “Bet you still scream when ladybugs land on you.”

The spell snapped in two.

You launched a wave of water right into his face, and he went under with a howl of laughter.

“You little—” he came up sputtering, hair plastered to his forehead. “Oh, it’s on now.”

You shrieked and kicked backward, but he was on you in seconds, grabbing you around the waist and dunking you under. You surfaced coughing, laughing so hard it hurt.

“Asshole!” you managed, shoving hair out of your face. You splashed him again for good measure, grinning like an idiot.

“You started it.” He floated back lazily, water beading off his chest and shoulders, hair silver and wild. “Can’t dish it out if you can’t take it, princess.”

You rolled your eyes and swam for the edge, dragging yourself out and collapsing onto the bank with a groan. The sun wrapped around you like a blanket, drying your skin in slow, lazy waves. Grass tickled your arms. Your lungs felt clearer than they had in weeks.

Gojo flopped beside you with a satisfied grunt. “You know,” he said, voice low and warm, “you didn’t do half bad today.”

You turned your head toward him, eyes half-lidded. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me since I got back.”

He grinned, one arm folded behind his head. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”

You laughed softly and looked up at the sky. It was bluer than you remembered.

Then he asked, almost casually, “Why’d you come back?”

The question landed in your chest like a stone.

You turned your head, watching his profile. He wasn’t looking at you—just squinting up at the sun like it had answers he didn’t want to say out loud.

You exhaled slowly. “You know why. I didn’t really have a choice.”

“College thing?”

“Yeah.” You picked at the hem of your shirt. “It’s a long story.”

“I got time.”

You paused. “Let’s just say…I screwed some things up. And my mom and David thought it’d be better if I took a little space. Learn some responsibility or whatever.”

There was a pause. “…That’s rough.”

You nodded. “I’ll live. Honestly… this isn’t the worst punishment. Not like I thought it’d be. I mean, I miss the city, sure, but… I forgot what it’s like out here. Quiet. Serene. Real.”

You caught him watching you again. That look.

Like he was trying to line you up with a memory that didn’t quite fit anymore.

“You changed,” he murmured.

“So did you.”

The wind shifted, brushing your arm. A cicada buzzed somewhere nearby.

“You ever think about back then? About us as kids?”

You smiled faintly. “Not until recently. But… yeah. Sometimes…”

He nodded, quiet. “Me too.”

Your fingers grazed his as you reached down to brush a blade of grass from your stomach. He didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Just kept looking at you like maybe—just maybe—he was starting to believe you really came back.

Authors Note: Hiii! I honestly didn't think that this would get any attention, but I'm so happy some of you are enjoying it so far! Sorry it's a bit long this chapter, if you prefer them shorter or longer, let me know in the notes below! I can also make a taglist if anyone is interested.

hi this is my take on nerdjo

geto for ferrari 🏎️

ac: aransmind

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 &lt;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

Ok after this I’m done drawing Deku for the week…I think?

OH THIS WAS GOOD OMG??

come close; hobie brown

getting high and talking about anarchy with some old 90's shit playing is a crazy way to fall for someone. but it happens.

pairing hobie brown x Black!afab!fem! reader

contents lots of weed, different terms for weed (mary jane, cess), talks of killing politicians (y’all r both anarchists so.), masturbation (both you and hobie), making out, fingering, riding, missionary, mating press, creampie, unprotected sex (they're horny man dwbi), dirty talk, cervix kissing, lotsssss of praise, porn with plot (sorry i love plot 🙏🏾)

words 4.7k.. back on my longer fic shit!

warnings reader wears lipgloss, barely proofread so if you see any mistakes pls shoot me an ask!, umm i use the n word once!, i’m also,, not that great at writing his voice yet so.. hope it’s at least sorta accurate :3

extras the form i wrote this in is kinda,, unique igs but it flows rlly well i feel.

song shoutouts special thanks to lipstick lover by janelle monae, come close by common and mary j. blige, and green eyes by erykah badu! full playlist

signing off happy father’s day to hobie 🫶🏾

—

not quite plug!hobie, but hobie who always has weed, who you smoke with the first time you buy from him.

you usually don’t smoke with randoms, but you hear some old 90's rap playing from inside his car, and he invites you in when you comment on it.

"what you know bout this?" you ask with a smile.

"a lot, actually. you wanna smoke and listen?"

not quite plug!hobie who's fine as fuck as he sits opposite you in his ride, tall and darkskin with cool ass hair. wild ass accent and even wilder style, but he makes it work. his music taste adds on to his overall allure.

but his political views? god. the charm in the shape of a little 'a' surrounded by a circle hanging from his mirror lets you know that he ain't like these other niggas.

he's an anarchist. so far, you're the only anarchist you know. it's so rare to find someone who has the same values as you.

not quite plug!hobie who's car you leave with music recs clumsily typed into your notes, and someone to talk about politics with, though you're too shy to text the pretty boy with the good weed, so you're sure it'll never happen.

not quite plug!hobie who texts you when you get home to make sure you arrived safely.

"driving while high ain't safe, ya know? you at home?"

"i've done it before. i made it home."

not quite plug!hobie who's so nice to you, complimenting your outfits and hair, even noticing when you meet him the 3rd time with a new style.

not quite plug! hobie who you find out has been giving you discounts when your friends ask if you ever bought from him after their recommendation, and you run them in on the details. you think it’s just cause y’all smoked the first time you ever bought from him and you bonded over political views and music. you don’t think nothing else of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you find yourself thinking about more and more often, ever since that first time y'all smoked together.

not quite plug!hobie who finds himself in the same predicament.

not quite plug!hobie who answers the door on your 6th buy in a pair of red sweats and a tight white t-shirt that hugs his lanky frame, hair tied up with a blue shoe string. he invites you into his crib, citing reasons of having no one else to talk to about his views with. after all, it's the first time you both have time to sit and talk and listen to music instead of a quick deal since that first time.

not quite plug!hobie who you get faded as fuck with, this time sharing a joint on his janky couch, heavy hands brushing against each other with each pass. he tries to ignore the aching in his very core every time you speak your mind, your aligning politics driving him crazy.

you mirror him, shaking off the.. arousal?.. no, it can't be. you can't be getting all heated just cause a man is an anarchist. whatever. just ignore it.

not quite plug!hobie who laughs when you tell him straight up, “people aren’t killing politicians anymore. that’s our fuckin’ problem.”

"really? you're wild. but i get it."

"course you do." you nod, taking another drag of the joint. erykah badu's "green eyes" is playing quietly in the background of your convo. hobie starts laughing.

"what?" you smile.

"song's called green eyes, right? well we got red eyes." it's corny and wouldn't be funny if you two weren't high as shit, but you are high as shit, so it's fucking hilarious.

not quite plug!hobie who's eyes linger on you as he pulls laugh after laugh out of your chest with his snarky little jokes.

not quite plug!hobie who walks you to your car after your smoke session, telling you to get home safely. he passes out after his head hits the bed, that after smoke sleep being some of the best he's ever had. he tries to chase you out of his mind as he succumbs to the cess.

not quite plug!hobie who lights a joint and then pulls his dick out the next day, hard and heavy, and strokes it thinking about his pretty little client— friend? whatever — hips stuttering as he wraps his hand around his thick base. he's tried to shake you off, went all day distracting himself with this and that, but it's not working.

not quite plug!hobie who cums in white spurts splattering on his chest to the thought of making you cum in a room filled with smoke, some old r&b playin as he dicks you down the way he's been wanting to since the first time your pretty ass came to him asking for some weed. he wants you bent over on the end of his bed, eyes low and red while he fills you up and fucks you good, gives you his dick like he feels you so rightfully deserve.

not quite plug!hobie who you seriously can't stop thinking of. last night's smoke session has you on edge, so you light another joint, but weed always gets you horny, so when you slip your fingers into your panties and touch yourself to the thought of the pretty darkskin boy with the piercings and cool hair pushing his fat cock into your pretty hole, you blame it on the mary jane sitting pretty in your veins.

the fault lies in the mary jane for making you think about him laid on top of you, talking you through it as he damn near kisses your cervix, his wiry hands roaming your body. the fault lies in the mary jane for having your legs shaking, imagining your pretty plug folding you in half and ruining you, leaving you and your cunt sore and satisfied and dripping his cum.

not quite plug!hobie who cleans up while telling himself that he can't do this again, that you're not interested in him.

not quite plug!hobie who you block out of your mind as you shower. what you did wasn't right. it won't happen again.

not quite plug!hobie who you don’t buy from for a minute, cause you’re trying to stop smoking so much, for a while. you still keep in contact with him, though. daily texts, funny memes, and of course talks of anarchy. one day, you call him “bee” instead of hobie, and it sticks. he likes it.

not quite plug!hobie… who you fuck yourself to again, this time slipping three fingers inside your greedy cunt to satiate the need for him. it’s almost every night, and it’s a different fantasy every time. 

in the backseat of his car, bent over on his counter, pressed into his couch cushions. your head pressing into your pillows while visions of hobie’s lips pressed to your ear praising you endlessly for being his good girl and taking him so well torment you. you’re insatiable, but when you text you have to pretend like you don’t want his piercing scraping against your clit as he eats you like a man starved.

not quite plug!hobie who has the same dilemma as you.. he can’t even go a couple of hours without growing hard in his sweats, glimpses of you spread out on his bed with your thighs thrown over his shoulders, or you face down ass up, sobbing in pure ecstasy. it’s not made better by y’all’s constant texting, more and more of your personality being revealed to him each day.

you both share one brain, really. and that one brain finds each other attractive, of course, but it’s not just that. it’s not just pure lust. you two have more in common than anyone you’ve ever met, and that sinks ache and want so deep into you that every night and day is spent trying to rid yourselves of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you buy from again almost two weeks later, two weeks that were filled with funny conversations and deep discussions of politics through text. two weeks that solidify the growing feelings you have for each other. this time, he’s wearing a pair of blue sweats and a tight black tee, and his hair is tied up just like the first time you came to his house. this time, brandy’s playing throughout his crib.

you’ve only known each other for about two months, but it feels like longer, for the both of you. you take your seat on the couch as he grabs his stash and his papers, pulling out one paper to roll up.

not quite plug!hobie who sits a little bit closer than he did last time. he smells good. your head is swimming already. 

not quite plug!hobie who lights up and then lets you take the first hit, watching you wrap your glossy lips around the joint like he doesn’t wish they were wrapped around his dick instead. you pass the joint to him and settle onto the couch, raking your eyes over his lanky frame, and what you swear is a hard-on. no way. it has to be the weed. 

he settles back onto the couch too, extending his long arms on the back. his arm comes up behind your head, and you rest your head on it, smiling dopily when he directs his hazy gaze your way. his playlist must have ended. you're left with him and your thoughts.

“you’re funny, you know?” he says through a breath of smoke, passing the joint to you.

“yeah?” you reply, hitting it again. “everyone tells me i’m just corny.”

“you’re not corny. you’re pretty hilarious, if i’m bein’ honest.” 

and there it is again.

not quite plug!hobie whose words light that fire in you again, the fire that you’ve been dousing every night for the past two fucking weeks. fuck, not here. not now. you grab the joint from him in an attempt to push more weed into your system to flush him out, but you meet his pretty fuckin’ brown eyes and they’re low and his lips looks so good and he smells so good and suddenly you’re asking not quite plug who you’re two seconds away from fucking!hobie why he’s been charging you less than everyone else who buys from him and why he invited you into his car and into his house, twice.

and not quite plug who really wants to kiss you right now!hobie can’t even joke and twist his way out of this one. he’s tired of cumming alone to the thought of you. the worst you can do is leave. but the best? god, so many things.

“'s cause i think you’re pretty. n' i really wanna kiss you right now.”

“then do it.”

not quite plug!hobie who tastes like weed and chocolate. the hand that was resting on the back of the couch finds it’s way to the small of your back, fingers drawing nonsensical shapes into it. your hands find his knee and his neck as you press your lips into his. you slide closer to him, and then he’s using the hand resting on your back to push you into his lap, hands settling on your hips as you settle above him, your hands circling around his neck.

“how long?” you ask between kisses.

“since the day you walked up to my car.” he responds quietly, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. he’s quick to trap your lips again.

god, he is hard. and he’s big, you can feel him pressing against the inside of your thigh. you hold your tongue, figuring you could deal with that later. right now, you just need to get out what you’ve been keeping in since the day you two met and you spotted the little ‘a’ hanging from his mirror.

the kiss grows deeper and he grows a little less shy, starting to use his hands gripping your waist to grind you against him. heat floods you when you realize that he's pulling you onto his cock, pressing your cunt against him, separated by the fabric of his sweats and your shorts.

you find his rhythm, falling into the pattern of his soft pushes and presses, a gentle lull of bodies moving against each other that makes you even more comfortable than you already are. soft little groans escaping the both of you, mixing with the smoke and infatuation in the air.

he lets you move the way you want, lithe fingers tracing up your back, hovering over where your hair falls onto your neck. he keeps kissing you for a minute, seemingly frozen. but then he's pulling away to speak, "can i- can i touch your hair?"

you stop moving with a smile. you nod. "yeah. thanks for asking." you kiss him again.

"course, love." he nods, and then he kisses you again. his long fingers snake into your hair, gently and softly. he strokes his hands through your locks, in time with your kisses and the movements of your hips that have started again. hands migrating from his neck, sliding down his chest, laying flat-palmed. your fingers slide under his tee, curling and gripping to pull him ever closer to you.

not quite plug!hobie who could kiss you forever. you could too, but you want more. you need him. so you pull away just a little, murmur "can feel you against me." chills rack through him at your words.

"i know. 'm so hard, darlin'." he pushes his hips up just a little, drawing a muffled whine from you.

"been wantin' you so bad.." you trail off. hobie takes it upon himself to move his hands from your hair to the waistband of your shorts, eyes fixed on yours, watching your every move. you nod, giving him permission to snake his fingers into your shorts, fingers that are met with no resistance.

"no panties? did'ya plan this, doll?" he smiles, slim fingers exploring your wetness, doing what he can with the limited space.

"mhm." you shake your head. "'s more comfortable." he hums in agreement. he circles your clit with his middle finger, dipping towards your entrance to collect more slick. you push down against his fingers, causing him to have to crane his wrist to reach you.

"can we take these off? can't touch you the way i wanna." you blush, averting your eyes to focus on the hand that disappears into your shorts.

"yeah." you breathe shakily, standing up and letting hobie pull them down your legs, hands on his shoulders as balance. your shirt is long, and it falls down to give you some modesty. hobie throws your shorts somewhere behind you before he leans back, giving you space to sit back down.

he looks so fucking good, brown eyes staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky. he reaches out for you, pulling you back into his lap by your hips. his hand disappears under your shirt while his lips find yours again, exploring you more freely this time.

"so wet, doll." he murmurs between one kiss and another, smiling when you whine. his fingers move at different speeds, pressing in different areas and circling at different speeds until he finds a combination that makes you jolt against him, whining "bee."

"thaaaaat's it, love." this time, you don't return your lips to his, instead tucking your head into his neck as you hump shamelessly against his hand, his cock pressing hard and heavy against your thigh. "keep going, baby," he urges, "show me how it feels."

and you do. you shiver and shake and whine and groan in pleasure, pressing kisses in his brown skin as he touches you the way he touched himself thinking about.

not quite plug!hobie who presses his thumb into your clit, sliding his hand farther down to tease your drooling hole. "'s wet, love. g'na feel so good 'round me." you moan loudly at that, at the thought of your fantasies coming true. you cant your hips down, sliding down his fingers until they're seated inside you, stroking gently at your sensitive walls.

pulling them out softly, he curls his fingers, twisting his wrist as you whine and mouth at his neck. "'s okay. you can bite." he nods, catching onto what you were holding yourself back from. you still don't, resign to licking and sucking instead.

until his fingers catch the spongy spot inside you, and your teeth are sinking into the column. "fuck," you damn near shout, pushing yourself onto his hand. he groans in response, pleased to be pleasing you and indulging in the pain you inflict on him. thumb on your clit and fingers playing with that spot, he brings his other hand from your hip to your hair to soothe you, to ground you.

it's sweet, really, his hand in your hair while the other one touches you the way you've been dreaming of. coos and hums meet your ears, soft sounds of affirmation egging you on to let yourself get lost in the pleasure he delivers you. arousal steadily dripping out of your hole, hobie's fingers sliding easier and easier inside you until he can pull out and slip right back in.

"you're so pretty, dove, fuckin' dreamgirl." he murmurs, staring down at your pretty face, arched eyebrows turned down in ecstasy, lips parted. the praise takes you closer and closer to the edge, his deep voice reverberating throughout your entire being, the pangs of arousal in your clit growing harder and faster. you're close.

you're so goddamn close to cumming for a boy you just wanted to buy from. his long fingers reach deep, deeper than you could ever even dream of. “hobie- i- i’m g’na-” you stutter against his neck, hips stuttering against his fingers.

“‘s okay, love, cum. i’m right here.” the rubber band snaps, and you're tightening your thighs around his hand while you shake and shiver, eyes closed tight with soft whines of "hobie, god it feels so good" tumbling from your lips. you tighten around his fingers, too, squeeze him so tight he winces, cause he just knows you're gonna feel so good wrapped around him. he pushes that thought away, though, focused on helping you ride out your orgasm.

fingers pressing into your clit and that spot inside you, he makes sure to milk every last second of your climax, eyes fixed on your ethereal features. aftershocks still racking through you, you finally open your eyes, and he takes it as a sign to gently pull his fingers out of you and wipe them on his sweats, and you shudder at the feeling.

"that was. . so much better than i imagined. n' i imagined it being pretty good." you smile and giggle, placing a kiss on his neck. he laughs in response, raising his eyebrows at your confession.

"bet i'm a better fuck than you imagined, too." the air in the room shifts again, and suddenly you're aware of his cock pressed against your thigh through his sweats again.

"bet you are."

you raise up, kissing him again as your hands find the waistband of his sweats and invite themselves in, meeting his dick that's been hard since you first sat down on his couch. "and i'm the one who planned this? you're free-balling." you murmur against his lips, and he mirrors your words from earlier.

"'s more comfortable, 's all— fuck." he's cut off when you pull his cock out of his sweats and run your finger over his pretty brown tip, dipping into his slit. his hips thrust up, chasing your soft hand. "g'na drive me crazy." he almost whines, jerking against you when you swipe your thumb against his aching tip again.

"just returnin' the favor." you shoot back, raising up to hover over him, swiping his leaking dick through your wetness. he wraps his hand around his thick base, moving in time with your teasing strokes. "you're big." you groan, hesitating to seat yourself on him.

"i know, doll, you can take it though. we'll make you take it." he speaks into your clothed chest, muffled and horny, and you’re sure he means what he says. you drip even more at his words, sticky slick wetting his fat tip.

not quite plug!hobie whose hands are on your hips as you sink down onto his pretty dick, whining into his neck as he encourages you. “you got it, baby, you’re takin’ me so well. god, she’s so wet.”

"she— fuck that's so hot," you moan, eyes rolling back at his words.

"mhm?" he hums.

you don't respond, too busy focusing on his fat cock pushing into you, focusing on the way you both make it fit, exactly like he said you would. finally, he bottoms out, your thighs resting against his sweats.

"g' job, babe. knew you could take me." you jolt against him, his heady words sending another pang of arousal straight to where you two meet.

not quite!plug hobie who you tell to move, raising your hips up as he pulls out, meeting him in the middle as he fills you back up. his hips slot against yours again, and his big chocolate eyes are fixed on yours, gazing upon you in adoration, while your eyes are fixed on where he disappears into you.

"so big, feels s'good. ." you whisper, meeting his gaze. the look in his eyes has chills running down your spine as you raise your hips again, choosing to connect your lips with his again. hobie starts to find a rhythm, now, wrapping his long arms around your waist. you swap spit with him as his hips meet your ass, taking over.

body bouncing with each of his thrusts into your pussy, arms wrapped around his neck. his lips slipping against yours, plump and wet. you both take it slow, basking in the feeling of finally being like this with someone you've wanted since you first saw them.

he fills you up so nicely, thick cock nestled in your achy walls, leaking tip just barely kissing your cervix as he thrusts just a bit harder and you push down a little more.

"y'feel me, darlin? 'm all the way in, at the end of you, god, 'm g'na make you mine." he babbles in pleasure, pushing his hips up even harder. still soft, but firm, and deliberate.

you nod against his lips, hand resting on his cheek. "feel you, bee, feel you in my fuckin' stomach, i swear." you feed off of him and he feeds off of you, kissing and slapping your hips against the others, wild and wanting. "fuckin' me so good, bee, makin' me yours."

"makin' me yours, doll, pussy's squeezin' me like she don't w'na let go."

"don't wanna let go, wan' you so bad." you confess, bringing your ass down onto his cock again. "i— fuck," you sob. his cock curves just right, and with his tip pressing against your spot now, hobie's found new determination.

"that it?" he asks, making sure to keep hitting that spongy patch of skin with every thrust, sheathing his cock in your wet heat.

"'s it, hobie, feels so good, shit." the high has worn off by now, leaving pure emotions and desire driving you two. you get tight around him again, cunt pulsing with every slam of his hips against yours. you feel so good around him, so tight and wet.

"'m g'na—, you're gonna make me cum, bee."

he moves one hand from around your waist at that, sliding between you two to toy with your clit, thumb rubbing wild shapes against the throbbing bud.

"fuck," you cry, grinding against his thumb and down onto his dick.

"you close again, doll? wan' you to wet me up, ma'me a mess," he encourages, big brown eyes fixed on yours like they've been the whole night.

"'m so close, bee, wanna cum for you, wanna wet you up."

"then do it." he mirrors your words from earlier, and the pleasure pulsing through your veins and infatuation swirling around in your blood gets to be too much, and you cum on his cock, still slamming your hips down onto him, meeting his thrusts in the middle. "thaaaat's it, doll." you hear hobie praise through the fog in your mind, bounces turned to messy grinds as you get all tight around him, cumming hard.

"y'alright, love?" he asks, moving your hair out of your face.

"mhm. w'na go again, you haven't come yet." he chuckles at your words, wrapping both hands around your waist and kissing you again.

"lay back, love." he murmurs against your lips, flipping you onto the couch. your back meets the smooth fabric as he lays you down, pulling his tee and his sweats off. you follow suit, stripping your shirt off and throwing it somewhere behind his couch. his watchful eyes fall on your face, then your tits, then your cunt, taking your body in for the first time.

he finds his place on top of you, balancing himself on his elbows as he kisses you again. he reaches down, but you stop him. "lemme do it," you urge, replacing his hand. you line him up with your sopping entrance, nodding twice to tell him to push in.

the stretch is so fucking good, his cock bullying it's way into your tight cunt again.

"fuck, that's it," he curses, watching your face as he seats himself in your once again.

"so deep. ." you trail off, looking down at your stomach, and oh fuck, no way.

"hobie, hobes, look," you urge, and he points his gaze to where you're looking.

"oh, love, look at that. can see myself, right there," he presses down on the bulge he creates, ripping a broken moan straight from your throat.

"fuck me, please," you sob, squirming under him. he nods, understanding, and finds his rhythm easier this time, lean hips slapping against you. your body jolts up the couch with every thrust, choppy whines of nonsensical sentences leaving your mouth.

not quite plug who's absolutely pussydrunk!hobie can't get enough of your cunt, the way you squeeze him oh so tight, the wet squelches of your heat drawing him further into madness. he needs to go deeper, needs to fuck you harder, so he raises up, throwing your legs over his shoulders, leaning back down to bury his cock deep inside you.

"baby, fuck." it's a gritted groan, head rolling back onto the couch as he mouths at your neck, licking and biting at your heated skin. his thrusts are slow and firm, dick kissing your cervix, the slaps sounding out through his living room.

you're both quiet this time around, too blissed out to do anything but fuck, allowing yourselves to succumb to pleasure. every inch of his cock fills you, driving you crazy, driving him crazy too. it's intimate, his lips on your neck, your fingers palming at his back, limbs tangled together. and you can feel it building up in you again.

"'m g'na cum, hobes." he moves one of his arms, bringing his thumb down to rub at your clit, still mouthing at your neck. he lets it happen this time, doesn't urge you or change anything he's doing, and you coast into your climax so gratifyingly that you almost cry, squeezing him tight once again. now, your focus is on making him cum.

"wan' you to cum, hobes."

"gotta pull out, love. we ain' even put a rubber on." he realizes.

"no you don't. 'm clean. jus' fill me up, please." in your right mind, you wouldn't let him, but you're not in your right mind, and neither is he. so he cums with a groan, shaking as he spills pressed against your cervix.

the air's.. different now, satisfied and calm. you both lay there for a while, until hobie's picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up.

after, he lights another joint that you two share tucked under his covers, hugged up like a couple.

not quite plug!hobie holds you as you both fall asleep.

BILLION DOLLAR MAN | a series.

PAIRING: president!Sukuna x journalist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: you get in trouble with the law for hate speech (totally bogus; like, hellooo, Freedom of the Press, anyone?), and, in a way to get you out of further repercussions, the president, himself—whom you went to college with—proposes a deal: be his fake wife. totally preposterous, but, then again . . . your news column could use a little more publicity, and you were in need of a [pseudo] sugar daddy.

ⓘ MDNI; enemies-lovers; smut (every chapter); fake marriage trope; each headline will be additionally tagged on their respective posts.

A/N: the table of contents below is subject to change at any time.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈 : MAN of the HOUR ▷ preview. you've slandered his name all across your blog's public column since you got your master's degree, but tonight's gala is the first time you're seeing him face-to-face since your college days—ladies and gentlemen: Sukuna Ryomen, or, better yet, Mr. President.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐈 : MIMOSA MONDAYS ▷ preview. would ignoring your work and avoiding paying taxes still be as bad if it meant joining the Mile High Club . . . ? when Sukuna drags you along on a business trip, there's only one way to find out.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈 : RED LIPS & RED BOTTOMS ▷ preview. to prevent any rumors, you two arrange going on a date—in public, where anyone could see. but, it's also so you two can finally get to know each other better, if that was even possible . . .

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕 : FIRST LADY ▷ preview. years have now passed since that fateful encounter at the gala, and Sukuna's first term as president has come to an end; could the same be said about your fake marriage, though?

🛹

mechanic toji