Hand Study With Sukuna

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

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.

Cowboy gojo keeps me alive pls lemme ride it cowgirl style

Artist: thatsallitchief on Instagram

🛹

hi this is my take on nerdjo

Eren is cock drunk

pairing - Eren x fem!Reader

Rating: mature (18+)

Content/Trigger Warnings: smut

The air in the room hung thick, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex, a primal musk that clung to every breath. The two you have been going at it rabbits. Eren couldn't get enough of you. The way your cunt shaped his cock. The way your pussy swallowed his cock. He loved it. His green eyes burned with a feral hunger, locked onto you like you were the only thing tethering him to sanity.

"Eren please!" you whimpered. You were gripping Eren's bed for dear life. Your legs were shaking and your body was warm.

" C'mon baby you can take it." Eren's fingers dipped in the fat of your thighs as he held a tight grip on your legs to keep you from escaping his trap. Eren loomed over you, his broad shoulders glistening with a sheen of perspiration, dark brown hair plastered messily across his forehead.

His cock was constantly hitting your g spot making you feel shivers down your spine. '"Fuuuck- feel so good baby." A thick, creamy white ribbon coiled tightly around the base of his throbbing cock, glistening under the dim light. Eren watched the faces you made as he thrusted harder. Your fingers had become instruments of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"Fuck," he growled, voice rough and low, scraping against the silence like gravel. "You're unreal, you know that?" His calloused hands gripped your neck with his other dangerously close to your soaked pussy. His cock was digging into your soft walls as he spread you wider.

His movements were raw, needy, like a man possessed. He shifted his hips, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance again, slick with your juices and his own cum from the last round. "Look at you-taking me so fucking good. This cunt's mine, yeah?"

The bed creaked beneath his weight as he leaned in, one hand sliding up to brace himself against the headboard, wood groaning under his grip. His other hand stayed on you, tracing the curve of your hip before slipping down to rub slow, deliberate circles over your swollen clit. He watched your reaction with a smirk, lips curling as he drank in every twitch, every shudder. "Can't get enough of this," he muttered, almost to himself, his thumb pressing harder, coaxing out a fresh gush of wetness that made his cock twitch in response. "So fucking wet for me-shit, you're perfect."

sukuna is my muse

So why are you looking at Nanami like that? 🤨

better view on x

had to crop it, not just censored it, I got a strike this week too, haha...

links in pinned

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