Sero Can't Quite Place Where He Knows You.

Lucky Clover Cat

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

So why are you looking at Nanami like that? 🤨

good girls go bad!

2.37k words

everybody in this world has their thing, some like to draw, others like paint. eren jaeger liked to believe he had many things, things he thought to be normal that most if not all would find to put it lightly.. strange.

not to be blunt but if you asked anybody from the dimly lit house party what eren jeagers specific thing was they'd all tell you the same thing.

sex.

you wouldn't even have to sleep with the guy to know how good he was in bed, every girl that comes stumbling from a random room on wobbling legs was most definitely proof enough.

this was NOT your scene. you stood there stiff in the corner, red solo cup in hand, surrounded by your five girlfriends who simply wouldn't take no for an answer.

they knew you'd follow the rules, the rules that your father had put in place when he shipped you off halfway across the state.

the silver purity ring on your finger hit the cup to the rhythm of the music as you slightly bopped your head.

that very ring a tall brunette had his eyes on all night. the man had been watching you since his body hit the sticky leather of the wore down couch. when your eyes flicked across the room his would immediately drop down to his own ring clad fingers picking at the arm rest.

"come onnn (❤︎︎), just a few shots. you need to loosen up anyway!" your closest friend sasha drags you across the scene leaving the other group of girls to their own devices.

begrudgingly you trek behind her, pulling down that itty bitty denim skirt the girls forced you to purchase 'just in case'.

she spots connie leaning against the marble of the kitchen island all by himself. suddenly she's flinging herself into his arms seaming already drunk off of whatever pungent liquid was mixed up in her now forgotten solo cup.

"well if it isn't my favorite little munchkin," she squeals when he drops her back down. "my friend here is in dire need of whatever you could pour into a shot glass, stat!"

connie smiles at her opting not to say much knowing his words would be slurred. red eyes scan you quickly as if he was pondering what bitter beverage he could give you to loosen you up fast.

you stood close behind sasha watching connie line up six plastic shot cups before pouring a glass bottle of clear liquor (to the brim) of each cup. being the gentleman he was he opens the cooler by his foot pulling out two mini can of pinapple juice.

snatching a shot for himself he tosses it back with a grimace and a quick head shake then walks off giving you a look of good luck.

"two for me, three for you." she hands you the can and pulls you to stand by her. taking a deep breath through your nose you grab each shot one by one and then chase them with the juice. it's almost embarrassing how loud you gagged from the tingle in the back of your throat.

"good?" she laughs at your struggle and you shoot her a glare. "what do you think sash??"

you look back over your shoulder to see that your friend group had dispersed among themselves with fellow party goers, unsurprisingly. lucky for them you made everyone share locations before even coming here AND gave them the major stranger danger safety run down.

what's even more embarrassing is how within the span of five minutes you feel every nerve slip into a relaxed state, the crease of you brow is replaced with a content, one would say- happy expression.

the first sound of 'speaker knockerz- freak hoe' is played full blast and it's like a flash flood of nearly every girl in the party racing towards the ¿dance floor?. but not only were the girls rushing through, but the guys too. either trying to stop their girls from showing out or simply tryna catch what was being thrown.

you and sasha being part of the crowd  followed not far behind. and wherever you went green hooded eyes followed in suit.

in most cases you weren't one to show you in private let alone in public, but before you left the comfort of your dormitory the girls showed you a step by step tutorial on basic "ass shaking."

good for you that you comprehension skills are a-1 because in no time you were throwing it all around the world, my god would you regret this in the morning. sasha being there was extremely handy in making sure your skirt didn't ride up to the point where nothing was left to the imagination.

and boy oh boy did eren have a good one. zoning out on you and that stupid silver band circling your ring finger. he suddenly snaps into reality when a man, a random, tries to catch what he claimed for the night.

eren is quicker, his stride longer. you feel him before you see him. his presence is great. big almost. his scent woodsy and minty with a linger smell of weed. intoxicating.

sasha give you a look once the song is over and made into something that can be danced to in a slow grind. you smile and wink she takes the hint and scurry off to find her baldheaded best friend.

the man behind you leans forward and your automatically enticed by the eyes. bright and green but low and lidded. your arms reach you around his neck and tangle in the hair on his nape, the weight of his bun resting there as well.

on the other hand(s) his are traveling down your side and to the opening of your blouse. you stop him, turning to face him only to be met with a broad chest. . looking up to see a man more striking the a god themself, he grins small and sexy. you look more beautiful up close, he can't help the lump twitching against his thigh in this black cargos.

he also can help but notice the way you scan his face all doe like, he lets you drink him in even with the heavy bass pumping throughout both your bodies.

finally you breathe out a simple "hi." shuttering cause you feel his eyes on your lips, then the drop lower to the star sign necklace sitting on your collar bone.

you move before him, grabbing him by the collar of his black tee. hell- it was just as shocking to you as it was him wondering where in the world you got all this confidence from.

"hey." he mutters against your lips before reciprocating the kiss. it's desperate on your end and controlled on his, like trying to pull an elephant with a rope. you whine into his mouth and he can't help but puff out a breath of laughter.

he pulls back and you can't help but chase him. "bathroom?" he looks you dead in your eyes already tipsy on just a taste of what this man can give you. you nod at a flashes pace when you feel the not so subtle pulse down below. and just like that the two of you are off, him shielding you from the sea of sweaty bodies. you pass sasha and connie once more making direct eye contact with her.

her jaw drops hard. she turns to connie who lifts his hand to close her mouth, who mumbles something about hot breath.

eren waste no time knowing exactly where the first floor washroom is. another man stumbles his way towards the door and earns a palm to the face and a rough shove by eren.

he locks the door quickly before the complaints start and shoves your lower back against the sink capturing you in another mind numbing kiss. the cold thin metal of your ring stings his skin when you cup his handsome face, and he groans deep and long. rutting his chub against your thigh.

he breaks first spinning you around so that you're facing the mirror. lips swollen, eyes glassy, and edges starting to lift, eren wants to devour you. eat you whole.

he leans into you pushing his weight on your back. wet open mouth kisses from the junction of your shoulder all the way up to your ear and he huffs out "eren."

lost in the sensation you hum at him choking back a moan when he reaches under that god forsaken skirt and he barely applies pressure to your panties. and yet here they are soak down.

"my name, eren. remember it." he muttered to you taking pleasure in watch you quiver like a leaf over a thumb. just as sudden as it came his hand was ripped away away. hiking up your skirt he pulls your panties down, and spreads.

"my god," he sighed. nothing in this world could prepare him for the sight that beholds him. sticky, wet folds make a slick noise as he thumbs through them. he watches you twitch and arch your back, in an instant he drops down to his knees.

"just nasty," he commented before dropping to his knees shoving his face in your cunt. his mouth automatically finds your clit and he sucks. that sharp nose of his nudging against your clenching hole. and then- he takes in a sharp breath through his nose eye scrolling to the back of his skull.

you've lost all support opting to rest your forehead on the mirror while eren sucks on you pussy like a starved man. it's so much, it's too much. he's sloppy with it, fluids dripping down from his mouth, to his chin, onto his shirt. all you can do is moan.

"ugh -god! eren! eren!" you sob, he slurps. its all so good.

"you're cumming? come on pretty, cum on my fucking tongue." he envelopes you whole and shoves his tongue in repeatedly over and over until you scream.

"shit - eren im fucking cumming!" and you do. hard. but he keeps going not wasting a drop of your release. gasping for some air, hunched over the sink, panties down by your knocking shaking knees, you feel it.

hard, long, heavy, and thick against your lower back you didn't even realize he had dropped his cargos and boxers just below his fat balls. 8 inches of man ready and waiting.

he see you lifting yourself up and he decides you had enough time to recover. his slides his tip an angry shade of red, through your sensitive folds and then pushes in slow.

quickly he grabs his base hard and squeezes. "shit-" he stills, taking a deep breath. "s'fucking tight." he comments rubbing on your swollen clit making you shudder. "loosen up dollface, let me in." his brows furrowed as he watches you biting into the fabric of your sleeve. your holding back and he knows in. he knows he's big, and he knows you can take it.

in one swift motion he bottoms out and you cry. cry so loud you could stop the party. his 'thrust' shallow but oh so deep, fat tip nudging right against your cervix.

"o-oh fuck FUCK!" you wail clenching on him hard as you orgasm. "atta girl, there she is." he grins big and bright. "feels good don't it? you love cummin' on me dontcha, princess?" he hisses, reeling his hips back and he pounds into you.

"s-shit, you're soo g-oodd!" you wailed to him, your tits bouncing out that stupid stuffy blouse. he wants to see more, to feel more. his fingers scoop you up by the neck. damp back pulled to his wet chest, and he squeezes. the feeling of his hand even resting on your throat was delicious - but this.

this was different. "e-erenn! jesus f-fucking christ! m'cummin, m'cummin!" you gasp out hand wrapping around his and choking you harder. his eyes widen green eyes nearly black and gives a wild smile at your fucked you expression. "you filthy little thing, you like being choked dont ya? what would yer daddy say if he found you his dollface little girl was slutting herself out for me ,hm?"

you feel it, right there in your gut, hot desire flooding from your pussy all onto the floor in streams of clear liquid. your cheeks are red from the lack of oxygen. his thrust get harder but you can feel eren tensing. another brutal thrust and he grunts deep and sexy. "fuck baby." he fucks himself through his high just using your sloppy cunt to his will. his grip on you throat is released and that has you doubling over gasping for sweet oxygen.

jeager relishes the feeling of your walls clamping on him till he decides enough is enough. he pulls out and in an instant thick, creamy globs of cum plop down onto your soaked down underwear.

leaning down once more he come face of face with your fucked out pussy and licks the mixture of bodily fluids. this makes you jolt and then he presses a delicate kiss to you clit. contradicting his actions he sents a hard smack to your ass cheek. eren groans taking a look at the mess you both made on the floor and yourselves. he just grabs and decorative towels hanging above the toilet, wiping himself off and then throwing it on the floor to soak up any liquid.

then he hands you a pitiful piece of tissue paper to clean yourself off. but before you start he's distracting you with kisses to out ear lobe, he grabs your hand and suddenly your finger is feeling .. lighter.

before you can confront him he slips back out into the world leaving you stranded and confused.

also with an empty finger. bummer, he didn't even catch your name..

deadpool gojo & wolverine nanami

geto for ferrari 🏎️

ac: aransmind

part 2 (demon!Bakugou x nun reader)

second spoiler; coming soon~

nobody understands the impact that this art has had on me yuuji’s confident borderline cocky expression and yuuta’s bambi eyes and untied tie you do not understand this is the origin of all my okkoita thoughts i want them both so bad there is nothing that would stop me from ***** **** **** ******* **** ***** **** ****** ***** ***** ****** ***** ****** *******

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