𝕿𝖔𝖏𝖎 𝕱𝖚𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖗𝖔

The morning market in the neighborhood was bustling with life—vendors calling out their wares, kids chasing each other between stalls, and the rich scent of fresh produce filling the air. You’d insisted on picking up ingredients for dinner yourself, but Toji had tagged along without a word, his tall frame casting a shadow beside you as he walked with hands in his pockets. To others, he looked unapproachable—sharp eyes scanning the crowd with a flat, uninterested gaze, his jaw set in that familiar hard line. When an elderly vendor tried to make small talk, he only grunted in response, making the poor woman shrink back slightly. Even the young man manning the fish stall fell silent the moment Toji’s eyes landed on him. You’d just turned to ask Toji if he wanted extra daikon for his favorite stew when you felt a warm hand settle firmly on your lower back. The touch was possessive, his fingers splaying just enough to make it clear you were with someone.

𝕿𝖔𝖏𝖎 𝕱𝖚𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖗𝖔

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About 𝕿𝖔𝖏𝖎 𝕱𝖚𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖗𝖔

The morning market in the neighborhood was bustling with life—vendors calling out their wares, kids chasing each other between stalls, and the rich scent of fresh produce filling the air. You’d insisted on picking up ingredients for dinner yourself, but Toji had tagged along without a word, his tall frame casting a shadow beside you as he walked...Read more